in the Williams' attic, back in Bowie, that little
pink and white diary rested in a cardboard box with Cassie's name
on it.
The photo was starting to fade around the
edges. It was her favorite picture of her mother who, though sad,
had been so young and beautiful, holding her baby safe, as she was
dedicated to God.
Cassie closed her eyes, fighting off the
nagging voices of fear and doubt, and prayed.
"Okay Lord," she whispered, "I'm trying to
trust with all my heart; I hope I'm not doing something really
stupid here." Cassie clenched her fists in her lap, fighting tears,
"Tell me what to say when I find him, show me what you want me to
do…" She paused for a long moment, unsure of what else to say.
"Please keep me safe and direct my path,
amen." She sighed, repeating the words her mother had used each
night, and felt little satisfaction from her prayers.
Chapter Four
Cassie opened her eyes as a great, lumbering
truck rounded the corner slowing and passed her in a cloud of
exhaust. The license plate read Georgia.
She picked up her Bible once more and, after
carefully removing her photograph-bookmark, continued to read. An
hour later, Cassie closed the book and stood to stretch. A
half-dozen vehicles had pulled into the truck stop parking lot
since she had sat down, but none of them had plates from any
western states.
She was just considering a cup of coffee in
the café when a dusty blue cargo van pulled off the road and into
the lot, washing her in the beams of its headlights as it
passed.
Cassie blinked, looked at
the rear of the van, and then blinked again. There, on the bumper,
half hidden under at thick patina of dust was a yellow bumper
sticker that read, Water Music Festival
1997, Long Beach, Washington .
Cassie forgot, for a moment, just how to
breathe, as her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She gave
her old Bible a quick squeeze as she stowed it back in her bag and,
glancing upward, whispered, "Thank you!"
The van had pulled into the darkened lot to
the rear of the café, between two big semi-trucks. Cassie watched,
from the safety of the shadows as a tall, bulky man with
close-cropped white hair, stepped from the van, stretched for a
moment, and crossed the parking lot towards the truck stop.
Cassie watched him as he walked away, noting
that he wore a faded brown bomber jacket with a white turtleneck
underneath, so she could find him again once he was inside. Once
the man was gone and the door had swung closed behind him, Cassie
crept across the lot to the van. Passing behind several of the
towering semis, some with extended living quarters that had lights
shining through the tiny curtained windows, she stopped behind a
carrier full of new Toyotas and listened for the sound of
footsteps. She could hear nothing but the soft stomping and lowing
from the cattle-truck to her left and the bass hum of a huge
refrigeration unit to her right.
Realizing that she would probably draw more
suspicion, were she to be seen skulking, Cassie straightened up and
walked quickly to the faded blue Chevy. Up close, it looked like it
had seen more than its share of the open road.
Both the front and rear bumpers were pitted
with small dents and the blue passenger-side front fender had been
replaced with one painted primer-gray. All four tires, though,
appeared to be fairly new and the van didn’t have that miasma of
burning oil that surrounded poorly kept vehicles after a long
drive.
Coming around the far side, she could see
the sliding door had been replaced as well, matching the gray
fender. Through the dusty glass, Cassie could see the dashboard was
littered with maps, magazines, and what appeared to be several
days’ worth of fast-food wrappers. She double-checked the bumper
sticker and, sure enough, it still read Long Beach, WA. From her
new vantage point, she could see what she hadn’t been able to make
out as the van had passed her. The grime-coated license plate was
from Washington as well.
Cassie took a
pink and white diary rested in a cardboard box with Cassie's name
on it.
The photo was starting to fade around the
edges. It was her favorite picture of her mother who, though sad,
had been so young and beautiful, holding her baby safe, as she was
dedicated to God.
Cassie closed her eyes, fighting off the
nagging voices of fear and doubt, and prayed.
"Okay Lord," she whispered, "I'm trying to
trust with all my heart; I hope I'm not doing something really
stupid here." Cassie clenched her fists in her lap, fighting tears,
"Tell me what to say when I find him, show me what you want me to
do…" She paused for a long moment, unsure of what else to say.
"Please keep me safe and direct my path,
amen." She sighed, repeating the words her mother had used each
night, and felt little satisfaction from her prayers.
Chapter Four
Cassie opened her eyes as a great, lumbering
truck rounded the corner slowing and passed her in a cloud of
exhaust. The license plate read Georgia.
She picked up her Bible once more and, after
carefully removing her photograph-bookmark, continued to read. An
hour later, Cassie closed the book and stood to stretch. A
half-dozen vehicles had pulled into the truck stop parking lot
since she had sat down, but none of them had plates from any
western states.
She was just considering a cup of coffee in
the café when a dusty blue cargo van pulled off the road and into
the lot, washing her in the beams of its headlights as it
passed.
Cassie blinked, looked at
the rear of the van, and then blinked again. There, on the bumper,
half hidden under at thick patina of dust was a yellow bumper
sticker that read, Water Music Festival
1997, Long Beach, Washington .
Cassie forgot, for a moment, just how to
breathe, as her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She gave
her old Bible a quick squeeze as she stowed it back in her bag and,
glancing upward, whispered, "Thank you!"
The van had pulled into the darkened lot to
the rear of the café, between two big semi-trucks. Cassie watched,
from the safety of the shadows as a tall, bulky man with
close-cropped white hair, stepped from the van, stretched for a
moment, and crossed the parking lot towards the truck stop.
Cassie watched him as he walked away, noting
that he wore a faded brown bomber jacket with a white turtleneck
underneath, so she could find him again once he was inside. Once
the man was gone and the door had swung closed behind him, Cassie
crept across the lot to the van. Passing behind several of the
towering semis, some with extended living quarters that had lights
shining through the tiny curtained windows, she stopped behind a
carrier full of new Toyotas and listened for the sound of
footsteps. She could hear nothing but the soft stomping and lowing
from the cattle-truck to her left and the bass hum of a huge
refrigeration unit to her right.
Realizing that she would probably draw more
suspicion, were she to be seen skulking, Cassie straightened up and
walked quickly to the faded blue Chevy. Up close, it looked like it
had seen more than its share of the open road.
Both the front and rear bumpers were pitted
with small dents and the blue passenger-side front fender had been
replaced with one painted primer-gray. All four tires, though,
appeared to be fairly new and the van didn’t have that miasma of
burning oil that surrounded poorly kept vehicles after a long
drive.
Coming around the far side, she could see
the sliding door had been replaced as well, matching the gray
fender. Through the dusty glass, Cassie could see the dashboard was
littered with maps, magazines, and what appeared to be several
days’ worth of fast-food wrappers. She double-checked the bumper
sticker and, sure enough, it still read Long Beach, WA. From her
new vantage point, she could see what she hadn’t been able to make
out as the van had passed her. The grime-coated license plate was
from Washington as well.
Cassie took a
Similar Books
