I saw the dead end of the dirt road and felt as if I were still there.
This wasn’t working. I wasn’t smart enough. Didn’t have the wherewithal to figure out the next move. Every single lead I’d followed ended with disappointment or more questions, and I was no closer to finding Rachel and the boys than I had been the morning sirens invaded the Loop.
I tossed. Turned. Couldn’t get comfortable. When I slept, I dreamed of roads tinted in red. Of hands scrabbling at the insides of steel doors. Of being alone in a sprawling field and feeling like there was someone else, unseen but watching.
Cold sweat and late slanting light. I’d slept until almost noon. As I dressed, something nagged me through my thoughts of the night before, and it took until the coffee was finished brewing before I realized what it was.
Dad’s birthday. Today. Damn it.
Plans I’d had for his breakfast and morning movie, The Fugitive （he loved anything Harrison Ford）， came apart as I hurried across the street. There was a car in his drive I didn’t recognize and a voice I did in his kitchen when I went inside.
“—more than anything. His love is bigger than that. It was profound when I realized it, a real life-changing event, you know?”
Elliot Wyman.
When I entered the room, his moonish face and wide eyes found me, and they lit up with even more holy zest. “Hello, Andy! So good to see you!” He pumped my arm as if we hadn’t crossed paths in years. “I was just telling your father about my awakening when I was thirteen. It happened after I fell through the ice while fishing.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said. Everyone in the parish knew Elliot’s story. How his father had taken them fishing on Sentinel Lake in late December after a warm spell, and when young Elliot had wandered while his father drilled them several fishing holes, a dark patch of thin ice had given way and he’d gone under.
“I knew in that second I was going to die. And you know what I saw?” Elliot asked. I knew, but I let him go on anyway. “Light. Pure, warm light. I wasn’t cold anymore. And after that I was at peace. I felt love. His love. I was calm in the frozen water, and when my father pulled me free and I was rushed to the hospital, I didn’t worry, because I knew even if I did die, I’d be taken care of.” He grinned, swiveling his head from one of us toward the other.
“It’s a great story,” I said, trying to busy myself in the kitchen.
“Sure is. You ever thought of writing it down?” Dad said. He had more patience than I did.
Elliot nodded. “I have, many times. I think it would be inspirational for so many who are lost and struggling.”
“You know, Andy’s a writer,” Dad said. I froze. “He’s got about a half dozen books published.”
“That’s right!” Elliot exclaimed. “Sorry to say I haven’t read them. If I recall, they’re of the thriller and mystery genres, aren’t they?”
“Yep,” Dad said, and I turned to pin him to the wall with my gaze. His eyes twinkled back.
“Yes, I don’t partake in any questionable media,” Elliot said, looking at me.
“Well, even so,” Dad went on. “Maybe he could give you a few tips on writing your story down and publishing it.”
I’m shocked I didn’t burst into flames.
“Could you really?” Elliot asked.
“Umm,” I rasped, then cleared my throat. “I’m pretty tied up at the moment.”
“Oh, I bet it wouldn’t take that long,” Dad chimed in. Elliot looked at me hopefully, eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“Yeah, sure,” I finally said.
“Fantastic!” Elliot actually clapped his hands. “You never know what blessings the Lord will bring you. Let’s set up a time for me to stop by and we can discuss it further. Tomorrow I’m busy with the church luncheon, but the next day—”
“Sure. By the way, to what do we owe your visit?” I said, cutting him off.
“Oh, I brought some foodstuffs down for Mr. Drake.” When I just blinked at him, he continued. “Father Mathew said he and you spoke about food service for your father?”
The bastard.
“Yeah, great, thank you.”
“So do you really think you could get my memoir published? I mean, that would be amazing, and I really think my story has such inspirational messages and themes. Do you have an editor, or could you put me directly in touch with your agent?”
“You know, it’s Dad’s birthday, so we were going to head uptown in a few,” I said, ushering the usher toward the front door. “I really appreciate you stopping by and dropping off the food. I’ll call Father Mathew and thank him personally.”