Words Unspoken (32 page)

She had said these things a hundred times before, and Brian had learned to let her vent without offering advice. He simply paid their parking ticket, and together they walked outside the airport into the dawning of an October day. Up ahead, Luke ran behind the metal luggage cart, pushing it across the parking lot, with Sandy hanging on and giggling.

“It’s a lopsided faith, Brian. Sometimes it works—praise the Lord— and sometimes it doesn’t. Paul and Silas prayed and sang and were miraculously released from prison. But John the Baptist was beheaded, and James died by the sword.”

“The answers aren’t always in the present. But they will be fulfilled in the future. In eternity. You know that, Janelle.”

“But people say such foolish things!”

They had almost reached the car, where the children were waiting impatiently.

“They thank God for something so trivial and talk about how good He is. God is bigger than that. They tell me we could have another child.

Who wants another child? I want Josh! I want Josh back!” She stopped in the parking lot and faced Brian.

“I know,” he said.

“That was something that surprised me most of all about Katy,” she whispered. “She understood. She really did. I felt like she truly grieved with me for Josh. I never expected that at all.”

Sandy came over to her mother and hugged her tightly around the waist. “Don’t cry, Mommy. Aunt Katy promised me we’d see her again soon. She really did.”

_________

The smell of her chocolate chip cookies permeated the area around the circulation desk, despite the foil that covered the plate. When the last child had left, Lissa brought out the plate from behind a stack of books and held it out to her boss. “Would you like a cookie, Mrs. Rivers?”

“Well, I thought you’d never ask. Their smell has been tempting me all day. Did you bake them yourself?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I’m invited to my driving instructor’s house for dinner, so I thought I should take something.”

“Well, that’s nice, Lissa.” Mrs. Rivers took a bite of a cookie. “Mmm. Just what I needed to get me through the last hour.” She winked at Lissa. “How are the driving lessons going, anyway?”

“Not bad. Mr. MacAllister is good at what he does.”

“Yes, he seems like a very competent and kind individual.”

“You’ve met him?”

“Didn’t he tell you? He came in a few weeks ago.”

“To the library? Was he looking for me?”

“No—no, it was after one of your lessons.” Mrs. Rivers’s face colored slightly.

“He wanted to find out about me, didn’t he?” Then it registered. “You’re the one who told him about the accident.”

“Yes. I could tell that he truly cared. I’m sorry, Lissa, if I revealed something I shouldn’t have.”

Lissa finished her cookie and set the plate on the desk. “No, no. I’m glad you told him. It kept me from having to.”

She was only trying to help
, Lissa told herself as she reshelved a cart full of books:
Curious George at the Circus, Amelia Bedelia, The Berenstein Bears, Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Little Women, Little Men
.

She picked up the book that Amber had turned in earlier in the day, another story by Marguerite Henry.
Black Gold
. The cover showed a black foal lying in the grass, its ears pricked forward, a small white star on its forehead. The sky behind the foal faded from yellow to orange. Underneath the bold black title was a gold sticker:
The Sequoia Children’s Book Award
.

Lissa thumbed through the pages lovingly, smiling at the illustrations. When she got to the back cover, she read:
Other Favorites by Marguerite Henry, illustrated by Wesley Dennis. Misty of Chincoteague, Brighty of the Grand Canyon, King of the Wind
. With each title Lissa felt a thrill, remembering the cozy evenings of her childhood when she snuggled in her bed and read her favorite books by flashlight. These books deserved much of the credit for her determination to become an equestrian. Walter Farley’s got credit too, along with C. W. Anderson’s.

She thought of Caleb, growing fat and sassy at Clover Leaf Stables. Like Black Gold, he was small. Like Black Gold, he was bold and determined.
And I was like Jaydee Mooney, “the boy who had no peace until he and he alone could ride Black Gold to glory.”

Only two more days until Silvano would take her back to the stable and she could ride again. Caleb was not for sale. She would make sure of that.

“Hello, Mr. MacAllister! How are you today?” Lissa slid into the passenger seat of Ole Bessie.

Ev MacAllister smiled and shrugged. “I am doing pretty well, Lissa. How about you?”

“Good. I’ve made you and Annie some cookies. Would you like one now?”

“Well, how nice of you. Thank you.” As he munched on a cookie, he took the familiar route from Chattanooga Girls School back toward Lookout Mountain, driving down Broad Street. He began the tortuous drive up Ochs Highway.

“Are you taking me home, Mr. MacAllister?”

“No, of course not, Lissa. You’re eating at our house tonight—I hope you remember.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But your life is all about coming up and down this mountain, so I figured we’d better tackle that at some point. I’ll drive it today. The next time it will be your turn.”

Lissa shot him a doubtful look. She knew every twist and turn of the road, the way it dipped down only to crest on a steep hill. Driving up Ochs Highway was one hairpin turn after another with brief interludes of curvy stretches. The mountain residents had perfected the skill of zipping up the curving three-mile stretch of road in under six minutes, while newcomers tended to putt along at twenty miles an hour.

Mr. MacAllister drove at a good pace, and Ole Bessie did not register a complaint. He didn’t speak, and Lissa was content to watch the trees. Their leaves had deepened overnight, a kaleidoscope of fall colors, burnt orange, fiery red, golden yellow. She found her heart beating in anticipation as Ole Bessie rounded a curve and the splendid bright red oak burst into view.

“That’s my favorite tree on the whole mountain in the fall. It’s magnificent.” Then, unexpectedly, as Ole Bessie rounded another hairpin curve, Lissa said, “Stop! Stop, Mr. MacAllister. Please pull over!”

On the right side of the road was a pull-off made specifically so that slower cars could get over and let the faster traffic move ahead. Calmly, Mr. MacAllister parked Ole Bessie in the niche. Without any explanation, Lissa got out of the car and fell to her knees, the damp of the dead leaves soaking into her jeans.

“Momma, all these cars behind me are making me nervous.”

“Don’t pay any attention to them. They can wait. You just take it nice and slow.”

Lissa kept glancing back in the rearview mirror as the line of cars behind her increased.

“Okay, here’s the little spot I was telling you about. Pull over here and let the other cars pass.”

She pulled into the parking spot and waited impatiently. She was going to conquer Lookout Mountain. As soon as she got her real license, she’d go up it as fast as the rest of the residents.

Momma was chuckling. “Liss, you don’t have to be the best in everything— at least not immediately. You’re learning to drive. The important word in that phrase is
learning
.”

Lissa stayed there, head bent to the soil. She heard the swish of other cars’ tires on wet pavement as they passed by Ole Bessie. Mr. MacAllister, wherever he was, made no sound. She didn’t move, but said over and over, “I’m sorry, Momma. I’m so sorry.”

Slowly Lissa stood up, wishing to disappear into that fall afternoon four years ago, a carefree fifteen-year-old with a learner’s license, driving up the mountain for the first time.

Failure. All your fault.

She grasped in her mind for something else. A battle plan.

I can do this.

“Okay,” she said to Mr. MacAllister, who was leaning against Ole Bessie, his back to Lissa. “I’m ready to go on.” She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

Mr. MacAllister turned toward her. “Every step of the process is important, Lissa. I guarantee you it isn’t wasted.”

Once again, Lissa had the impression that she was in the presence of a mind reader and a psychologist. And a friend. A dear, trusted friend.

They passed the road that turned off Ochs Highway leading toward her house and continued along the ridge. As they reached the top of the mountain, the trees on the left disappeared to give a breathtaking view off the mountain into the valley below. Just ahead, the tip of the mountain jutted out into nothingness. Lissa took in the beauty of the scene, forcing herself back to
Now
. A moment later, Mr. MacAllister turned Ole Bessie into the parking lot of Rock City.

In answer to her questioning look, he asked, “Do you mind taking a little rabbit trail?”

“I guess not.”

He parked Ole Bessie, then motioned to Lissa to follow him as he walked through the entrance to the park, saluting a guard with a smile and a handshake and calling out, “Good to see you today, Cal.”

The uniformed man nodded and let both of them through the gate without paying a cent.

Lissa thought of the many barns along highways throughout the southeast, their roofs painted with the words
See Rock City.
It was a lovely park— literally a rock garden—with stone walls along walking trails that led tourists through impressive, ancient rock formations along a ridge of Lookout Mountain. For fifteen minutes Lissa followed Mr. MacAllister until they reached the familiar point called Lovers Leap where the mountain fell away, opening up to a panoramic view that seemed to go on forever. She had stood here many times before—as a child with her parents; with her classmates and teacher in elementary school; for her ninth birthday, surrounded by a dozen little girls; and most recently, after the junior-senior prom, when Brandon Hale had taken her to this very spot and tried to kiss her.

“… There’s Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Virginia.” Ev was pointing into the air as he referred to a large semicircular stone tablet with black arrows pointing in the direction of each state, along with its distance in miles from Lookout Mountain.

“See seven states from the top of Rock City!” Lissa quoted the advertisement she had heard since she was a toddler.

“Can’t help but feel a lot of gratitude welling up in my heart when I stand here. Magnificent.”

She wondered if he had a special reason for bringing her to this spot right at sunset. Indeed, the view inspired hope. Two other words floated into her mind. Magnitude and magnanimous. Three words that fit together perfectly in this spot.

Greatness of size, exceptional beauty, high-minded, noble, free from petty resentments. The mountain, the view, the man.

At length she asked, “Is there a point to our standing here, Mr. MacAllister? Does it have something to do with my driving?”

“I think so, Lissa.” He was silent a moment, then continued. “Lissa, I know you hate failure. But failure isn’t the final story. It’s just a steppingstone to success.”

So he does have a point to make.

Ev MacAllister was leaning on the metal security railing, peering out into the sky with its palette of pastel colors, pinks and light lavender and violet blues and a tinge of orange. “When I’m tempted to go down that road of cynicism and analytical thought, I have to remind myself to start
thanking
instead of
thinking
.”

Lissa joined him by the railing, bracing her hands on it and staring into the same painted sky.
Thinking and thanking.

“Thinking too much just brings it back to me, me, me—but
thanking
takes my eyes off myself and my mistakes and puts them on others, on things bigger than myself. I can’t stand here very long without being humbled at how small I am and amazed at how big and beautiful our world is. ”

Me, me, me.

“Lissa, I know there are many things that haven’t gone right for you, tragic things, hurtful things. But from what you’ve told me, you’ve had some very good events in life too.” He was still staring out into the distance. “I’ve known a lot of heartache. Enough to weigh me down further than the valley below. So I have to concentrate on being thankful for the good things. It’s an exercise that has surprising repercussions. At least for me.”

Once again she wanted to move closer to Ev MacAllister and hug him around the waist as she might have done her grandfather. She wanted to grab his fine, wrinkled hands and say, Tell me about your heartache and how you survived. How you made your mind change.

Instead, they stood a foot apart, leaning on the rail as the shadows gradually overtook the valley, darkening the kaleidoscope of autumn colors on the trees below. Far out in front was a hazy outline of mountain ridges. Flags representing the seven states whipped in the wind to their right. In the silence Lissa physically felt a lightness infuse her, something akin to those adjectives—peaceful, content,
thankful
—as she stared out into the expanse while a rainbow of pastel colors lit up the horizon, boasting beauty to anyone in those seven states and beyond who cared to look up at the sky and see.

Dusk had fallen by the time Mr. MacAllister pulled Ole Bessie into the driveway of the white two-story house, with its wraparound porch and black gables, and parked the car beside the red Buick and the white Impala. Inside the dirt driveway was a carpet of green grass. Lissa wondered if a panicked youth on his first trial drive had ever run off the dirt into a tree or turned into the green lawn and left deep tire marks on the perfect grass.

On either side of the steps that led up to the porch were well-trimmed boxwoods, and in front of those, abundant flowers—pansies and day lilies and a few other varieties that were happily blooming in the fall. The front porch held two white wicker rocking chairs on the right side and a porch swing on the left. Like Ole Bessie, the house seemed to have a personality of its own, one that reminded Lissa of the couple who lived inside. It must have been grand in days gone by. Now it needed a fresh coat of paint and numerous small repairs, starting with the porch, which sagged a little in the middle.