35

 

Again, Mark glanced out his living room window. Even Sparky, who sat atop a chair and was able to look out the window, appeared to be anticipating Beth’s arrival. He’d heard Beth’s parents moving around in the guest room earlier, but they hadn’t joined him yet. While waiting for Beth, Mark retrieved his cell from his pocket and glanced at the screen—a text message from Lupe from earlier:

Sparky ran away today, but Mr. Nayeet found him.

Mr. Nayeet? Never heard of him. Maybe Nayeet was the new neighbor around the corner. He should stop by the man’s place sometime. He could thank him for returning the dog and invite the man over for dinner or coffee. Perhaps Beth could join them.

As Beth pulled into the driveway, Mark’s shoulders relaxed.

Beth walked inside, mascara smudged around her red, swollen eyes.

Mark hugged her, and her body shook. “Are you all right?”

“Not really. I received a prank call this morning. I picked up the phone, but no one answered. Only breathing on the other end followed by some music.”

He gripped her shoulders. “What kind of music?”

“Some cheesy folk song. I figured it was a student and wasn’t going to worry about it because the Knight was behind bars. Then, as I’m about to leave my house, I got a call from the Riversdale Police Department. They’re not so sure Will sent me those notes. A handwriting expert took samples of his writing and doesn’t believe that it matches the notes from the Knight. So I told the police about the phone call. Unfortunately, they can’t trace it now.”

“But the police have the flowers from Antonio.”

“We can’t know that he sent them. They said they couldn’t trace the flowers back to any florists in the area, and they didn’t find any fingerprints or DNA on them or the note that came with them. So even if Antonio did send them, we can’t prove it.”

Mark wrapped his arms around her, and Beth nestled her head onto his shoulder. “It’s going to be OK. If you want, Bill and Tim could pick you up from work each day. I’m sure your principal will have a security guard escorting you again. Maybe try to avoid Antonio, just in case. Your friend Marisa might let you stay with her if you’d like.” His grip tightened. “And you know I’m not going to let you far from my side.” He stared at the ceiling. He’d failed to save Chris. What made him think he could protect Beth? He kept a firearm at work only as a safety precaution. Perhaps he should keep it with him at all times from now on. Since he’d left the military, he’d feared keeping one. Could he trust himself and his emotions? He wasn’t sure.

“First thing tomorrow, I’ll call the principal and tell him that the police think they haven’t caught the Knight. But for now, there’s not much more we can do. It’s Thanksgiving.” She grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and wiped her eyes. “I don’t want my parents to see me like this.” She sniffed and laughed. “And I really don’t want you to see me like this. I’ll be right back.” Beth hurried off to the bathroom.

When she returned, her eyes appeared less puffy, and she’d removed the mascara smudges.

Beth joined Mrs. Martindale on the couch and hugged her. “Hi, Mom.”

For Mark, it was as if watching from a distance. This wasn’t his family. Maybe he shouldn’t be there. For a moment, he considered what it would have been like if his mom were still alive.

He remembered Chris saying he helped his dad carve the turkey. Perhaps Mr. Martindale would ask him to help.

Mark reclined in his chair, unsure of how much they knew but confident he could find out by gauging their reaction as they interacted with him.

Mr. Martindale rubbed his eyes. His hands were wrinkled and appeared frail. Time had flown. He should have reconnected with them sooner. The Martindales appeared friendly, but then again, these were the kind of people who could forgive anything.

Mr. Martindale smiled. “How fortunate you live so close to Beth. She told me you fixed her flat tire. And then when that man attacked her…”

Mark’s shoulders tensed. The attack remained a little too fresh in his mind.

Mrs. Martindale smiled at Mark. The ceiling light accentuated the sheen of her silvery hair. “Divine intervention, I tell you. I asked God to watch over her.”

“She’s so far away,” Mr. Martindale said. “It’s nice to know she has a friend nearby.”

“Beth has her own place, two jobs.” Mark made brief eye contact with Beth. “She’s doing all right without me, sir.”

Mr. Martindale adjusted his glasses. “Still, it’s nice to have a friend around.”

“That’s true.” He shifted his gaze to the dining room. Four settings were arranged around the table. Today, Chris should have been at one of them. Instead, he lay six feet under. Was it too late to duck out the back of the house and run away?

Mr. Martindale tilted his head. “How long has it been since you’ve been to Beaumont?”

Mark glanced at Beth. Would she bring up the time they’d met outside the Hometown Café—the time when he didn’t have enough courage to face the Martindales? He pursed his lips. “Too long. Far too long.”

Mr. Martindale looked serious for a moment and nodded. “I agree. So what are you up to these days?”

Mark ran his hand through his hair. “I teach History of Civilization at the local community college, and a couple of my buddies and I own a bait and tackle store.”

“Oh, Beth told me that. Great.”

Beth went to her dad and grabbed him by the arm. “Dad, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but we have some news we need to share. Yesterday, we ran into Kent Davis. He served with Mark and Chris.”

Mark looked at Mr. Martindale. “Kent later became a pastor—”

Mr. Martindale nodded. “Right, I remember.”

Beth stared at the ground. “He said that…” She bit her lip. “He said he talked to Chris the night…”

Mark leaned closer to Mr. Martindale. “What Beth is trying to say is Kent was able to discuss the Gospel with Chris before he died. Chris had become a Christian. Both of us, and I’m sure, both of you, shared God with Chris. And I don’t think any of us knew he had accepted Christ before he died.”

Mrs. Martindale smiled but her lip trembled. She clasped her hand over her mouth for a moment. “That’s very comforting. Thank you so much for telling us.”

Mr. Martindale teared up.

Was the man going to cry? Mark couldn’t stand the sight of it. At least they hadn’t gone into detail about that night—probably the only thing holding him back from having another episode right now.

Mr. Martindale rubbed his eye. “So when did you become a Christian?”

Mark scratched his head. “In the Marine Corp, about six months before Chris’s death.”

Beth put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “There’s more.”

“More?” Mrs. Martindale asked.

Beth locked eyes with her mom. “Mark would never bring this up on his own, but I will.” She made eye contact with her dad. “Mark was injured trying to save Chris.”

Mark closed his eyes. He didn’t ask for recognition. If it weren’t for Kent’s good news, he’d rather avoid discussing Chris’s death altogether.

The Martindales wrapped their arms around him.

He hadn’t saved their son. Why were they hugging him?

“Thank you,” Mrs. Martindale said.

Mark shrugged. “By trying to save him…I didn’t do anything special, just what anyone would have done, what Chris would have done.” Moistness on his face—he quickly brushed it aside. Marines didn’t cry. Hopefully, no one noticed. Uh oh. He caught Beth staring at him.

Beth looked away. “Mom, would you like to help me with some of the side dishes?” She grabbed her mom by the arm and walked toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Martindale sighed. “This has been quite a Thanksgiving.”

Sure he had tried to save Chris, but Mark was no hero. Far from it.

Considering he was the king of trivia, what did he know about sinkholes, and what was the probability one might suck him in right now? Maybe he could pray for one.

 

****

 

Mark sat with Mr. Martindale on the couch and watched a Thanksgiving Day parade: first a marching band, then some clowns, and later a drill team twirling their batons. For years he’d joined the man in the same living room with Chris to watch TV, but with the tables turned—the Martindales in his house—Mark didn’t experience the same level of comfort. Shame and guilt racked him. There was the Mark they once knew, and the one he’d kept from them. Living a dual life was almost more than he could bear.

During a commercial, Mr. Martindale turned toward Mark and smiled. “We’re so happy to spend Thanksgiving with you. I overheard Debbie say she gave Beth your mom’s recipe for apple pie, and they plan on making you one.”

“They didn’t have to do that. It’s only me, same old kid from the other end of town.” Same kid—who was he kidding? Then again, he did miss Mom’s pie.

The parade resumed, and Mr. Martindale turned down the volume. “We appreciate you looking after our daughter.”

“Not a problem. In some ways, Beth’s a little like Chris.” Mark bit back a grin. “A little impulsive. Although she’d probably argue she only has his good qualities.”

“That sounds about right. I want you to know we don’t feel Chris’s death was your fault. You did what you could to try to save him.” Mr. Martindale ran his hand over his chin. “For a while, Deb and I blamed ourselves because we didn’t become Christians until he was in the Marines, and we felt badly that we hadn’t taken Chris to church more when he was younger. But once we got saved, we prayed for him, and for Beth, and for you.”

“Prayed for me, really?”

Mr. Martindale grinned. “You’ll always have a special place within our family.”

“About that, sir…” Good thing he’d worn extra deodorant. His only hope in the battle against perspiration. Because anticipation of his next words with Mr. Martindale caused his sweat glands to go into overdrive.

Mr. Martindale steepled his fingers. “Please, call me Jim.”

“Sir, I’m not sure I can do that, but I appreciate that you consider me a part of your family. I’m grateful for the kindness you’ve shown over the years, and I would never want to do anything to hurt your family.” What should he say next? He still wasn’t sure what they knew.

“We understand.”

Mark stared at the floor. “Good, sir. Because while we’re on the topic of family, I’d like to ask for permission to date your daughter. But I also don’t want to cause any problems.”

Mr. Martindale chuckled. “She’s twenty-six. You’re what, in your early thirties now? You don’t need my permission.”

“No, sir. But I’d still like to make sure it’s OK with you.”

“I appreciate your respect for our family. And if anything, I’d feel better knowing she has you around. California seems so far away. But you have to let your kids go, and so we did.” Mr. Martindale wiped his eyes and composed himself. “Goodness, you’d be watching over my daughter. What do I owe you?” Mr. Martindale managed a smile.

“Funny, sir.” And yet with the Knight on the loose, the man’s words didn’t seem quite so humorous.

Mr. Martindale appeared to have taken it well. After all, he hadn’t given Mark his famous, menacing stare.

Mark leaned toward Mr. Martindale. “You know, I’m sure Beth has some time off around Christmas. Maybe we can try to visit Beaumont then.”

Mr. Martindale wiped his eyes again. “That would be great.”

“You should be proud, sir. She’s saving her money. You taught her well.”

Could he meet a nicer family than this? His insides churned. God, please help me. I have to talk to someone. I can’t live like this. Show me what to do.