in his voice and made her wait and wonder, the way Sarah was waiting and wondering.
“I’ve got my license.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’ve been five hours on the road—well, okay, six, no, wait, seven, because I got lost a couple of times trying to find Jolly Mill—and I didn’t stop. I thought I’d run out of gas before I could find your place.” She giggled nervously. “You people sure like to keep to yourselves, don’t you? You got a bathroom? I really have to—”
“Does Sarah even know where you are?” He was tempted to keep stalling. Sweet and genuine as she seemed, the kid could use some discipline.
“Um, yes?”
“You don’t sound so sure of that.” He reached for the button to raise the door but didn’t push it. “You’re trying to tell me she sent you driving across the state all by yourself? I would never have believed the Sarah Russell I knew would be so irresponsible.” He silently apologized to Sarah.
“Um, well, no, she didn’t. But she knows where I am now, anyway. I’m sure she does, because I sent her an email.” There was a soft moan.
Nick grinned, relenting at last, though Dad was still gone and it was totally against the unwritten rules of preacher-kid conduct for a teenager to visit a single, grown, male nonfamily member alone in a house.
He pushed the button that started the garage door’s slow and noisy ascent. Light from the garage revealed bare legs to the knees—though the temperature certainly didn’t warrant shorts this late at this time of year—and bare arms. He could practically see goose bumps from twenty feet away.
Then her shoulders and head came into view. Long, dark brown hair; deep, familiar brown eyes; the slight curves of a girl younger than sixteen. Those curves were covered demurely enough. She had the wide, uncertain gaze of a teenager who knew she was probably in trouble and was having second and third thoughts about acting out. She was the image of her older sister, Shelby—would be the image of Sarah at that age, as well, of course, if Sarah had kept her natural hair color and wiped the glop from her face.
He sucked in his breath as memories accosted him—fuzzy memories of a party and of Shelby Russell and once again a haunting at the back of his mind over Emma’s birth nine months later, despite being assured she belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Russell. He’d seen pictures of her and wondered, but Shelby had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Had that night even happened? Maybe Sarah could clear things up.
“You wanted to talk to me, remember?” Emma rushed into the garage, hugging herself and doing the girly dance of urgency. “You said so in your last post.” She sounded like Shelby, too, and her voice held that breathless, excited quality that Shelby had used when she was cheerleader their sophomore and junior years.
“I said I wanted to talk to you and Sarah. Big difference. You should have waited until she could come with you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming when you called?”
She continued to dance and hug herself, the dainty lines of her face making it clear she was struggling with guilt and agony. “I’m sorry. If I’d told you, you wouldn’t have let me come. And I know Sarah wouldn’t have come. She always has some excuse to stay home. A-always better to do the deed and then apologize later than to ask for permission first and then disobey, r-right?” She was trying to sound so blasé, and failing so prettily.
He suppressed a grin. “Really? I always heard that was the coward’s way out. You couldn’t have learned that from the Sarah Russell I knew.”
“From a cousin in Sikeston. You got a jacket or something? You didn’t tell me you lived on the North Pole.” She was still trying to brave it out, though he could read her emotions from the quick blinking and sniffing, the wobbling of her dimpled chin.
“I live on the same latitude as you, so you should have known better.” He grabbed his sweatshirt and tossed it to her, then glanced out the door. Every resident along Capps Creek would know about this visit before breakfast in the morning, not that any of their neighbors would think ill of him—not that he even cared for his own sake. He did care about Dad, however. As good and kind as most folks were in this town, at least one sin dwelt in abundance in this place: gossip.
“B-bathroom?”
He nodded toward the door to the house. “Down the hall and to the left.”
She crashed through the door before he finished talking. “Thank you!”
He stood where he was for a moment, amazed, charmed, far too curious and somehow, beyond all else, comforted, and he didn’t even know why. Time to share some of that comfort with someone who needed it more than he did. He picked up the receiver and dialed Sarah’s number.
* * *
Sarah’s eyelids pulled downward as if ten-pound barbells weighted them. She forced them open for at least the fiftieth time and was jerking the car back onto the road when her cell rang. It awakened her only slightly. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw a wall of semitrucks coming from behind. Her foot had slid off the accelerator and she had slowed to fifty miles per hour.
Must take this call. She slapped her right cheek hard enough to water her eyes, sped up, grabbed the cell and answered. She checked the screen for a fraction of a second and allowed herself a rush of elation when she saw it was Nick. “Please tell me she’s there.”
“She’s here.”
She gasped instinctively, and her emotions rolled on a current of remembered thrill at the deep tone of comfort in his voice.
“You sound awfully tired.”
Without warning, the moisture in her eyes turned into a cascade, and Sarah felt her face contort. As in Sikeston, she could barely see the road, and this four-lane was a lot busier. “I had some coffee, but that’s not cutting it.” She steered the car onto an exit ramp as trucks rumbled past. “Thank You, God,” she whispered, unable to contain the sobs.
“Hey, Sarah, honey, it’s going to be okay.” He used the endearment as if without thought, but it was exactly what she needed at the moment.
It gave her time to compose herself and manage traffic. She stopped at a signal, realized it was green, turned left and followed the road toward the outer edge of Springfield. “I’ve been so scared. If anything happened to her I’d just...” She would want to die. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Sorry.” She took some quick gulps of air to regain control. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t called, Nick. Thank you. I can never repay you, and I’m so sorry to be causing all this trouble, and—”
“You aren’t the one causing trouble, Sarah. You’re the one trying to manage everything on your own. Why don’t we start worrying about you now? Where are you?”
The flow of his words wrapped around her like a blanket held in front of a fireplace. “I just pulled off the interstate in Springfield. I don’t know why I didn’t just stay on Highway 60, but—”
“Springfield’s a good place to stop.” His voice was so gentle she felt more easing of the ache that had been with her for hours. “Is there a hotel nearby?”
“No need for that.” She glanced around her at the signs, then caught a familiar
