Sanctuary (8 page)

  
Chapter Nine
  

DENNY BOARDED THE 747 bound for Providence, Rhode Island—the second leg of a flight originating in Denver—having changed planes in Atlanta. He was greeted by a smiley brunette flight attendant who offered an array of magazines. Denny patted the pocket Bible in his shirt. “Came prepared,” he said, offering a smile.

“I can see that,” she replied glibly and continued greeting the incoming line of passengers.

Denny struggled down the narrow aisle, maneuvering his large frame to a row midway through the plane. When he located his seat, he frowned and checked his boarding pass. He was fairly certain his travel agent had booked an aisle seat. A big man, Denny
always
requested aisle seating.

Bummer
, he thought, sighing.
Maybe God has a reason….

Walking with the Lord had taught him one thing. Those who endeavored to live in Christ could expect the unexpected. No accidents for a Christian. Even the smallest irritations turned out to reveal God’s marvelous intentions.

Denny squeezed into the middle chair between the aisle and window seats. Watching the remaining passengers find their spots, he replayed last night’s conversation with Ryan. Denny had called back about ten o’clock and learned that Melissa was still missing.

“I’m coming anyway,” Denny had declared. “You need help with this, man.” To his surprise, Ryan had agreed, but Denny suspected his buddy was overcome with worry, too drained to protest. So be it. He assured Ryan he’d rent a car and spare him the two-hour round trip. But Ryan had insisted on making the trip personally to meet Denny at the airport.

Closing his eyes momentarily, he thought of Evelyn, missing her. He hoped she’d wait up for his call later that evening.

He was roused from his reflection when a morose-looking, pimple-faced teenager, clad in torn jeans and a soiled T-shirt, moped his way to Denny’s row. Mumbling, the kid pointed to the window seat next to Denny. Denny smiled, struggled out of his seat and into the aisle, allowing the boy to pass.

Hot diggity!
Denny thought. Reclaiming the middle seat next to the boy, he settled in once again, ready to strike up a conversation with the surly one. About that time, an elderly woman tapped him on the shoulder. In her hand she held the ticket to the aisle seat. “Care to switch?” she said, eyeing his giant frame with amusement.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Denny said, returning a smile. “I’m smaller than I appear in person.” The kid next to him snorted.

“But you need room for your legs, young man,” the woman insisted.

“They fit me fine,” Denny told her. “They’re collapsible.”

“Okey-dokey,” she said in a singsongy voice and plopped down in the aisle seat. “You’re a funny one.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

One minor disaster averted. Now on with the adventure. He bided his time, waiting for the right moment. As the plane taxied down the runway and took to the air, the moment arrived. The kid was gripping the armrest, his face a gray-green. Unmistakably, the boy was terrified.
Fear of flying
.

Denny leaned over and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, man. God won’t let anything happen to us.”

The boy’s eyes jerked open. “What?”

“We’re cool,” Denny said casually. “My number’s not up yet, and since you happen to be on my plane, your number isn’t up yet, either.”

“How … do
you
know?” the boy muttered.

“Call it a hunch,” Denny quipped. “Besides, there’s a reason you’re sitting next to me.”

“Who
are
you?”

He grinned at the kid. “I’m your new best friend.” Frowning, the teen met Denny’s gaze, then a slight grin emerged. They bantered back and forth, and in short order Denny worked his disarming wit on the kid. The fear began to dissipate, the shoulders relaxed, and the boy slowly opened up.

The breakthrough came when Denny revealed that he’d scrimmaged with John Elway at training camp. The walls came tumbling down. They talked football for a solid hour before Denny directed the discussion to more serious things.

He learned that the boy’s name was Michael and that he’d been in and out of foster homes his entire life. Michael was returning from a visit with his estranged mother in Atlanta who, after two days, could hardly wait to be rid of him. She’d put him on an early flight back to his most recent foster family.

Denny listened as the kid talked. Prayerfully, he sized up the situation, not surprised at all by Michael’s armor of rage. But the sword of salvation was stronger. Denny would cut through the rejection and pain with God’s awesome love.

When the flight attendants came around with lunch, Michael was ready for some good news for a change. God had already prepared the way.

By the time the plane approached the runway, Denny had indeed made a new friend. Young Michael listened with rapt attention as Denny opened his pocket Bible and presented the Gospel.

“Oh … man. This is so … well, out there,” Michael replied. “I need time to think it through.”

“That’s cool. Maybe we could hit a youth service somewhere while I’m in Connecticut,” Denny replied.

“Church?” Michael frowned.

“Sure, wouldn’t hurt to try it. At least once.”

Michael considered this, then replied, “I didn’t think this was gonna lead to
church
.”

Denny understood. “I’ve been there, Michael. Church is just a place where people like you and I hang out. Like a gang—only for believers.”

Michael snickered, but he seemed to respond to the unconventional explanation.

Their conversation ceased as the plane’s wheels slammed, then bounced against the runway. The passenger to Denny’s left—the lady in the aisle seat—leaned over. “You’re quite the ‘Billy Graham,’ young man,” she said without looking up from her needlepoint. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard anything quite like it.”

“I just show up, and God does the rest.”

“Okey-dokey,” she replied, putting her needle aside. She reached for the gate information in the seat pocket in front of her, obviously nervous. Maybe she was worried that Denny might start in with her about God and church.

He chuckled.
Double duty
. The woman had overheard the entire conversation.
And God’s Word does not return void
, he thought joyfully.

Before deplaning, Denny and Michael traded phone numbers. The rest was in God’s hands. Reluctant to bid farewell to Michael, Denny grabbed his own luggage and stuffed the pocket Bible in the kid’s hands. “Take good care of it, okay?”

“Sure.” The boy’s eyes shone with gratitude, his earlier surliness gone.

Next challenge: Ryan and Melissa.

Ryan stood near the catwalk, waiting. Denny emerged soon enough, and Ryan was struck again by his friend’s large and muscular build, wrapped in gray slacks and a red-and-blue polo shirt, topped off by that perpetual exuberance. The image of the Jolly Green Giant came to mind. Sans the green, of course.

They greeted each other as only good friends do, though pretending they were meeting under normal circumstances. “So … you’ve still got all your hair,” Denny commented with false chagrin, releasing Ryan after a bear hug. “Uh! Wait a minute!” He pretended to examine Ryan’s head. “I see some signs of hope … an emerging bald spot.”

Ryan chuckled. “In your dreams.”

“You know, it’s an insult to flaunt that hair when you’re around follicly challenged people like me.”

“How do you think
I
feel?” Ryan shot back good-naturedly. “Standing next to you, I look emaciated.”

“Jealousy will get you nowhere, my friend,” Denny replied, releasing his grip.

They shared a good laugh and headed directly to the parking lot, since Denny preferred to carry on his luggage. No need to put up with baggage-claim madness.

Locating the SUV, Ryan opened the back and tossed Denny’s bag inside. They negotiated the noncongested parking area, heading for the highway. Ryan steered the Bronco onto Interstate 95, southbound.

Small talk occupied their attention, at least for several miles, but the unspoken concern over Melissa created tension in the air. It was Denny who finally broached the subject heavy on Ryan’s mind. “Did Melissa finally call?”

Ryan shook his head. “Still waiting.” He picked up his cell phone. “All my calls are being forwarded to this.”

“Any new ideas since we last talked?”

“No. I’ve called everyone I can think of—including the police.”

Denny sighed audibly. “What’re you going to do now?”

“Nothing I
can
do, but wait.”

“Did she ever pull this kind of thing before? Just up and leave?”

Ryan hesitated. “Well … yes. Before we were married.”

“Really?”

“She got spooked or something. I didn’t know where she was for a couple days.”

Denny looked surprised. “What happened?”

Ryan shrugged. “She finally called. And we worked everything out.”

Denny didn’t say anything for a moment. “Has she run off since you’ve been married?”

“Just that one time.”

“Ever threaten to?” Denny persisted.

Ryan turned to his friend. “C’mon, Den, cut me some slack here.”

Denny said nothing.

Eventually, Ryan’s apologetic tone ended the silence. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little on edge.”

“My fault. I’m like a bull in a china shop sometimes,” Denny replied. “She’ll call soon.” He turned to look out the window, quiet for a moment, then—“I sure missed the trees here.”

“I miss
your
mountains.”

“Missed your ocean, too,” Denny added.

“And your desert sand.”

Denny laughed. “Yeah, right!”

“Just trying to keep up,” Ryan replied. Denny grinned back. But as the miles passed, a subdued mood prevailed, and for the remainder of the drive to Lord’s Point, neither said another word regarding Melissa. Ryan, however, thought of little else.

  
Chapter Ten
  

RYAN RESISTED THE URGE TO HOPE. Melissa would
not
be waiting for him, sitting on the back steps when he arrived home from the airport with Denny. Foolish thought. But then again … what if she
were?

He imagined the moment clearly, as if the vision might materialize by the sure force of his will. Pulling into the driveway, he’d catch a glimpse of her. Denny might point and grin at Ryan. “Well, whadaya know!”

Mellie might stand timidly, brush off her jeans, and watch him leap out of the car. Their eyes would meet and then … all hesitancy would melt away as they embraced like lost lovers who hadn’t seen each other in months.

“I’m so sorry,” she’d whisper over and over, asking his forgiveness for creating such a silly misunderstanding. He would hold her face in his hands, gently kiss her sweet lips. “Shh, my darling. It’s okay now, everything’s okay.” All would be forgiven and their short nightmare—a mere twenty-four hours—would soon become a blip on the screen over the next fifty years or more, a lifetime of love.

Not normally given to flights of fancy, Ryan sighed. As they turned the final corner, their home appeared, and he drove into the driveway. His chest tightened in anticipation, hoping for a miracle. But Mellie was not waiting on the porch.

The cliché
It doesn’t hurt to hope
crossed his mind. But he dismissed it, discouraged.
Yeah, it does hurt. Hurts a lot
.

“You okay?” Denny asked.

He caught his friend’s expression of concern. “I’d better check on things in the guest room. Clean sheets, stuff like that.” One more reminder of Mellie’s absence. She would have been the one to prepare the room for Denny’s stay.

“There’s a bed, right?” Denny joked.

Ryan chuckled. “And some new paintings, too. Mellie was eager for you to see them. In fact, one of them is yours to take home. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“When did she—?”

“Finished it about a month ago.” Ryan registered Denny’s uncertain look. “She wanted you to have it—a special gift.”

“Sure, man. Just seems so … weird.”

Weird, all right
, thought Ryan as he grabbed Denny’s bag and led the way up the brick walk to the house. He was strangely aware of Melissa’s flowers, well tended and blooming profusely. The lawn, edged and well manicured, was a mere backdrop for the colorful array.

Daisy was barely able to contain herself with delight, meeting them at the door and following close on their heels as they headed upstairs. Down the hall, past framed pictures recording their happy days, Ryan led his guest to the back room—Melissa’s pride and joy. A breezy seaside retreat, nestled under the eaves, the roomy place was set up for their occasional guests, as well as another showplace for more of Mellie’s art.

The bed, angled against two white-paneled walls, was draped with an airy comforter that resembled old-fashioned mattress ticking. Abundant pastel blue and cream-colored pillows vied for attention against the white wooden headboard. Windows on either side of the bed appeared wider, with louvered shutters that opened flat against the walls. Mellie’s idea. She thought the room seemed larger by emphasizing the diagonal line.

Starfish, spray-painted white, stood along a plate rail a third of the way down from the pale blue ceiling. A see-through white birdcage graced the room as walls sang with Mellie’s floral paintings.

One of her best paintings hung to the left of the dresser—a young woman surrounded by rosebushes, growing wild on a grassy mound near the beach-bordered ocean.

Denny seemed drawn to the image, gazing at the art as he inched closer. “This one’s for me, isn’t it?”

Ryan nodded. “She wanted you to take the ocean home with you.”

Denny raised his finger to the canvas, delicately tracing the faint symbol in the clouds, a product of the shadows and light, “Is this—”

“She thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Beautiful,” Denny replied, transfixed by the unmistakable outline of a cross.

“I only wish she were here to present it to you herself.” Silence reigned for a moment. Then Ryan gestured toward the north-facing window overlooking the garage. “Not much of an ocean view, I’m afraid.”

Denny shrugged. “The whole
house
has an ocean view. The beach is what … twenty paces away?”

“About that.” Ryan opened the closet, showing Denny the available space and extra hangers. “Make yourself at home.”

“Won’t take me long to unpack.” Denny was staring at the painting again, seemingly reluctant to take his eyes off it. Then he turned a worried look on Ryan.

“What is it?” Ryan asked.

“Shouldn’t we go looking for her?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know … but somewhere. Aren’t you worried?” Ryan sighed. “Of course I am. But where do we start? She has one friend, Ali, and she doesn’t know anything. Mellie’s mother died when she was young. Her father abandoned her, left her to be raised by a neighbor. No one knows where he is now. No other living relatives.”

“No other friends?”

“Not here. None that she talked about,” Ryan replied.

“Didn’t she have some favorite places?” Denny sat on the bed, gingerly testing the box springs.

“A few. Watch Hill … Napatree. We never took you there last time you came out. I met her there, in fact.”

“Why don’t we check it out?” Denny persisted. “Take your cell phone along.”

Ryan forced a smile. “We could do a late lunch.”

“Hey, I do lunch,” Denny chuckled.

Ryan closed the door, leaving his friend alone in Mellie’s blue-and-white paradise.

Denny opened his suitcase, removed his toiletries—shaver, deodorant, and toothbrush—and placed them in the bathroom. One look in the mirror, and he knew another shave was in order. Plugging in the razor, he registered how quiet the house seemed this time, so empty without Melissa’s eager presence. Not that she was larger than life, no. She just had a warm and welcoming way about her, a knack for making a person feel at home. Last time, she’d gone overboard to make him feel comfortable, even going so far as to arrange her menus around his preferences. Yet in spite of Melissa’s obvious gift of hospitality, her outgoing nature, something had seemed amiss. At times she had struck Denny as … somewhat secretive. Just today Ryan had said of his wife that she had no living relatives, practically no friends besides Ali.

No friends or acquaintances from the past? Her estranged father out there somewhere, never bothering to contact his only daughter. Seemed strange.

He finished shaving, splashing on some aftershave, still absorbed in his overactive imagination. Melissa’s leaving surely pointed only to a lover’s spat—she and Ryan had simply had a misunderstanding and needed a few days to sort things out. That was all.

Suppressing his curiosity, he put away his shaver and finished unpacking.

The last thing Lela wanted to be was pushy, but her Connecticut houseguest looked a little peaked this morning. “Would you care to eat lunch with me?” she asked. “There’s plenty here, and I’d like the company. No extra charge.” She let out a little chuckle, altogether glad she’d opened her door last night, in spite of the hour.

Melissa smiled back faintly, then rose from the sofa in the sitting area just off the kitchen. “I’d love to have lunch with you. Thanks.”

Grateful for the positive response from her first boarder, she thought Melissa’s face seemed downright thin, her eyes, though clearly blue, were drawn and pain ridden. She had been surprised when Melissa had not packed up and left this morning, as she had indicated she would. Lela overlooked the check-out time, and along about breakfast, Melissa mentioned that she was expecting a phone call and would it be all right if she stayed on a bit longer.

Glad for the company, Lela had agreed that Melissa could stay on another night, or for the extra hours she needed. “Don’t worry about paying for half a day or whatnot. It’s no trouble to me.”

Obvious relief spread over Melissa’s face, giving her cause to sigh. But, then, of all things—and on such a heavenly summer day, too—she had gone and curled up on the loveseat in the corner of the room, sitting there all morning, just a-gazing out the bay window that faced westward, toward the area of Hunsecker Mill Bridge.

What could possibly weigh so heavily on her heart that she would sit nearly lifeless that way?
Lela wondered. Was Melissa holding her breath for the telephone to ring? She
had
kept her eye on the kitchen phone a lot, no question. Seemed so awful downtrodden, too. Even despairing. So much so, Lela had thought of offering her a Scripture or a prayer.

She guessed Melissa to be no more than twenty-five. Maybe a bit older, though it wasn’t always easy to tell. She wore a tasteful amount of makeup and the typical attire that modern women seemed to feel comfortable wearing these days.
Designer jeans
, yes, that’s what they were called, Lela was fairly sure. And a T-shirt that had some writing on it, but she hadn’t bothered to stare long enough to see really. Anyway, the girl from Connecticut had the look of—how should she say?—an up-to-the-minute woman. And it appeared that she was married, according to the wedding band and diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. A married woman traveling alone? This idea was most foreign to Lela.

There was something else, too. Something she hoped she was wrong about; but Melissa appeared to be in some kind of trouble. The girl was more than anxious. Lela’s concern for her guest increased considerably when Melissa asked to park her car “somewhere else.”

“Where … do you mean?” she’d asked, confused, wondering why the driveway area outside the house wasn’t just fine for a short time.

“Is there an out-of-the-way place?” came the strange request.

She hadn’t had to think much about such a question. Why Melissa wanted to hide her car, Lela had no idea. “Well, I suppose you could drive on over to my sister and brother-in-law’s place.”

Melissa seemed eager. “How far from here?”

“Just up the road apiece, to the next farmhouse. I’ll call up to the barn after lunch. That way I’m sure to catch somebody.”

She hadn’t bothered to explain that Thaddeus King, her brother-in-law, though raised in the Old Ways, had joined a church with less conservative Amish folk. He enjoyed his newfangled conveniences, such as a radio—“helps calm the cows at milkin’ ”—as well as a telephone in the barn.

“Thanks.” The color suddenly returned to Melissa’s cheeks.

“Well, first I’ll have to see if there’s room for a car in their old shed.” She didn’t go on to say that Thaddeus might not want such a thing as an automobile hidden away on his property, being that he and Elizabeth still preferred horse and buggy for their main transportation. But that sort of thing wouldn’t make any difference to a fancy
Englischer
, probably.

Melissa stared out at countless acres of alfalfa, and, in the distance, verdant and rolling hills toward the south ridge. To occupy her mind, and out of courtesy, she offered to help Lela prepare lunch but was quickly turned down. Not rudely, though. She couldn’t imagine the owner of this country cottage exhibiting anything but genuine courtesy.

Lela was the epitome of hospitality, the gracious hostess, in spite of the fact that Melissa was a paying guest. Lela had presented a lavish breakfast, so abundant that Melissa had felt almost too full. So she was content to simply while away the morning gazing out at the tranquil sweep of field and trees, waiting for the phone to ring.