Jama felt herself melting again. Tyrell’s words touched her, even though he’d spoken them without the knowledge of what he could learn about her—and what it could mean. The truth…the missing piece of that puzzle could destroy them. It could destroy everything, her whole life. How selfish was she for withholding it? Didn’t all the Mercers deserve to know? And didn’t she deserve whatever happened after they discovered the truth?
“Where did you go?” Once again, he stepped forward slowly, cautiously.
“Utah.”
He said nothing, but she could sense his surprise. She studied the sizable perimeter of his flashlight beam, took a step, waited for him to join her, and studied the next patch of well-lit ground. Renee was right. The tracking skills had come back easily.
“What did you do in Utah?” Tyrell asked.
She took another step, and waited again for him to follow. She saw a small indentation in the grass, some bruised blades. Perhaps the result of a child’s footprint? Jama shook her flashlight, frustrated that it didn’t have the power of Tyrell’s.
She pointed. “Do you see—”
“Yes, I do. Look for more prints.”
They bent over and searched, slowly and methodically, and Jama wondered if Tyrell was as aware of her warmth beside him as she was of his warmth, his presence, his scent, the very feel of his movements, almost in tandem with hers.
“It’s amazing how cheaply a person can live if they have to,” she said.
“I know. I learned that when I was doing mission work abroad. How did you live in Utah? You couldn’t have practiced medicine there.”
“I could have gotten a license if I’d wanted to.”
“You’re saying you didn’t want to practice? As a fourth-year surgical resident, you must have qualified for some kind of work in the medical field.”
She had no answer for him, because she didn’t really know, herself. It probably had to do with not feeling worthy of the profession she had worked so hard to join. She followed the pattern of Doriann’s steps. It was slower going here in the grass.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I worked odd jobs when I needed cash. I washed dishes at a restaurant for a week, and I was a file clerk in a temporary position.”
This took some time for him to contemplate. “Where did you live?” His voice was different. More somber.
“In my car. In Amy’s old tent. I hiked and camped. I stayed in Canyonlands National Park and along the Colorado and Green rivers for nearly four months. I was in The Maze for two. I ate a lot of beans and rice, dried fruit, nuts.”
She felt his attention riveting on her instead of the task at hand.
“Watch what you’re doing,” she said. “We’re looking for Doriann, remember.”
For several long moments, they searched in silence, found more signs of footprints, continued forward.
“You lived in the wild?” he asked at last.
“I didn’t live in the wild, I lived in a tent and a car.”
“I remember the tent. I got it for Amy as a college graduation gift. I got you a down comforter, because it was more your style.”
“Well, I guess you don’t know everything, then. The tent was just big enough for two, lightweight and strong. Amy and I took it when we hiked the Grand Canyon that summer before we started med school.”
“You borrowed my car for the trip.”
“We discovered in med school that we probably should have been studying and working, not hiking, but I’m so glad now that we did it that way.”
“It was Amy who loved to camp out. You hated it,” Tyrell said.
That used to be true. “I remember those nights in the Canyon. We had nothing but our sleeping bags and the tent floor between us and the hard ground.”
“So you did it for Amy.”
“She was always teaching me to try new things,” Jama said. “Camping was one. I came to like it.”
“Enough to do it for months? By yourself? Alone in the wilderness?”
She didn’t answer.
He stopped walking. “You camped out all those months to punish yourself for your best friend’s death.”
Jama looked toward his dark form. Why had he brought up the subject tonight of all nights, after all these years of avoidance?
“But there’s more to it than that,” he said. “Isn’t there?”
Time for a safer subject. “Amy taught me to see camping out as an opportunity to be surrounded by God’s sanctuary, instead of buildings erected by human hands. The Canyon was a good school, but I didn’t learn the deepest truth until I was alone in the silence of Utah.”
They searched the circumference of the area where they found the last track, then picked up the trail again.
“What was the deepest truth?” he asked.
“That I will never have all the answers, no matter how much I study and learn, and no matter how long I live. That I will always fail if I try to do the right thing in my own power. That God is bigger than I ever imagined. It took the trip to Utah, all that time alone, to show me that I need God in my life.”
Jama slowed at a pile of last year’s leaves that had most likely washed across the field during last fall’s flood. No form of an eleven-year-old.
The stillness of the night was intensified because the cold had silenced the spring peepers—the frogs Jama loved to listen to in the evenings when she was growing up.
Tyrell’s flashlight flickered, and he jiggled it. The battery was getting low. Jama knew he carried spares in his backpack.
“For the past four and a half years,” he said, “everything connected to Amy’s death has been a forbidden subject between us, and I don’t feel comfortable with forbidden subjects.”
“Meaning you have to knock down any wall that gets in your way.”
“It’s a caveman thing. I wouldn’t expect you to understand it.”
“Forbidden subjects are a Jama Keith thing, and you obviously don’t understand that.”
“Believe me, I’ve been trying. Tell me, Jama, is it just me, or do you push everyone away like this?”
The tone of his voice stung more than his question. How badly had she hurt him by trying to not hurt him worse…or herself…or the friendship they had shared for so long?
“We weren’t going to do this,” she said softly.
“I never promised that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She turned just in time to see the muzzle of a rifle planted in front of her face, heard the metallic cocking of the gun. She looked at Tyrell and froze.