Chapter 23

Even though he was unconscious, Rachel held onto Eli’s work-roughened hand as though it were a lifeline. Both of his legs were in casts. Tubes snaked into and out of his body. Bandages wreathed his head, making it look twice its size.

“Your cousin Joseph would like to come in now to see his father, Rachel.” A daughter-in-law of Eli’s gently touched her shoulder. “He just arrived from Pennsylvania.”

“Of course.”

She reluctantly let go of Eli’s hand and left the room as Eli’s youngest son entered. The room was already filled with the maximum number of relatives the hospital allowed—all sitting vigil beside their patriarch’s bed. It would be selfish of her to take up space any longer.

Several members of Eli’s church sat quietly outside in the waiting room. Embedded within the Amish church members were the Keim twins, still dressed in their Englisch clothes but wearing hangdog expressions. Flanking them like battered bookends were their mother and father, who were pale and shaken but valiantly trying to absorb some of the great damage done by their unruly sons.

No fingers were being pointed, no accusations leveled. There would, of course, be no lawsuit brought against the boys—no matter how steep the hospital bill.

Unless she missed her guess, the Keim twins would be making their kneeling prayer of confession soon, accepting the rite of baptism that would ensure their place in the Amish church. Regardless of whether Eli lived or died, there would be no recriminations from the rest of the Amish population. Ever. Their shameful rumspringa would be forgiven and forgotten.

Nor would any Amish person blame her for chasing the Keim twins into Eli’s buggy. They would bow, instead, to what they saw as the will of God. It was their way. One she respected enormously—and understood the least.

Of course, no one had to blame her for the accident. She was too busy blaming herself.

She felt out of place in her police uniform as she made her way from Eli’s room and weaved through the quiet crowd to the exit. As much as she cherished her father’s relatives, she was not Amish, and that created a polite but permanent and invisible barrier about which she could do nothing except go home and hope that Eli survived.

The twenty-minute drive from Union Hospital in New Philadelphia seemed to evaporate as she tried to absorb everything that had transpired during this long, long day that still wasn’t over. Her horror over Eli’s accident, the guilt she felt over giving chase to the vehicle that had plowed into Eli, the sudden appearance of Joe right at the moment she needed him most—it was all almost more than she could process.

It was, however, nice to have her beloved little Mustang back. The silver blue car purred along as though reveling in their reunion. There were few people whom she would ever have allowed access to her “baby,” but Joe was one.

As she entered Sugarcreek, she decided to drive by the farmhouse to talk to her aunts. They would be terribly worried—and hungry for an update on Eli. As she pulled into their driveway, she was at first puzzled when she saw several vehicles in their yard. Then she noticed two news vans, and her heart sank.

So, Joe had gone through with his decision to talk at length with the media. She wasn’t sure it was wise, but it wasn’t her choice to make.

As she drove closer, she saw that Joe was sitting on the porch surrounded by reporters and cameras. And unless her eyes deceived her, half of them were holding glasses of iced tea.

She parked and walked toward the knot of reporters grouped around Joe. As she drew closer, it sounded like he was giving forth, in mind-numbing detail, about where he and Bobby had gone after he’d left LA.

“Well, then we drove through the Midwest for a while. Bobby really likes the barbecue in Oklahoma City. There’s a restaurant there that does something with their sauce that’s out of this world. But he didn’t like the coleslaw. He’s usually pretty good about eating his vegetables, but he hates cabbage. Especially when it’s made into coleslaw. I can get him to eat cooked cabbage sometimes, though, if I put enough butter in it.”

She caught his eye over the shoulder of one of the reporters. Joe winked.

That caught the attention of the reporter closest to him—whose eyes had begun to glaze over. “Is this your girlfriend?” he asked, perking up.

“Not yet,” Joe said. “Although I think she has possibilities, don’t you?”

The reporters looked her up and down. “So how did you two meet?” one of them asked, obviously hoping for something juicier than Bobby’s food preferences.

“That’s a long story.” Joe lifted a pitcher sitting on a small table beside him. “Here—let me refill your glasses while I tell you all about it.”

Rachel bit her lip to keep from laughing as Joe launched into a lengthy recitation of his truck breaking down and their confrontation outside the cabin at her aunts’ farm. As she backed away, she saw a reporter signal a cameraman, who then began to put away his equipment.

It seemed to be a good plan—so far. But after Joe finished boring the reporters, the fans would come. She didn’t know how many or how long they would stay, and she wasn’t sure it would be as easy for them to lose interest. But it appeared that Joe’s plan was working in the meantime.

Suddenly there was a small commotion on her aunts’ front porch. She saw Lydia and Anna struggling to carry a table outside. She jumped to help.

“What in the world are you doing, Lydia?”

Her aunt nodded toward the group of reporters. “I think they look hungahrich,” she said. “Don’t you?”

Rachel looked them over. “I do think they look hungry,” she said solemnly.

Bertha limped out, carrying a large spackleware pot of coffee in one hand.

“I am thinking three dollars for a piece of pie with one cup of coffee,” Lydia said. “Do you think that is too much?”

“For your genuine, homemade Amish pies?” Rachel surveyed the bored reporters. “Those are big-city people sitting there on Joe’s porch. I’d charge ’em six.”

Rachel was lying in bed, watching TV, when the phone rang.

“So how do you think they like me now?” Joe asked.

“I think you’re going into the hall of fame as one of the biggest gasbags of all time.”

Joe spluttered with laughter. “That’s what I’m hoping.”

“How’s Bobby?”

“I just talked with him. Apparently in addition to a kitten, we’ll be having a mixed-breed puppy coming to live with us.”

“He’s okay, then?”

“So far. Aaron’s being a good fill-in dad while I’m gone. He was giving Bobby and Davey ‘horsey-back’ rides when I called. Bobby seemed impatient to get back to all the fun.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“He asked about you.”

She was surprised. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. He wanted to know if you and I were kissing yet. I told him no, but I would give it some consideration.”

She heard a chuckle in his voice. She had no idea how to respond.

There was an awkward silence as the image of kissing filled her mind.

Joe cleared his throat. “Four-year-olds these days are a lot more precocious than I was at that age.”

“Probably.”

“All I wanted to think about was playing ball when I was a kid.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I was pretty rough on you last week when I thought you had called the press. I still feel bad about it.”

“You’ve already apologized.” Rachel pulled herself higher up against the pillows. “Besides, I understood.”

“I should have trusted you more.”

“It’s over, Joe. I’ve forgotten it. I would probably have reacted the same way.”

“No, you would have faced them down from the beginning. You would never have run in the first place.”

“I doubt that. I was taught at the academy that when faced with overwhelming odds and no backup, it’s best to retreat. If I’d had Bobby to care for, I would probably have done exactly the same thing you did.”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “When this whole thing is over, Rachel, I want to spend some serious time together.”

“I’d like that.”

“Sleep tight, Rachel.”

“You too, Joe.”

She hung up and stared at the phone. She cared so much about that man, she was almost afraid to hope this relationship could turn into anything deeper than a friendship.

Joe congratulated himself on having made the right decision this time. Even though he was missing Bobby terribly, he was certain he had made the right choice. He had laid himself bare, and other than a few die-hard fans who would probably show up on his doorstep in the next few weeks, he was counting on people eventually losing interest in him.

There would be other good ballplayers to take his place in the public eye. As for playing pro ball ever again, he knew that he simply didn’t have it in him anymore. He had had a good run, but somewhere along the path he and Bobby had traveled together this past year, he had lost the desire to compete at that level, and he knew in his heart that he would never get it back.

What he had not taken into account in the beginning, after Grace’s death, was that the country, as a whole, had a short attention span. There would always be a breaking story to replace the one that had gone stale. People would soon tire of a has-been ballplayer who was no longer winning games. He should have realized that before starting out on this journey.

But had he not taken this journey, he would never have met Rachel and her aunts. He would still be trying to get his arm back in shape, hoping to eke out another season, instead of realizing that it was a relief to step away from the intensity and pressure of being a high-profile athlete.

Something good that had come from this last go-round with the press was that the news had brought focus, once again, on Grace’s death and the fact that her killer was still at large. Several mentions had been made about the reward he had posted for information leading to her murderer. Unless he missed his guess, the cops back home were getting an earful. Most of it useless information, no doubt, but he was hopeful there might be some small thing that would eventually lead to an arrest.

He knew he would never be completely at peace until Grace’s killer was behind bars.

He carried an empty plate to the sink and was rinsing it off when he heard a knock at the door. He stiffened. It was dark outside. Most people, at least those who had electricity, were at home by now, watching television.

Pulling back the curtain, he saw an unfamiliar car. Assuming it was a reporter or a fan, he waited, hoping they would go away. The knocking continued. He opened the door a crack and was stunned at what he saw.

Dr. Robert Mattias, dressed in a crumpled gray suit, stood on his doorstep. Joe threw the door open wide.

“Dad!” he cried.

He found himself enveloped in a hug. “I booked a plane the minute I heard your voice on the answering machine,” his father said.

“Yeah,” a familiar voice echoed from behind his father, “he couldn’t wait.”

His brother, Darren.

Joe wasn’t thrilled to see his brother, but he was determined not to let Darren’s presence spoil his reunion with their father.

“Bring the suitcases in, son,” his father said, “and we’ll all get caught up.”

Darren sauntered back to the car.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Joe said. “I never dreamed you would just pick up and come.”

“I’ve wanted to make amends since Grace’s death. I saw it in the papers. Yes, even in Africa we get news. But then you disappeared and I had no idea how to contact you.”

“I almost called you a dozen times. It’s been so hard, Dad.”

“I know.”

“I understand now—”

“It was wrong of me to—” His father spoke at exactly the same time.

“You first,” Joe said.

His father nodded. “Yes, I’ll go first. I am the one most in need of apologizing. It was wrong of me to ask you to give up something you loved so much. I did it for selfish reasons. I knew that once you started playing pro ball, you’d never come back to us. And with your mother gone, I could hardly bear to have you so far away. Once you made your decision, I was so hurt that I just clammed up. Your mother would say it was my hardheaded Mattias blood coming out.”

“You weren’t entirely wrong to try to stop me, Dad. I got into some weird stuff for a while.”

“But you stopped. I’ve read everything about you I could find.”

“I had to clean up my act once Bobby was born. When I held that little boy in my arms, I knew I had to grow up and be a real father to him. I could no longer spend my life partying.”

“Come on, now. You did more than just party. You saved three villages from drought with the wells you paid to have drilled.” Robert put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “You sent truckloads of food when some of my people were starving.”

“You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Your brother told me.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Darren isn’t good about keeping secrets—unless they’re his own.” His dad craned his neck to peer over Joe’s shoulder. “Where is this grandson I’ve been longing to meet?”

“With friends, for now.”

Joe explained the situation to his father as he led him into the home. He decided he would put Darren in Bobby’s room for the night. His dad he would give the other twin bed in his own room. There was so much he wanted to tell his father, preferably without Darren listening. They could talk long into the night and make up for lost time.

“Ten years we went without speaking,” Joe said two hours later. His hands were laced behind his head as he lay in bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling.

“Your mother would not have been pleased.”

“She would have knocked our heads together. I miss her.”

“As do I.”

“I loved Grace, but she wasn’t like Mom.”

“I’m sorry I never met her.”

“You would have liked her. Beneath the makeup and the glamour, she was just a little girl playing dress-up. But she was a good mother to Bobby and supportive of me. She wanted me to contact you and apologize. I wish I had.”

“Me too.”

Somehow that answer rankled. His father could have just as easily contacted him. “I didn’t disown you, Dad. It was the other way around, remember?”

“You were always my son. I never stopped loving you. I had nothing against you playing ball—except for it taking you away from us and from God—but I was terrified of the kind of lifestyle you started living. I was afraid it would destroy you.”

“It almost did.”

“The only weapons I had to fight with were my prayers and the threat of withdrawing from our relationship. You were my prodigal son, and I had to let you go. Remember that story? It used to be one of your favorites.”

Joe turned on his side, facing his father. “I wasn’t quite down to eating pig slop, but I was pretty close when the Troyer sisters took me in.”

“I’m grateful they didn’t let it come to that.”

“I remember how the father ran to greet his prodigal son when he saw him from afar off. Now that I have Bobby, I can understand how that father must have felt.”

“Then you must know how I felt when you called.”

“You came running to me.”

“Yes. I came running to you.”

“Even though I’d broken your heart.”

“No. Because I knew your heart was broken.”

Joe absorbed that. “How long can you stay, Dad?”

There was a long silence.

“How long would you like for me to stay?” his dad asked.

“Forever?”

His father chuckled in the darkness. “We’ll see.”

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see the stars out that window?”

“I can. Did you make them?”

“Nope.” Joe grinned. “I didn’t make them.”

“Me neither. I wonder who did.”

“God?” Joe said the same thing he’d said so many years ago. Only this time, he knew there was nothing childish about his answer.

“Do you suppose He made them so that a father and son could look into the sky and know how much God loves them?”

“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it, Dad.” Joe felt the same warmth and security in his father’s presence that he had known as a small child. “I’m absolutely certain of it.”