They passed two-twenty-one Baker, and Rebecca remembered CJ.
“There!” Rebecca pointed as they passed. She could see her car ahead. “His friend CJ lives there.”
“Good thinking, girl,” Granny said. “Devon and CJ have been friends a long, long time.”
“There’s also Shenise,” Rev said. “I know her family real well.”
“And the Garcia girls, Gabby and Mariana,” Marla said. “They live off Tristan Street, in the trailer park.”
“But aren’t they all at camp?” Granny said. “I’m sure I saw the Garcia girls this morning.”
Marla stopped the car at the intersection. The rain began to fall again, soft now instead of the morning’s hard pellets, but fast.
“Let’s do this the smart way and divvy the labor.” Rev turned to them. “Marla, you and Helen go to the school, see what you can find out from CJ, Shenise, Gabby, and Mariana, and anyone else you can think of who might have information.”
“Got it,” Marla said, and Granny nodded.
“Rebecca, you feel okay going to CJ’s and seeing if you can find out anything there, and I’ll head over to Shenise’s and the Garcia house?” Rev said. “We can call each other in twenty minutes sharp and share what we’ve learned.”
“Absolutely.”
“Be safe, girl,” Granny said as Rebecca opened the door to slide out of the car and into the rain.
She gripped Granny’s hand, squeezed a quick I-love-you.
“I will. You, too, Granny.”
CHAPTER 38
Devon
He should have left when he’d had the chance, knew it with the kind of sinking clarity that settled on his heart and mind, told him in no uncertain terms: He’d made a big mistake.
The bike was gone, and his backpack with all the food, and the Bible tucked inside. Gone while he’d slept.
Help me, he wanted to yell, wanted to scream, but he wouldn’t. He needed to conserve his energy, needed it for when it would really count.
He’d crawled way up in the tunnel in the night, not really sure why other than a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. The water hadn’t gotten that high, not really, but the rain wasn’t letting up, and something told him he’d be safer if he climbed farther, in case the river did rise. He should have left then, not slipped on his backpack and climbed higher, he knew that now. But he hadn’t wanted to leave his bike. He didn’t have a chance getting anywhere far from Dahlia without it.
Now it was the least of his concerns.
He’d gone to sleep finally with the backpack as a pillow, mashed up against that metal bar against the side of the tunnel.
It was only by the grace of God that he’d awoken in time to a screaming pain in his left arm, a pain so bad it filled his brain with colors and took his breath away, and then he was past the pain and on the other side, realizing with a start that it was only the metal bar and the Lord that kept him from being swept far, far away.
All around him was water, pounding, rushing water. It was pitch black, and his arm roared with pain, but he just clung there, gripped the metal bar, afraid to do anything but breathe and hold on. Afraid even to open his eyes.
He could feel Jesus with him, Jesus’s hands pressed against his own.
Keeping him steady.
Holding him in place.
God, help me!
And then the water stopped, and he came to rest again, panting and shivering and wondering how and why and where and what in the world to do now.
He supposed if it happened again he could let go, let it all go, but he didn’t want to.
