Patrick leaned toward me and did something he rarely did—whispered. “You think Meriwether’s gonna kill Lucas?”
“He swore on the Bible,” I reminded him.
“Then maybe Lucas’s gonna kill him.”
Upon hearing those words, Daddy said, “Patrick, that’s enough back there, you hear?”
“Yessir.”
Pastor Honeywell bowed his head and softly prayed.
The quiet allowed a notion to enter my mind: The first time you meet someone, it’s the beginning of a brand-new unmapped trail, so there’s no way of knowing if that path is going to be a short one, a long one, or somewhere in between, or maybe one that takes you in a circle and therefore never ends. Not much time had passed since the day I’d met Meriwether, but because he was so interesting and kind, I didn’t want our friendship to be over yet. But like it or not, it appeared we were close to the end of our road.
I glanced over at Patrick and wondered if ours would be a forever trail. Probably.
Daddy’s driving that day reminded me of the day I’d ridden with Betty Babcock—careless, seeming as if we were flying.
As soon as we careered around the corner to the station, I saw it: the black ’36 Chevy, Meriwether’s car.
As soon as our wheels stopped rolling, I opened the door to get out and fell flat onto the asphalt.
“Gabriel!” Daddy yelled.
I sprang up and sprinted to the garage. And there they were. Lucas was backed up against the wall, and Meriwether was holding a metal pipe up high, prepared to strike. “Meriwether! Don’t!” I hollered.
“Not gonna hurt him . . . Just want him to admit it was him who did it.”
I inched inside.
And right then, Daddy, Pastor Honeywell, and Patrick arrived.
“Meriwether,” Daddy said calmly, and started to walk toward him.
“Y’all stand down! This is between me and him!” Meriwether warned.
I sidestepped closer.
Meriwether noticed and told me, “You too, Gabriel.”
“Put the pipe down, Meriwether. No good’s gonna come of this. By God’s grace, Abigail wasn’t hurt,” the pastor pleaded.
Lucas smirked. “So, father’s li’l delight ain’t dead. What a shame.”
Meriwether glanced at me, and I knew from the look in his eyes that the promise he’d made to his wife was about to be broken.
I’m close enough, I thought as I charged him. The force was just enough to make Meriwether lose his balance and drop the pipe.
For a few seconds, everything was calm.
Then Lucas suddenly howled out, sounding like a sick hound. We watched as he clutched his chest and slumped to the garage floor.
Daddy went to check him. “Lucas?” He shook his shoulder. “Lucas?”
But Lucas wouldn’t budge. His eyes were wide open, staring, lifeless.
Many moments of silence passed. The pastor bowed his head in prayer.
“He’s dead, ain’t he?” Patrick finally said.
“Appears so,” Daddy commented.
“But Meriwether didn’t even touch him. So why’d he die?” Patrick asked.
“Dunno,” Daddy replied. “Dunno.”
For a while no one moved or spoke any words unless you count what was being said with our eyes—mostly disbelief.
Finally, Meriwether leaned against a car inside the garage, and Pastor Honeywell joined him and placed an arm around his shoulder.
Patrick headed over to Lucas and stared. “Seen dead critters b’fore but never a dead man . . . Looks peculiar, don’t he? Heard of people just droppin’ dead, but never believed it ’til just now.”
I really didn’t want to get near Lucas, but I figured this might be the only time I was going to be this close to a dead person, so I went over and stood beside Patrick and studied the eyes of what used to be Lucas Shaw. His body was still there, but his soul was gone. I supposed if he’d been a good person, I would have cried, but seeing as he wasn’t, not a single tear came.
“That’s enough now,” Daddy said. “I’m gonna go call Doc Riley.”
“For what? Doc Riley ain’t Jesus . . . cain’t raise him from the dead,” Patrick declared.
“To determine what killed him,” Daddy answered. “And to take care of his body.”