Looking for Me (31 page)

D
own the hall and into my office I went, my legs rubbery as I turned on the lamp and opened the closet door. Unable to reach the uppermost shelf, I dragged my desk chair across the room and stood on the seat. Stretching my arm, I removed a cardboard mailing tube and then brought down the old shoe box.

I pulled the chair to my desk and sat. The lid of the mailing tube went
pop
when I opened it. Angling the tube, I let the arrow slide into my hand. The black arrowhead had been honed to a razor-sharp tip with serrations along each side.

I held it for a moment, feeling its weight before placing it on my desk.

It took me several minutes to gather the strength to untie the white ribbon and lift the lid off the shoe box. All the notes my brother had ever written me were folded and neatly stacked in chronological order, the one at the top being the last I’d received. Blood pounded in my ears when I drew the box close and reached inside.

The edges of the paper had yellowed and felt brittle. For the first time since 1977, I opened the note.

The feather slipped out and landed lightly on my desk. It was just as I remembered—smooth and shiny and pitch black. Holding the note in the lamplight, I leaned forward and read the words:

When shadows take flight

and the moon turns away from the stars,

the raven delivers divine law

Slowly, I ran my thumb over the five words my brother had written at the bottom of the paper—words that had forever altered so many lives:

Don’t come looking for me
.

I set the note down, removed a phone book from my desk drawer, and riffled through the pages until I found what I was looking for. Then I dialed the number of the nearest library.

“How late are you open this evening?” I asked the woman who answered.

“Eight o’clock,” she said.

The hands on my wristwatch read 7:25. I thanked her, raced down the steps, and grabbed my keys. At 7:38 I pulled my car into the library’s parking lot. My heart drummed so wildly that I could hardly think straight, but with the help of a librarian I found what I was looking for and was back home by a quarter past eight.

After pouring myself a glass of water, I climbed the stairs and returned to my desk. Opening the book, I leafed through the pages until I came to the chapter on Clovis points that read:

“Clovis is a prehistoric Paleo-Indian culture that first appeared 11,500 radiocarbon years before the present. Archaeologists believe this age is 13,500 to 13,000 calendar years ago.
The Clovis is the first point type to appear in North America and is not found elsewhere in the world . . .”

From one page to the next I searched, holding my brother’s arrow against the photos for comparison. But of the hundreds of photographs I examined, I couldn’t be certain if the arrowhead in my possession was a Clovis or not. If I had to guess, I would have said it most resembled those called Copena.

There was no disputing that two feathers of the fletching were from a red-tailed hawk. The third was solid black. Whether from a raven, a crow, or a blackbird, I didn’t know.

So what did all this mean?

I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out an anguished sigh. During the past hour, I’d learned more about arrowheads than I cared to know, yet I had no answer to the questions that were squeezing the air out of my lungs. A man named Leland Boles had made a decision to inflict unspeakable torture on animals. Someone else had made a decision to bring that torture to an end. As of this moment, that person was nameless.

Rising from the chair, I put everything away and turned out the light.

While hot water thundered into the tub, I lit a candle and slowly undressed. A cloud of steam rolled in to the air as I sank deep into the water. Submerged to my chin, I closed my eyes.

Let go. Just breathe out and let go . . . Heavenly Father, full of grace, please help me through this night . . .

W
hile sitting at my workbench munching on apple slices, I leafed through an old issue of
National Geographic
and came upon an article featuring the big cats of Africa.

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon in early October. Albert was repairing a split in an Irish console table, and I was getting ready to paint a Gothic-style chair I’d come across at a garage sale—a massive old thing with wide arms and a high, solid back. I wanted to do something unexpected with it, something daring that would make a statement in my front window. After deciding on a bold cheetah print, I tore a picture of the exotic cat from the magazine and thumbtacked it to the wall above my bench. Pulling out a bin of oil paints, I was busy selecting the colors I’d use when the bell above the door rang. I heard Inez leave her office to see who it was.

Just as I picked up a tube of burnt umber, Inez stepped into the workroom. “Teddi,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “there’s a
very
nice-looking man asking for you.”

“He’s not a salesman, is he? I don’t have time to listen to—”

“Just go,” she said impatiently. “He’s tall and has gorgeous eyes,
and
he smells good.”

Albert shook his head and chuckled. “Smells good?”

Removing my smock, I smoothed my hair and set off for the front of the shop.

I walked around a pine linen press and came to a halt when I saw him. Dressed in a dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt and a tasteful striped tie, he looked handsome and perhaps a bit ill at ease in an endearing, boyish way.

“Sam! What a nice surprise.”

He put down the jade turtle paperweight he was admiring. “Your shop is beautiful, Teddi.”

“Thank you.”

I was about to invite him to take a tour when he said, “Listen, I know you’re busy, and I’ve got to get back to the office for a meeting, but I’d like to ask you something. Would you have breakfast with me Saturday morning?”

“I’d love to, but I have to open the shop, and—”

Inez practically yelled from somewhere behind me, “I’ll be here early Saturday morning!”

My cheeks grew warm as Sam peered over my shoulder in the direction of Inez’s voice. “Well,” I said, “then I guess the answer to your question is yes.”

“Great. But I’ll need to pick you up at six-fifteen.”

“Where are we going
so early?”

“It’s a surprise.”

He looked at me for a moment, as if there were more he wanted to say, and then he leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

Wearing my favorite gray herringbone skirt, black tights, and a lightweight wool turtleneck, I stood at the window and watched for Sam. Yawning, I looked down at Eddie. “Where do you think he’s taking me so early?”

Eddie tilted his head as if to say,
Beats me.

At precisely six-fifteen, a pair of headlights cut through the predawn mist. As Sam pulled up in front of my house, I gave Eddie’s ears one last scratch and stepped out the door.

“Good morning,” Sam said, walking around the side of his car.

I leaned against his chest for a moment and closed my eyes. “It feels like the middle of the night.”

He gave my back a brisk, wake-up kind of rub. “Ah, but it’ll be worth it.”

For a moment I remained there with my face buried in his neck. He smelled of Ivory soap. Stepping back, I took in his worn jeans and canvas jacket. “I think I’ve overdressed.”

“You look great. Better than great,” Sam said, opening the door. He turned his car north, and we left the deserted streets of downtown Charleston behind.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re having this mysterious breakfast?”

His lips curved into a slight smile. “If I told you, Theodora, then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

As curious as I was, I didn’t press further. Mile after mile disappeared behind us, the street lamps glowing warm in the morning vapors. From somewhere off in the distance, I heard a foghorn sound on the Cooper River. Closing my eyes, I rested my head against Sam’s shoulder and listened to the hum of the tires. I might have fallen asleep if we hadn’t hit a pothole that made the car shudder. I sat up and looked out the windshield. Chain-link fencing surrounded low, windowless metal buildings, and to my right I saw a lone train engine sitting on a set of tracks.

“Sam, this looks like some kind of industrial park. What are we doing here?”

“Patience,” he said with a wink. Just as we drove over railroad tracks, he pointed and said, “Look at that big crane, Teddi.”

It was still quite dark, and I had to squint to see what he was referring to, but there it was, looming in the fog like a huge praying mantis. Then I saw ships.

“Where are we?”

“This is the Charleston Naval Shipyard. You’ve never seen it?”

I shook my head. “Are we having breakfast with an admiral?”

Sam looked at me, his eyes bright with his secret. “Oh, no. Our breakfast will be much, much better.” A moment later his face clouded and he slowed the car. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask you this. Are you afraid of heights?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to wash windows on a skyscraper, but no, I’m not afraid of heights.”

He let out a breath. “Good.”

Sam turned left, and we passed a long line of eighteen-wheelers parked by the side of the road. Ahead of us was a yellow-and-white-striped barricade flanked by two construction barrels topped with flashing lights. While Sam came to a stop, a security guard got out of his car and turned on a flashlight. As he approached, Sam rolled down his window and took a piece of paper from behind the visor.

The security guard leaned down and looked in the window. “You’ll have to turn around. Road’s closed till—”

“I have clearance,” Sam said, handing him the paper.

The guard shone his flashlight on the paper. “All right, just drive in to the lot and turn left. Park on the other side of the fence where the red barrels are.” He returned the paper to Sam’s waiting hand and stepped aside.

When Sam pulled around the barricade, I tried to see what this place was. Off in the distance, a serpentine shape rose from a sea of concrete, and to my right a string of red and white lights flickered a few times and then stayed on. The faint smell of caramel wafted through Sam’s open window, and when he parked and we got out of the car, I heard the clang of metal on metal and then someone shouted, “Back it up! Whoa! That’s enough!”

Sam lifted a small wicker basket from the trunk, took hold of my hand, and led me around a truck. In the blue-gray light, I realized that the serpentlike shape was a roller coaster.

“Is this a carnival?”

“Yes. It’s a weekend charity event for the Carolina Youth Center. My law office is one of the sponsors.”

“So why are were here at the crack of dawn?”

He said nothing as he hurried me around a teacup ride and up to a stoop-shouldered man who was adjusting a length of freestanding fencing. “Good morning. You must be Fred.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sam Poteet. And this is my . . . my girlfriend, Teddi Overman.”

The word “girlfriend
”
made me smile.

As the two men shook hands, Fred said, “Tested her last night and again this morning. She’s all ready to go.” He walked to a wooden platform, opened an electrical box, and flicked a switch. Colored lights flashed against the dark sky and outlined a big circle.

I looked from Fred to Sam, stunned. It was a Ferris wheel.

Fred unlocked a chain and stepped to the upper platform. “Hop on.”

“C’mon, Teddi,” Sam said, pulling me forward.

Fred held open a safety bar, and we sat on the bench seat, the wicker basket between us. With a metallic clang, Fred snapped the bar into place, gave it a tug to make certain it was secure, and said, “Off you go.”

We set off backward, the gentle
whoosh
sending butterflies flapping in my stomach. As we rose high into the air, I burst out laughing. “I . . . I don’t know what to say!”

Sam looked enormously pleased with himself as the Ferris wheel made one full rotation and then another and another. Then, just as we neared the top, the wheel slowed and we came to a stop at the highest point.

“Time for breakfast,” Sam said, opening the basket. Inside were napkins, a foil-wrapped package, and two thermoses. “Heavy cream and a pound of sugar for the lady.” He unscrewed the cap of the first thermos, filled it with steamy coffee, and handed it to me. Incredulous at where we were, at everything, I started to laugh. And I laughed even harder when Sam opened the foil package that contained breakfast pastries and said, “You pick first.”

“It’s a good thing heights don’t make me queasy,” I said, selecting a cinnamon twist.

Sam picked a cherry turnover and bit into it with enthusiasm. “Well, if we were kids, we’d be eating cotton candy and corn dogs.”

And there we sat, suspended in the air, with pastries and coffee. Everything about the morning was so unexpected that I kept giggling. “How in the world did this come about?”

“One day I read an article in the newspaper about a seven-year-old boy who was rescued from living in the streets by a youth-center employee. That story really hit me. If Everett and Tula Jane hadn’t taken me in, that could have been me. So anyway, I’ve been a donor ever since.”

“Did your law firm arrange for this carnival?”

He took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “No. A buddy of mine got this location. His dad’s a retired navy captain. I came out here with him on Thursday when the carnies were starting to set up, and that’s when I got the idea—”

Sam abruptly stopped talking and stretched his arm on the seat behind me. He pushed aside my ponytail and slipped his fingers along the collar of my blouse. With his eyes set on the trees, he smiled and said, “This is why I brought you here. Look, Teddi.”

Though I followed his gaze, I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the ships outlined against the sky, the cranes that loomed over the shipyard, or something else. I was about to ask when he slid his hand along my shoulder and gave me a gentle squeeze. “Watch. Here it comes.”

The flat bluish gray of the sky began to pull apart, and above the trees there came a soft glow—pale violet and lightly feathered at first, then turning deep pink as it raced along the horizon. Within a few minutes, the pink gave way to a brilliant orange that set the clouds afire in luminous shades of gold. And then, pushing a stray cloud away from its face, the sun peeked above the treetops.

It was a glorious moment—not only for the palette of colors that nature had painted across the sky but because Sam had thought to do such a thing. Slowly he turned and looked at me, his eyes searching my face. “I thought this would be one helluva way to see our first sunrise together.”