16
EVEN TY, THE CHIEF PROPONENT of long shots, could recognize the folly of believing his hunch—no, their hunch. The Marshalls had grabbed on to Brette’s words with a contagious fervor.
But maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, because no amount of hope could clear the tons of remaining rubble from the demolished elementary and theater wing of the school. Ian’s construction crew had cleared the cars, the twisted trusses, and some of the cement and brick debris that surrounded the building. Unfortunately, he’d sent the machinery back to Minneapolis last night. Whatever remained would take a small army weeks to dig away.
They didn’t have that kind of time.
In truth, they were probably too late.
Recovery, not rescue. But Ty didn’t know how to say that to the Marshall family. Or to Brette, who looked at him with a sort of triumph that he knew came hard-won.
Please, God, give us all a happy ending here. He let the prayer slip out as he got out of an unscathed winery truck. And with the prayer, he allowed the faintest rise of hope, because “why not?” as Brette had said.
Why not have faith in a God who could give them miracles?
And today, with the blue sky arching overhead, cloudless and bright, today was a day for miracles.
We can’t give up now.
But he didn’t say that. Because it sounded hollow. He needed to give them something more . . .
No, they needed more than him.
He drew in a breath, glanced at Brette, then Chet, and finally to Garrett. “A wise man once told me that we enter into salvation through the door of destitution. We can’t get any more destitute than right now. But we can either give in to dread or we can trust in God’s love for us. We don’t know what we’re going to find, or if we are even going to find them, if this is a wild-goose chase or divine inspiration. But it doesn’t matter, because God is for us. He loves us, and nothing can separate us from that love. And that isn’t just hope—it’s truth.” He looked upward, into the pale, storm-swept blue.
“We know the earth shall soon dissolve like snow, the sun forbear to shine, but you, God, who called us here, will be forever ours, no matter the outcome. Give us all of you today, Lord.”
He let out a long breath, and his gaze landed on Chet, who nodded.
Brette took his hand and squeezed hard as the group grabbed gloves, shovels, and Garrett his chainsaw. Then she headed toward the pile of rubble.
His knee burned like the fires of Mordor, but he refused to give it quarter and grabbed the blueprint from his pocket.
“Where do we start?” Garrett said.
He was unfolding the blueprint when he heard gravel crunching behind him.
“Oh my—Ty, look!”
Brette’s voice turned him around, and he stood wordless as Pete’s Red Cross Hummer pulled up the drive of the school. Behind it drove the bus of volunteers, the Duck Lake fire department, and a line of cars.
A long line.
They filed in behind the Hummer, parking anywhere and everywhere as Pete got out. He strode over to Ty.
“What’s going on?” Ty said.
“We’re digging today,” Pete said. “Where do we start?”
Ty unfolded the blueprint. “The coatroom and kitchen were against this far wall, so I’m thinking, along the edge?” He pointed to the wall of rubble, nearly a story high.
Pete turned to his assistant, Kate. “Let’s make a bucket line.”
So many volunteers. Forty, maybe more, got off the bus, and cars continued to pull up, emptying out crews of three, four, five. Half the town of Duck Lake, perhaps, and they moved like worker ants to the rubble.
A day for miracles.
Ty spotted a car passing the lineup of vehicles to park right beside the Marshalls’ Suburban.
Kacey got out of the passenger door, searching the crowd. Poor Kacey—and apparently Ben, who had joined her. Ty could only imagine the news they’d heard.
They spotted Audrey hauling a bucket from the rubble, and yes, this day had at least one happy ending.
Just as Ty turned to watch the rescue activity, he spotted a news van pulling in behind a truck with a crew of workers in the back.
Oh, just super. Now the whole world got to watch.
Pete seemed mindless to it, barking orders even as he picked up bricks and dumped them into a bucket.
Ben came over to Ty, his bandmates behind him. Moose and Buckley, Joey and Duke—they’d all come off the road to help?
“What can we do?” Ben asked.
“I thought you were supposed to be on tour.”
“The tour can wait. I’m still a part of this team.”
“How did you find us?”
“We stopped by the Marshalls’, and when there was no one there, we took a guess.”
Ty frowned, but Ben’s hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing. “We know you, pal. Since when have you ever let Pete stand in your way?”
He knew Ben was referring to Jess and their so-called dating relationship, but . . . oh well. He just offered a weak smile. “We think they’re trapped in the old part of the elementary school. That’s where we’re digging.”
“Okay, boys, let’s do this,” Ben said, as if he might be leading them on stage.
Ty followed them to the site, limping, just trying to stay out of the way of the activity. What looked like players from the football team worked together to lift a remnant beam. A group of women, Jenny included, piled bricks into buckets; others—Jonas, Ned, and a cluster of men—carried mangled desks, theater chairs, and twisted lighting to a nearby pile.
Others moved splintered plaster walls and joists, broken foam insulation, pieces of blackboard.
Ty found a rubber playground ball and kicked it away before realizing his folly. He nearly went down and hoped no one noticed.
He limped over and spotted the walls of the ancient basement. “Pete, over here!”
Pete scrambled over the mess. “’Sup?”
“I think we’re over the storage room. These are the floor joists.”
“Kate! I need a chainsaw!” Pete’s voice lifted over the hum of work.
But Garrett appeared and without a word ripped the cord and started into the ancient wooden floor.
It parted under the teeth of the saw, and in a moment, he’d ripped open a gap big enough for a man to slide through.
Pete glanced at Ty, then his knee, a question on his face.
“You go,” Ty said.
Pete didn’t wait. He lowered himself into the hole, dangling for a moment before dropping inside.
Ty leaned over, staring into the darkness. Brette had come over to join him. Garrett crouched over the hole, Jonas and Ned behind him.
No one breathed.
God, please.
“They’re not here.”
Ty closed his eyes.
Barking. He heard it again, this time clearer, although it sounded as if it issued from the catacombs of the building.
He looked at Brette. “You hear that?”
She nodded.
“Pete, keep looking!”
From the darkness of the room, Pete said, “There’s no . . . wait. There’s an old door here, but the lock is jammed.” Pete appeared below the hole. “Garrett, hand me that saw.”
Garrett handed it down, then did exactly what Ty would have—lowered himself into the pit.
Ty was tired of his injury dictating his life. He got up, shoved the blueprint into Brette’s hands, then climbed into the hole.
Brette said nothing, but her mouth tightened.
Pete had fired up the saw, was chewing through an ancient wooden door, his head lamp spotlighting the dust as it churned off the teeth. Chips of lead paint splintered off, landing on the damp cement floor. A few rusty desks, a row of wooden theater chairs, and a bank of wooden cubbies for shoes, perhaps, ran against the wall.
The former coatroom. They’d hit it dead-on.
The room reeked of old cement, rust, and mildew. Thick piping ran along the ceiling and dripped moisture.
Pete finished his cut, started another, and in a moment had drawn a rectangle through the door. He stepped back.
The barking turned raucous and echoed through the chamber.
“Stand back!” Pete shouted, his words directed at anyone behind the door, and Ty braced himself.
Please.
Pete’s foot landed dead center, slammed through the cut, and exploded the panel inside.
For a long, desperate moment, no one moved. Then Pete dropped to his knees and flashed his head lamp into the space.
“Ty!”
Ty moved to the opening and looked inside.
Bodies, huddled together, arms and legs and . . .
A young man lifted his head and stared right into the light, his arms wrapped around a grimy, gray, curly-haired dog.
The boy released the animal, and the dog barreled for the opening. Pete shoved himself through and caught the animal, easing it down into his arms. “Hey, buddy, good job.”
The young man sat next to a blonde girl. He started to rise, pulling her to her feet.
“Creed!” Garrett’s voice boomed through the chamber.
They were all alive. Pete’s light skimmed over the girl and Creed, who was now being crushed inside Garrett’s desperate embrace. The other three students emerged from the shadows around the room. They looked grimy and tired, but in otherwise miraculous health.
“Are they alive?”
Gage, who’d followed them in, now stood at the opening.
“Yeah,” Pete said. His light fell on a petite young woman, and Ty immediately thought of Spenser. He’d left their search group after yesterday’s failure.
“April Maguire?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. Have you seen my husband?”
“Yes. He’s been looking for you.” Probably still was.
Pete released the dog. It ran over to an elderly woman who was still seated on the floor. She hadn’t moved, just leaned her head against the wall.
“Gage, we may need you over here,” Ty said as he stood in front of her. “Hattie Foreman?”
She nodded, tears falling into the deep grooves on her face. “My sister, Lottie—do you know anything about her?”
“She’s fine. She took a fall, but we found her. She’s at the hospital in Waconia.”
Her shoulders began to shake, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.
Gage came over and crouched before her. “You’re going to be okay.” Her breath shuddered in, back out.
Ty closed his eyes, fighting the swell of relief.
More voices. Jonas came into the room and wrapped Creed in a hug that looked like it could break bones. But Creed seemed sturdy enough. Ned came in next and grabbed Creed up. Ty turned back to Hattie and Gage, who was now taking her pulse.
“How do you feel?”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Hattie said. “And I’m very, very hungry.”
“What happened?” said Pete. “How on earth did you end up here?”
Creed stepped back from Ned. “We were cooling off after our workout at the park—I’d just texted my mom, and then Hattie showed up with Walter. She was worried about the storm and said we needed to get to shelter. But Addie’s junker—”
“It’s not a junker—”
“It is a junker. And it had a flat so Hattie told us to get into her Jeep. I followed her in my Subaru. The sirens were going off, and by the time we got here, the wind was crazy, and we couldn’t get to the front doors. Hattie knew about this cellar entrance to the old kitchen, so we ran around the building and somehow she got it open.”
“We used to use this entrance when we wanted to sneak into the school to play in the gym,” Hattie said. “It’s the old kitchen area. It’s right next to our old coatroom, where we’d go for storms, so I thought it would be safe.” She pointed to the cellar door, undoubtedly blocked by the debris outside. “Thankfully, it still has a water pipe.”
“We hunkered down in here,” Creed continued. “And by the sound of it, we figured the school was hit pretty badly. My idea was to hide in the locker room, but we would have probably been killed.”
No one commented.
“We heard machinery yesterday and tried to shout. What took you guys so long?”
Ty had nothing for that.
A local fireman came down on a ladder they had fitted through the hole in the floor, and with him came a bearded, dark-haired man who dove through the hole, then grabbed up Addie, weeping.
“Let’s get these kids out of here,” Pete said.
Gage and Pete took Hattie up first, then April, then the rest of the team.
Ty followed them up last. He stumbled away from the rubble to the mud of the lot and watched as parents found their children. Jenny wept with her arms around Creed’s shoulders.
From the far side of the lot, he heard the voice. “April!”
Spenser sprinted around cars, across the muddy lot, through the crowd, and in a moment that should have been photographed, he caught up April, burying his face in her neck, weeping.
Really, this should be photographed. He spied Brette standing off to the side, just watching, a strange smile on her face.
He limped over to the winery Suburban then, and found her satchel with her camera on the floor from where she’d retrieved it from the house. He limped back to her.
She stared up at him, a frown on her face.
“This, you need to capture. The world needs to see miracles.”
She took the camera. Smiled at him. “Ty to the rescue.”
He managed a grin, then took a breath and hobbled away from the crowd, out into the field where the football players had dragged the girder. The sun had cleared the trees and was arcing toward the apex of the day, bright, unhindered, hot on his skin as he raised his face to the sky.
Then Ty let his knees buckle, let himself fall into the soft earth. He cupped his hand over his eyes, and in the joyous sunlight, he wept.
Brette sat outside under the pergola of the Marshall family home in an Adirondack chair, staring at the fire. It flickered in the pit, biting back the finest hint of chill in the air as the twilight descended. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees as she replayed in her mind the conversation with Ella on the phone earlier.
“Your storm season is over. Come back to Mercy Falls. Room with me. Let yourself breathe again, fall in love with Ty. Build a new life.”
Probably she shouldn’t have called Ella so soon after today’s events.
Not with every part of her longing for the world Ella suggested.
Hope did that too—only seeded more hope. What was it her mother said—a longing fulfilled is a tree of life?
And her tree seemed to be leafing out, setting down roots.
Because Ella’s words just might be true. “Your storm season is over.”
The wind stirred the flames and they flickered; the scent of the smoke seasoned the night air. The celebration in the house spilled out in laughter.
“Let yourself breathe again, fall in love with Ty.”
“Brette, you okay?”
And there he was, the man she couldn’t escape.
Didn’t want to escape.
Even if she tried, she knew he’d follow her, or at least stand in her shadow, waiting for her to turn around.
Ty had showered, and his hair was dark and shiny under the rising moonlight. He wore jeans, a black T-shirt with the PEAK logo on his chest, and bare feet. Between the nuance of fresh soap, the clean air, and his smile, she lost every thought but one.
She could love this man more every day.
Oh boy.
He didn’t deserve what loving her might mean. But oh, she wanted to take him at his word. Needed him to carry her, give her a hand to hold on to.
Because he emanated the kind of hope she thirsted for.
And she wasn’t a fool who didn’t know the source of it, either. Because Ty reminded her so much of her mother, the way he radiated grace. The very essence of God’s love.
No, she didn’t deserve him. But maybe that was some kind of crazy point God was trying to make too. That he’d given her Ty eighteen months ago, and if she’d had just a smidgen of faith, of courage, she wouldn’t have had to go through any of it alone.
God’s grace had given her a second chance.
Ty came over, but instead of sitting down in the empty chair next to her, he stood in front of her and held out his hands.
She frowned but took them, and he tugged her out of her seat. Then he moved into her space, sat down, and pulled her down onto his lap.
Oh. Well.
“You just looked a little undone.”
Undone was one word. She curled against him.
“You okay?” His face was close, and she met his eyes, got lost in them for a long moment.
“I think so.” No, she knew so. Her hand found its way to his chest, the heartbeat there. Strong, steady.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. And just like that, she was safe. Finally safe.
“Kind of an amazing day,” he said.
“Kind of an amazing week.”
“Thanks for . . . for pleading my case with Pete.”
“I still can’t believe we found them.” She drew in a breath. “Wow.”
“You got some great shots today, right?”
“Yeah. I totally forgot about taking pictures. I would have missed it if it weren’t for you.”
“Did you send them off to Nat Geo?”
“They loved them. And I accidentally sent them this amazing picture of a tornado with a rainbow—sort of a mistaken picture, but . . . they might use it for the cover.”
“Brette—that’s great!”
She leaned away to see his smile.
“Sort of like God saying he’s there, in the middle of the storm.” His fingers whispered across her cheek, a gleam in his eyes. “You’re an amazing photographer. But I was talking to Jonas and your friends Geena and Nixon, and they mentioned that the storm season is probably over.”
“It usually dies the last part of July, apparently. So . . .” She’d seen Geena and Nixon at the school. Nixon had finally gotten through to the weather station, as well as gotten home in time to warn his family. The warning siren probably accounted for the lack of casualities in Chester. Not one.
“So, how about coming home to Mercy Falls with me.”
She examined his face for any hint that he’d had a conversation with Gage, and saw nothing but innocence. “Really?”
“I’m really not trying to take over your life, but I was talking with Chet about your blog, and I think you should brace yourself for a possible job offer from PEAK to run our blog and our social media, and who knows, maybe you’ll end up on a rescue.”
She didn’t move.
His smile fell. “Did I interfere too much?”
Oh Ty. “No. It’s very sweet. I mean . . . you just can’t help it, can you?”
“What—wanting to spend every minute of every day with you, because I’m crazy about your smile? Uh, no.”
She was so past undone, right into a sappy, soggy mess.
“Besides, I was thinking that maybe we need longer than a few days together before I can propose.”
Her eyes widened.
“See? You’re not ready yet.”
She wouldn’t exactly say that, but . . . “Are you sure you want to . . . I know I keep mentioning this, but . . .”
He touched her face. “Okay, let’s get this over with. We’re calling your doctor. You can’t live like this—not knowing.”
She closed her eyes. “What if—”
“No. Not what if. There’s no what if. There’s only when. When you find out, then we deal with whatever it is.” His thumb caressed her cheek.
“Yes. Okay.” She’d left her phone on the ground next to the chair and now scooped it up and pulled up the voicemail message. Not bothering to listen, she clicked on the phone icon and let it dial.
She expected his service, so when Dr. Daniels answered, she paused. “Hello. It’s Brette Arnold. You left a message a couple days ago, and . . . so, just give it to me straight, Doc. How bad is it?”
She met Ty’s eyes, and he didn’t even blink.
A pause, and in it her heart stopped beating.
“You’re still in full remission, Brette. No signs of cancer.”
A slow smile slid up Ty’s face.
“I want to talk to you about reconstructive surgery. It’s time to think about—”
She took him off speaker and pressed the phone to her ear, her face on fire.
“Your body has healed, and it’s time to move forward. I can put you in touch with one of our best plastic surgeons—”
“You know I don’t have”—and she cut her voice low on the slim chance that Ty couldn’t hear her—“insurance for that.”
“We have grants and . . . we’ll figure it out, Brette. Just come in for a consultation, okay?”
“I’ll think about it. Thanks, Doc.”
She hung up. Looked away from Ty.
“You should think about it.”
So much for him not hearing. “I . . . I can’t afford it. And you can’t pay for it. It’s not happening.”
“Whoa—take a breath. I know how you feel about me paying for things. Believe me, I’m not going to make that mistake again.” But he winked, and it softened his words. “I just need to know—is that all that’s holding you back?”
She made a face.
“It better not be me, because we talked about this. It’s not an issue. Is there another reason you don’t want to have the surgery?”
She drew in a breath, stared out at the darkening sky. The stars winked at her, as if daring her to reach for the truth.
“Reconstructive surgery feels too much like I might be . . . I might start believing I would be okay, and then if I wasn’t . . .” Her eyes burned.
Ty’s thumb caught a tear that streaked down her cheek. “Start believing.”
She drew in a breath. “What do you think?”
His brow raised. “You want my opinion?”
“If I’m going to be your . . . well, someday, if you plan on making this . . . thing . . . between us permanent, then you might . . . sorta care.”
“This thing?”
She lifted a shoulder.
“This accidental meeting we keep having?”
She nodded.
His face turned solemn. “I love you, Brette. And it’s completely up to you. But if it’s something you’d like to consider, I do have someone you could talk to.”
“Oh, great, you know some bigwig doctor in New York.”
He laughed. “No. But would you allow me to interfere just a little?”
“You can’t stop yourself, so why would I even try?”
He leaned forward then, his lips nearly brushing hers, stopping just short, his breath sweet against her skin. “I’d like to interfere a little bit right now, if I could.”
She closed the gap between them. He kissed her with tenderness, a sweet, slightly unbridled hunger that suggested he’d be interfering quite a lot in her life. She let herself sink into his arms, let the grace of his touch glue her tired, broken pieces back together.
He finally lifted his head. “Please tell me that’s a yes to Mercy Falls.”
“I’ll ask Kacey if she can give you a lift.”
“And the answer would be no.”
Ty stiffened at the voice, and Brette looked up to see Kacey walking toward them. But she wore a smile.
Huh?
She sat on the chair next to them. “I guess it must be chilly out here. Huddling together for warmth?”
“We might need blankets,” Ty said. “Throw another log on the fire, will ya?”
“Right,” Kacey said. “So, here’s the deal. I’ve got a little fire of my own to tend to.” She rolled her eyes at her own words. “Ben and I are eloping.”
“What?” Ty said. “Seriously?”
“It’s a long story, but we’re taking Chet and Audrey with us to Minneapolis, and then we’re leaving for our honeymoon. Which means, Copilot, I need you to fly the team home.”
Good thing Brette had her hand pressed to Ty’s chest, because by his stillness, his catch of breath, she might have guessed that his heart had stopped beating.
“Me?”
“No, Pete. Yes, you. You’re ready, Ty. Have been for some time. I happen to know you passed your biennial flight review with Chet. So I trust you to bring them all home safely. You just have to trust yourself.”
“Of course he will,” Brette said.
“Brette—”
“To quote someone I know . . . It’s about time.”
He gave her a look.
And the old Brette—no, a better, stronger, grace-filled Brette—said, “Don’t be a pansy. It’s time for us to go home, Ty.”
“Now who’s interfering?” Ty said quietly, but he smiled and nodded, so much delight in his eyes she couldn’t help but grin back.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Kacey said. But she dropped a log on the fire as she walked away.
Which, of course, was completely unnecessary to keep Brette warm.