July Thunder (23 page)

She turned to him slowly, but her eyes wouldn't meet his. “I had a son,” she said.

He felt his chest tighten, but he refrained from saying anything. She'd told him she had had a son,
but now he sensed there was more to the story. He didn't want her to stop talking.

“He was…he'd just turned six. A cute little boy with red hair and freckles and an adventurous nature. We were out in the yard one day. I'll never forget what a beautiful day it was. Not a cloud in the sky, not too warm… I was gardening. He was playing with our cat.

“It was a funny cat, Sam. It liked to play ball, almost as if it was a dog. And Chuckie would roll it for him, and the cat would chase it and bat it around a little bit, then wait for Chuckie to throw it again.”

Sam made a soft sound, just enough to let her know she had his attention. Already he was gearing up for the story to come, his entire body tensing in preparation.

“Anyway, I don't know exactly what happened. It was all so fast. One second Chuckie was giggling and tossing the ball, and I couldn't have looked away for more than two seconds…. I mean, I was kneeling so I could keep an eye on them. I looked down for… I don't know. The next thing I heard was the shriek of brakes.”

Sam closed his eyes. Then he reached out for her hand. She shook his touch off.

“The woman who hit him said the cat darted into the street right in front of her and Chuckie was right behind him. He died the next day. He never…he never even woke up again.”

“Mary…”

She shook her head. “Don't say anything. I was a rotten mother. I wasn't watching closely enough. I know that. Chuckie's dead because I didn't do my job right. And Chet left me because I killed our son.”

“Mary…”

She shook her head again, more vehemently. “So that's why I don't trust you. You'll say all the right things right now. Everybody says all the right things. But later…” She sniffled and blinked away tears. “Forget it, Sam. Just look after your father. You might not get another chance.”

He racked his brains trying to find something soothing or kind to say. But he needed time to absorb this. Needed time to think it through and figure out if he could help Mary carry her burden, or if he was such a mess himself that he would be no good to her.

God! Words just wouldn't come. “We…need to talk about this some more,” he said finally. “I…don't know what to say.”

“Of course not.” Suddenly brisk, she rose. “See you around, Sam.”

Then she left the hospital before he could summon another word to say.

 

Sam was good at kicking his own butt. He kicked it pretty thoroughly over the next couple of hours until they let him in to see his father. He should
have had some words to offer her. Some compassion. Something. But it was as if his brain had just stuttered to a halt. Mary had as big a wound in her heart as he had in his. And he sure hadn't dealt with his own very well. How in the hell could he help with hers? Maybe it would be better for both of them if he just stayed away.

Elijah was groggy, but alert enough to recognize Sam. “Both legs,” he said to his son. “Both legs.”

Sam looked at the casts and the weights and felt like hell. “You should've let that damn tree fall on
me.
”

Elijah gave him a weak grin. “Better my legs than your head.”

“I'm not so sure about that. Are you hurting?”

“Not too bad. They got me so full of drugs I don't know which end is up.”

“Did they tell you how bad it is?”

“Not too bad. One's a clean break. The other one they had to put a pin in. I'll be up and around in a couple months.”

“I'm sorry, Dad.”

Elijah reached out a hand and Sam took it carefully, making sure he didn't bump the IV line. “We need to talk, son.”

“Yeah.”

But before they could do so, Elijah drifted back to sleep. Sam sat by his bed, waiting, as afternoon turned into night.

 

Mary thought about packing. She could just pack up everything she owned in a rental truck and be out of this town tomorrow. Call the school, say she had an emergency and couldn't complete her contract.

The urge almost overwhelmed her. Sam's reaction to her story had told her all she needed to know. He needed to think about it. What was there to think about? Either he accepted her as she was, as a negligent mother, or he wasn't going to accept her at all.

God, she wanted to get out of this town. The same way she had fled Denver. Just run away and start anew somewhere else, a place where no one would know her story. Where she would be smarter and not let anyone at all get close to her, not even a wounded charmer like Sam Canfield.

Had she lost her marbles? What could she have been thinking of? Hadn't she figured out yet that she was no longer entitled to a normal life full of love and happiness? Why did she keep wishing? Why had she ever been so
stupid
as to let that man behind her defenses?

How many times did she have to learn her lesson?

She realized she had packed half a suitcase without even being aware of it. Run again? No. No. She had a good job here. She had friends here. And she didn't have to see Sam Canfield except in passing. Besides, it wasn't as if she had enough money to
just pull up stakes without another job waiting for her.

It was time to grow up, she told herself. What was that old saw?
You can run, but you can't hide.
Wasn't that the truth. Everywhere she went, she was going to take herself along. It wouldn't be any better anywhere else.

Hurting and aching and wanting nothing more than a dark cave to hide in, she made herself unpack her suitcase. She would survive the heartbreak. She had survived much worse.

It might take a while, but she and Sam could go back to being virtual strangers the way they had been before.

Sitting in her living room, she started to cry, giving way to tears that had been locked up inside for a long, long time.

S
am was dozing in the chair beside his father's bed when a sound disturbed him. Opening his eyes, he saw that Elijah was awake and the nurse was checking his IV.

“Doing good, Reverend Canfield,” the nurse said cheerfully. Then she looked critically at Sam. “You need to get home and get some sleep yourself.”

“In a little bit.”

“Not too long. Visiting hours ended an hour ago.”

“I'll be good.”

“You do that.” She gave him a wink as she walked out.

Sam turned to his father. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a mule gave me a double-barreled kick.”

But his color was a lot better, and his eyes were brighter. The surgical sedation had worn off.

“They're giving you something for pain, aren't they?”

“She just gave me a shot,” Elijah said. “So let's talk before I drop off to sleep again.”

Sam nodded. It was as good a time as any. He didn't know where it would take them, but the place they'd been most of his life was about as bad as it could get.

“So talk,” he said.

Elijah sighed. “That's a great starting point. If you're just going to sit there with a chip on your shoulder, we're not going to get anywhere.”

“I don't have a chip on my shoulder. And there you go, assuming things about me again.”

Elijah's mouth opened, then closed. “You're right,” he said presently. “I guess I have a tendency to do that.”

Sam nodded but didn't say anything. He wanted to know where his father was heading before he opened up his own heart and left himself vulnerable again. Then he would decide just how much of a risk he wanted to take. He had too many scars from this man to want to garner another bunch.

“I guess,” Elijah said slowly, “that I wasn't a good father. At least, not for you. Your mom was always saying you were more sensitive than I gave you credit for. But I'm not the most sensitive person myself sometimes. I didn't realize….” He trailed off and sighed.

“It's obvious,” he said after a minute, “that I messed up pretty badly or we wouldn't have gone so many years without talking.”

Again Sam nodded but said nothing. His hands were clenching into fists in his lap, though, the only outward sign of how tense he was feeling.

“Maybe,” Elijah said, “I was the wrong father for you. Or maybe I made the all-too-common mistake of thinking that the only way to raise a child was the way I'd been raised myself. I hit you, and yelled, and tried to control you too much, because that's what I knew. I was too critical.” He hesitated. “I guess I was guilty of the sin of pride.”

“Pride?”

“I wanted you to be perfect. You were my only child, and I was the preacher, and I wanted you to be better than everyone else's children.”

“Instead I was worse.”

Elijah lifted his eyebrows. “Worse? Did I make you feel that way? Because you weren't. Far from it. Believe me, I counseled enough parents to know you were far better than most children. It's my failing that I wanted you to be even better than that.”

“You were busy all the time.”

“Too busy,” Elijah allowed. “Too busy by far. I know that. It's a preacher's life, son, but I should have done some thinking about whether it was fair to you.”

Sam couldn't believe he was hearing all this. But it still didn't address the biggest problems. “What about throwing me out when I refused to become a preacher?”

“May God forgive me for that sin,” Elijah said wearily, his eyes closing. “Your mother never did.”

“But why did you do it, Dad? I never understood it. I wasn't cut out to be a preacher. I hated the very idea. Why were you so set on it that you were prepared to throw me out rather than give in?”

Elijah's eyes popped open, and they were suddenly blazing. “You'd have made a fine preacher. One of the best. And to this day I'm sorry you didn't do it.” He closed his eyes again and sighed heavily. “God forgive me, I thought I'd make you see the light. Pride. I've been so prideful. Your mother tried to make me see it, but I was so…”

“Bullheaded?” Sam suggested.

“Bullheaded and sinfully prideful. Oh, I was really a model of Christian love and understanding, wasn't I, son? I was so sure I was right and
you
were the one being bullheaded. I was so sure I could make you see the light. And too much of a fool to realize I didn't have that power. I tried to play God with your life.”

“Yes,” Sam said quietly. “You did.”

“Well, if it's any consolation to you, since your mother died, all I've been able to hear in my head are all the things she said to me about you, all the times she told me I was wrong, that I was treating you badly, that I didn't understand, that I needed to be kinder and gentler with you. It's like wearing a hair shirt. And I'm so ashamed I didn't hear her
words until after she was gone. Until I was all alone to ponder them, because they were all I had left.”

A tear crept down Elijah's cheek. “I have a lot to pay for. I was so full of the fire of righteousness that I forgot how to love.”

Sam felt the shell around his heart beginning to crack and the pain beginning to pervade his entire body. He was astonished to realize that he was actually feeling sorry for his father. But there was one more issue. “Why did you say that God was punishing me by taking Beth?”

“Oh, God, I did say that, didn't I?”

“Yes.” Sam felt a burst of icy anger at the memory. “I was grieving my wife, and you said it was my fault she was dead.”

“Like you did yesterday.”

Sam looked down.

“I don't blame you for wanting to get even. Sam…all I know is, that's how I was feeling about your mother. That God was taking her to punish me. And…” Elijah shook his head, and another tear trailed down his cheek. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Except I was angry. So angry. Maybe I was a little out of my mind. Maybe…oh, I don't know. It was unforgivable, whatever I was thinking. And it wasn't true. All I know is…I'm not proud of the man I used to be. Not proud at all.”

Weariness was overtaking Elijah, so Sam didn't say any of the things he had once thought he wanted
to say to his father, all the angry, hurting things. Somehow they seemed irrelevant now.

“You get some sleep, Dad. I'll be back tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Elijah asked. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Then he got up and walked out, wondering if he'd ever known his father at all.

 

Mary went by the hospital in the morning, bringing a small bag of fruit and some flowers from the supermarket for Elijah. She was relieved that Sam wasn't there.

Elijah's welcome was warm, and he seemed a lot more comfortable than the last time she'd seen him.

“Oh, I'll be right as rain in a few months,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Unfortunately they're going to keep me here for a while. Something about the possibility of a bone infection.” He pointed to the IV line. “I get my antibiotics direct.”

Mary laughed and took the seat beside the bed. For an instant she thought she could almost feel the imprint of Sam's bottom in it.

“They seem to be getting the fire under control from what I heard on the radio this morning,” she said.

“The church?”

“I don't know. I haven't been up there yet. I'll go up and see later.”

“No, no. I don't want you taking any risks. If the church makes it, we'll know soon enough.”

Mary realized he was looking at her rather intently, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that her soul was lying bare before his gaze.

“Sam and I started talking last night,” he said.

“Good.”

“I thought you'd want to know that. I've had the feeling you didn't approve of our relationship.”

“It's none of my business.”

“Of course it is. You're in love with my son.”

Mary felt her cheeks turn bright red. “Elijah, I wouldn't be saying that.”

“Why not? It's as plain as the nose on my face. And he's in love with you. You'd make a good couple.”

“No, we wouldn't.”

Elijah's brows knitted, and he looked at her in perplexity. Mary couldn't bear his stare for long, so she looked down at her hands. She didn't want to discuss this with him. She didn't want to discuss it with anyone. It hurt too much.

“What happened, Mary?”

“Nothing.” She promised herself that if he didn't drop this subject, she was going to get up and leave. She had exposed her soul once already and been met with silence. Telling Elijah could only be worse. From things Sam had said, she expected he would heap damnation on her head. And she didn't need anyone to do that for her. She had already damned herself.

“Mary,” said Elijah, “answer me. If you're go
ing to hurt Sam, I think I have a right to know why.”

“I haven't hurt Sam!” she protested in a teary rush as all her barriers crumbled and the pain of loss washed over her again. “He hurt
me.
”

Angry at herself, she dashed her tears away and tried to make herself get up and leave. But it was as if she was glued to the chair. Her body simply would not obey the demand of her mind. So she sat there, fighting back tears, her throat so tight it felt as if it were caught in a noose, her chest aching so hard she couldn't even breathe right.

Old pain and new pain commingled, filling her with an unbearable anguish. And from somewhere deep inside came an anguished cry, “Do I have to lose everyone I love?”

 

Sam drove up to the church. He'd heard that the fire was now under control, and he wanted to see how much damage there had been.

Tired as he was, he hadn't slept much last night. He'd been running around and around the things his father had said, part of him refusing to believe that Elijah could have changed so much, part of him recognizing that his father was a lot older now. That maybe the pain of his losses had taught him to be a kinder, less judgmental man.

Yeah,
said an ugly little voice in his head,
and leopards change their spots and zebras change their stripes.

But he didn't want to listen to that voice. Besides, he'd been doing a lot of thinking over the past days and had realized that in some respects he'd probably misjudged Elijah with a schoolboy's egocentrism. And he'd certainly added some fuel to the fire himself.

Maybe if they kept poking along at it, they could find some kind of meeting of minds. Because if he were honest, he could admit that it would be nice to have his father back in his life. The only family he had left.

And then there was Mary. He'd handled things poorly last night, and he knew it. But he didn't think telling her that she hadn't done anything wrong was going to change her mind one little bit. He was sure plenty of people had told her that. Why would
his
saying it make any difference?

Hell. Maybe if he eventually caught up on his sleep, he could sort his life out.

He arrived at the church to find it still standing. The fire had reached the edge of the clearing but was merely licking along the ground, consuming pine needles and pine cones and other debris. So far the trees hadn't ignited.

He went inside and turned on the bathroom tap, pumping water out through the garden hose that was still where they'd left it yesterday. Then he went outside and sprayed the church roof, making it as wet as he could.

Thirty minutes later, he turned the garden hose on
the burning ground cover, trying to keep it from climbing up the trees. It was like trying to hold back a flood with a broom, but he felt obliged to do it.

Maybe he could save one thing from ruination.

A short while later two fire trucks showed up to help him. They trained their hoses on the forest edge, doing far more good than the puny garden hose, so Sam turned his attention back to the church roof. Ash was falling almost constantly, and there was no way to know what was still hot.

One of the firemen, Hector Maldonado, took a cigarette break and came over to talk to him. “You hear the good news, Sam?”

“That the fire's under control? It was on the radio this morning.”

“Don't mean a little wind couldn't put us right up the creek again, but at the moment we're actually beating it back.”

“Which is why you're here?”

“You better believe it. We don't want it to break out here because nobody's paying attention. Right now we're pretty much letting it burn what it already has and putting out little fires as they pop up.
Si Dios quiere,
God willing, it'll burn itself out before we get any bad weather that'll keep the planes from going up.”

Sam cracked a smile. “I'm beginning to think we're never going to have any weather again.”

“Right now, I'm settling for calm, dry and as still as the good Lord can make it.” He ran the cigarette
butt through the stream from Sam's hose, putting it out, and popped it into a pocket on his coat. “Back to work.”

They spent most of the rest of the day putting out small fires. Since there was no fire hydrant out here, the trucks took turns heading to a nearby lake to refill their pumpers. Three times Sam had to put out burning debris that landed on the roof of the church, but by four o'clock it looked like they were winning. A bit of a breeze stirred up after the sun went behind the mountain, allowing the valley to start cooling, but it wasn't enough to stir up the fire to a voracious rage.

Another crew of firefighters with water trucks arrived to replace the county men. Figuring they weren't any more likely to let the church burn than he was, Sam decided it was time to go home, clean up and visit his dad with what appeared to be good news. Talk some more, maybe, and sort things out. Maybe he would have to take the risk and tell his father just how he'd been hurt, and in what ways.