Drenched in Light (39 page)

“There’s a guy on a motorcycle out here, and he says he’s a friend of yours.” Her voice was hushed, so as not to alert Mom, Dad, and Joujou in the living room. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she quirked a brow.

“A guy on a motorcycle . . .” I repeated hesitantly. “I don’t know. . . .”

“Kind of tall, brown hair, nice smile.” Wheeling her hands in front of herself, Bett glanced toward the crack in the door. “Has a cast on one foot . . .”

“Keiler?” Slipping past my sister, I walked outside. Keiler was next to Bethany’s car, leaning casually against his Harley as if it were perfectly natural for him to be in my parents’ driveway. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was in the neighborhood, and . . .”

“James and Karen don’t live near here,” I countered, vaguely aware that Bett was behind me, watching the interplay and waiting for an introduction.

Keiler grinned mischievously, and my heart bubbled up like soda pop, slightly shaken. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I heard you went home sick Friday.”

My sister glanced sideways at me, confused. She knew I wasn’t sick on Friday.

I had that old sense of being entangled in a lie, and out of habit, the first thing I did was offer up a diversionary tactic. “How did you know where I lived?”

“Looked it up on the employee database. Want to go get a cup of coffee or something?”

“Sure,” I chirped, then blushed, because the word conveyed over-the-top enthusiasm.

Behind me, Bett cleared her throat, and Keiler looked at her like he hadn’t realized she was there. Stepping forward, he smiled and extended his hand. “Keiler Bradford.”

“Bethany Costell,” Bett said, giving him the once-over, then cutting her gaze toward me.

“I’m sorry.” Bethany’s interested look spurred me into action. “Keiler, this is my sister, Bethany, and Bett, this is Keiler. He’s a new substitute teacher at Harrington. Actually, he saved me from having to teach algebra all week.”

“Eeewww.” Bett curled her lip.

“Math can be fun.” Keiler raised a finger to punctuate his point.

A charmed chuckle twittered past Bett’s lips.

“Keiler’s the one who’s going to play guitar accompaniment for the wedding soloist,” I interjected, then swiveled back to him. “Dell did ask you about that, didn’t she?”

“Sure. We’ve already been practicing. That girl can sing, I’ll tell you. I’m amazed every time she opens her mouth.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Taking a step toward her car, Bett gracefully bowed out of the conversation. “Well, listen, I’ll leave you to visit. I have about a million things to do at home.”

“Nice to meet you.” Keiler shook Bett’s hand.

I leaned over and hugged her. “Night, Bett.”

“Nice smile,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll call later—I want the dish.”

Having the mortifying feeling Keiler could hear, I yanked the back of her hair, and she came away rubbing her head.

“Talk to you
later,
sis. Nice to meet you, Keiler.” Waving good-bye, Bett pulled out of the driveway, and I went into the house to grab a coat and tell Mom and Dad I was going out for a cup of coffee. They assumed I was going out with Bett, so I escaped the usual grilling.

When I came back out, Keiler was waiting on the Harley.

I gave the black beast a wary look. “I don’t mind driving. . . .”

He revved the engine. “C’mon, live a little. It’s a nice night for a ride. I saw a Starbucks by the highway exit.”

Glad that the coffee shop was nearby, I hopped on behind him. As we wound through the twilight-dim neighborhood streets, I discovered that I liked riding a motorcycle much better than I ever thought I would. Keiler’s body was warm against mine, and the rush of cool March breeze filled my ears and cleared my mind, so that when we arrived at Starbucks, I was flushed and invigorated.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I admitted, as we ordered cappuccinos and took a table in the back.

“Guess I should have asked if you were still sick.” Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he looked pointedly at me, gauging my reaction. “A motorcycle ride in the cold might not be the best thing.”

“I wasn’t sick Friday, Keiler.” I stirred my cappuccino, watching the steam rise. “Something happened.”

“I gathered as much. It had to do with Cameron’s incident in the hall last Thursday, am I right?”

“How did you know?”

He glanced away. “I have my sources,” he answered evasively, then looked back at me. “But mostly, I’m just guessing. I saw you Friday morning. I knew you weren’t sick. Mrs. Jorgenson mentioned the big powwow with Cameron’s mother, and Cameron was seriously lying low all day Friday. Basically, I put two and two together, being the math teacher that I am. I was going to wait and see you Monday, but I was out riding this evening, and I thought about you, and ended up here.” Taking a sip of his coffee, he pushed it forward, then rested both hands in his lap and leaned across the table. “So what’s going on, Julia?”

I gazed up at the ceiling, exhaling a long breath. “It’s bad. It’s really bad.” I was told the story as Keiler sat listening intently. He seemed quick to understand, slow to judge, and as I recounted Friday’s happenings, a thousand pounds seemed to drop from my shoulders. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow,” I said finally, then added as an afterthought, “I’m sorry to dump all of this on you.”

If Keiler felt staggered by the burden, it didn’t show. He frowned thoughtfully into his cappuccino, which was probably growing cold. “That’s a serious dilemma.” Stretching a hand across the table, he laid it over mine. “I don’t know what I’d do. I really don’t. But I do know that the kids need you there.”

“That’s the problem,” I admitted. “This job is about more than just what I want or what I think; it’s about the kids. I’ve found the place I’m supposed to be. This is what I’m supposed to be doing at this point in my life—I’m sure of it. I got here by accident, but I’m needed, you know?”

“I don’t think anything happens by accident.” Keiler’s eyes were soft and large, filled with a kinship I couldn’t explain. “You understand those kids because of everything you’ve been through. You can relate to their dreams, you know their fears, you’ve experienced the kind of pressure they’re under.” His fingers molded around my hand, and I felt the warmth of the circle, a bond of friendship that told me I wasn’t alone. “You’re a great dancer, Julia. I have to admit, the first time I saw you at Jumpkids, I thought, Why is this beautiful girl, with this incredible talent, hanging around some high school, working as a guidance counselor? But it didn’t take me one day at Harrington to see how good you are there. You’re the one who can make the difference.”

His praise, his belief in me made tears tighten my throat. I swallowed hard, rubbing my forehead, trying to smooth the tangle of conflicting emotions. “I want to be there, Keiler, but I can’t imagine telling Cameron and his parents that everything is fine—that nothing went on last Thursday. What if something happens to him? What if he gets in a car with some friend who’s as messed up as he was last week, and they have a wreck and kill themselves, or someone else? All of that’s in my head, and I can’t get past it. I can’t do it. I can’t lie about what I saw.”

Keiler nodded, chewing the side of his lip. “Then I guess you have your answer.” As if it were simple.
Go with your conscience. No compromises. No gray areas.

“But if I leave Harrington, I can’t help the kids at all. I can’t be there for Dell, or Cameron, or anyone else.” The idea seemed as unimaginable as lying to Cameron’s parents. Tears welled over and trickled down my cheeks, and I wiped them impatiently. “Sometimes I wonder if Stafford is right—if I’m abandoning the kids so I can sit on my high horse. Maybe I should just play the game—do what I can.”

Giving my fingers one last reassuring squeeze, Keiler broke the connection and folded his hands in his lap, leaving me alone on my side of the table.

“I can’t tell you which way to go, Julia,” he said softly. “That choice has to come from you. You have to decide what you can live with. But beyond that, I’ll listen, I’ll pray, I’ll tell you that all this is happening for a reason.”

“I can’t imagine the reason,” I admitted, wishing I had his faith.

“Give it time,” he said with calm assurance. There was an incredible sense of relief in finally having shared the whole story with someone, in not being trapped in this mess alone. “The answers don’t always come according to our self-imposed schedule. You ought to know that. You’re the professional counselor here. I’m just a substitute algebra teacher.”

Sniffling back the tears, I managed a trembling smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.” In spite of everything, Keiler Bradford could still make me laugh.

B
y Monday morning, the answers still weren’t clear, and I was running out of time. I left for work early, needing a quiet place to think. When I got there, the administration offices were still dark, and the janitorial staff was sweeping the floors. Down the hall in the auditorium, a girl’s ensemble was practicing, and someone was playing
“Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring”
on the piano. I listened for a moment before slipping into my office and closing the door behind me, as if that could keep out the realities of the day. It only shut out the music, of course. Everything else came inside with me. I stood looking at the file cabinets, the plaster walls, the cluster of ladybugs in the corner, the piled-up in-box. All of it seemed foreign, as if I’d been gone for a month rather than three days.

I tried to imagine being gone forever.

When I turned to my desk, there were two sheets of spiral notebook paper resting atop my Dayminder, weighted down with a stapler. They fluttered slightly in the draft from the air vent as I picked them up.

As usual, Dell’s essay didn’t have a title. It was just her thoughts, like an entry in a journal, all of which would have remained locked inside her if Mrs. Morris hadn’t brought the first one to my office.
God can make good ends from bad motives
—a quote from Sister Margaret.

Sitting down in my chair, I started to read.