the cameras, playing along.
When all he wanted to do was collapse there on the pavement and cry.
39
John Baxter settled back in the driver’s seat and tightened his grip on the wheel. The drive to Indianapolis couldn’t happen fast enough. It felt like a lifetime since his phone conversation with Tim Brown, the investigator, but it had only happened the day before. John had wanted to drop everything and head to the man’s office. But his appointment wasn’t until this morning at eleven.
With no idea what was coming, John had called into his office and asked his secretary to reschedule his appointments. Now it was only a matter of willing the minutes to pass so he could look the investigator in the eye and hear the truth. Whatever the truth was.
He flipped on the radio and hit the button for a country-music station. A commercial was wrapping up, and then the beautiful refrains of a song filled the car. A song he was familiar with. John recognized it before the first words. It was the group Lonestar singing their hit song “I’m Already There.” John leaned back against his headrest and turned up the volume.
This was Elizabeth’s song, the one she’d listened to so often 40
when she was sick. He remembered her once on the way home from chemotherapy, sitting beside him, thinner than before, her hair almost gone. “I love this song,” she told him. She’d reached for his hand. “If things don’t go the way we want, if things … don’t work out-” she smiled at him-“think of me when they play it, okay?”
He listened to the words, words about that special person being there-even when it didn’t seem like they were. How that person would be there in the sunshine and the shadows, in the beat of a person’s heart or the whisper of their prayers.
Tears stung at John’s eyes, and he realized something.
It had been at least a week since he’d cried over losing Elizabeth. Not that he missed her any less. But the idea of missing her was getting more normal all the time, the rhythm of his routine without her more natural. He could still see her, of course. Still see her pale blue eyes, the way they jumped out framed by her thick dark hair. The way it had been before the cancer. The trouble was sometimes the memories weren’t in color anymore. More like shades of gray.
He listened to the song some more, hummed along-the way she had done whenever it came on. It was a rainy day, and snow hovered in the forecast, but John didn’t care. Elizabeth’s dying wish was enough to keep him warm even if he were to open all four windows.
Her dying wish that somehow they find their firstborn.
John clenched his teeth. God… why couldn’t we be taking this drive together, she and I? How come we didn’t find this investigator sooner? He waited for a response, but all that came to mind were the words on the plaque on his desk.
Words from the nineteenth chapter of Matthew: With God all things are possible.
All things.
Then how come Elizabeth hadn’t found their son before she died? The questions rolled around like jagged stones in his mind. Or maybe God really did give people a window from
41
heaven. Maybe Elizabeth was clasping her hands in excitement, as anxious as he was about the news that lay just ahead.
And it would be news; it had to be. He’d spent a sleepless night replaying the investigator’s phone call. The man must have a find or detail, something important enough to have him come to Indianapolis in person to get the news.
That could mean only one thing: Tim Brown, ace investigator, had found his son, his firstborn. It had to be that.
John rejoiced over the possibility, but he had an equal amount of regret. Why hadn’t he tried this hard when Elizabeth was alive? She’d wanted the chance to meet their son so badly; the idea of it completely consumed her. But back then it hadn’t been a priority for him. All that mattered was keeping her alive, working with her team of doctors, and begging God
When all he wanted to do was collapse there on the pavement and cry.
39
John Baxter settled back in the driver’s seat and tightened his grip on the wheel. The drive to Indianapolis couldn’t happen fast enough. It felt like a lifetime since his phone conversation with Tim Brown, the investigator, but it had only happened the day before. John had wanted to drop everything and head to the man’s office. But his appointment wasn’t until this morning at eleven.
With no idea what was coming, John had called into his office and asked his secretary to reschedule his appointments. Now it was only a matter of willing the minutes to pass so he could look the investigator in the eye and hear the truth. Whatever the truth was.
He flipped on the radio and hit the button for a country-music station. A commercial was wrapping up, and then the beautiful refrains of a song filled the car. A song he was familiar with. John recognized it before the first words. It was the group Lonestar singing their hit song “I’m Already There.” John leaned back against his headrest and turned up the volume.
This was Elizabeth’s song, the one she’d listened to so often 40
when she was sick. He remembered her once on the way home from chemotherapy, sitting beside him, thinner than before, her hair almost gone. “I love this song,” she told him. She’d reached for his hand. “If things don’t go the way we want, if things … don’t work out-” she smiled at him-“think of me when they play it, okay?”
He listened to the words, words about that special person being there-even when it didn’t seem like they were. How that person would be there in the sunshine and the shadows, in the beat of a person’s heart or the whisper of their prayers.
Tears stung at John’s eyes, and he realized something.
It had been at least a week since he’d cried over losing Elizabeth. Not that he missed her any less. But the idea of missing her was getting more normal all the time, the rhythm of his routine without her more natural. He could still see her, of course. Still see her pale blue eyes, the way they jumped out framed by her thick dark hair. The way it had been before the cancer. The trouble was sometimes the memories weren’t in color anymore. More like shades of gray.
He listened to the song some more, hummed along-the way she had done whenever it came on. It was a rainy day, and snow hovered in the forecast, but John didn’t care. Elizabeth’s dying wish was enough to keep him warm even if he were to open all four windows.
Her dying wish that somehow they find their firstborn.
John clenched his teeth. God… why couldn’t we be taking this drive together, she and I? How come we didn’t find this investigator sooner? He waited for a response, but all that came to mind were the words on the plaque on his desk.
Words from the nineteenth chapter of Matthew: With God all things are possible.
All things.
Then how come Elizabeth hadn’t found their son before she died? The questions rolled around like jagged stones in his mind. Or maybe God really did give people a window from
41
heaven. Maybe Elizabeth was clasping her hands in excitement, as anxious as he was about the news that lay just ahead.
And it would be news; it had to be. He’d spent a sleepless night replaying the investigator’s phone call. The man must have a find or detail, something important enough to have him come to Indianapolis in person to get the news.
That could mean only one thing: Tim Brown, ace investigator, had found his son, his firstborn. It had to be that.
John rejoiced over the possibility, but he had an equal amount of regret. Why hadn’t he tried this hard when Elizabeth was alive? She’d wanted the chance to meet their son so badly; the idea of it completely consumed her. But back then it hadn’t been a priority for him. All that mattered was keeping her alive, working with her team of doctors, and begging God
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