Stardust Miracle (15 page)

“Stop off at the bar...” she added, eyeing the cookies.

“Have one.” He gestured at the plate. “I was waiting for you to choose first.”

Warmth bubbled up inside her. It was a small thing. But for a long time she’d missed the small things. She took one and he took the other. When she read her fortune, she groaned.

“It says ‘You live only once, but if you do it right, once is enough.’” She lifted her head. “I’m not even sure what that means.”

He laughed. “I bet it’s a quote from someone famous and dead. They lift it, then they don’t have to pay anyone when they use it. Mine is worse. ‘The more you are given, the more you should repay.’”

“That is awful. I could make up better fortunes. How about ‘You will be wealthy and happy beyond your wildest dreams’?”

“I’m already wealthy and happy beyond my wildest dreams.”

“Do you tell that to all the women you’re dating?”

One side of his mouth kicked up. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t admit that to you.”

“Here’s another one,” she said. “‘A cute black puppy will soon be with you.’”

He laughed. “Not me. No buyers yet?”

“No, and he’s a darling. If I didn’t have to find my own place soon, I’d snap him up in a second.”

He shook his head. “Puppies don’t suit my lifestyle.”

She nodded, even as she thought that neither did a wife. He seemed so...self-contained. A man who liked his job, liked himself, liked other people, liked life. But didn’t need anyone special to share it with.

Not that she was a great judge of people. She’d proved that. Even her own father...

“Hey.” He reached forward. Touched her hand.

Realizing she was frowning, she immediately put on a smile. From his corrugated forehead, he wasn’t buying it.

“You’ll find someone who wants the puppy,” he said.

“I’m sure he’ll find a good home.” She wasn’t sure of anything, but giving the impression she was moping about a puppy probably wasn’t the best way to get asked out again. And she very much liked to go out with Trey again. And even do a few other things with him.

She’d had sex with two men in her life. Not that numbers counted, but her body that had been running hot all night was saying ‘
This man.
I want
this man.
’

This was crazy but she wasn’t going to deny her feelings. She wasn’t going to lie to herself.

She felt like Peter Pumpkin’s wife, living in the pumpkin shell. Now she’d broken the shell and was out in a brand new and confusing world. 

She didn’t know how long she’d want Trey. If she’d want him later. Or tomorrow. Or next year.

Or if he’d want her.

For so long, she’d known every day what the next day would be. Now she knew nothing.

The thought was scary, and at the same time, exhilarating. Anything was possible.

He took a chug of the beer then set it down with a small thud of finality. “Ready to go?”

She stood. More than ready to leave.

He offered his hand and she took it.

Chapter Twenty-two

They reached the city limits when a loud boom sounded. Becky sucked in her breath and Trey, who was talking about buying cars for a movie set in the 1950s, stopped in the middle of a word.

“I don’t like that,” he said.

“Could be fireworks,” she said. “Kids goofing off.” But her voice wobbled and she clutched her hands on her lap. As if all night she’d been expecting something bad to happen and now it was beginning.

“Nope. I know that sound. More like a bad accident. Not too far up the road.”

Becky looked ahead. Traffic was still moving down the two-lane highway, so there wasn’t a traffic jam. Tomahawk’s population was under four thousand and their rush hour wasn’t like a big city’s.

A song came on the radio about a fun time tonight, a woman and a man sang. Kind of bluesy. It was perfect for their mood a moment ago.

But that mood had changed in a second. Becky felt tense now, her breaths shallow, though she told herself she was being silly. And Trey felt it, too. He turned down the radio and turned to the local station.

Even if there were an accident, it didn’t have anything to do with her. 

The speed limit changed, but instead of going faster as the sign indicated, the traffic ahead slowed. The brake lights of the cars in front of them glowed red in the dusky light.

To counter the heavy feeling inside Becky’s gut, she told herself to calm down, that it was just fireworks, no matter what Trey had said. After all, the simplest explanations were usually the right ones.

The slowdown could be from a deputy giving someone a ticket. That always made drivers step on the brakes, so they could see if they knew the person being ticketed. Or at least slow down because they were scared they’d be next.

The loud whine of a siren came from town and Becky’s breath stuck in her throat. Okay, not a speeding ticket. Someone could have hit a deer, but there had to be damage for an emergency vehicle to be on the way.

“Hope it’s not serious,” she said. Traffic still rolled forward slowly, though Becky knew whatever happened must be close. 

She leaned forward as much as the seatbelt allowed. Trey’s truck cab wasn’t as high as a semi’s, but high enough to see over the roofs of the cars in front of them. Ahead of them, less than a city block, Becky could see a gas station and a highway crossing.

“Looks like someone missed the stop sign,” Trey said.

Becky nodded. A van’s rear end was partially in the road, its front end was in a ditch. An SUV was stopped crookedly in the middle of the lane, as if it had plowed into the van.

A couple of cars had pulled over to the side. Becky spotted a man and a woman running toward the ditch. 

Trey’s truck inched along, moving closer. The sirens were louder, catching up to them. Becky knew a little CPR, but she thought the paramedics would make it there before they did.

They were six cars away from the highway crossing when the sheriff’s car caught up to them. Trey pulled his truck close to the right of the road to let the sheriff’s car pass them. Behind it was an ambulance. Sirens blared from both vehicles. Lights revolved and sent splashes of blue and red into the cab of Marsh’s truck.

Becky’s anxiety tripled. Someone was hurt. She could see the ditch more clearly, and in the light from the gas station, the streetlight and the headlights, she could see it wasn’t a van but a truck.

A yellow truck.

With black writing on the side.

Mangled. The driver’s side smashed. Crushed in.

Her breath shuddered.

Her heart stopped. 

Marsh’s truck was yellow with black writing.

The sirens blared now. Her heart thumped. She slowly turned to Trey. The dusky light sapped the color from his face and he looked like a still picture in black and white – the planes of his face sharp, a cord in his neck sticking out, his mouth a grim line.

He turned to her, and she saw in his ashen complexion and fixed gaze the same fear that twisted inside her. 

“Marsh,” she whispered. “It’s Marsh.”

She opened the door. Not thinking. Hardly aware of what she was doing. The horror taking over. Her mind screamed its abhorrence.
No! No! No! This can’t be. Marsh is on his way home. Sarah is waiting for him. This isn’t real. It can’t be happening.

She spilled out of the truck and stumbled two steps into the ditch before she caught her balance. Then she ran, not caring that she left the truck door hanging open. She just ran. A need driving her...to get to the wreck. To see Marsh. To do something to make him live.

“Wait!” Trey shouted, and she heard his door shut. But she kept running. Not waiting for him or for anyone.

Footsteps pounded on the ground behind her. She passed cars parked on the edge of the road, but they were a blur.

Trey caught up to her. She was aware of him at her side. Keeping pace with her. Not trying to stop her.

All her senses were jumped up. On alert. They passed the last car. Emergency people were already at Marsh’s truck. Firefighters ran from a fire truck. Someone grabbed her arm and yelled, “Stop!”

She twisted out of his hold.

“It’s her brother-in-law,” Trey yelled.

Someone else stepped in front of her. Big and bulky. Wearing a firefighter coat. Arms out. She barreled into him. Tried to knock him out of the way with speed and force.

He staggered back, but his arms came around her and held her to his protective jacket, the shiny material cold and hard on her face. As cold and hard as the ball of fear in her chest.

“You can’t go further,” he said in a deep, reverberating voice that sounded like God. “You have to let us take care of it.”

His arms were like bands around her back, and now that she’d stopped, her legs suddenly lost all strength. She kept herself upright by force of will. A hand splayed on the back of her shoulder, and she felt the warmth through her thin jacket.

Marsh
,
her mind said.
Marsh.

“I’ll take her,” Trey said.

She turned her head to look at him. She wanted to say that no one was going to take her. She could take care of herself. But her horror stopped the words.

This was happening. This was real.

A scream started in her mind. Her scream. Silent and awful.

The firefighter released her and she turned into Trey’s arms.

“We have to get out of the way,” he said.

She let him half-drag her to the side of the road. Tense voices behind her called out short sentences. The smell of gasoline was thick in the air. Thick and deadly.

Hanging onto Trey, she looked up at him. “Marsh is dead.”

“We don’t know for sure,” he said.

She turned her head toward the truck, her silent scream still there. Not loud but constant and chilling. The desperate need to reach the truck wasn’t pulsing inside her anymore but she had to see if there was a chance—

Her breath sucked in.

Above the trucks and the people, a white form rose into the air.

Sparkles surrounded it. Just like she’d seen in the church parking lot. She’d half convinced herself it had been a trick of the sunlight. But there was no sunlight here. There was no trick.

A moan came out of her mouth and at the same time the scream inside her mind abruptly shut off.

The form looked her way. Over the voices of the firefighters and the deputies and the paramedics and the loud beating of Trey’s heart under her ear, she heard Marsh’s voice. As if he stood right in front of her instead of floating in the sky.

Take care of Sarah. And Cody and the baby. They’ll need you.

“I will,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears and wonder and sorrow. “I will.” 

“Will what?” Trey asked.

Marsh nodded and she felt his smile. Then he faded, the sparkles leaving with him. One by one.

She turned her gaze to Trey. “Marsh is dead. Let’s go back to the truck.”

Trey looked into her eyes, nodded, and they walked back in silence. His hand gripped hers, as if he were keeping her from breaking down. But the gesture wasn’t necessary. She was numb. Going forward. One foot in front of the other.

Marsh was dead and she couldn’t change that. It was done, and this is what people did after a horrible death. They moved forward.

And the sparkles...

She couldn’t think about them now. 

The passenger door of the truck still hung open, the truck at a forty-five degree angle, and Trey had to push her up into it, his hands on the seat of her pants. And she didn’t care. Didn’t worry about the size of her butt. Didn’t feel anything sexual.

None of the he-she stuff that had been so important ten minutes ago was important anymore. The only thing that mattered was that Marsh was gone and she would have to tell Sarah.

One lane was closed and they waited about five minutes before they were waved through. Trey put the stereo on, and flute music flowed out. A crow cawed in the background. She slumped back in the seat, too numb to think. 

“What’s this?” she asked. “Not a radio station.”

“A CD. Cherokee music.”

She nodded. Of course. Cherokees had known deep grief, too. She could hear it in the music. Profound grief. Crushing grief. And voices from the dead telling them they must go on, even as they wondered why.

Chapter Twenty-three

Lights blazed from the windows of Sarah’s house. The front porch light, the kitchen, the living room, the downstairs master bath, the light outside the back door. When Becky walked into the kitchen with Trey behind her, Sarah was waiting. Red-eyed. Frantic. Scared. Crying soundlessly even though Cody was across the street on a sleepover. In a toneless voice, she said someone she knew from high school who lived in Tomahawk had driven by the accident site and called her.

Becky held her and let her cry on her shoulder in dry heaves. All the while, Trey stood near. Silent and still. In case they needed him.

“What’s happening?” Sarah demanded, her voice croaking. She lifted her head, and her blue eyes were dark, the pupils dilated, the whites bloodshot, the skin around them puffy. “I need to know.”

“Of course you do,” Becky said. But she couldn’t tell her what she knew. Couldn’t tell her about Marsh’s ghost. Couldn’t tell her about what he said to her.

Not now. Sarah wasn’t ready to let go of Marsh now.

Later she would tell Sarah. Later the knowledge would comfort her sister.

Sarah was still sobbing when Jerry Ackerman came ten minutes later, wearing his Constable uniform. His face emotionless, he told her about Marsh. That he had died upon impact.

And then his face crumpled and he cried with Sarah.

“Marsh was my friend,” he said, his voice thick. “This isn’t right. He shouldn’t have gone.”

Tears ran down Becky’s cheeks. She glanced at Trey and saw moisture glisten in his eyes, too. Becky grabbed his hand, squeezed it, then let go and went to look for the tissues.

When she returned with the box, there was a knock on the door. She headed to the living room to answer it, Trey behind her. More tears spurted. Not in sorrow but because it was painfully wonderful to know that someone was there for her.