Numbly, she waited for the grim-faced judge to charge her brother and set the trial dates. Grady had gotten lucky; this wasn't the judge who had released Walachek early. But now after much discussion between the lawyers, the judge agreed to a private conference in his chambers.
Grumbling swept the gathering as Keely watched her father accompany Grady and their lawyer along with the district attorney through another doorway. Burke and Rodd followed too.
Keely felt the eyes of everyone boring into her, and she could almost hear their thoughts: The fix must be in....Turner pulled some legal trick.... Do you think he bought off the judge? Her stomach clenched.
A few minutes later, the bailiff came to her. "Ms. Turner, the judge wants you to come in too."
"No, please ...I . . ."
The man gestured her toward the door. "Don't keep the judge waiting, miss."
Rising, she went to the door and knocked. Hearing permission to enter, she walked in. All faces turned to her.
"Thank you for coming in, Ms. Turner," the judge said and indicated a chair for her. "I want you to hear what I'm going to say to your father and brother, since as a family member, this will affect you too."
She sat down on a maroon leather chair, not making eye contact with her father. She nodded to the judge.
"These charges are serious—," the judge began.
Her father tried to interrupt, but his lawyer laid a hand on his shoulder. Her father subsided.
"I don't want to go through a long court battle. I don't want to drag the Turner name through the mud. But something has to be done. Franklin, your son is a danger to this community and to himself."
Again, her father tried to speak.
The judge held up his hand. "Don't interrupt. Your family and mine have been in this county forever, so we both know that I'm trying to do what is best for everyone. We can go ahead and prosecute Grady and send him to a correctional facility. I don't want to do that. Though fire setting can be a seductive addiction, I'm hoping that he can be rehabilitated. Now, Franklin, do you want to get your son the help he needs, or do you want him incarcerated in a youth facility? He's still a minor, thank heavens, or I'd have very little latitude here. What do you say?"
Their family lawyer spoke up. "What are you proposing?"
"Grady needs more than just counseling. He needs to be committed to a private hospital that can meet his needs and better serve the needs of this community. Franklin, if you will send Grady to one of the facilities that the DA has in mind, I will give Grady a suspended sentence—on one condition."
Tingling with surprise, Keely couldn't believe her ears.
"What's the condition?" her father asked in a voice that was nearly a croak.
"That he not be released until the DA and I are shown proof that he is no longer likely to offend again. We refuse to hush this up here and send him off to do the same elsewhere."
"And if I refuse?" her father asked, his face red.
"Then I will keep him in custody until trial. No bail. The community has made it quite clear that they don't want an arsonist on the loose. Popular opinion doesn't usually sway me, but in this case I agree. If your son goes to trial—given his admission of guilt—he will most likely be convicted and sentenced to a juvenile facility."
"I need time." Her father's complexion had whitened.
"You have until tomorrow."
Keely wondered why she had been included in this. What would her father decide? Would he fight it or accept it? Knowing him, fighting would be more likely. The meeting ended Not wanting to have to deal with her father and his lawyer, she headed swiftly to the door.
After leaving the judge's chambers, the family lawyer had detained Keely's father on the steps of the courthouse. That had given Keely the chance to drive off to the rear of the Black Bear Cafe. She sneaked in the back way and slid into a booth. If she went home or to the school, her father, who had been motioning for her to wait, would catch up with her. I can't face all this—any of this.
The waitress came back with a pot of coffee and poured a cup for Keely. The scents of cinnamon rolls and buttered toast and bacon woke her stomach. Realizing that she hadn't eaten anything since lunch the day before, she ordered a late breakfast.
Then from her purse she slipped out the Christmas card that she'd received this morning. Opening it, she studied it. The snowy New England scene on its front took her back to her days at college. She read the note from her friend on the inside again and then slid it back into its envelope. Maybe she should take advantage of her friend's offer. Holding her cup in her chilled hands, she closed her eyes.
"Ms. Turner, can I talk to you?"
Keely's eyes flew open. Walachek. No. She sat up straighter and started to slide out of the booth.
"Please." He held up a hand. "I need help with Carrie."
"You'll have to speak to social services about that."Keely stood up.
"I did. I have. Lots of times and I've done everything. Help me. Please."
She paused. The conversations around her had ebbed. Everyone had obviously noted Walachek approaching her. She'd come in the back way and had wanted to leave the same way, barely noticed. That, however, was not to be."Okay," she gave in and sat down, not wanting to make a scene.
He sat down across from her. "I've done all the stuff I was supposed to. I went straight through anger management counseling. I started AA and I did that community service. But Carrie still won't speak to me. What do I do?"
"Mr. Walachek, I don't know what to tell you." Why does everyone turn to me? I couldn't even help my brother. "Abuse has consequences."
The man looked like he might cry. "I let everything fall apart after my wife died. I didn't drink too much until she got sick. Then I just couldn't leave it alone. The trailer was empty without her. How do I get Carrie to talk to me?"
Keely pushed aside her coffee cup. "Have you talked to her aunt?"
He nodded. "But she says she doesn't know how to get through to my girl either. My sister-in-law accepted my apology for what happened back in August." He shook his head. "She said that she hoped the Family Closet program would help Carrie, but . . ."
But now it's crippled until we can get the insurance money and decide what to do about a new facility. Carrie wasn't the only one who needed the Family Closet. Children were going without winter coats this year. Keely's head ached. She pressed a hand to her forehead.
Burke walked through the front door of the cafe.
Keely panicked. She couldn't face him. She slid to the edge of the bench. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Walachek. I don't know what to tell you." Keely found it exhausting just forcing out each word. "Carrie has to see the need to change before she can make a change. We can want it for her, but she has to want it first. I wish I could do more."
Dismal, dismal advice. How had she thought that opening a thrift shop could turn lives like Carrie's around? The girl was headed for disaster and even Carrie's own father could see it. And he was helpless to stop it. So am I.
The waitress was talking to Burke and looking back toward Keely's booth. Burke turned and headed her way.
Lord, please, can't everyone just leave me alone? I need time to think. I can't think. Keely considered making a run for the back door but gave up the idea. She'd been ducking Burke's calls all week. She'd have to face him here and now.
"Walachek?" The one word was a clear challenge. Burke stood beside the booth. He said no more, simply stared at the man, waiting for an explanation.
Walachek stood up, palms open. "I was just asking her for help with my daughter. I wasn't making any trouble." The man looked to Keely.
"That's right," she agreed. "And I'm afraid I was unable to help him. Good luck, Mr. Walachek."
"Will you ...would you ...talk to my daughter?" the man asked.
"I have talked to her, Mr. Walachek, several times. She hasn't listened to me either." Keely gave him what she hoped was a sympathetic look. The man walked out the back door and Burke took his place across from her in the booth.
"Do you think your father will do what the judge proposed?" Burke asked without preamble.
Keely grappled with her flattened emotions. She shrugged. "I have no idea what my father will do."
"You look like you haven't been sleeping well."
The concern in his voice didn't ease her. It made her tighten up. "I'm fine," she lied.
The waitress brought her breakfast. But Keely had lost her appetite. She took a sip of coffee, stalling.
"I've been concerned about you. I want to help you get through this."
She stared at him. How could she explain how drained, how lifeless she felt?
"Things should settle down now."
His words came to her as though from a long way off. What's he saying? That everything will be fine now that her brother was found to be the guilty party? That everything's okay now that the Weavers are getting Rachel for good?
"I'll be quiet and let you start eating." Burke gestured toward her untouched plate.
She looked down at the pancakes and bacon. She thought of the Christmas card again. "I'm not hungry now."
Burke moved forward, his hand reaching across the tabletop.
She moved her hand out of his reach. If she let him touch her, she'd break into fragments and blow away.
"Keely, you need a break. I'm worried about you. Won't you let me help you through this?"
Tears filled her eyes. "I can't talk about it now." She slid out of the booth. "Stay and eat my breakfast. I'll call you."She rushed out the back door. She'd left her car in the alley, so she slipped inside and headed away. Burke stepped outside, but she drove by him.
Lord, I don't feel like me. What's going to happen now?
On the next Sunday morning already deep into mid-December, Burke sat between Nick and Harlan in a rear pew of Steadfast Community Church. The pews were crowded as though people had come for comfort, solace after an autumn of fires, runaway gossip, and just plain shock.
But the service which concerned the prophet Elijah had been a blur to Burke, just as the days after Grady's arraignment had been. Keely hadn't shown up in court the next day. The arrangements for a suspended sentence and Grady's transfer to a private institution had been carried out.
Grady's complete shock over this turn of events had demonstrated just how disconnected the kid had been from reality. Grady had kept demanding that his father "fix this."But Franklin Turner had sat stolid and silent, unable to"fix" anything.
Over the intervening days, Burke had kept picturing Keely in the cafe booth and hearing her say, "I'll call you." But she hadn't called him. And she hadn't come to church this morning. He ached to see her, talk to her, touch her. Lord, am I going to lose her, too? The thought wrenched him.
"I usually don't do this." A change in Bruce Weaver's voice broke into Burke's introspection. "But I want to address what has just happened in our community."
A wary hush fell over the congregation. Burke looked up.
The young sandy-haired minister stepped away from the pulpit. "We all know that Grady Turner admitted responsibility for the fires at the school and the thrift shop."
Instantly, Burke's mind took him back to that night when he'd knelt on the cold asphalt parking lot while Grady had alternately cursed, screamed in pain, and confessed. That memory would never leave him.
"We don't know what drove this young man to do this."
From that night, Burke knew more about what had driven Grady than most. In the ER, Keely's parents hadn't even asked about their son's physical condition. They weren't concerned about anybody but themselves, how what he'd done affected their standing,
their
convenience and ends.
"But we can all be grateful that no one was seriously injured. Only Grady was burned by the fires he set." Bruce paused. In the first row sitting on Penny's lap, little Rachel clapped her hands, playing patty cake.
Bruce smiled. "We all know that, thank God, now Grady will be getting the help he needs. In a situation like this it's easy to pass judgment. But none of us has lived a sinless life. We need to remember Grady in our prayers. And examine our own lives. Are we doing right? Have we set fires of unkindness, disobedience? fires of gossip?"Bruce stared into the congregation.
Next to Burke, Nick stirred restlessly. Since the night Veda's car had been destroyed and the coach had let Nick play ball, his nephew had been subdued. Grady had gone the length with his anger. What would Nick do? Was this really over or should Burke prepare himself for round two with Nick? Lord, help me.
Then Bruce lifted his black leather Bible off the pulpit and flipped to a bookmark. "I want to read to you what Paul had to say about God's love in Ephesians 3:14-19. It's what I wish for each of you, for all of Steadfast.
Bruce cleared his throat and began reading. '"When I think of the wisdom and scope of God's plan, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth. I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will give you mighty inner strength through his Holy Spirit. And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts as you trust in him.... May you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is so great you will never fully understand it. Then you will be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God.'"
The young pastor closed the Bible. "That's what I wish for all of you, all of Steadfast and LaFollette, as we go into another Christmas season. I want Christ to be more at home in your hearts. I want you to know God's love and to share it with others."
Beside Burke, Nick scrawled one word onto his church bulletin. Keeping his eyes forward, Nick slid it onto Burke's lap. It read: "Sorry."
Sorry. For the first time this autumn, Burke hadn't had to force the word from his nephew. A mighty tide of relief rolled through Burke, almost leaving him weak with gratitude. Thank you, Lord.