Deep Shadows (44 page)

Each person in attendance had other things they needed to be doing—jobs, emergency preparations, endless meetings. Everyone had somewhere else to be, except Carter. They stood with him, waited patiently, endured the heat, and joined the singing. A part of him realized that this was his family.

Another part felt as if he were watching the entire proceeding from a distance, as if this could not be his life.

The song mercifully ended, and Pastor Tony crouched in front of Kaitlyn's mother. Carter couldn't tell if he was talking to her or praying with her. Finally he stood and addressed the small group.

“In the second book of Kings we're told to pray for the remnant that survives.” He turned a few pages in his Bible, searching, and then he looked up, concern etched across his face. “In Jeremiah 42:2, we read these words: ‘Pray to the Lord your God for this entire remnant. For as you now see, though we were once many, now only a few are left.'”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face.

“Now only a few are left,” he repeated. “Are we the remnant of Christ? I can't answer that, but I can assure each person here that you remain—even during your agony and despair—under the provision and care of your heavenly Father.”

They prayed again, and Kaitlyn's body was lowered into the grave. At
least she was buried in a proper casket. A total of eighteen people had been killed during the blast, and the local funeral parlor had run out of coffins. Carter's mom had explained all of this to him the night before. He hadn't wanted to hear, didn't think he needed to know, but she had insisted.

And now he was glad she had. Otherwise he wouldn't have been prepared for the line of graves, for the groups of mourners, for the pastors who made their way from one service to another, pausing in between only long enough to drink some water.

The service ended, and each person took their turn approaching Kaitlyn's mother. Carter followed the line toward her, determined that he wouldn't cry. He'd wept enough in the last three days to last a lifetime. He'd wept himself dry, or so he thought.

Kaitlyn's mother reached for his hand, pulled him into her arms, and whispered, “Thank you, Carter. Thank you for caring about my Kaitlyn… for being there with her when I wasn't.”

He nodded, uncertain what to say.

Somehow it had weighed on his heart that she would blame him, that in fact it was his fault Kaitlyn was killed. If she hadn't been visiting him, she wouldn't have been near the blast.

He'd said as much to Patrick.

“I can assure you that she won't blame you,” said Patrick.

“I had just talked to Kaitlyn, before…”

“Hey, look at me.” Patrick had moved directly in front of him, waited until Carter met his gaze. “I spoke with her mother. She was delivering meals, Carter. She'd started volunteering earlier in the week. Kaitlyn was doing what her heart told her was important. She died doing it—and that's not a bad way to end this life and begin the next.”

Coming from his mom or Max, Carter would have argued. But Patrick was different. Patrick had seen death up close, had even killed people while he was deployed overseas. He'd once said, “It's important to protect our country. If I'd died doing it—that's not a bad way to end this life and begin the next.”

When he repeated those words standing next to Kaitlyn's grave, Carter knew that they came from deep within the man's heart. He understood that Patrick was not merely offering empty words of comfort. He was sharing his view of life—and death.

“Let's go,” Shelby murmured.

The cemetery was only a mile from their neighborhood. It seemed everything in Abney was only a mile apart. But their way out led past the other grave sites.

In his mind he could hear the hammering of nails as volunteers crafted additional caskets from the lumber at the hardware store. He hadn't been there, of course. He'd barely left Bianca's house since the explosion, choosing to lie in bed huddled under the covers. There had been some argument about the caskets—he'd heard Max speaking to his mom and Bianca when they thought he was asleep. Some said the lumber should be saved, that it would be needed for other things.

Grief won, and the caskets were built.

Patrick had said about half of the lumber remained, but already the city council was making plans in case of another accident. He'd heard the words
grave diggers
and
shrouds
, and then he'd turned to the wall and refused to listen.

But try as he might, he couldn't ignore the life he was living. They had no home, few possessions, and no family.

Carter didn't even have a job, as there was nothing left at the Market to sell. How would he spend his hours? What would he do every day? And where would they live? They couldn't possibly stay with Bianca and her parents forever. The small home had been crowded with three. With five people, they literally tripped over one another. Where would they go? The questions circled through his mind, one after another—none of which had answers.

S
EVENTY
-T
HREE

M
ax carried the last of his bags out to his truck. There wasn't that much aside from the supplies he had collected from his parents' list. The ranch was well-stocked, and his parents would have a lot of what they needed. His house had been damaged as badly as Shelby's, though at least it was still standing. He'd managed to salvage some clothes, but he'd left the remaining food and supplies there for Farhan.

“I'll lend him a hand,” Patrick had promised.

“I know you will. He said he enjoys using a hammer after a day of attending sick folks.”

“Bianca's not sure about him.”

“Neither is Shelby. They both have a suspicious streak.”

“As do I.”

“Something you learned in the military, no doubt.”

“No doubt.”

Max made sure a blanket covered the bags of clothing, which were set on the backseat floorboard. The windows were tinted, so it wasn't likely that anyone would be able to see what was inside. They drove over to Patrick's apartment, he locked the doors, and then he pocketed his keys—pausing to see if his possessions could be seen from outside the truck.

“If they want in, they'll just break the windows,” Patrick said.

“You're a fountain of comfort.”

“That's my job, man.” Patrick jammed a thumb in the direction of his apartment. “Want to grab a can of beans with me?”

“Actually…”

“Let me guess. You're going to walk Shelby home.”

“My routines give me away.”

Patrick leaned against the old truck, a pronounced frown on his face.

Max moved next to his friend, mimicked his position, and studied the street. The day's funeral had taken a toll on everyone. He'd been surprised when Shelby insisted on going back to work, but he shouldn't have been. She was a tough one, and she'd already taken off time to be with Carter. The boy seemed to want to be alone more than anything.

“Think you'll be able to talk her into going?” Patrick laughed and bumped his shoulder against Max's. “Don't look so surprised, Berkman. You're easier to read than a comic book.”

“Shelby talked to you about it?”

“Yes. She asked me what I thought about your offer the night of the explosion, when we were waiting at the curb with all of her things.”

“She did?”

“For what it's worth, I told her I thought it was a good idea.” He crossed his arms, his tone serious. “Carter's never had an easy life, or at least not a normal one. But now?”

“Things have been bad since the flare.”

“And we both know they're going to get worse.”

Max turned and studied Patrick. “What have you heard?”

“Chatter. Most of it meaningless.”

“But?”

Patrick didn't answer right away. When Max thought he wouldn't, he cleared his throat and said, “Something I learned in the military—worry about what the enemy is saying, but worry more about what they're
not
saying.”

“And in this case, the enemy is—”

“I don't even know, which makes it worse.”

Max considered that for a moment. “You won't come to High Fields?”

“And leave Bianca? No.”

“It's about time you tell her how you feel, bro.”

“Now? With her dad dying and her mom frantically trying to keep him alive?”

Perhaps he was right. Max wasn't sure anymore. He only knew that he needed to get home to his parents, and he wanted Shelby and Carter to be with him.

“Go to your woman. Walk her home. Maybe the twilight will render you more charming.”

Max thought about that as he walked toward Green Acres. He'd never been particularly charming, never even tried. He and Shelby had always been past that. They'd always known each other so well that any attempt to act in any way other than genuine had resulted in laughter and ribbing.

Sure, Max had suffered through the dating scene while he lived in Austin. He knew how to clean himself up, listen attentively, and say the right things. He knew how and when to bring flowers. But with Shelby? There had never been a need to impress her. She knew him down to the marrow, so he had no choice but to be himself.

She was coming out of the front door of the nursing home when he rounded the corner. Waving to acknowledge she'd seen him, she made her way across the front of the building and down the sidewalk.

“I'm going to miss this curbside service when you're gone.” When he didn't respond, she asked, “All packed?”

“Yeah. I'll leave first thing tomorrow.”

“I hope you find your parents are fine, Max.”

“No doubt about it. They're tough and have probably lived through worse.”

“Do you think so?” They turned left onto Fourth, in the opposite direction of their homes and toward Bianca's. “I vacillate between believing our parents and grandparents have seen worse times and thinking no generation in the history of America has dealt with these challenges.”

They walked in silence the length of the next block, and then Shelby said, “Tell your mom and pop hello for me, and that I'm praying for them.”

“Why don't you come tell them yourself?”

Shelby began shaking her head before he even presented his newest argument.

“Listen to me, Shelby.”

They'd reached the Baptist church. For as long as Max could remember, there had been a garden to the south of the main sanctuary and benches situated along the walk. Flowers were quickly being replaced with vegetables, but the peacefulness of the place prevailed. He pulled her toward one of the benches. Instead of resisting, she sank onto it, leaned back, and tilted her face up to the sky. Though it wasn't yet completely dark, stars
were beginning to appear and a slight breeze had picked up. Max could almost pretend it was a normal evening in June.

“Now isn't the time for your stubbornness,” he said. He resisted the urge to rub at his temple, but the pressure there was increasing. It was a good thing he wasn't leaving until morning. Maybe this would pass. “I want you to seriously consider going with me, because… because this may be the last chance I have to take you there.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She still didn't look at him. Instead she seemed intent on studying the stars, as if she could find answers there.

“It means that once I get to High Fields, I don't know when I'll be back. I won't be able to check on you—”

“I'm a grown woman.”

“I realize that. Don't you know that I fully realize that?” He stood and began pacing, fighting to banish the panic from his voice and pushing away the thought that time was running out. He turned to her and said the words that had been heavy on his heart for twenty years. “I am sorry you feel that I abandoned you—”

“You said you would come back!” When she finally looked at him, he saw tears in her eyes. “ ‘Three months, Shelby… and then we'll shed this town and find our place in the world.' ”

“And I meant it, but—”

“Stop! Just stop.”

There was no anger behind her words, only a deep tiredness. Max felt it as surely as he felt the pounding in his head.

“Shelby, I would do anything to go back twenty-six years.”

“But you can't. And now we're different people—that's what you don't want to accept.”

“We're the same people, it's only that we've travelled different paths. Do you regret the past so much? I know your marriage to Alex was terrible, but do you wish it hadn't happened? Would you do things differently?”

“You're asking me if I'd forgo having Carter, and of course the answer is no.” Shelby ducked her head, her mass of black curls obscuring her expression.