“Rebecca.” The way he said it made her look straight into his eyes. “I’m on the way there myself. Marla’s with your Granny. Get it together and let’s go now. We’ll meet at the house together.”
A wave of something—comfort? Relief?—washed over her, and she found she didn’t have words to even reply.
She got in her car and followed him to Devon’s, all the time praying. Please, let them be okay. Let Devon be okay. Let Granny be okay.
The rain had slowed from a pelt to a drizzle, and cleared enough so that she could see Granny in the front seat of Marla’s red SUV when they got to the intersection of Fourth and Baker. Marla flashed her lights at them, and they parked on the side of the road, piled in.
“Thanks for waiting, Baby,” Rev said, sliding into the seat behind Marla.
Rebecca slid in behind Granny, who gave her a worried smile.
And then Marla gunned the engine, turning left on Baker for Devon’s house.
CHAPTER 36
Devon
When the rain began to fall, he thought it was a dream at first. He could hear it out there, gentle at first, then louder. The wind picked up, and he was grateful he had shelter. The tunnel was dry and solid, somehow reminding him of the three little pigs. He felt like the third pig, the smart pig, who’d built his house from bricks instead of sticks or straw. If only the chill would go away.
He’d been cold since he came, bone cold in spite of it being summer, and listening to the rain and the wind howl only made him colder. It was an inside cold, the kind that started in his chest and fanned out. Even with his hands tucked into his shirt sleeves and his knees tucked up underneath, tight against his stomach, he couldn’t stop the shivering. It made his wrists and his ribs ache.
By now he thought he’d have a plan, but the more time passed, the more he felt stuck in place. He wasn’t sure whether that was God’s way of telling him he needed to stay put or what, but now that the rain was here, he figured he might as well rest another day. Tomorrow was as good as today. And besides, he was cold and tired, and he didn’t know how far he could ride, and the rain would only slow him down. Once he started pedaling, got out inthe open again, he needed to pedal hard and fast, make it somewhere else as quickly as possible before he got spotted—by Uncle T or worse. Though he couldn’t imagine what would be worse than Uncle T, and truth be told, he didn’t have a clue about where that somewhere-else was, anyway.
He ate another cereal bar and poured some of the grape juice into an oatmeal packet, swirled it around with his finger and scooped it into his mouth. It was actually pretty good, and the cinnamon flecks made him think of Memaw, and the chocolate cake he’d helped her make for last year’s church homecoming. Or was it this year’s? He couldn’t remember now. Everything was fading into one big blur, memories overlapping.
He dreamed last night he was at Harold’s Diner with Miss Becca and he’d been served the biggest hamburger he’d ever seen in his life, all juicy and dripping with ketchup and mustard and mayo and cheese, and the fries just kept coming, and he woke up sure at first he was there. He could smell it like it was right in his hands. His hands, in fact, were curved together, like they were gripping the hamburger, shoveling it in. But then he couldn’t smell anything at all, nothing but this place and his own scent.
And now, he could smell the rain.
The rain smelled like dirt and copper and wood and water, reminded him of Mama’s memory garden in a weird way.
He sat there in the morning light, eyes closed, smelling the rain and remembering her face, her smile. For a moment, he thought he felt her touch his head, caress his cheek like she used to. I miss you, Mama.
The rain fell faster and harder now, and he swallowed nervously, peering out the tunnel, watching the water jab at the surface of the river like God was spraying it with pebbles.
Thumbing through the Bible, the pages slightly damp beneath his fingers, Devon found the passage he sought: “… he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed …”
He said it aloud to himself, the words echoing in the space around him, said it over and over again until it filled his mind and chased away everything else.
CHAPTER 37
Rebecca
Uncle T’s voice was a snarl behind the door, which was open just far enough for them to see his face. “Whaddaya want.”
Rebecca watched as he took them in—the tall dark-skinned preacher, his well-dressed and beautiful wife, the old woman in blue jeans and a yellow West Dahlia Leaders Summer Enrichment Camp T-shirt, and her, in her rain-drenched wrap dress.
When T’s eyes settled on Rebecca, they narrowed in recognition.
“You again?”
Rev took a step forward, blocking his glare.
“I’m Reverend Mack Bryant, Devon’s pastor.”
T looked like he’d swallowed a jar of pickle juice, but he said nothing.
“He’s been out of camp and church, and we’re concerned about him,” Rev said, his voice calm and controlled, but Rebecca saw him ease a foot into the door crack.
