Send Down the Rain(48)

She nodded. “Once was enough.” She spoke as much to herself as to me. “I’m not sure my heart can survive . . . another.”

“And I won’t steal from you.”

When her eyes found mine, they were looking decades behind us. “You would do all this . . . even after . . . ?”

“After what?”

She looked away. “Everything that’s happened.”

I walked her to the merry-go-round, dusted off two horses frozen in full gallop, and we sat, she leaning her forehead against the brass pole, looking at me. I studied the quiet world around us, frozen in time, just waiting for someone to throw the switch and jump this place back to life again.

“You and me, we’re a lot like this place,” I said.

“What, old and decrepit?”

We laughed. “Maybe that too.” We were growing comfortable around each other. I pointed. “I used to sit over there at night, close my eyes and just listen to the laughter. Watch the smiles on the kids’ faces.”

We climbed off the horses and walked between the booths and rides.

“This was never intended to be this way. It was designed for something else. Something better. But when I killed the power, it froze. Stuck here in time. And what was once alive and warm became dead and cold to the touch. Like me. Or at least parts of me.” I shook my head. “So I locked the gate and drove away.

“Now I’m trying to figure out how not to go back to my cabin and end up like one of these horses.” I looked at Allie. “A long time ago, when you and I knew laughter and love and we were full of hope and dreams, something pulled the plug on us. Ever since, we’ve been stuck in this cold, dusty, frozen place. Just waiting. But for what? I’m sixty-two. I live alone, don’t hear as well as I used to, can’t live without insulin, I have bad dreams, there’s stuff in my life I can’t begin to talk about. I’m not the man I’d hoped to be. But these last few days, I have enjoyed being with you. Seeing your strength and your frailty.”

I grabbed her hand, and we sat on a picnic table staring at the crazy world I’d created and then abandoned. “I’m feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time. There’s a part of me that feels like I don’t deserve it. That if you really knew me, if you could see the pictures I see with my eyes, you’d want nothing to do with me. But if that horse back there could talk, and I walked up and asked him, ‘Mr. Horse, what can I do for you?’ he’d say, ‘Old man, hop on and let me take you for a ride.’” I paused and rubbed my hands together. “There are a thousand reasons not to, but I think we should throw the switch one last time and then listen for the laughter.”

She slid her hand in mine and laid her head on my shoulder. “Life’s not been easy, has it?”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “No. It has not.”

“Make me one promise.”

“Okay.”

“Be truthful with me. Even with the stuff that hurts.”

“Sometimes I don’t have words for the stuff I see, but with the words I do have, I won’t ever lie to you.”

She kissed my cheek. “That’s good enough.”


WE LOCKED THE GATE behind us and pointed the nose to Cape San Blas. Three hours due south. We had just pulled off Highway 231 onto I-10 east when my phone rang. It was my doctor’s office, calling to tell me I’d missed my appointment.

I sent it to voicemail.

A few minutes later my phone rang again. I punched the mute button, again sending it to voicemail. But when it rang a third time, I checked the caller ID. It was a Mississippi area code. I flipped it open. “Hello?”

The accent was thick. “Mr. Jo-Jo?”

“Catalina?”

She was whispering. “Mr. Jo-Jo, I don’t know who to call. We are in a bad way.”

“What happened?”

“Men were waiting for us.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“The kids?”

“Scared but good.” She paused. “My brother . . .” I heard someone groaning in the background. “He’s not too good.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside New Orleans.”

“Do you have transportation?”

“No.”

I made an illegal U-turn in the median. “Can you stay safe for a few hours?”

“I think so. We are hiding behind a rest area on the 10 interstate.”

“Do you know the name of the closest town?”

She whispered something to someone next to her, then returned to me. “Gulfport.”

“I’m about five hours from you. Sit tight. How many are you?”

“Me, the kids, my brother, and three other men. My cousins.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Does your brother need a doctor?”

“He’s in and out of consciousness. I don’t know.”

“Is he bleeding?”

“Not anymore. I stitched him up. But his ribs are badly bruised. He’s having trouble taking a deep breath. And one eye is closed.”

“Sit tight. I’ll call you when I get close.”

“Mr. Jo-Jo?”