The card belonged to an insurance agent. Flipping it over, Delroy found a phone number scrawled across the back in childlike writing.
“Can’t guarantee that phone number, boy,” George said, “what with all them lines an’ such bein’ down an’ tore up as they is. But if it works an’ you need me, give it a call. Girl who minds that phone for me, she’ll know where I’ll be.”
Delroy slid the card into his shirt pocket. “I appreciate that.”
George nodded. “An’ if you find yourself to town an’ you want some company for a spell, ‘cause maybe they ain’t none to be had that you was countin’ on, mosey on over to Mabel’s. Ever’body in town knows where her place is at, so you ain’t gotta worry none about directions. You find me there most days about noon. You catch me there, I’ll set you to dinner. Mabel’s done went an’ passed on to her reward, but she up an’ left most of her recipes to her granddaughter Essie, who runs the place now. Ribs, red beans, corn bread, an’ peach cobbler with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. Guarantee it to hold you over till suppertime.”
The offer of a meal and fellowship touched Delroy in ways he hadn’t expected. Living so much of his life on bases and on ships around the world had conditioned him to a hurry-up world of schedules and meetings. Such an invitation reminded him of all he’d left behind when he’d taken his first berth.
“I’ll do that,” Delroy promised.
The old man reached onto the seat beside him and hauled out a pair of gardener’s gloves. “Reckon your hands ain’t seen the workin’ end of a shovel in a spell. These here’ll help.”
Delroy caught the gloves when they were thrown to him. “Thanks.”
George waited for a moment more, but he sensed there was nothing left to say and no way to change Delroy’s mind. The old man offered his hand through the window.
Delroy took it.
“God keep you in His sight tonight, boy,” George said.
“And you,” Delroy said, but the reply felt forced.
Lightning strobed the sky again, illuminating the area briefly, seeming to dim even the pickup’s headlights with its passing.
“An’ He’s gonna have to look hard for both of us ‘cause it’s shore near as dark as I’ve ever seen.” George didn’t immediately release Delroy’s hand. The old man held on a moment longer and spoke in a lower, fiercer voice. “Whatever you got to do out here in this place, boy, you keep Jesus close to you, you hear? You keep Him in your heart, way you was taught in Sunday school.”
The admonishment shocked Delroy a little and made him feel even more uncomfortable. The warning touched the fear that he strove to keep locked up tight. For a moment, he considered tossing the shovel back into the pickup and riding on into Marbury with the old man.
But Delroy’s doubts assailed him. No. I came out here to see. To find out if I misplaced my faith all these years. God, forgive me. I have to know. Delroy pulled his hand back. “I will. I’ll see you in town the next day or so.”
“I can tell your missus that you’re here.”
“No.” There was no hesitation about that. Glenda deserved better than to hear about his presence from someone else. Besides that, if things went badly in the cemetery, he knew he probably wouldn’t even go into town. There also remained the possibility that she wasn’t there, that she had gone on with the others who had disappeared. “I’ll tell her myself. Got some fence-mending to do.”
“Take care of yourself, boy. Stay dry an’ warm.” George gave a small wave, then backed up. The truck’s tires sluiced through small puddles created by the rain. The transmission ground again; then the engine revved and George pulled onto the highway. The tires whickered with the rain as they gained speed on the asphalt.
Holding the shovel upright in the crook of his arm, Delroy turned up his slicker’s collar. He hated the cold and wet, but he knew the rain would make the ground easier to dig.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 2149 Hours
“Oh, God,” Megan cried as she stared in horror at the girl lying in the pool of blood spreading across the light-colored berber carpet.
As that frozen moment released, the sound of the second shot invaded Leslie Hollister’s bedroom. The crack of the rifle came flat and horrible.
Megan turned toward the window and faced the sudden onslaught of bright light that blasted through the sea green, sheer curtains. “Don’t shoot!” She held her arms up. “Don’t shoot! She didn’t hurt me! You shouldn’t have shot her! You shouldn’t have shot her! There was no reason!”
Shapes raced in front of the harsh spotlight. A girl’s scream ripped through the night.
Ignoring everything taking place outside the window, horrified at what had happened to Leslie, Megan turned to the girl. As a counselor, she’d taken several first-aid classes, including what to do for gunshot victims. But she’d never seen a gunshot wound up close and personal until tonight.
Stop the blood. That’s the first thing. Megan dropped to her knees beside Leslie.
The girl still breathed.
Thank You, God, Megan prayed. Please stay with us. Please help us. The suddenness with which Leslie had decided to shoot herself still staggered Megan. She’d watched the girl turn the pistol on herself and hadn’t believed she would pull the trigger.
Frantic, trying desperately to stay calm, Megan knelt and pulled the girl’s shirt up to expose her midsection. Blood ran everywhere. The hole looked big enough for Megan to put her fist into. For a moment she thought she was going to
