A Message for Julia (10 page)

“We've messed everything up, haven't we?” Julia
whispered and turned away. She stared out over the compound of the mine, seeing the groups of men who were taking part in the rescue effort. They seemed to be moving in slow motion. She closed her eyes. “Oh, Mom.”

Julia let her head fall forward and her eyes close, hoping that her mother wouldn't see her misery. She should have known. There was no hiding this.

“Mom, we're separated. I moved out of the house last week.”

Eleanor said nothing. Then slowly, gently, she laid a hand on Julia's shoulder. She didn't say anything. She still didn't do anything except lay that hand on her daughter's shoulder. Comforting. Offering.

“We've had so many troubles since—” Julia hiccuped and knew she was losing the battle. “Since I lost the baby.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, memories rushed at her. Of the weekend at the lake. Of the weeks and months Linc had tried to get home early so dinner wasn't cold. Then the angry words she'd thrown at him. Words she'd known at the time were wrong, but that she'd said nonetheless. She could see his face even now and she admitted to herself that she'd hurt him.

“I lied to him, Mom,” she began. “I quit my job and didn't tell him. I couldn't work with the little kids anymore. I wanted to tell him, but I—I just didn't know how.”

Eleanor remained quiet, listening, her hand slowly, gently rubbing. Soothing. She waited for Julia to con
tinue, as though knowing she needed to purge herself of the pain.

“He was trying so hard and I just shut him out.”

“You always were good at that.” Eleanor's tone was oddly warm and easy. “Poor baby.”

Julia lifted her head and chuckled. “Yeah.” The light moment faded all too quickly. “Why didn't I pay attention? Why didn't I see what he was doing?” She turned and glanced back at the mine opening. “What if I never get to tell him I'm sorry?”

Regret and fear so strong it hurt swept over her. She looked longingly at the mine, willing the rescuers to find the trapped men, to get them out safely. Praying as she'd never prayed before.

“You will, dear,” Eleanor whispered, moving closer and enfolding her daughter in a hard hug. “If not, you'll deal with that then. Don't go there now.”

“I've ruined everything.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Life goes on, even after a disaster.”

Julia stared at her mother, unable to hide her surprise.

“Don't look so shocked. Your father and I have been married a long time. It hasn't all been wine and roses.”

“You never said anything.”

Eleanor's eyes grew distant and her smile bittersweet. “You don't share the hard times with your children, not if you can help it. We've always protected you.”

Julia had to agree with that. Her parents had been the ultimate barrier between her and the world.

“I don't know what to do, Mom.” She had no idea what to do. Not now. Not if Linc—she swallowed the hurt—if Linc died. And if he lived? If he came out of that mine in one piece? What was she supposed to do then? She wasn't sure what she dreaded most.

Burying him or watching him walk away.

“Don't decide now. You're too upset. Take all the time you need.” Eleanor pulled away as if sensing Julia needed space right now. “Don't let anyone tell you what you need. Not even me.”

Julia hugged her mother. “Thanks, Mom.”

Eleanor pushed a strand of hair out of Julia's eyes. “I love you, sweetheart. Stay here if you like. Breathe a little. I'll go check on your father.”

Julia watched her mother walk back into the tent, recognizing her for the first time as a woman struggling to stay strong for someone she loved.
For me,
she thought and let herself smile a bittersweet smile.

The sound of footsteps, heavy with muck, kept Julia from thinking too hard. One shift must be leaving the mine. She turned to see a small group of men heading toward her.

Their faces were grimy as were the hard hats that were perched at odd angles on their heads, as if they'd pushed at them in frustration. The yellow slickers they wore were streaked with the black coal dust and their shoes caked with the mud they waded through.

Julia's heart skipped a beat. The first man in the group looked at her then, their gazes clashing. She recognized him, but couldn't have said from where.
Guiltily, she searched her battered memory and found no name.

“Mrs. Holmes?” The man's voice shook as he stopped a few feet away from her. “Is that Holmes down there your husband?”

The voice. She'd never forget Randy Watson again. He and his family lived down the street.

She looked up at the boy who'd become a man in such a short time and her tears blurred her vision. “Randy. I…I thought you were at college.”

“I was, for a semester. Then we just couldn't afford the tuition. I came home at Christmas.”

The few times they'd met in the neighborhood, she'd got the impression that he was a cutup with a quick mind and even faster reflexes with the comebacks.

He rushed closer while the rest of the crew continued down the hill. “I'm still taking classes. I'm not giving up,” he reassured her.

She had to smile. He sounded more like the kid she remembered, rather than the man who now stood before her. “Good. Good.” She didn't know what else to say. He didn't either. The silence stretched out between them.

“We're doing everything we can in there,” he whispered, catching her gaze. He looked down at his hands, spreading them, palms up, between them. “I was using my hands even. Anything to get that rock out of the way.”

Her heart hurt for him.

For them all.

“It's okay, Randy.” She reached out to touch his arm, not caring if she got black grime on her hands.

“No, it's not.” His words came out angry and she knew the anger wasn't at her, but at himself, at this whole mess. “Ryan's down there, too. I suppose you know that?”

“And Mike. Yeah.”

“It's killing Missy.”

“Missy?”

“My sister.” He hunched his shoulders. “She and Ryan had a thing going. Then they had a fight just before he started working here.”

“It's not her fault.” Julia clearly recalled the conversation with Missy Watson after school last week. How long ago that seemed. She'd forgotten Randy and Missy were related. The girl was as pretty as Randy was handsome, with just enough sass to get her into trouble on a fairly regular basis. She could see what attracted Ryan to her.

“She won't believe that. Mom and Dad keep trying to tell her. They're worried about her. If this doesn't work out…”

She understood the girl's pain all too well.

“She won't leave her room.”

“Do you think she'd come up here? Be with the rest of us?” Julia couldn't help but recall the comfort that Mamie and Rita had been for her. These women could help Missy, as well. She was too young to be facing this, much less carrying unnecessary guilt.

“I…” He shifted back and forth. “That'd be awfully nice for her, I think.”

“Bring her up here if she'll come. She's welcome.”

The eyes that turned to hers were boyish, young and afraid. She saw the damp shine in the fading light.

She'd started out comforting the boy and wasn't sure when the man had started comforting her. For a bit, just a little bit, she let her tears escape.

The loud, open-throttled roar of a motorcycle cut through the canyon and the tender moment was gone. With a solemn goodbye, Randy hastily wiped his eyes and followed his crew.

Julia watched him go, and let her gaze drift to beyond the fence. She could see the TV vans and the reporters mingling nearby. Two police cars sat angled across the road. Hank stood at the apex of the bumpers, not quite at attention, but straight and alert. His arms were behind his back, giving him a no-nonsense stance.

The motorcycle she'd heard rumbled up to him and stopped. The rider kicked the stand, killed the engine and sat back in the seat.

Slowly the man pulled the dark helmet from his head. Julia gasped.
Linc.
She took a step forward. Then the man's long brown hair fell to his shoulders. She froze in place.

It couldn't be.

Jace?

The last time she'd seen Linc's brother, they'd both been kids. How long ago it seemed. Linc didn't talk about Jace, never discussed the younger brother who'd run away from home and hadn't been heard from since. Until now, it seemed.

Hank shook Jace's hand, then after a brief discussion,
he directed Jace to park the big bike in the lot behind the fence. Julia didn't move, just watched him.

It was eerily like watching Linc move. She saw the same shape of his shoulders, the same tilt of his head, the same easygoing slouch. When he climbed off the bike, Jace awkwardly struggled to move on the uneven ground, as if he'd had some kind of injury or had sat too long. Maybe both.

He finished stowing the helmet and turned around to see her standing there, watching him. He walked slowly toward her. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The one word was a struggle. She tried again. “You're Jace, right?”

He frowned and the look in his eyes grew wary. “Jace Holmes.” He tentatively offered his hand. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“Julia Holmes. Used to be Alton. You probably don't remember me. I'm your sister-in-law.”

His shock was strong and the expression on his face almost made her laugh. “Linc's married?”

“Yeah. Seven years now.” She silently prayed that they'd at least get the chance at eight. “Welcome,” she whispered.

“Shouldn't have taken this to get me here, I guess.” He shifted from foot to foot. “But I had to come.”

“Linc will be pleased.”

“I don't know about that.” Their eyes met. Linc might never even know Jace had arrived.

Friday Afternoon, Twenty-Nine Hours Underground

H
OW LONG COULD HE
stay out here? Linc sank down onto a crate that had managed to survive the cave-in. The stone wall was rough but solid behind him. Out here, he left his light on, chasing away the heavy darkness.

He touched the screen on his watch. It glowed bright blue. Another two minutes had passed.

He glanced back at the canvas curtain. The shelter was their best hope of surviving until the rescuers reached them. It was one of the techniques he taught in safety classes.

He nearly scoffed at that. Safety classes. Lot of good they did now. New regulations had been enacted after the Sago disaster, but mines had years to comply. One lone man of the thirteen miners trapped in that West Virginia mine had survived to be rescued in 2006. Not only had there been numerous safety violations that led up to the explosion, but the communication about the rescue had been a mess. They'd even reported that the miners were all alive, only to have to tell the families the opposite later on. Part of Linc's job as an inspector was to see how well the properties were doing in getting prepared.

He wasn't impressed. Only problem was, who was he going to tell now?

He looked back at the shelter and cringed. He should get back. But just the thought made the walls seem to close in. The oxygen vanished in the small space. In there, he grew larger and felt sure everything would crush him.

Out here—even though it was a closed chamber—at least he could imagine a greater space. He could breathe without breaking into an anxious sweat.

It had been years since he'd experienced these panic attacks, since the nightmares of his father's burial. Closing his eyes, Linc tried to imagine himself someplace else, anywhere else that would take this feeling away.

The timer on his watch beeped. Shaking himself out of his misery, he picked up the hammer again and hit the pipe. He didn't expect a reply. They were more than two hundred feet beneath the surface. But he caught himself listening, waiting for an answering peal.

All he heard were footsteps approaching. He looked up to see Zach coming out of the shelter. It was the first time he'd seen him leave Casey's side since the accident.

“How are they doing?” Linc asked, referring to Casey and Gabe.

Zach shook his head. “They both need a doctor. But considering… Hell, at least Casey's still alive.” Zach came over to where Linc sat and thumped down on the other side of the crate. “How're you doing, Inspector?” Zach tried to smile. “Robert's a jerk, you know. Don't let him get to you.”

“He's just like my dad was.” Linc shook his head. “He believes in what he's doing.” He didn't like defending the man, but knew it was the truth.

“Hey, you got any paper in that pack of yours?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?” Linc leaned down and unzipped the backpack. He pulled out a legal pad that looked as if it had been run over by a truck, which, he realized, it might as well have been, a couple of times. The paper crinkled loudly as he handed it over.

“I thought that maybe I should write a note. You know, just in case, they, uh, don't reach us in time.”

Linc couldn't respond, realizing that it hadn't even occurred to him to leave a note. What the hell would he write?

Zach took the paper and looked at Linc expectantly. Linc stared back. “Are you expecting me to write it in my own blood? Got a pencil in there?” Linc might have taken offense if the laughter hadn't sparked in Zach's eyes.

“Maybe I got a crayon or something,” Linc teased back. He handed Zach a mechanical pencil.

“You're all right, Inspector.” Zach bent over the notepad and started scribbling. The words came out quick at first, then slowed down as the initial rush faded. Zach looked up with a sigh. “You married, Inspector?”

“Yeah,” he said aloud.
Sort of,
he added mentally.

“She's probably up there with my Trisha. Want me to add a message for her, or are you going to write your own note?”

“I don't know.” Linc thought about it for a minute.
Should he write a note? What should he say? What shouldn't he say?

“You should, you know.” Zach glanced at him. “My Trish at least deserves that much.”

“Why? You got a confession to make?”

Zach chuckled. “No. Trish knows I'm faithful to her. She puts up with all kinds of crap. That's why I need to give her something positive to end on. I ain't been the best husband.”

Somehow that didn't surprise Linc. He liked Zach, but he seemed like a man who knew how to party.

“Hey, if you make it good enough, maybe they'll put it in the paper like they did with that letter from Sago.” Zach laughed again, but this time there was a note of sadness in his voice. That letter had been from one of the men who hadn't survived. His family had wanted to share his last words with the world. Reality could only be kept at bay for so long.

Linc knew about the Sago notes. He also knew that the men of Quecreek, who'd survived, had buried their notes, hiding them forever. They hadn't destroyed them though….

His father hadn't had the time to even think about a note. Maybe if he had, his mother would have had the closure she'd needed. Maybe she'd have been able to go on with her life instead of letting her grief destroy her.

Linc reached into the pack and pulled out another sheet of paper. This one was even more crumpled than the other. It was partially used. He'd started a list of things he wanted to keep when he and Julia sat down to divvy up their belongings.

The pen he pulled out was the red one he used to mark violations on the check-off sheet he had to turn in after each inspection. Slowly, carefully, he crossed out the list, negating his wishes.

He moved down to a blank line and wrote her name.
Julia.
He stopped, not sure what else to write, just staring at her name. How many times had he written that name and never really appreciated it?

He wanted to stay angry with her, he didn't want to think about how much he missed her, how empty the house was without her. Julia hadn't taken much when she'd left. She'd only packed a single overnight bag…but the house had lost something.

He didn't even begin to know how to say any of that. But he had to. Somehow…

Linc stared at the mutilated page, his mind empty of words and full of images. How, he asked himself, could he put a lifetime of feelings and thoughts onto a single sheet of paper?

A note that she'd read only if he died.

He struggled with the words, knowing they weren't enough. Never would be. The few meager words he managed to write swam as his eyes filled. Nothing made sense.

He thought of the junk drawer by the back door in the kitchen. Zach's comment about not being a good husband came to mind. Linc looked over at the other man. He wasn't writing, just staring at his own half-written page.

Linc turned away, hoping he didn't look as dejected as Zach. His mind returned to that drawer. Julia had been
nagging him for months to get rid of all of his junk in it. All the stuff he never really used, but never threw away, either.

He could close his eyes and see the odd bits of shoelaces, paper clips and rubber bands. But there were useful things, too. Like the flathead screwdriver that he used to tighten the screws on the outside light that kept threatening to fall off the back of the house. Or the fishing hooks he was determined to use…if he ever got back up to the lake again.

Recently, though…she'd stopped nagging him about the drawer. He'd known things weren't right, but the fact that Julia didn't care about the mess anymore spoke volumes. She'd reached a point where she just didn't care, he realized, and that scared him.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he would hear no answers if she were reading this.

He tried to puzzle out what to say, but nothing came to him. Nothing but memories of joy and pain. He closed his eyes, wishing they'd go away, but they didn't. They only grew stronger, clearer.

Then it dawned on him why he couldn't write the note. It wasn't a goodbye he needed to leave Julia. He needed to find a way to fix all the hurt he'd put in her life, in her heart. And he just couldn't do that for her.

“Go to hell,” she'd said last week. He nearly laughed. Maybe she was getting her wish after all.

Frustration ripped through him, and he nearly ripped the page in half, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he folded it and slipped it and the pen into his pocket. He needed to think about it, and they had some time left, he was sure.

“I'm going back in,” he told Zach.

“Right behind you.” Zach, too, folded his page and stuck it in his pocket. He held the pencil as if unsure what to do with it.

“Keep it. Maybe literary brilliance will strike.”

Both men smiled. Linc led the way and they stepped through the canvas barrier to where the others were nothing but shadows against the eternal night. He settled back against the wall with a heavy sigh, trying to shut out the image of that old kitchen drawer and failing miserably.

Just let me out of here. I'll clean every damned drawer in the house if she wants.

Friday Night, 11:00 p.m.

W
HENEVER
P
ATRICK
K
ELLY
or other miners came to the tent, the scattered family groups gathered together. This time, as well. When the ragtag group of miners pulled open the tent flap, Julia sensed her parents shift beside her. Even Jace moved closer. Linc's brother had kept his distance, as if not quite sure where he fit in. She really couldn't blame him. He'd been gone too long.

Randy Watson looked around the room until he found her. Their eyes met and he quickly looked away. The small group of men parted, revealing his sister, Missy. The men had been protecting her, buffering her from the media outside, wrapping her in a cocoon.

The girl's eyes were puffy and red as if she'd cried for days and still had buckets of tears dammed up inside.

Julia stood and moved toward Missy. “Oh, sweetie,”
she said softly and opened her arms. Randy stepped aside and Missy ran into Julia's embrace, her sobs hard and painful.

Julia wanted to cry with her, but if she did, the flood would begin. She knew if she looked around that her mother, Mamie, Tricia, Rita, maybe even Shirley, would be holding back tears. Even the men, as tough as they all tried to be, were emotional at this point.

Julia recalled how Mamie had comforted her and held her, despite her own pain. She wanted to be that for Missy.

Julia pulled back, hoping to nudge the girl, and herself, into a calmer state. “Welcome.” She looked up at Randy, realizing that the anguish on his face was at leaving his sister. “I'll take care of her, Randy. You do what you need to do.”

He nodded and turned to leave.

“Randy?” Missy called. “Thanks. And be careful.”

He smiled at her, and Julia added her own well wishes.

And then the men were gone. Back to the work of getting them all out of this horrid situation. Julia kept her arm around Missy and guided her to where she and her family had set up a small group of chairs. It had become her little corner of the tent, and she wanted Missy to have a place where she felt safe and welcome.

She saw a bit of herself in the girl. She knew what it was like to love someone so much that the possibility they might not always be there was unthinkable. Instead of falling into her own despair, she focused on making Missy feel comfortable.

The tent—and these circumstances—were miles and years away from the classroom where they normally saw each other. Julia swallowed, realizing that world might never be as it had been again.

“I'm here for you.” Julia spoke softly, carefully, laying a hand on Missy's arm.

She looked across the tent at Jack Sinclair. How long ago and how inconsequential the school board and the anger he'd thrown at her seemed. “Everyone's doing their best to save our guys.” Julia tried to reassure everyone.

The sound of Mamie's metal walker broke into their conversation. Julia looked around and was gratified that the others had come closer, their hearts going out to the girl who was obviously falling to pieces in front of them.

Rita stepped forward and, as Julia had done, she slipped an arm around Missy. “Ryan's going to be awfully happy that you're here.”

“I didn't know if he was still interested.” Missy hedged as only a teenage girl, lovesick and afraid, could hedge.

“Oh, he's interested.” Rita tried to smile through her own worry.

Missy visibly perked up and for the first time since Randy had brought her into the tent, she looked around without weeping.

“You did a good thing, my dear.” Mamie's curled hand settled on Julia's shoulder. She glanced up to see the old woman smiling at her.

In that moment, Julia felt the bond that only other
women would understand. The feeling known since time immemorial by all the wives, lovers and mothers who had watched their men go off to work, or to war or to any other dangerous pursuit. Women left behind to wait, worry and tend. The women who surrounded her now were her comrades in arms and she appreciated them for being that.

Shuffling feet created a stir at the tent opening and Patrick Kelly strode in. He was alone this time, which was unusual. No team of engineers flanked and protected him. In his hand, he carried a long roll of paper.

He waved at Jack Sinclair and Julia's father, Raymond. “Can you help me, guys?” Since he hadn't brought reinforcements, he made do with what he had.

Together, the men unrolled a large map. Dark lines, cross marks and circles had been drawn on it in black marker. A large box took up one corner.

The families closed in around him and the trapped-rabbit look returned to his eyes, but he swallowed and continued. “Okay, folks. I've brought this so I can walk you through what we're doing.”