After All These Years (41 page)

“I'm going too.”

“No. She may show up back home.”

“She's my responsibility!”

“She's ours, Lia. I should have nailed this guy a long time ago and not let him hurt her or you. I'm sorry. You'll only be in the way. I will find her. I promise. Your responsibility now is to pray.”

Forty-five minutes outside of Rockville, Tony's car radio picked up Izzy's voice.

That voice. The lilting tones were more musical than music itself.

“The national weather service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning. That means it's here, folks. It also means stay put. If you're out driving, well, you shouldn't be. Go home. If you're not near home, find other shelter. The temperature is dropping. This rain may turn into sleet by evening. It looks like you're stuck with me for the duration because I'm not driving in this. It's 3:00. There's a glorious display of God's power right outside my window. Lightning is dancing across the sky. Unfortunately, all that power knocked out the phone lines. That means you can't call in and complain—or keep me company. Enough chitchat. Let's listen to some more music.”

That answered the question of why he couldn't get through with his cell to the station or her house. At least he knew where she was.

The car hydroplaned. He eased his foot on the accelerator, both hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. This trip was going to take a lot longer than the 45 minutes to Rockville. Valley Oaks was another 30 minutes, the station ten minutes beyond that on a good day. If this storm kept up, he was looking at over two hours.

“The first song we're going to hear is from Margaret Becker. I'd like to dedicate it to a special friend who recently decided to ‘Just Come In.' Welcome home, Tony.”

A sensation flowed through him, an overwhelming, indefinable sensation that took his breath away. Did one ever get used to these surprises? Things like this had been happening right and left for over three weeks now. Things like selling the article in spite of its change of focus… The timing of picking up her broadcast… The words she spoke… That song… His world collided with the cosmic on a daily basis.

Thank You, God.

On top of everything, Izzy understood his article. But was it enough to keep her from moving to Mexico?

He didn't know. That's why he kept driving through this horrendous thunderstorm, hoping sleet wouldn't force him off the road. No, not hoping. Praying.

Cal parked at the barn behind the Suttons' old farmhouse on the edge of town. Neither of their cars were in the drive, but he spared two minutes to bang on their back door. It was locked and nobody answered. Typical Sutton family Saturday. They wouldn't be home.

He jogged around the barn and hit the grassy waterway that ran through the field. The rain still pelted him. The wind howled across the barren plain. Bits and pieces of cornstalks left behind by the combine swirled in the air. Thick clouds hung low in the sky, darkening the area as if it were evening.

His lungs burned. His legs ached. His side throbbed. He was seriously out of shape.

What hurt worse, though, was this love for a woman and her child. It was indescribably all-consuming. He never
would have thought such feeling possible. He had searched for lost children before, but that was a mental process. This tore at his insides. If Chloe were hurt… If Lia was dealt that blow… If Lia left…

He couldn't think this way. Now he understood why you didn't get personally involved with a case. Your brain shut down.

But he knew where he was going because he knew how Chloe reasoned. He had been watching her up close now for three weeks.

Her favorite place was also one of his favorites as a kid. This pathway veered down a hill, giving way to a meadow that was never planted. In the middle of the meadow stood a magnificent lone oak. At some point through the years, boys had nailed boards to its trunk, making a crude ladder up to the lowest limb. Cal remembered falling out of it one spring and breaking his arm. Fortunately, it hadn't interfered with his sixth-grade football season.

The reason the meadow was never planted was because it flooded. When the creek overflowed during heavy downpours, it gushed over its banks, and the meadow became a rushing stream, at times almost a river.

He catapulted himself down the hillside now, the wind whipping away his shouts of “Chloe!”

Squinting as he ran, he took in the scene at a glance. Like some giant cardinal, a red jacket caught his attention through the oak's brown leaves. Bless Chloe and her favorite color. All runaways should wear red jackets. She wasn't on the lowest limb. What was she doing? Dark water raced at the base of the tree, surrounding it 20 feet out. At least she was up in the tree.

At least the lightning portion of the storm had moved from the area.

Thank You, God.

He calculated as he raced to the stream's edge. How low had the creek been? Average. It had been a wet autumn. The meadow was probably saturated when the rain started. When had it started? A few hours ago. Last he heard two inches had fallen. The worst wouldn't catch up to this area for a while. How had the ground shifted in the years since he'd been here? Ruts? Gullies? He didn't know.

But he knew he would wade into it.

The ice cold water took his breath away as it rushed up over his boots.

“Chloe!”

“Cal!”

“Stay put! Wait for me!”

His right foot sank into a hole. The water whooshed at his thighs. He pressed on, and then he was out of it.

He reached the tree, grasped a board, and climbed. Reaching the lowest limb, he heaved himself onto it and sat in the crook, his legs dangling. He looked up, panting.

Chloe stood above him, two branches up, hugging the tree. The red hood of her parka was tied tight under her chin. “Cal, Soot won't come down. Can you get her? She's up there. See her?
You
can reach her. You're tall enough.”

Cal waited to catch his breath before replying. The words “hug” and “strangle” came to mind. Here she was, risking her life and tearing out his heart and Lia's, worried only about a stupid cat! “Chloe! Soot can take care of herself. We've got to get out of here right now, before the water gets any deeper!”

“But she's scared! Look at her!”

Cal craned his neck. He could easily reach the kitten…if he climbed to where Chloe stood.

Lord, is this what being a dad is all about?

Isabel was in her element, no doubt about it. The storm raged outside. The satellite was down. National news was on hold. Her future—as in where she'd be living and working next month—was undecided.

But she sang at the top of her voice, twirling through unoccupied rooms, looking out windows in every direction. She had her unseen, silent audience scattered about surrounding counties, a studio full of music, and the means to share it.

And she had the letter from Chicago, addressed to her at the station's post office box rather than the house. It waited in a pile of mail for the secretary to deal with on Monday. Nosy Mendozy had been snooping.

And covering it all, like her silky pink security blanket of childhood, she had the knowledge that Jesus would work it out. Hadn't He always?

Headlights flickered now past a window, turning off of the highway. Who was out driving through this? The storm had tapered, but only within the last 15 minutes.

A long set of songs had just begun playing; nothing required her attention. She hurried to the front door and saw through the glass someone approaching.

Tony?

Isabel unlocked the door. “Tony! What are you doing out in this?”

He grinned. “You didn't answer your phone.” 329

“It's out of order. Did you drive from Chicago? Here, give me your coat.” She took it and hung it on the coat tree in a corner.

“The trip only took twice as long as normal. Didn't seem that long, though. I've been listening to you. Great radio personality, Izzy.”

She smiled back at him. “Thanks.”

They stared at one another. Evidently he didn't know where to begin either. “I heard the song.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she went to him.

He wrapped his arms around her. “I hope those are happy tears?”

She nodded.

He held her tightly and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“It wasn't me.”

“I think I'm beginning to understand your convoluted reasoning.”

“Isn't it wonderful?”

“Yeah, it is.” He brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Tony Ward, I've been missing you for years. Oh! I did not mean to say that out loud.”

“And why not?” He locked his hands behind her waist.

She leaned back to take in those deep-set eyes, the narrow nose, and that crooked grin. “It might give you ideas.”

He blinked. “Izzy, you're not teasing me, are you?”

“Do you want some soup?”

“Izzy!”

She bit her lip.
Oh, Lord!
“No, I am not teasing.”

“Okay. I do happen to have some ideas.”

“How about some coffee?”

He kissed her cheek. “I love you, Isabel Mendoza. I think I probably did before, but now… Can we start over? After all these years? I want to share everything with you. All my
thoughts, my time, my work.” He paused. “Will you please reconsider moving to Mexico?”

“Oh, Tony. I don't think I've ever stopped loving you.” She took a deep breath. “I'm taking the job in Chicago. There's no way I'm running away from you again.”

His laughter filled the studio. He whooped, and then, meeting her eyes, he grew serious. “I won't run away from you again either.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

“Izzy, does this mean I didn't have to risk my neck driving for hours through this crazy storm? We could have just talked on the phone later?”

“Well, I don't think that would have worked quite the same.” She slid her arms more snugly around his neck.

When they kissed, Isabel felt a flickering of something new ignite between them. They were on the threshold of a different kind of love that didn't resemble the past.

She smiled as their kisses slowed. “And besides, I hadn't decided which job I was going to take. Not until the moment I saw you standing outside the door.”

Lia stuffed another sweater into a plastic grocery bag and tied the handles together. There. Plastic worked just as well as Samsonite. No reason to replace the smoke-scented luggage. She wasn't taking a trip—probably would never ever be able to afford to take one again—she was just moving. Most of her and Chloe's belongings were already stacked by the front door. They'd toss their grocery bags into the car trunk and be out of there right after dinner.

If
Chloe came home.

Lord! Help him find her.

How long had he been gone? Night had fallen already, the black clouds hurrying it.

Lord, keep her safe.

It was like sliding to the edge of a panicky abyss, peering over its edge, and then jumping back to cling to the hands she knew held them all. Then it would start all over again, the sliding and the jumping. Nervous energy drove her to this manic fit of packing. She would be finished when Chloe got home.
If
—

The front door banged open. “We're home, Aunt Lia!” two voices rang out, followed by laughter.

Lia raced to the living room. “Oh, Chloe!” She caught the little girl in her arms and squeezed her. “Thank You, Lord.”

“I'm sorry, Aunt Lia.”

“You'd better be! Thank you, Cal!”

He was wiping little Soot's paws on the mat just inside the door. “You're welcome.”

“Oh, Chloe! You're soaking wet and freezing. Let's get you out of that coat. Look at your boots!”

“It's raining cats and dogs!” She giggled, yanking off the muddy boots. “It was almost raining Soot, huh, Cal?”