Gun Lake (45 page)

He was a different man now, and he had another letter to write.

Whether Norah would grant his request, and whether his other letter would ever get to his son—that was in God’s hands.

It’s all in God’s hands
.

And all he could do in the meantime was live out his sentence. And wait.

He thought for a moment about Paul Hedges, awaiting trial in Michigan for killing Sean Norton. How it would go was anyone’s guess. Kurt thought that some slick lawyer might actually get Paul off. Guiltier men had walked. And yet Kurt could only imagine what the man was thinking, what was in his heart. Killing his own son, even in self-defense, even someone as crazy and deluded as Sean Norton. All Kurt could do was pray for Paul. Maybe he’d write him a letter too.

Kurt pictured Norah again and wondered if she would choose to write him back. Perhaps she would do it as a courtesy. Perhaps he would never hear from her again, and if that was her choice he would understand. But he hoped they could stay in touch, at least for a while. He’d like to know how she was doing. He wanted to know the rest of her story.

The truth was, some stories didn’t end so well. Sean Norton. Paul Hedges. Craig Ellis. Lonnie Jones. The poor deputy who had shot himself.

All tragic.

Kurt wanted more than that for Norah. He wanted her to be happy, to know she was happy. More than anything else, Kurt wanted Norah to know that he had found that one thing he had been looking for. He wanted to make sure she knew how his story ended.

He would be hoping, and praying, that the end of her story would be similar to his.

THE WATER BARELY MOVED as the borrowed pontoon boat gently swayed back and forth. She could see for hundreds of yards all around her. Norah Britt stood at the center of the lake, the sun creeping behind the woods and horizon to the west, the sound of an occasional motorboat or Jet Ski in the air. She had borrowed this boat from Kay, the bartender at the Joint. Surprisingly enough, Kay had turned out to be one of Norah’s closest friends since she had moved up to the lake.

It was nice to have a friend. A real friend.

But maybe she had more friends than that.

Norah reached in her pocket and pulled out the folded letter Ossie had handed her. The letter that Kurt had written to his little boy.

She wanted to open it, felt a curiosity to know what it said. But she stopped herself. The words inside were not for her to read. They were addressed to somebody else. Someone who would never read them.

It felt strange to simply discard a letter. For just a minute, she considered ignoring the request in Kurt’s note. She hesitated, holding the letter in her hand.

She thought about meeting Kurt, befriending him, actually falling for him—what did that mean, falling for him? It was just her luck to have feelings for a felon. Or maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe it was just one more sad commentary on her atrocious taste in men.

But it wasn’t as clear-cut as that. Life never was. You didn’t choose your parents, your family. And you didn’t get to choose the people who crossed your paths and who made your heart jump and who changed your life forever.

Norah didn’t know if she would ever see Kurt Wilson again. She knew he didn’t expect to see her, although he wanted to keep writing. They could have a relationship through letters, or she could hold out hope that perhaps one day he would get out and they could get together. But she knew that wasn’t likely. Kurt had made one mistake years ago, then made another on top of that
when he escaped from prison. And even though he had not been indicted on any of the murder charges related to the escape, it didn’t matter. He was in for another thirty years at least, and thirty years was a long time.

A long time
.

For such a long time, she had not had a life. Then, finally, someone had given her the courage to move on. The inspiration to be as strong as she could be. He said she didn’t owe him anything. But she
did
owe him something. The least she could do for him was this simple favor.

But why in the world did Kurt want her to just throw the letter away? She knew that writing it had cost him a lot. And now the words would go unnoticed, unanswered. And he would never find forgiveness for the mistakes he made.

But that was the interesting thing, the strange thing. Kurt had written her that his mistakes, his actions, were already forgiven. That there was only one way he could ever have them paid in full—and that had been taken care of.

She understood what he was talking about—a little. She had heard things like that in her mother’s church when she was little. But she had never seen much connection between what she heard in that church and what happened in people’s lives. She had never seen the words make a difference.

And Kurt
was
different. She could feel it through his letters. The man she had met at Gun Lake had been broken, just like she had been broken. Somehow, in their time together, almost without realizing it, they had given each other hope.

Strange how you could give someone hope without even feeling it in yourself. A little ray of hope, a promise, enough to keep going. And yet, Kurt had somehow found more than that. His letter made him sound—lighter. That was it. He was lighter. The heaviness of his tone and his words and his entire being was suddenly gone.

Was that why he wanted her to get rid of this letter? Because it had been written in heaviness? Because he was a new man who needed to write something new?

It sounded so easy. And so impossible. That the sins of the
past could so easily be washed away. But Kurt believed it. He claimed it had happened to him. And Norah thought that maybe, just maybe, she would try to have Kurt explain it all to her.

He has time
, she thought with a smile.
He has all the time in the world
.

Or maybe Ossie could explain it.

“I’ll be keeping in touch,” he had told her.

And Ossie was a man with answers.

Maybe, just maybe, with Ossie’s help and Kurt’s words, she would know what it felt like to really be new.

The day was fading fast. A cool breeze blew through her hair. She brushed the long strands away from her face and looked up at sky that was already taking on a rose-colored tint.

She studied the letter a final time.

Then she dropped it into the calm waters of Gun Lake.

Dear Ben
,

They say this is temporary—just a stopping point, a way station for the Big Place.

I hope so.

In my dreams I see it, and I’ve got a place there. Not that big, of course, but admission is all that matters for a guy like me. I can see the huge mansions and estates of the really good men and women—the kind the Bible talks about—and not envy them but take a pride in them. And then there’s me in my little shack. My hut. I can wake up and be able to open the door and feel the cool morning breeze, and I can walk outside and breathe fresh air and fresh life and know that I get to do this day after day for the rest of my life. For the rest of time. I don’t think it will be boring. I think there will be things to see, places to go. And love. Sweet, glorious, delicious, flowing LOVE
.

And I hope—I hope you’re there too
.

If my faith proves to be true—and if heaven is anything like what they say it will be—all I can think and hope and pray for is that you’ll be there with me
.

If a guy like me can get in through the pearly gates—something I don’t deserve, you know—well, you need to be there too
.

Don’t let time slip away from you
.

Don’t go to bed not knowing where your destination will be
.

Don’t give up hope and throw it all away
.

It’s out there—up there—wherever. I believe it
.

And if I never see you again, well, I deserve that and that’s your right. I hope and long to maybe see you in that other place—a place where I don’t have to make amends. ’Cause they’ve already been made
.

Know that I love you
.

Your Father

Travis Thrasher is the author of five published works of fiction, including
The Second Thief
. He lives with his wife, Sharon, in the Chicago suburbs. Travis welcomes e-mails sent to him at
[email protected]
. For more information on him, you may visit
www.TravisThrasher.com

S
INCE 1894, Moody Publishers has been dedicated to equip and motivate people to advance the cause of Christ by publishing evangelical Christian literature and other media for all ages, around the world. Because we are a ministry of the Moody Bible Institute of Chicago, a portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book go to train the next generation of Christian leaders.

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.

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Meet Tom Ledger. Disillusioned. Bored. In search of comfort and
ease. Willing to sell his soul—or at least his employer’s most
closely guarded secret—to the highest bidder.

Tom has no way of knowing that within hours of committing his first felony, he’ll be catapulted into a high-stakes drama as the airplane he’s on drops like a rock into a Nebraska cornfield. But as he faces what could be the final moments of his life, even his pitiful attempt at prayer is self-serving: “Please God, please let me live.”

Author Travis Thrasher takes readers on a fast-paced journey through the seamy underworld Tom encounters after the plane crash—replete with industrial espionage, terror, even cold-blooded gangland murder. As Tom confronts his past and all its consequences, he has some decisions to make—life-or-death decisions. Will he continue on the path that threatens to destroy everything he once held dear, or can he find another way home?