went away, ever, that once she
had
known … but had forgotten.
Maurene’s shadow moved away from the door. Anne flicked the lighter one more time. Holding the trigger down, she inched the flame toward her exposed forearm. Hand shaking, she was on the verge of burning herself when the sound of Adam using a dial-up modem to log onto the Internet jolted her out of her compulsion to self-injury. She gasped and released the flame.
After sitting stunned for a moment, she switched on the lamp. Focusing on a stack of moving boxes, she knelt before a long rectangular box at the bottom of one of the stacks. She pulled it out. A telescope box. Her telescope. Her birthday present from years before. It was labeled YOUR TICKET TO THE FARTHEST STAR.
The colorful design was time faded and corner crushed, but the memory of her with Adam and Maurene in the backyard was clear. He had given her the telescope. They had peered through the lens in wonder and had seen double stars and clusters, and the star nursery in Orion’s Belt.
Anne had gone in that night and drawn a picture and labeled it MY FAMILY. And when she gave it to Adam, he had helped her draw the stars above their heads.
Tonight Anne’s tears fell on the worn box. How had the telescopesurvived so many moves? The stars still shone, but somehow Anne and Adam and Maurene had stopped looking up.
So much forgotten. So much left behind. Like how Adam once knew what it was like to be America’s next Billy Graham. And Maurene once knew what it was like to give the valedictorian speech at her high school graduation.
And Anne? She thought she once had been very certain, a very long time ago, What and Who was beyond the farthest star.
Anne stood beside her window, parting the curtains and gazing up at the myriad of stars.
What troubled her most was how they were all putting this pressure on Anne to solve the mystery of her life … when their own lives were just as terrifyingly unsolvable.
It was a short drive to the sheriff’s office. Calvin didn’t even have time to shift the Porsche into third gear. He climbed out of the car and walked straight to the dispatcher’s desk.
The woman whose name-tag read JOYCE took one look and evidently sized up Calvin as another fancy ACLU lawyer come to call on Senator Cutter.
Calvin smiled inwardly. She was only half right.
“Of course the senator’s still here,” Joyce announced. “He wouldn’t go home if we handed him the keys and told him to go. Seems you fellas could encourage him to make bail and get out of here.”
Calvin presented his card. “Calvin Clayman. He’s expecting me.”
“Not a lawyer.”
“Other business.” He waved a tan legal-sized folder.
“Can’t it wait until mornin’?”
“Nope.”
With a steely eye, she pressed the buzzer and called the deputy.
He emerged from the cell block with an irritated expression. “Senator and I were playing chess. Just fixin’ to share some cookies.”
The dispatcher scratched her cheek. “This fella’s come all the way from Michigan to see Senator Cutter.”
Calvin extended his hand to the deputy. “Calvin Clayman’s the name. I’m an old colleague of the senator’s. Tell him I’m here.”
Keys jangled as Calvin followed the deputy into the holding area.
The deputy stepped aside as Calvin came into the light. “You’ve got a visitor, Senator. He says you’re expecting him.”
Calvin grinned. “Sorry I’m late, Senator.”
“Calvin! Good to see you!”
“Playing chess? Who’s winning?”
“Nobody … yet.”
Waving the folder, Calvin suggested, “With what you’ve got on Pastor Adam Wells, I’d say the game is over.”
PART THREE
No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars.
Helen Keller
Chapter Twelve
T HE CHIRPING AND FLUTTERING of birds called Adam to consciousness. The sun was not yet above the horizon when he opened his eyes. He was still dressed and still at the computer, where he had fallen asleep the night
had
known … but had forgotten.
Maurene’s shadow moved away from the door. Anne flicked the lighter one more time. Holding the trigger down, she inched the flame toward her exposed forearm. Hand shaking, she was on the verge of burning herself when the sound of Adam using a dial-up modem to log onto the Internet jolted her out of her compulsion to self-injury. She gasped and released the flame.
After sitting stunned for a moment, she switched on the lamp. Focusing on a stack of moving boxes, she knelt before a long rectangular box at the bottom of one of the stacks. She pulled it out. A telescope box. Her telescope. Her birthday present from years before. It was labeled YOUR TICKET TO THE FARTHEST STAR.
The colorful design was time faded and corner crushed, but the memory of her with Adam and Maurene in the backyard was clear. He had given her the telescope. They had peered through the lens in wonder and had seen double stars and clusters, and the star nursery in Orion’s Belt.
Anne had gone in that night and drawn a picture and labeled it MY FAMILY. And when she gave it to Adam, he had helped her draw the stars above their heads.
Tonight Anne’s tears fell on the worn box. How had the telescopesurvived so many moves? The stars still shone, but somehow Anne and Adam and Maurene had stopped looking up.
So much forgotten. So much left behind. Like how Adam once knew what it was like to be America’s next Billy Graham. And Maurene once knew what it was like to give the valedictorian speech at her high school graduation.
And Anne? She thought she once had been very certain, a very long time ago, What and Who was beyond the farthest star.
Anne stood beside her window, parting the curtains and gazing up at the myriad of stars.
What troubled her most was how they were all putting this pressure on Anne to solve the mystery of her life … when their own lives were just as terrifyingly unsolvable.
It was a short drive to the sheriff’s office. Calvin didn’t even have time to shift the Porsche into third gear. He climbed out of the car and walked straight to the dispatcher’s desk.
The woman whose name-tag read JOYCE took one look and evidently sized up Calvin as another fancy ACLU lawyer come to call on Senator Cutter.
Calvin smiled inwardly. She was only half right.
“Of course the senator’s still here,” Joyce announced. “He wouldn’t go home if we handed him the keys and told him to go. Seems you fellas could encourage him to make bail and get out of here.”
Calvin presented his card. “Calvin Clayman. He’s expecting me.”
“Not a lawyer.”
“Other business.” He waved a tan legal-sized folder.
“Can’t it wait until mornin’?”
“Nope.”
With a steely eye, she pressed the buzzer and called the deputy.
He emerged from the cell block with an irritated expression. “Senator and I were playing chess. Just fixin’ to share some cookies.”
The dispatcher scratched her cheek. “This fella’s come all the way from Michigan to see Senator Cutter.”
Calvin extended his hand to the deputy. “Calvin Clayman’s the name. I’m an old colleague of the senator’s. Tell him I’m here.”
Keys jangled as Calvin followed the deputy into the holding area.
The deputy stepped aside as Calvin came into the light. “You’ve got a visitor, Senator. He says you’re expecting him.”
Calvin grinned. “Sorry I’m late, Senator.”
“Calvin! Good to see you!”
“Playing chess? Who’s winning?”
“Nobody … yet.”
Waving the folder, Calvin suggested, “With what you’ve got on Pastor Adam Wells, I’d say the game is over.”
PART THREE
No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars.
Helen Keller
Chapter Twelve
T HE CHIRPING AND FLUTTERING of birds called Adam to consciousness. The sun was not yet above the horizon when he opened his eyes. He was still dressed and still at the computer, where he had fallen asleep the night
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