A Promise to Remember (20 page)

The staff dispersed, and Melanie soon lost herself in her
work. Some aspects mirrored her last position exactly, but in the
details she found differences and had to remain alert. Yet she
found she could never completely concentrate, and as the morning drew on, Melanie finally realized why. She always had the
feeling that someone was watching her-someone unfriendly. Nothing happened though, and she chided herself for being
paranoid.

Even so, she'd never been happier for a lunch break in all
her life. It'd be nice to have some time to regroup. She went
to her locker and worked the combination of the built-in lock.
She pulled open the door but quickly drew back her hand. A
dead rat lay on top of her lunch sack.

Andie awoke, groggy and confused. Something seemed wrong,
but she couldn't remember what it was. She sat up in the kingsized bed and stretched. Blair's side was empty. In fact, it didn't
look like he'd slept in it at all.

She tried standing but immediately felt wobbly and had to
sit back down on the bed. Something happened last night.
What was it?

A vague feeling of discomfort grew into a pressing, suffocating pain, but its source seemed out of her reach just yet. Once
again, she pushed to her feet. This time, she managed to walk
through the room, but grasped the doorframe for balance when
she reached it.

Something about Chad. Something was wrong with Chad.
But how could that be?

Chad was dead.

Then a fuzzy picture of Kyle Ledger standing in her driveway
seeped into her memory. Kyle had been here last night. He
brought bad news. What was it?

The envelope.

When memory broke on her, Andie rushed down the stairs,
although her disoriented state made it difficult. She had to
stay in a slightly bent posture trying to keep the dizziness from
taking her. "Blair. Blair!"

He was nowhere to be found. She searched the entire house,
then sank down onto the couch as the room swayed around
her.

The memories flooded back with increasing clarity. She remembered how thankful she'd been to still have a few of the
tranquilizers that Dr. Cutcliffe had prescribed just after Chad's
death. Last night's sleep of oblivion made today's grogginess
more than worth it.

She looked at the clock. Ten o'clock. No wonder she couldn't
find Blair-he'd been at work for hours by now. She lay on the
couch and allowed herself to fall back into a woozy sleep.

The brown waters of Lake Cachuntia flawed before her. "Get it
back, Mom, get it back!"

"Getwhat back, Chad?"

She waded into the water; toward her son's voice. She saw him
bobbing in the water, struggling to stay afloat. He disappeared
below the sui face, but this time he didn't come back up. "Chad!
Chad! Where are you?"

Loud sirens drowned out the sound of her screams. They rang
and rang and rang. Her feet began to rise out of the water. She
could hear a phone ringing somewhere in the distance.

The phone.

She shook herself awake and rushed to pick it up. Maybe
Blair was calling to check on her.

"Mrs. Phelps? This is Neil Parker. Is Blair there?"

She sank into a barstool, her fuzzy mind beginning to clear
with the panic. "Isn't he at work?"

"He hasn't come in yet. We thought maybe he was still at
home."

Blair never went into work late. "Have you tried his cell
phone

"He's not answering." Neil paused and cleared his throat.
"Mrs. Phelps?"

Yes."

"If you should see him, will you remind him we have that
meeting with the people from Vitasoft this afternoon?"

"Of course."

Andie hung up the phone with an entirely new sense of dread
creeping up her spine.

Jake Sterling turned his chopper onto Interstate 5 as the day's
first light cut through the morning fog. A long drive stretched
out before him. He was thankful for the time to collect his
thoughts.

God, I'm in over my head here. You called me to work with
teenage boys, Father, and I've done that. Now you've brought this
woman into my life, and I feel like you're telling me I'm supposed
to help her. But I can't. God, you know I'm not able to help her.

Jake accelerated and enjoyed the feel of the wind on his
face. It felt like freedom. Freedom from the responsibilities of
running his own business, from shepherding a group of young
boys, from trying to avoid his past.

He shouted over the roaring wind. "That's not true. I don't
hide my past. I'm very open with the boys about my time in
prison and my lapse into sin."

Yes, but there's more to the stop; isn't there? The part of the story
you're afraid Melanie Johnston will force you to confront.

Jake didn't like where his thoughts were going. And they
were just that. His own thoughts. It was not God talking to him.
Couldn't be. He saw an exit up ahead. Maybe coffee would
help.

He parked his bike in front of the convenience store and
walked in. A teenage boy stood behind the counter of the otherwise empty store. His face was thick with acne, his hair short
and spiked, and he wore a black shirt advertising a death-metal
band in script made to look like bones.

"Dude, that is a totally sick bike."

Jake wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Thanks." He poured
coffee into the largest cup they had.

"Looks custom."

Jake walked to the counter with his cup. "It is. I built it."

The kid dropped three swear words-the first two in disbelief
and the last in admiration.

The boy's reaction was crude but honest and enthusiastic,
and Jake couldn't help smiling. "I have a shop in Santa Barbara.
Been doing customs for almost ten years now."

"How'd you get started? I'm stuck here behind the counter
of Loserworld right here in the middle of Nothingland. I wish
I had my own bike shop."

"Then work hard and save your money. Learn about the business. And don't forget the most important part of starting your
own company."

"What's that? Advertising?"

"Prayer. Spend hours and hours down on your knees, asking
God if that's really what He wants you to do. He'll answer."

The kid's jaw dropped. He looked out the window as if confirming the rider of that awesome motorcycle could really be
the same man talking about God.

Jake smiled and picked up the Styrofoam cup. It was a common reaction. "Have a nice day. Remember. Prayer."

He walked out the door, laughing under his breath. Three
long swallows finished off the coffee, and he tossed the cup in
the trash before he climbed onto his bike. As he kicked down
the starter, he looked back through the window and saw the kid, still baffled, mouthing something that Jake guessed he was
better off not hearing.

Four hours later, he arrived at his destination. He drove his
chopper slowly past the entrance to Folsom Prison, pulled to
the side of the road, and killed the engine.

The gray walls, dotted with towers, still looked the same.
Even from this distance, Jake felt the jolt of memories. He'd
wasted no, not wasted, spent-two years of his life behind
those bars. And those two years had turned his life around. He
found God through Prison Fellowship ministries. It made him
the man he was today. A man with meaning, purpose-and
regrets.

He kick-started the engine and drove on. Forty minutes later,
he drove past the place where his first apartment had been. The
old building had been torn down, and the new building now
housed a dress shop and a Starbucks on the ground floor, and
what looked like fancy condominiums on the upper ten or so
floors. Even his old apartment had moved on to a better life.

The next two stops were going to be the hardest. He saw a
McDonald's at the next intersection and decided he could use
some extra time to prepare for what lay ahead.

Although it was past his usual lunchtime, he sat picking at
his fries without a hint of hunger. He did not want to face the
memories, but he needed to deal with them. They were a big
part of the reason he didn't want to help Melanie Johnston, and
yet he knew he had to.

Finally, he put the half-eaten burger and barely touched fries
into the trash. He needed to get on with it.

First, he stopped outside the small home that had belonged
to his ex-wife. He remembered the restraining order that had
forbidden his presence here, the screaming, the anger. She
had ridden into the sunset on another man's bike years ago. Funny, that didn't really bother him anymore. The rest of the
story did.

The biggest regret of his life remained here. Not only was
she gone, but his kids were gone with her.

A crushing weight pushed against his chest. He couldn't
stay here and wallow in this pain. He needed to move on. Yet
he couldn't.

God, I know you've forgiven ume my past sins, but why doesn't
it feel like it? Why can't I forgive myself? Please keep Kara and
Jenna safe, wherever they are now Let them learn about You and
know how much you love them. I know they'll never understand
how much I love them, so you'll have to be the one they feel it
from, for both of its, okay?

His vision blurred. He blinked hard and started the engine.
One last stop to make.

The old house still looked much the same as it did the last
time he was here. It appeared freshly painted, but surprisingly
in the same ugly shade of bright green it had been some fifteen
years ago.

The regrets from this house were not as apparent, but were
in some ways more powerful than the others. The loss of his
children burned like the scald of hot grease or searing exhaust,
but that occurred before he knew the Lord. In this house, he
deliberately and knowingly sinned. It had, of course, led to
another, then another, almost pulling him into the same pit he
had started out in. All it took to drag him down was a pretty
face who wanted him. Which led to the first, second, and third
snort of cocaine, the raging temper, the same life he thought
he'd left behind.

Only the help of a strong Christian mentor who refused to give
up-even when Jake screamed, "Get out of my life"-saved him
from the depths. It was in this house that Jake had learned that
there was no room for sin indulgence, no matter how small.

There was no gray area, only black and white. He knew that
now and closely followed it with all the strength he possessed.
That was another reason Melanie Johnston bothered him.

Something about her drew him to her in a way he hadn't felt
in years. He couldn't afford to accommodate that feeling in any
way. Yet why couldn't he get her out of his mind?

He pulled the digital camera out of his pocket and snapped
several photos of the house. They would serve as a reminder of
what taking one wrong step could lead to. He would not make
the same mistake twice.

Andie paced while she watched the evening lights disappear into
the darkness of night. When Blair's car appeared in the driveway,
she opened the door that led to the garage and waited. Her
agitation barely allowed him to park his car and open the door
before the questions burst forth. "Where have you been?"