Deep Shadows (45 page)

Max had to step closer to hear her next words.

“That's not the real question, Max.”

“What is?”

“The real question is, how can I trust you?”

“You doubt me because of something I did when I was little more than a child.”

She ignored that and whispered, “You're asking me to put our lives in your hands.”

“Maybe, but trust isn't what you're struggling with.” Max had carried the guilt of his transgressions for too many years. Suddenly he was tired of it, tired of wanting something that he plainly could not have. “You're struggling with forgiveness. I'm beginning to doubt you will ever be able to forgive me for something I did when I was an eighteen-year-old kid.”

Next Max did something that surprised even him. He turned and walked away, leaving Shelby to battle her own monsters, leaving her in the twilight dusk of a church garden.

S
EVENTY
-F
OUR

S
helby and Bianca sat in the backyard. Shelby's eyes felt as if she'd rubbed sand into them.

Bianca had listened patiently as she'd poured out her heart. Now Bianca stood and paced back and forth in front of her mother's row of rosebushes. Stopping in front of Shelby, she crossed her arms.

“My
papá
probably isn't going to live through the summer.”

“Bianca, don't say—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “I've come to terms with this, and we both know it's true.”

She returned to the rickety old lawn chair next to Shelby. “My
mamá
knows that too. We've spoken about it. We've prayed and we've cried.
Papá
, he slips away a little more each day.”

Though her words were heavy with grief, she didn't cry. Perhaps she'd already shed all the tears she had. Perhaps, like Shelby, she felt numb.

“I'm telling you this”—she reached forward and claimed Shelby's hand in hers—“I'm telling you this because you are my best friend. The mistake you're making…”

Shelby attempted to pull her hand away, but Bianca refused to let go. Instead, she held it firmly in both of hers. “The mistake you're making is to think you'll have another chance. It's the worst kind of arrogance—to assume you'll have another day, another chance, another choice to make further down the road.”

Shelby could only shake her head, any arguments lodged firmly in her throat.

“
Mamá
and I, we're grieving. Believe me, we are. But we're also grateful that we are able to spend
Papá
's final days by his side. We're not counting on tomorrow, Shelby. Not on this earth. Our only real guarantee is in our salvation. In the promise that we'll be together again.”

“So what are you telling me to do?” The words scratched at Shelby's throat and caused her eyes to burn even more.

“I'm not telling you what to do,
mi hermana
.” Bianca released her hand, reached up, and touched her face. “I'm only reminding you that everything can change—in an instant.”

“I know that.”

“So forgive him while you can.”

“But—”

“And remember, you may not get another chance.”

Three hours later, Shelby knocked on Patrick's door.

Patrick didn't look too surprised to see her. “Come on in.”

“Thanks. Actually, I needed to talk to Max.”

“I figured as much. He's sitting on the back patio.”

Patrick walked her through the small upstairs apartment to the sliding glass doors. A gas lantern sat on the dining room table, which was only big enough for two. Across the table someone had spread a county map. The lantern cast its glow across the room, lending very little light to the patio, where Max was sitting, staring out at nothing. From what Shelby could see, the patio was decorated bachelor-style—two lawn chairs with an overturned crate between them.

“I'll just go inside and watch some TV,” Patrick joked.

Max didn't say anything.

Shelby couldn't make out his expression in the near darkness, but maybe that was better. This would be easier if she couldn't see him. His answer would be yes or no, and she didn't need or want the emotional baggage that went with either. She was too tired to make light conversation, so she plunged straight into the reason she was there.

“You were right about my needing to forgive. I'm sorry, Max. That isn't fair to you. The past needs to stay in the past. I'll try to do better.” When he
didn't answer, she pushed on. “Obviously our living at Bianca's isn't going to work as a long-term solution. I talked to Pastor Tony, and our other options aren't any better. There are members in our church who have a single room they will lend us indefinitely. While I appreciate their kindness, that doesn't seem like a good option either.”

Instead of answering, Max leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and waited.

“Carter's not doing well. His moods have been up and down since the flare, but at least when there was work and Kaitlyn I saw some light in his eyes. Now he just lies on the couch, barely eats, shuffles through his chores.”

“Carter will bounce back.”

“I think so. I pray so.” She paused, forcing back the tears that threatened to consume her. Why did she feel so vulnerable when she had to accept kindness from someone else? Why couldn't she just be grateful? “What I'm saying is, if you'll still have us, and if you believe there's room at your parents' place—”

Max was on his feet before she could finish, drawing her into his arms and practically crushing her with his embrace. She pulled back, needing to say the rest, needing to say it all.

“A change of place, it will be good for Carter,” he assured her.

She pulled away from him and stood with a small amount of space between them, yet it felt bigger than the West Texas prairie. “Your parents have always been like family to both me and Carter, but we don't want to be a burden. I've talked it over with him—as much as he will talk, which is mostly nodding and staring at the ground—and we're willing to work around the place and help in any way we can to earn our room and board.”

Max backed up to the patio railing, and Shelby wondered if maybe he could see her in the light from the dining room. For some reason she felt exposed, as if he might be able to discern what she wasn't telling him. She walked to his side, and stared out at the live oak trees that shaded the apartment.

“There's more,” she said.

“All right.”

“There's something that I… that I have to do. After we get Carter settled.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, she pressed on. “Promise me that you won't try to talk me out of it, and no, I'm not ready to share the details. That's my only condition, Max.”

She turned toward him, her arms crossed around her middle, hugging herself tightly—trying to keep from touching his face, from walking back into his embrace, from begging him to take them to High Fields.

He didn't ask any questions. Didn't admonish her about foolish plans and dangers and their uncertain future. Instead he pulled her hand free, entwined his fingers with hers, and said, “We'll leave at six sharp.”

When she walked back into the apartment, she hugged Patrick tightly and whispered, “Please take care of Bianca.”

“Of course I will.”

“And watch your back. Keep an eye on Bhatti. I know he doesn't seem like the devious type, but something about the man bothers me. You know he buried something in the backyard?”

“I do, and I'll get to the bottom of it.”

Max insisted on accompanying her back to Bianca's parents' home. They didn't talk, didn't plan out the next day, didn't discuss the dangers. Whatever happened would happen, and all they could do was pray for God's protection and his wisdom. Twice he stumbled over something on the sidewalk. He was exhausted, that much was certain.

After Bianca opened the front door, he squeezed Shelby's hand and said, “See you in the morning.”

She thought she wouldn't sleep, but she did—more soundly than she had since the explosion. She'd set the alarm on the old sports watch that Carter had given her, but she woke fifteen minutes before it was set to go off. Silencing the alarm, she folded her blanket, straightened the pillows on the couch, and stacked their belongings by the door. It was a pitifully small pile.

By the time Max arrived, she'd had her first cup of coffee. She sat in the kitchen with Bianca while Rosa attempted to feed Miguel a little oatmeal. Carter got up the first time she called him—another sign that things weren't quite normal.

If anything, Max looked more haggard than he had the night before. When she asked him about it, he waved her off, promising, “I'll be fine.” Not I
am
fine, but I
will be
fine. Twice she noticed he turned his back to
the morning sun, as if afraid it might burn him. He was acting odd. His Stetson was pulled so low that it tilted over his forehead. Something was off, but there was no time to quiz him about it.

After hugging Rosa and saying her goodbyes to Miguel, the four of them—Bianca, Carter, Max, and herself—carried their pillowcases stuffed with items, the plastic container of writing supplies, and the three bins of valuables out to Max's truck. She was surprised to see that nothing was in the bed. Everything Max had packed was stuffed into the backseat, and he piled their goods on top of it. She only let go of the backpack when he insisted, “You can't wear it, and there won't be room up front with the three of us sitting there.”

Carter allowed Bianca to hug him, and then he climbed into the truck. He sat near the window, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The sun wasn't up yet, but the sky had begun to lighten. Pinks and purples spread across the sky suggesting this was any other normal day, but it wasn't. This was the day they were starting their life over.

“
Vaya con Dios
,” Bianca whispered in her ear.

Shelby hugged her tightly. “I'll be praying for you and your parents.”

Max pulled out a map and traced their path with his index finger. “We'll take the state highway north through Townsen Mills, past both of these farm roads, and turn here—across from the cemetery.”

“That's the long way.”

“Yes, but the roads are better. I don't want to get caught on either of these roads.” He retraced back toward Townsen Mills. “They're not paved, and it would be a perfect place for someone to stage an ambush.”

“Why are you showing me this? You're driving.”

Max closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay? Is there a problem? Maybe we should wait—”

“We're doing this today. Now. I wanted you to know, is all.”

Then he motioned for her to climb into the truck. She sat squeezed between Max and Carter, and they drove out of Abney.

S
EVENTY
-F
IVE

T
hey hit the first snag leaving town.

They left Bianca's home, drove down Main Street, and were approaching the outskirts of town when Max spied several large diesel trucks parked across the road. To the left, and the right, and the left again. They made a sort of obstacle course. Max could navigate between them only if he drove slowly, and if someone removed the roadblock constructed of lumber and orange warning signs positioned in the middle.

He turned off the ignition to his own truck, murmured, “Wait here,” and stepped out to talk to the folks manning the barricade.

“Could be an expensive place to park your vehicle,” he said.

“Can't afford to drive them anymore,” Josh Hunter explained, walking up and shaking his hand.

Max had handled a small misdemeanor matter for Josh several years ago, and the boy had cleaned up nicely. Now he was on patrol for the mayor—not bad for a kid who could have ended up in juvie for calling in a fake bomb threat when he was in middle school.