The Reason Page 10

  Brooke tapped on the side of her coffee cup. “Me and Carla do nails. We work over at Clippers in the mall.”

  Shirley sipped at her coffee, and the steam left a thin film of fog on her glasses as she looked at Macey. “You look so young to be a doctor.”

  “I’m thirty-four,” Macey said, “but I hear that quite a bit. Brooke thought I looked too young to be a nurse.”

  “That’s not much older than we are,” Carla said in admiration.

  “I’m just glad I’m out of school and into my job,” Macey added. “I love my job. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.”

  “That’s like me. I really do like doing nails,” Carla said, “but you won’t see me pulling up here in a new Mercedes.”

  “Yeah, well, it’ll be a long while before I can afford one of those either. Med school loans are my constant companion for a while.”

  “Med school loans and dealing with dying kids?” Carla said, shuddering. “No thank you. I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Honey, let’s not talk about kids with cancer,” Shirley declared. “If we’re all ready, maybe we should head back down to join the men. . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Carla said apologetically. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “That’s okay,” Macey said.

  Kaitlyn reached her hand out to Carla like a queen presenting it to be kissed. “What could you do with this nurse’s nails, Carla?”

  Dr. Lewis winked, thanking her nurse friend for changing the conversation, and then said, “Maybe we should head on down. They probably think we ditched them.”

  “Mom,” Alex said.

  All eyes moved to him and Macey’s heart dropped. Nosebleeds. Just one of the many signs of leukemia.

  JIM WISHED HE COULD BE OF MORE HELP.

  He was standing next to Charlie, about ten feet from the cross, patiently listening to the men and the sounds of their shovels as they stabbed at the ground. All he had really done so far was listen in as Kenneth instructed Dr. Norman and Charlie.

  It had been dry and windy since the big storm, and apparently the muck the cross had fallen into had hardened, leaving it stuck in the ground. As he understood things, it sounded like Kenneth and Dr. Norman had managed to get a makeshift noose under the very tip of what was once the top half of the cross. As soon as they could get their shovels under at least some of the wood that had become embedded in the soil to lift it, Kenneth would say something to him and he would have Charlie, who was hanging on to the other end of the rope, pull as hard as he could to drag it out of the way. It sounded like a good plan, and regardless if it worked or not, he was thankful for his new friends and their effort.

  “This ground is hard as a rock,” Dr. Norman said. “And I still don’t see how we are going to get these halves of the cross to stay together, once we get it upright.”

  This clearly wasn’t the doctor’s cup of tea, but God bless him for being here. Perhaps some words of encouragement would be one way he could assist. “I’d like to offer something, if you don’t mind,” Jim said. “From the book of Mark.”

  “Go for it,” Kenneth said.

  Jim raised his right hand. “‘For the earth yields crops by itself: first the blade, then the head, after that the full grain in the head.’”

  “Good timing,” Kenneth said. “Chapter four, verse twenty-eight.”

  “Man, you are sharp on the Scriptures,” Jim said. “How long have you been a man of God?”

  “Forever,” the carpenter answered. “What does that verse from Mark mean to you, James?”

  Jim wondered why Kenneth kept calling him James. He sort of liked it, and as he thought about his answer, he could smell Tic Tacs in Charlie’s hand.

  “I was taught that it asks us to focus on God’s harvest and to enjoy the journey toward reaching our goals as much as finally reaching the goal itself. To me, it means to enjoy every moment of your life and to be thankful, because each second that you live is a gift from God.”

  “I like that interpretation, James.”

  “Thank you, Kenneth. It’s nice to know the Scripture can make—”

  “Ow!” someone cried, followed by what could only have been the sound of a shovel falling to the ground. “Man that hurt!”

  “What happened?” Jim asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Dr. Norman said, not sounding like it.

  “Let me have a look at that hand,” Kenneth said, followed by the sound of another shovel falling to the ground and a few footsteps.

  “I’ll live,” Dr. Norman said.

  “But you’re bleeding,” Kenneth said.

  “It’s okay,” Dr. Norman insisted. “I’m the doctor here, sir.”

  “That you are,” Kenneth said. “But you should still probably run over to the house and get that cleaned up.”

  “We have a first-aid box in the kitchen,” Jim said. “How did you hurt yourself, Dr. Norman?”

  “I tried jamming my shovel down,” the doctor said. “And the only thing that moved was my palm down the wooden handle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jim said. “Got yourself a splinter, eh?”

  “Pretty good sized,” Dr. Norman said. “I am going to run over to the house real quick. Looks like the gals are still there.”

  “And two of them a doctor and nurse,” Kenneth said, a smile in his voice. “I wager a man could find all the medical care he needs in the Lindy home today.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Dr. Norman said.

  It became quiet without Dr. Norman around. Jim hoped that the man’s hand wasn’t hurt too badly; he needed those hands to make his living. I trust you, Lord, to see to his healing.

  “Tell me when you want Charlie to pull,” Jim said. “He’s pretty strong. You know he could beat me at arm wrestling when he was eleven?”

  “I’m sure he could,” Kenneth said.

  “Just say when,” Jim said, turning his head to Charlie. “I know he wants to help too.”

  “Let’s hang on a second here,” Kenneth said. “I think we’re going to try something different.”

  “Whatever you think is best,” Jim said. The sound of the front door closing at the house echoed up the hill toward them. There were a few footsteps and someone took his arm.

  “Ready to get this done, James?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This shouldn’t take long now.”

  “Really?” Jim asked, loving the young man’s confidence. From what Shirley had described, he couldn’t imagine this taking less than all day. “What do you want me and Charlie to do now?”

  “You and Charlie may want to step back a little.”

  “Why is that?” Jim asked, feeling someone take him by the elbow.

  “This way,” Kenneth said, guiding him and Charlie back from the cross. “You guys ready?”

  “Ready for what?” Jim asked. “What should we do?”

  Kenneth didn’t answer. Charlie was breathing faster.

  From directly in front of them, Jim heard what sounded like small pieces of wood cracking, as if a large animal were walking across fallen branches in the distance on a quiet night in the woods.

  Charlie gasped and put both his arms around him at the same time the noise stopped.

  Jim sensed that Charlie was trying to protect him from something. “It’s okay, son. It’s okay.”

  “You guys all right over there?” Kenneth yelled.

  “What was that noise?” Jim asked.

  “Hang on!” Kenneth yelled. “James, why don’t you and Charlie cover your ears? This will be done a little quicker than most expected.”

  “Do like this, Charlie,” Jim said, holding a hand over each ear, showing his son what to do.

  But Charlie wouldn’t let go of him until he took Charlie’s hands and put them over his ears for him.

  The noise grew louder.

  Jim could hear the stress of bending wood. It sounded like someone was pulling on or trying to break a thick limb off
of a tree. “What is that?” he yelled, hanging on to Charlie.

  Charlie grunted and then shrieked in terror at the first snap. Jim instinctively ducked and covered his head as if something were about to fall on them.

  Snap! Crack! Snap! The wood seemed to cry out as the carpenter stretched, split, broke, and . . . What is that sound?

  Charlie picked Jim up by the armpits and swiftly carried him back at least another thirty feet.

  “Charlie!” he cried, alarmed at the panic in his child. “What is it, son? What are you doing?” Charlie trembled and breathed rapidly, almost in a pant. He knew Charlie was terrified, and there was no doubt in his mind that his son was desperately trying to shield him from something.

  “What’s going on?” he yelled. “Is Kenneth hurt?”

  Charlie’s grip burned into his arm as the final ear-piercing snap ripped through the air, followed by a quick series of muffled sounds that Jim couldn’t identify. There is a row of wooden cars, and someone is gently opening and closing their wooden doors—it is definitely wood joining wood. It almost sounds like someone is doing a huge jigsaw puzzle made of soft wooden pieces. There was no more cracking, bending, pulling, snapping, or breaking.

  Charlie was still shaking as silence enveloped them. Footsteps approached.

  “Kenneth?” Jim asked. “What on earth was that?”

  “That was your cross being repaired, James,” Kenneth said.

  “Repaired?” Jim sputtered. “It’s done?”

  “Good as new,” Kenneth said.

  Jim blinked, wishing, more than ever, that he could see. Even a little bit, Lord.

  “Is Charlie okay?” he asked, still feeling the sting of Charlie’s grip and the distinct smell of what he thought was urine.

  “Something frightened him,” Kenneth said calmly. “He had a little accident. But he’s going to be fine. You both are.”

  “Oh,” Jim said, realizing that Charlie had wet himself. What in the world . . . ? An accident? His son hadn’t had an accident in thirty-four years. Numbly, he reached out a hand, found Charlie’s shoulder, and patted it. “It’s okay, son. It’s okay.”

  KAITLYN WAS WRAPPING ZACH’S HAND WITH THE GAUZE that Shirley had retrieved from the hallway bathroom. “You’re lucky this isn’t worse, Zach.”

  “I didn’t plan on it,” he said with a flirty smile. “But maybe I would have, had I known it’d get you to hold my hand again.”

  “What’s the prognosis on the cross, Doctor?” Shirley asked.

  “I don’t like to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t see us finishing today,” Zach said. “With only a handful of tools and four cans of varnish—I don’t know—even with all the tools in the world, I just don’t see it. That lightning really did a number on it.”

  Shirley sipped at her coffee as a half-dozen lines stretched across her forehead. “It’s okay. James knew it was bad. We are still extremely thankful that you’d even try to help.”

  Macey leaned against the table. “Shirley, I’ll make sure the cross gets replaced. Nobody deserves it more than you guys.”

  “Oh, honey, thank you, but that’s not your responsibility. What with those med school loans you mentioned—”

  “Please. It’d be an honor to help,” Macey said, imagining for a second that the two ceramic angels on the counter were looking at her. She noticed the unusual silence fill the room. It wasn’t that uncomfortable silence, but a good silence.

  Zach broke it. “I’ll split the cost with you, Macey.”

  “We’ll go thirds,” Kaitlyn said.

  Brooke stood up and hugged Shirley. “You know I don’t have much, but what I have is for the cross.”

  “Me too,” Carla said.

  Zach seemingly saw his chance to floor the women, primarily Kaitlyn. “Ladies, forget it. I’m paying for the whole thing, and that’s all there is to it.” Macey could almost hear him wondering if it was tax-deductible as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  “Well, let’s go see if we can salvage it before we start scouring the Internet for crosses,” Macey said. “Everybody ready?”

  “I think so,” Shirley said, standing up and taking her cup to the kitchen sink. “Oh my word!”

  “What is it?” Brooke asked.

  “Thank you, but your kind offer won’t be necessary!” Shirley said, leaning closer to the window. “Come look at it, Dr. Norman. It’s beautiful!”

  Kaitlyn reached her first and looked out the window. She glanced back at Zach. “Nice try, Zach.”

  “Nice try with what?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us the job was done?”

  “What?”

  Brooke and Carla were now looking out the small window too. “Looks pretty good to me,” Brooke said.

  Zach joined the others as they stared at the cross up on the hill. His mouth gaped, and he slowly parted the women and craned his head forward, his face only an inch from the glass. He swallowed audibly. “It’s impossible.”

  “Right,” Kaitlyn whispered as the rest of them quickly headed toward the front door.

  “But . . . but . . . it’s impossible!” Zach repeated, staggering back from the window before joining Macey at the door.

  THE CARPENTER WAS PUTTING EQUIPMENT BACK INTO the truck when they all walked up. Charlie was sitting in the back of the truck with his legs hanging over the tailgate. He had a newspaper draped over his lap.

  Pastor Jim hugged Shirley, and she kissed his cheek. “How does it look?” he asked excitedly.

  “Magnificent,” Shirley said. “It looks brand-new.”

  “Praise God,” Pastor Jim said. “It must not have been as bad as I thought.”

  Kenneth took him by the arm. “Let’s just let that last coat of finish dry, and it should be all set.”

  “Last coat?” Zach asked. “You didn’t have time to put one coat on it.”

  “Tricks of the trade,” Kenneth said.

  Macey noticed that Zach couldn’t take his eyes off the cross. “It—it’s perfect!” he yelled. “You could not have possibly—”

  “Yes, it is, Dr. Norman,” Kenneth said, joining them.

  Macey looked at Zach again, then up at the cross. As Shirley said, it was magnificent—standing high and shining in the sun as the wet lacquer provided the perfect finish.

  “It’s unreal,” Brooke said.

  Carla stepped forward and proudly said, “I had a feeling he would fix it.”

  “It’s impossible what they did!” Zach muttered, almost complaining. He rambled halfway up the hill and stopped. He had a look on his face that Macey had never seen before. He looked crazy.

  Brooke pointed at Charlie, who was walking toward the house. “Where’s he going?”

  Kenneth shrugged and then smiled. “His dad mentioned that we were all going to get burgers and fries when we were done. I think he’s going to change.”

  “Let’s get a close-up of the cross,” Shirley said excitedly.

  “Take me with you,” Pastor Jim said.

  “You guys did a great job, Kenneth,” Macey said, her elbows up on the side of the truck, gazing up the hill in a bit of disbelief herself. They really fixed it.

  “Thanks,” Kenneth said, closing the tailgate on the truck, rattling the tools and the cans of lacquer as tiny flakes of rust from the bed fluttered to the ground.

  Macey looked back up at the cross. It really was impeccable. She glanced over at Zach. The look on his face practically scared her. Zach could be obnoxious, but he wasn’t crazy. The scent of lacquer drifted down the hill toward them, testifying to a fresh application. She looked back in the truck bed again—at the cans of finish.

  She could hear Brooke, Carla, Shirley, Kaitlyn, and Pastor Jim celebrate as they walked up the hill to closely examine the risen cross, but she couldn’t move.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the seals on the cans—all four of them.

  “Only believe, Macey Lewis,” Kenneth said, throwing a tarp over the tools and cans of finish.
“Remember?”

  THIRTEEN

  All three TVs in the bar half of The Pilot Inn featured the four-and-one Detroit Lions leading the Green Bay Packers seventeen to seven in the third quarter. The Lions’ unusually good start to the season had made Sundays at The Pilot a weekly party, and thousands of southeastern Michiganders were uttering three words that had never made sense in the same sentence before: Super, Bowl, and Lions.

  “I don’t ever remember it being so busy in here,” Carla said, not sure if she spoke loud enough to be heard.

  “Football is bad for my ears but good for my wallet,” Kathy said, leaving the bar to lead them into the diner. “It makes up for the slow days.” They walked through swinging doors and into a lighter, brighter rectangle of a room, devoid of TVs. Five of the booths were occupied, folks enjoying their lunch. The diner portion of The Pilot did a decent business, but not nearly what the bar did.

  “I guess so,” Carla said, watching the buxom, five-foot-ten, 195-pound woman effortlessly slide one table toward another so they could all sit in the center of the room, between the booths. Carla swore Kathy was part bull, and Carla had seen the friendly hostess/waitress/bartender turn into a bouncer several times when someone misbehaved at The Pilot, even knocking a man out cold with a single punch when he tried to skip out on his bill.

  “Everybody watch their fingers,” Kathy said, pushing together the last two tables and then pulling out an order pad. “Sorry about making you the center of attention,” she said. “This is the best I can do with so many of you.”

  “This is perfect,” Carla assured her, looking back at the swinging doors that led to the bar and wishing for a little rum and Coke.

  “I want chicken strips,” Alex said.

  “We’ve got those, little man,” Kathy answered. “And as you all know, we also have the best burgers in the state.”

  Brooke was giving her order when she handed Charlie a handful of quarters. Carla figured the big guy must have spotted the video games and remembered how much fun he had the last time he was here. Charlie stood and left the table with Alex at his heels.