“Heading into her senior year of high school Lisa was ready to give up on life. She was not incorrect in thinking that if she was gone nobody would notice and nobody would care. She was a solid B minus student. It was her way of avoiding attention. No recognition and no discipline. She had the capacity to earn any grades she desired, but worked hard to be invisible.”
Susan still showed no reaction.
“Lisa’s main interest was reading. Many of the books she read had romantic elements. It was her only exposure to boys and dating. The one thing she wanted was a date with a boy. Not necessarily a formal dance; she just wanted to do her hair, wait for the knock on the door and see if it was as magical as the books made it seem. She didn’t dare hope that a boy might open a door for her, or pay her the smallest compliment.”
Jonathan took another sip of water.
“But she learned reputations earned as a child are nearly impossible to lose. Her senior year, for the first time in her life, she made an effort to talk to people, even boys. Her efforts were never reciprocated. She succeeded only in drawing the negative attention she had fought so hard to avoid. Words such as “freak”, and even harsher insults returned after years of disuse. Her shell got thicker and she retreated even further from the company of her peers.”
That’s how she was when we found her
, thought Jonathan¸
but she’ll be better off soon.
“A block away from Lisa lived a young man who was very different from her. He played football, had many friends, and felt like life owed him something. Some of his favorite bands were playing a benefit concert in his town, but tickets were impossible to come by.
“One evening, as he and his friends were walking through the mall he said, ‘I’d do anything for those tickets. I’d even take Lisa Knapp if I could score a pair!’
“His friends laughed and one asked, ‘Who’s Lisa Knapp?’
“He was quick to answer, ‘You know, the
freak
?’
“His friends knew instantly who he was talking about.
“The next day a man appeared after football practice and offered him the tickets. The only catch was that he had to make good on his claim to take Lisa Knapp. The young man agreed and even called Lisa on the spot to invite her. But I have a feeling this story will not have a happy ending.”
“Why?” asked Susan.
Jonathan smiled at the question. It had been weeks since she had shown any comprehension of the stories.
One more day without sliding any deeper
, he thought.
“Because the boy promised to do something that he probably won’t do.”
“Then he shouldn’t have a happy ending,” she said. The unconcerned expression on her face didn’t change.
“The choice is his,” said Jonathan.
With her hand in his they sat in silence. Every visit was a mix of pain and joy. Sometimes the pain was overwhelming and he cursed his fate. Other days, he just tried to enjoy their time together. But even the joy was painful because every success, every day she failed to sink deeper was likely the last time she would have the mental capacities at that level. Every enjoyable memory was the last such memory they would share. The pain came alone, but the joy was always accompanied by dread.
But he had given his word to be there. And he intended to keep it, no matter how painful.
If nothing else, Jonathan Wheeler was a man of his word.
The moon was a sliver behind low clouds when Allen Joiner started walking. The trip from Michigan City to Gary would be his longest trek so far. He checked his GPS watch to make sure his pace was correct then adjusted the waistband on his backpack. It weighed forty-three pounds but he barely felt the distributed weight.
Ready to put more miles behind him, he positioned his earbuds. His iPod held 160 GB, plenty for the three-month trip. Spare battery packs would last him in between charging at hotels. He pushed
Play
and heard, “Exodus, Chapter Fourteen.” As the narrator’s deep voice described the Israelites’ exit from Egypt, he felt a strong kinship. His trek would be significantly shorter than the forty years Moses spent in the wilderness with his people. But the logistics of planning a 98-day hike were every bit as intimidating.
Inside his head, the narrator said,
And it was told the king of Egypt that the people fled: and the heart of Pharaoh and of his servants was turned against the people, and they said, Why have we done this, that we have let Israel go from serving us?
And he made ready his chariot, and took his people with him.
And he took six hundred chosen chariots, and all the chariots of Egypt, and captains over every one of them.
Allen couldn’t resist glancing into the darkness behind him, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Headlights from passing cars illuminated the glistening footsteps he had left in the ankle-high grass along the highway. Though he wasn’t a jumpy person, Allen couldn’t help but notice the similarities between Pharaoh’s bargain with the Israelites and his deal with that man.
Have I made a deal with the devil?
Allen looked over his shoulder again. He didn’t regret accepting the stranger’s offer; he just knew that eventually all the planning he’d done would prove inadequate—whether due to some oversight on his part or the actions of someone else. There was no way he’d make it to San Diego, but he had to try.
He glanced back again. It made no sense for a man to set him up on this task then change his mind and bring his minions bearing down on him, but that’s exactly what Pharaoh did after allowing the Israelites to leave Egypt.
Then again, none of it made any sense. But the hand of God was obvious in the opportunity he had been given.
At least I know where I’m going,
he thought. The Israelites had to walk blindly. He shivered at the thought of setting off on such a journey without research, planning and supply stations along the way.
Resisting the urge to look over his shoulder again, he instead checked his pace. Three point three miles per hour. Two tenths faster than he needed to walk in order to arrive at the next stop by eight o’clock.
The stress was not all bad then, if it gave him a little extra pep in his step. It was still over an hour until the sun came up. He longed for the pillar of fire that accompanied the Israelites in their sojourn.
I’ll be wishing for a pillar of clouds by day by the time I get to San Diego.
The voice in his ears continued. “
And Moses stretched forth his hand over the sea, and the Lord overthrew the Egyptians in the midst of the sea.”
Allen took another look at his watch and wasn’t surprised to see that his pace had returned to normal and his heart rate had also come down. Though each day was tightly regimented, there were still too many variables. The most meticulous planner in the world couldn’t predict every contingency of a 98-day journey. Walking was easy, but the constant changes and alterations tested the limits of his endurance.
I can deal with it
, he assured himself.
I don’t have to be here. It was my choice, and I’d choose it again. A thousand times I’d choose it again, even now that I know what I’ve agreed to.
It didn’t ease the desire to head straight to the closest Greyhound station.
I don’t have to like it. I just have to walk.
Jonathan took a deep breath, let it out and walked into his wife’s room. Susan rocked in her worn out chair in the corner. She smiled as he approached, her youthful face showing little sign of her age. She was the ideal of a woman in her early forties, but her healthy appearance hid something dark and tragic.
After kissing Susan’s cheek, Jonathan presented a single white daisy, which she accepted with a smile. “These are my favorite! Mary and I used to pick these from our neighbor’s yard. He would get so mad.”
Jonathan smiled and sat in the high-backed, armless chair next to her recliner.
He asked, “Do you remember who I am?”
“Of course I do.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re my husband. Jonathan.”
“And I always will be. I always will be.” He patted her hand and the innocent smile returned to her face.
“Would you like to hear a story, Susan?”
“Oh, yes. I love stories. My dad used to tell the best stories.”
Interlacing fingers with his wife, Jonathan told her about Dexter Wilkinson.
*****
Dexter Wilkinson didn’t believe in graveyards. Even though he was a facts-and-evidence man, and knew it was irrational to disbelieve something the rest of the world took for granted, he felt his life would be better without them. So, he completely ignored their existence.
Ever since the economy had turned south a year or so before, Dexter Wilkinson had became the poster boy for the phrase “downward spiral”. The only bright spots in his life were his wife, Dru, and his daughter, Tracy, who was a junior at Columbia. They were two bright spots in a life that had become as dreary as the real estate market.
Dexter’s title company fell victim to the bursting real estate bubble. A larger company bought it out and cut many positions, including Dexter’s. He applied at other title companies, but everyone was struggling. They offered jobs as clerks or secretaries, but at less than half his former pay. There would be no way to support his daughter at that wage.
He applied in other cities and states, but got the same response. The few available positions went to employees within each company. Soon, his severance pay was gone and the savings account was empty.
From a hotel room two states away, Dexter called his wife. After describing his fruitless day he said, “There’s no way to make this work, Dru. I think Tracy will have to take a year off and find a way to get financial aid.”
“Are you sure, Dexter? I just think we should keep trying.”
Dexter considered throwing his cell phone through the hotel window. Then maybe the TV, the lamp. Anything not bolted down. He even briefly considered following them out of the fifth-story window.
“I’d do anything, Dru. You know I already have. But all I know is title work and real estate and there’s no money to be made in the industry. Dammit, I’d dig ditches if I could earn enough for Tracy to finish her last year.” He paused, and turned away from his reflection in the hotel window. “I’ve done everything I can. I give up.”
There was silence on the line for a moment, and he glanced at the phone to see if the call had dropped.
After clearing her throat, Dru said, “We’ll call her tomorrow night, after you get back home, Honey. I love you. Travel safe.”
“You too, Dru. See you then.”
The next morning as Dexter wallowed in bed, a knock at the door forced him up. As he picked up a shirt off the back of the chair, the doorknob turned and a maid stepped in.
“Check-out was fifteen minutes ago,” she said, smacking her gum.
Dexter glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:15. “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize. I’ll be out soon.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother hurrying. I have to come back to this floor anyway.” She walked out and let the door slam behind her.
Dexter forced himself into the bathroom. Ever since losing his job, shaving was the hardest part of the day. A symbol that he hadn’t given up. Yet.
It wasn’t hard to see how stress had aged him over the last year. Every day he was greeted with more wrinkles and less hair. The grey at his temples was spreading over the rest of his head like a mountain giving in to winter.
He pulled the razor out of the case and stared at it for a while. In the end, the razor went into his toiletries bag unused.
After a reluctant shower he started packing for the trip home when another knock came at the door. “A couple more minutes,” he snapped as he walked toward the door.
But when he opened the door he saw it wasn’t the maid. A man in a business suit stood there with a briefcase.
“May I come in?” the black-haired stranger asked before Dexter had a chance to say anything.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about digging.”
“You’ve got the wrong room, buddy” said Dexter.
“I’m a busy man, Dexter,” he said, pushing into the room. “Let’s see if we can’t find a way for Tracy to stay in school.”
Before Dexter could object, the man had seated himself in the only chair in the room. “Will you take a job digging ditches if it gives Tracy a chance to finish her Bachelor’s degree?”
Dexter let the door shut, but still stood in the entry way, not sure if he should be shocked, scared, or angry. Emotion had been hard to come by over the last few months. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I’ve already told you I don’t have a lot of time. It’s not important who I am. You said last night that you would do anything, even dig ditches if you could keep Tracy in school.”