At the Edge of a Dark Forest Page 11

  Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow and death …

  Why did those words keep playing in Cole’s mind?

  … I will fear no evil …

  He couldn’t make them stop.

  … for you are with me …

  Please, make them stop.

  … your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

  Cole looked to the bottle again and considered its contents. He ground his teeth and closed his eyes.

  “Not now,” he hissed as he flung off his sheets, grabbed the crutch by the bed, and hobbled to the shower.

  “YOU’RE AWAKE, Mr. Cole.” Was that shock or accusation in Joe’s eyes?

  Cole strode to Lightning’s stall, a backpack slung over his shoulder. “No, I’m not drunk.” He might as well get that question out of the way.

  “Um. Okay.”

  “And I will take my horse out today.” He glared at the man. “If you don’t mind.”

  Joe held his hands in surrender. “Fine with me.” He backed away and entered another stall. “Carly left this morning.”

  Cole jolted. He’d already checked the suite that seemed vacuous without her things. Then why did Joe’s words sting? The sound of Joe mucking out the stall told him Joe didn’t expect a reply. Good, he didn’t plan to give one.

  The Bible practically sizzled in Cole’s grip as he transferred it from the backpack to the saddlebag hanging from the horse. No sense letting Joe see it. That would prompt too many questions Cole had no answers for.

  He mounted Lightning and rode along the path he’d taken the other day with Carly, the words from that book playing in his head like a song:

  He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.

  Why did Cole absorb these words as though his soul were parched? How many times had he heard them before? The Twenty-third Psalm. Too many to count. How many times had he dismissed them, rolled his eyes at words meant to preach at him? Yet today they spoke something he needed to hear. Wanted to hear.

  Ached to hear.

  And all those other psalms. Some praising God—the God Cole wanted to despise. But others cried out to Him in distress. And still others even wondered where God was in times of trouble.

  Yes, God. Where were you the day Beckett fell on an IED to save me?

  I was there.

  Cole sucked in a breath and looked around. No one. His eyes and nose burned, knowing the voice came from within. It couldn’t be drowned out if he wanted to. His heart slammed against his chest.

  I was there.

  “Then why didn’t you do something?”

  A bird flew from a branch as though startled by Cole’s booming question.

  He slipped off his horse by the stream and sat where he had the day he told Carly about Beckett’s death. Opening the pages of the black, leather book, he searched for references to the warrior king who wrote the psalms—David. He had no idea where to begin so he started in the section most heavily marked in Beckett’s hand—1 Samuel. He flipped back to the beginning of the book and read.

  He read of Samuel—the prophet. Of Saul—the king. And finally came to the shepherd boy.

  The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.

  Cole read by the stream, the water trickling past, until the light began to dim behind the thick, forest growth. Lightning whinnied, telling Cole it was time to get back.

  He rode the trail thinking of the shepherd-turned-warrior-king and how like Beckett he was. A man after God’s own heart. No wonder Beckett had identified with him. Though he strayed, he always came back to the Lord.

  Unlike Cole, who’d never really known God in the first place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  AT THE EDGE OF A DARK FOREST

  by Connie Almony

  “Hey, Mr. Cole. Join us for some hoops.”

  Just what Cole needed right now. A friend-fest where Manny fawned all over Sam.

  “Yeah, Mr. Cole. Let’s see what you got.” Sam’s eyes challenged just like his father’s—the imp.

  Manny tossed him the ball and Cole caught it. “On one condition.”

  Both pairs of eyes prompted him to tell.

  “You stop calling me Mr. Cole.”

  Manny shrugged. “What are we supposed to call you then?” He looked oblivious.

  Cole sighed. “I don’t know. Your royal highness, maybe.”

  Manny’s chin dropped.

  “I’m just kidding, Manny. Call me Cole, please.” He rolled the ball on his chest to his palm, then lobbed it toward the basket in a high arc—nothin’ but net.

  Manny whistled.

  Sam caught it off a bounce. “Nice job—Cole.” He glanced at Manny. “Hey, Manny and I are going to a concert tonight—NEEDTOBREATHE. A friend of mine had to bow out, so we have an extra ticket. Wanna come?”

  Manny’s brows rose as he shot Sam a questioning look.

  Was Sam just being nice? Thinking Cole wouldn’t accept? He’d call Sam’s nice-guy bluff. “Sure, I’d love to.” He stared, waiting for him to flinch.

  Sam bounced the basketball. “Great. Be ready by six.”

  “Who’s driving?”

  Sam dribbled and shot. It bounced off the rim. “I am.”

  “I’d offer my limo, but I think my chauffeur’s busy tonight.”

  Manny retrieved the ball beneath the hoop. “That’s okay. I’ll drive.”

  Sam looked between the two. He gestured to Cole. “You and me, being chauffeured by him?” He smirked at Manny. “Cool. Sounds like fun.”

  Cole turned toward the house. “See you boys at six.”

  COLE HADN’T BEEN to a rock concert in more than a decade. He watched the tree-lined mountain drive give way to the ski-resort streets of Fairwilde. Manny had the stereo pumping not just through the speakers, but the whole car seemed to buzz the bass line.

  NEEDTOBREATHE. What kind of a name was that for a rock band? It didn’t even have spaces between the words. What did the fan club call itself—THEASTHMATICS? Still, the music thudding through the limo felt good. Felt right. He might actually enjoy this concert.

  Manny’s gaze turned to the rearview. “How are you gentlemen doing back there?”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s about the worst English accent I’ve ever heard.” And it was.

  “Hey, man. Can’t blame a dude for tryin’.” His gaze reflected in Cole’s direction. “How ‘bout you, Mr.—I mean—um, Cole.”

  “Doing fine.”

  Manny’s eyes shifted as if he didn’t believe him. “Want me to turn the music down?”

  Now, he asks. “No.” Cole didn’t dare tap his fingers to the beat, feeling Sam and Manny watched his every move. He didn’t want them to know he might be having a good time. He’d let them sweat a little longer.

  “You’re gonna love this concert, Cole. NEEDTOBREATHE is one of the best live bands going.” Sam seemed to need to convince himself more than Cole.

  “Right.” Say just enough to keep them guessing.

  Sam fidgeted in the leather seat. “You’d rather be on a horse right now, wouldn’t you?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  Sam sighed. “I remember, when I was a kid, watching you ride Lightning.” He blew out a breath. Was he searching for conversation? “I was so jealous.”

  Jealous? “Why?”

  “I would have loved to have ridden like that.”

  “Why didn’t your father teach you?”

  Sam’s eyes turned to meet Cole’s. “Well, he was kind of busy … uh … teaching you.”

  Cole’s lids grew heavy. Please, not the poor-boy guilt stuff he always saw in the movies. “That was his job.”

  “No, Cole. It wasn’t.” Sam’s tone hardened.

  For some reason he almost wished Sam would use his title. More respect. “What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t paid to teach you to ride. Your parents didn’t even know he was doing it. He taught you after hours, because he wanted to.”
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  Joe taught him in his spare time? Cole caught Manny’s shocked look in the rearview before he focused back on the road. He seemed to try not to listen, but leaned back and turned his ear toward Cole just the same.

  “Well, he eventually tired of it.” A fresh stab of rejection hit Cole at the thought of how aloof Joe had become toward the end, just before Cole quit competing and began partying. What had Cole done to make Joe become so distant? He’d never figured it out, but it had haunted him for years.

  Sam shrugged. “You and Lightning inspired me to ride.” He chuckled. “But I had nowhere near your ability. So as they say, those who can’t, teach. Or become hippotherapists.”

  He slumped in the seat and propped an ankle on his knee, seeming to relish the expansive leg room of the limo. “Still, watching you ride was magic. My friends and I all tried to imitate you. Even grew our hair longer like you used to wear it. But my mother said I looked like a girl, so she cut it.” His smile tilted. “Couldn’t pull off ‘the manly’ the way you did.”

  Cole bunched his brows. “That’s funny, cause last I remember seeing you as a kid, you had a close cut, almost as bald as I am now. A new phase?”

  Sam sobered and sat up. “No.” He seemed to hesitate, his voice lowered. “That was after the chemo.”

  “Chemo?”

  Manny’s eyes shot wide in the rearview, mirroring Cole’s thoughts.

  “I fought cancer for a couple years. It was touch and go a few times.”

  “Cancer? How old were you?” Cole needed to know.

  “Thirteen …” He shrugged. “Maybe Fourteen.”

  Cole calculated. A weight fell over him. Was he that self-absorbed? Just like Carly said. He could barely speak. “That’s why Joe stopped coaching me.”

  Sam almost looked guilty for taking his father back. “Yeah.”

  “But he never …” Cole shook his head. “I asked him why he couldn’t.” His mind reeled with snatches of memories, conversations. “He said you were sick.” Was that an elephant on his chest? “I thought you had a cold.”

  Sam’s blink was slow. “It wasn’t a cold.”

  “Why didn’t he … ?” Cole couldn’t finish the question. He knew the answer. Joe hadn’t told him because Cole never gave him the chance. He’d just raged on Joe as if he were a recalcitrant employee, not worthy of his pay, when in fact, he’d been worth so much more.

  But why? Why did Joe do so much for him when he was a kid? And why did he stay with Cole even now?

  You don’t pay them that much, Cole.

  Carly’s words rang in his ears. He wished he could close them off, but they’d only be trapped inside to echo continuously against the walls of his skull.

  Manny steered the limo into a parking garage and turned off the stereo. “Gentlemen. We have arrived at our destination.” He tried cockney this time, tipping his invisible chauffeur’s cap. “We, at Harrison’s Limo Service, hope you enjoy your evening.”

  COLE WAVED TO MANNY as he ascended the stairs to his garage apartment.

  Sam opened the door to his SUV. “You really had a good time, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Sam, I really did.” The first time he’d ever been to a concert, sans alcohol, and somehow he enjoyed it more.

  Sam nodded. “I’m glad. Maybe we can do it again sometime. Third Day’s coming next month.”

  Where did Sam hear of these bands? Cole wasn’t that old and out of touch. “Sure. If they’re half as good as your asthmatic group tonight, I might just like ’em.”

  Sam chuckled as he climbed into the vehicle. “Just make sure you bring robo-hand,” he pointed to the myo-electric arm. “We’ll have to teach you some new tricks for the fans.”

  Cole laughed. The image of the guy in the row behind them totally enamored at how Cole’s wrist could do a 360, played in his mind. “Dude, do it again,” he kept saying as he tapped another friend to watch. Finally, someone who appreciated the simple things.

  Poor Jurvis.

  The door clicked quietly open. No need to wake Mrs. Rivera. She’d need her sleep for another long day taking care of him and his over-large house. It was over-large, wasn’t it? He really didn’t need all that space, but downsizing would mean not needing the staff that cared for it, either. And he knew now, more than ever, he needed his staff.

  Why did that scare him and bring him comfort at the same time? He couldn’t be dependent on them. What if they left—like Carly? What if they died? Cole knew how tenuous life could be. Nothing was certain. If only there was one person he could count on to be there for him all the time.

  I will be there for you, Cole.

  Cole shook his head, his jaw firm. “I don’t trust you, God.” The words burned as they fell from his lips.

  Cole didn’t trust God. He was too unwieldy, uncontrollable. Why did others trust Him so much?

  The Bible sat on the nightstand in his bedroom. The Jim Beam now in a bag under the bed. He considered the bottle, but the book called louder. Maybe he’d read about Jesus tonight. The New Testament. It couldn’t hurt.

  Chapter Sixteen

  AT THE EDGE OF A DARK FOREST

  by Connie Almony

  The bottles in the paper sack jangled as Cole carried them up the hill. He gritted his teeth, determined to follow through on his plan, knowing he’d receive the I-told-you-so look that always left him squirming like a petulant child.

  Time to swallow some pride and admit defeat. He’d been wrong about Joe all these years. Joe hadn’t abandoned him. He’d only needed to take care of his son. The son who’d almost died of cancer while Cole complained about not getting enough attention from the hired man.

  The air in the stable felt close with dust and dirt from Joe’s physical labor. Joe grunted as he pulled the saddle off Miss Gray and startled at the sight of Cole. “You okay?”

  Cole shook his head and thrust the bags out. “Can you get rid of these?”

  Joe’s brow wrinkled as he accepted the sacks and peeked inside. “Why didn’t you just pour them down the sink?”

  Cole could hardly form the words. “Couldn’t trust myself once they were opened.”

  “I’ll take care of them.”

  Where was the lecture, the knowing look, or whatever Joe held in his arsenal of tutelage?

  The crinkle surrounding Joe’s almond-shaped eyes made Cole feel like a lost boy, needing to be found. “Is there more you need, Cole?”

  Cole played with the myo-electric thumb, making it clack as he maneuvered it with the intact hand.

  The man’s stare reached deeper, as though it would find the thing Cole wanted to hide.

  Releasing a breath, Cole plunged forward. “Can you give me the name of a counselor?”

  Joe flinched.

  “You know, someone who works with PTSD and substance abuse.”

  The stillness of the man made the wood paneling feel alive. “I don’t know any.”

  Cole closed his eyes. He didn’t want to just pick one from the phone book.

  “Sam might have some contacts from his work at the clinic.”

  A sigh broke from Cole like the walls of an over-swelled levy.

  “Is something wrong? Has my son been rude to you?”

  “No. And that’s just it. For a kid who seems to have despised me growing up, he’s been nothing but kind.”

  “Despised you? Who told you that?”

  “He did.”

  “When?”

  “Last night.” Cole peered down at the man. “He also told me about the cancer.”

  Joe grabbed a brush and ran it over Miss Gray’s flank.

  Cole shifted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Joe’s strokes were long and deliberate, seeming to take all his attention as they now traveled the length of the horse.

  “Let me rephrase that.” Cole gritted his teeth. “Why didn’t you make me listen?”

  Joe turned to catch Cole’s gaze. The liquid shine in his eyes communicated more than words could.

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nbsp; The lump in Cole’s throat was hard to push down. “I’m so sorry I treated you like that.” He tried to swallow it again. “It was wrong of me. You never deserved the things I said to you.”

  Joe touched his eye as though something had fallen into it. His blink seemed to strain his features. The man turned back to the horse, his shoulders heaving with every breath, and strangled out, “Apology accepted.”

  “CARLY, DON’T YOU worry about Mr. Cole.” Mrs. Rivera’s accent over the phone always made Carly smile. “He will not need Sam’s therapy much longer, he is doing so well.”

  Something about her words left a hollow place in Carly’s soul.

  “He can hold a paper cup without collapsing it and made me scrambled eggs yesterday, cracking the shells with his metal hand.”

  Carly laughed at the idea of Cole serving her. She envisioned the pride in Mrs. Rivera’s eyes as she accepted a dish of runny yellow goo made crunchy with fallen eggshells.

  “He even went to a rock concert with Sam and Manny a few weeks ago.”

  Carly would love to have been there for that.

  “Sam is taking him to try out adaptive equipment for a car. He’s going to teach Mr. Cole to drive.”

  Carly choked. “Is that a good idea with the drinking?”

  “Oh.” The word came out as though she’d forgotten something important. “He hasn’t had a drink since you left. He even gave Joe the bottles he was hiding.”

  Every last muscle in Carly’s body released at those words. Praise God!

  “Should I leave a message for him to call you?”

  Her chest constricted. What would she say to him? Somehow begging him to continue therapy with her didn’t seem appropriate, and she had no other reason to come back. “No, Mrs. Rivera. I just wanted to see how things were going. It appears he’s doing well.” Without me.

  Carly pushed end on her cell, a loss hanging in the air. She headed down the stairs to where her father waited to have dinner. He mentioned he had something important to tell her and she shouldn’t be late.