“I know, dear. I know. And I will be all excitement when the day arrives.” She handed him a tub of low-fat margarine to put in the fridge.
Her eyes were anxious. Ev wanted to erase the worry that had taken over in the past weeks.
“Of course she would pick this time. Everything happens at once so that we’re forced into depending on the Lord even more than usual. Has it ever been any different?”
“At least we’ve learned to recognize it, Annie.”
“And make our battle plan, Mr. Ev.” She gave him a wink, but the worry lines remained on her forehead.
“We’re going to have to tell her. Tell them both, Annie.”
“I know. I know. You think we’ll lose her too?”
“Possibly. I can honestly say that I cannot predict how she will react.”
“That’s very comforting indeed, boyfriend.” She gave a sardonic smile. “So remind me again, how are we going to handle this?”
“Just like every other time. On our knees.”
________
Hunker down and hide. And pray that you don’t get caught.
This was Ted’s mantra for every second of every day after Black Monday.
Don’t let me get caught.
And the good news, no, the great news, was that so far it seemed to be working! Those speculative stocks were inching back up. Heck, one was shooting skywards.
Well, hallelujah!
He ran his hands through his hair and grinned. Maybe he was going to get away with it! Ten days after Black Monday, no one had said a word to him. And just one week after creating that phony account, his year-to-date commissions were at 803,000 dollars.
Good job, Ted. Still a ways to go, but things are looking up again.
He thought of the way Lin Su’s face had lit up when she talked about throwing a neighborhood Halloween party. A party in Buckhead was no small gesture. After all, the kids on Valley and Tuxedo lived in mansions, big enough to turn into extravagantly decorated haunted houses. He’d heard the stories of past parties—complete with rented ponies, magicians, and parents dressed as ghosts, who hid in different rooms as the children paraded through in search of tricks and treats.
Lin Su loved planning fancy parties. He preferred that she get wrapped up in the details of entertaining, even if it did cost a small fortune, so that she wouldn’t ask too many questions about his work or notice the strain he was trying so hard to hide. He’d get the money back before she knew it was gone.
And believe me, I’m concentrating on it every waking hour.
It was only when he got ready for bed that night, after LeeAnne was snuggled under her pink blanket and Sammy was tucked into his Batman pajamas, that he noticed that darn novel sitting on his nightstand. Stuck, were they? Well, he’d read a few more chapters and find out what happened. Surely, if it was that good of a book, it would have a happy ending. He certainly hoped so.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 29
Lissa Randall was once again talking with the little girl, bending down to her level in an animated discussion. When she came over to Ole Bessie, she was smiling.
“That Amber is the cutest kid! She’ll have read every book in the library by the end of the third grade at the rate she’s going.”
Ev chuckled. He’d bet Lissa had been just like her.
“What do you read, Mr. MacAllister? What are you reading right now?”
“Well, I have a few old faithfuls—the Bible’s my daily bread. I’ve been toying with a few of Michener’s sagas. Nothing in Latin, though.” He smiled at her.
“Oh, I’m only reading Latin for my tutoring sessions. Which, by the way, are going very well. I expect at least one of the girls to make it to the finals.”
Ev marveled at the confidence in her voice. A different Lissa.
“I usually check out a novel or two from the library each week. I’m reading one now that’s really good.
Eastern Crossings
by S. A. Green. Have you heard of it?”
Ev thought about his office and its stuffed shelves.
Eastern Crossings
sat on one of those shelves. “Sure. Yes. That little novel was written quite a few years ago.”
“I know. But it’s so pertinent for today—at least to me. Anyway, a friend of mine suggested I read it. It’s kept me up late two nights in a row.”
He nodded. “One of the great pleasures of life is losing oneself in a good book.”
“I agree.”
Ev pulled Ole Bessie out on the road. “Today’s the day, Lissa. You’re going on the highway.”
“Really? That’s perfect. Today I feel ready.” Then, her countenance changing, she asked, “If I do okay today, and if I pass my test, does that mean I won’t have any more lessons?”
She suddenly sounded like a scared little girl again, unsure and anxious.
Ev patted Ole Bessie’s upholstery with a grin. “Lissa Randall, I never make a limit on the number of lessons. Some kids want only one. Others hang around for quite some time.”
“How long?”
He smiled. “I’ve never kicked out a student yet, Lissa. You are welcome to keep coming for as long as you wish.”
“As long as I pay,” she added with a grin.
“That, my child, you will have to take up with Annie.”
At the Military Park, Lissa moved to the driver’s seat.
“First we’ll do a loop or two around here,” Ev said. “Then we’ll head out on Highway 2 toward I-75. We’ll get on the interstate at the Battlefield Parkway exit. It’s usually a calm stretch of the highway.” He watched the young woman for traces of fear and worry, but all he saw was a pretty teen in blue jeans, long brown hair cascading past her shoulders and a playful glint in her dark brown eyes.
________
Driving Ole Bessie along Highway 2 felt natural, easy. Lissa wanted to open her mouth and shout
I’m back! I’m back!
She picked up speed gradually on the entry ramp without Mr. MacAllister saying a word.
He was right—there were very few cars on the highway. They were probably all stuck in rush hour traffic back in Chattanooga.
This must be a good sign.
Traveling south on I-75, Lissa felt relaxed and calm.
Mr. MacAllister said nothing as she approached the site of the accident. She drove under the bridge, barely glancing across the median to where she had sat with her mother while the hail turned to sunshine.
She continued down the interstate for at least five more minutes before Mr. MacAllister said, “Good job, Lissa. Okay, are you ready to turn around and go back north?”
What he means is am I ready to face the past.
“I’m ready.”
She got off at the next exit and drove across the bridge, then down the ramp and back onto I-75, traveling north. At five o’clock the day was waning, the sun making its way behind the mountains. Lissa looked down at her hands, loosely holding the wheel.
So far, so good.
But only a few moments later, as the bridge came into view, she felt a slight tightness in her chest and watched her knuckles turn white in a death-hold grip on the steering wheel. Next came the shortness of breath and then the overwhelming fear.
A thin layer of sweat broke out on her upper lip and forehead. She shook her head to make the image of a sliding car go away. It did, replaced by the memory of the pavement, the hail, the graffiti on the bridge. The bridge!
She felt Ole Bessie skidding before she even realized what was happening. The landscape changed, and she saw the median coming closer. She vaguely heard someone speak. She was aware of a hand grabbing the steering wheel, of the sudden screech of brakes, the blur of trees in the distance, of Ole Bessie puttering to a stop in the emergency lane.
There was not another car in sight. Had Mr. MacAllister arranged it, called some highway officer and told them to block off the road so that Lissa Randall could panic without killing them both and whoever else might get in the way?
She felt the hard thumping of her heart and tried to pry open her fists, but they appeared to be glued to the wheel. Her breath came in short gasps, muted by the comforting voice of Mr. MacAllister.
“It’s okay, Lissa. It’s okay. We’re okay. Just sit here a minute.”
When she glanced over at him—she did not know how much time had passed—he had his eyes closed, as if in prayer. Her mother had prayed when they had come to a stop in the emergency lane. Did people resort to prayer when death threatened?
Her next emotion was anger, a horrible, accusing anger.
Your fault! All your fault!
When she was finally able to speak, her words came out in a stifled whisper. “I was so sure I was over it! I’ve been riding, Mr. MacAllister! Riding and jumping. Jumping fences is a lot more dangerous than driving on the highway!” To her embarrassment, she started to cry.
“Lissa, slide over. I’ll drive.”
Momma had said that too.
Scoot over, sweetie, and I’ll come around.
She stared at him, terrified. “No, Mr. MacAllister. Don’t ask me to do that. Please don’t ask me. I can’t.”
“Lissa, I know what happened back then, but this is a different day.
You
are different. You are on your way to healing. Slide over. Trust me.”
“I don’t trust you! I don’t trust anyone. Anyone!”
“So that’s it, then,” he said softly. “Go ahead, Lissa. Get it all out.”
“Why did she insist on driving? I could have done it! She was always trying to protect me, to make things easier! She was always sacrificing herself for me!” She could barely get the words out in between the sobs. “Only this time, this time …”
Mr. MacAllister placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to be all right, Lissa. I promise. You are.” Then he climbed out of Ole Bessie and came around the front of the car.
Lissa could not watch. Instead, she slid to the passenger’s seat, eyes on her lap. She heard the driver’s door open and then close as Mr. MacAllister took his place behind the steering wheel.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
Lissa threw her arms around his neck and wept.
He drove her back to Fort Oglethorpe and stopped at an ice cream shop. Her eyes felt so puffy that she begged to stay in the car. She had no desire to eat, but she let him buy her a scoop of chocolate chip anyway. He chose orange sherbet for himself, coming back to Ole Bessie with a cone in each hand. A brisk October wind swept through the car when he opened the door, and Lissa thought they must look silly, shivering in the car while they licked their cones.
“Why do you care so much about your students?”
“I believe that each person is put on earth to do his part, to help others. I believe that God allows us to go through hurt and pain and tragedy so that we can be there to offer comfort to others after us who go through similar circumstances.”
He took another bite of his cone and chewed slowly, thoughtfully.
“A long time ago I had a little sister, a wonderful kid sister, almost fifteen years younger than I. Tate was so full of potential—beautiful and smart as a whip and the kindest person in the world. But her world drove her down the wrong path. She was just too fragile.”
Lissa licked her ice cream, concentrating on the chocolate bits embedded in the white cream. She felt afraid to hear the rest of this story.
“Annie and I grew up in a different world, Lissa—a world of intellectuals and parties and the pursuit of knowledge and wealth. We were on what they call the fast track. Tate was on that fast track too, as a young teen, but that track was killing her. I saw it, but I wasn’t in any condition to be able to help.” He cleared his throat.
If she could have forced the words out of her mouth, Lissa would have said,
You don’t have to tell me this.
“Tate wanted desperately to escape from her world. It was smothering her creativity, her passion for life, her gutsy, adventuring soul. But she was stuck. In a desperate cry for help, she tried to take her life, without success. Then a year later, she was in a fatal car wreck. They called it an accident. Her car hit a tree when she was driving home from another party. Alone.”
With that confession Lissa understood his passion.
“She was seventeen, depressed, and drunk. I think she purposely ran into that tree driving fifty miles per hour. She’d given up. That was 1952, long before there were any laws about alcohol and driving and seat belts. Killed on impact.”
He stared off into the distance, and she noticed the loose skin and wrinkles on his face.
“We were close. Real close. When she died, I was sure that the best part of me died too. It took me a long time to get over it, and when I did, I decided I was going to do something to keep other lives from being wasted.” He cleared his throat again. “Tate didn’t get a chance to reach her potential… . And you remind me of Tate.”
________
They sat on the front porch, Lissa in a wicker chair, Ev on the swing, drawing their coats close, and watched the sun’s descent behind the mountain, its orange glow seeming to set the leaves on fire. Lissa was in no hurry to go home, and for some reason Ev felt comforted to have her there. It was as if he were getting another chance with Tate, to watch her move past the fears, the pain and horror.
“You said you’ve been riding again.”
“Yes. Riding, even jumping. I could feel myself coming back. I don’t know how to explain it, Mr. MacAllister. It was this fleeting feeling, but deep. Really deep. It was hope.” She stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, staring out toward Lookout Mountain. “I shouldn’t have let myself feel that way. I mean, for the last months I’ve just made myself not get my hopes up too much so that I wouldn’t be disappointed.” She glanced at him. “You know—thinking that things will get better. That kind of hope.”
“You need to find a hope that doesn’t disappoint.”
“As if that exists.”
It does, Lissa
, he wanted to say. But he kept his mouth shut.
She leaned on the wooden railing, facing him. “Did you know I was going to freak out again, Mr. MacAllister? Did you expect that to happen?”
“No. No, I would never have taken you on the highway if I thought you would ‘freak out.’ ”
“Did it scare you? Did you think we would die?”
He searched his mind for the right words. “Lissa, I’m not invincible. Sometimes I get a bit nervous. But years and years of doing this have taught me not to panic. Ole Bessie and I can usually manage to get things under control.” He cleared his throat. “I told you I wouldn’t let you fail.”