William Krueger - Heaven's keep

“No. Oh Jesus, no.”

“Yeah. Marsha Dross is checking it out. You might be getting a call from that same reporter or others. Just thought you ought to know.”

“Thanks, Cork.”

He kept Stephen home from school. Father Ted Green, the priest at St. Agnes, dropped by to offer his help and his prayers. Cork thanked him for the prayers and told him he’d let him know about the help part.

The phone continued to ring. At first, he answered the calls from friends. After a while, he just let everything go to voice mail.

Around noon, Marsha Dross called again.

“Have you been watching CNN?” she asked.

“No, why?”

“That snowstorm coming across the Rockies, it’s creating all kinds of problems from Canada down to New Mexico. CNN’s giving it heavy coverage. They picked up on the story of the missing charter flight. And they’ve got the bartender on camera telling how the pilot was drinking like a fish the night before, bragging about owning his own company and that he was so good he could fly a plane through the crack in the Statue of Liberty’s ass. I don’t know how these people do this, but they’ve already got video from the security cameras in the bar, showing this guy slamming ’em back. They’ve also got a statement from the cabdriver who drove him to his hotel. The guy was so drunk the taxi driver had to pull over and let him out so he could puke.”

Cork felt the scorch of fire behind his eyes. “The son of a bitch. If that guy wasn’t probably already dead, I’d-” Cork stopped, realizing that he was caught in the web of a dreadful thought: Already dead. “Thanks, Marsha.”

“I wish I had some good news, Cork.”

“Yeah. Keep me posted whatever you hear.”

“You know I will.”

He put down the phone and stared at the wall.

Already dead? Was that really what he thought?

Day Two, Missing 26 Hours

Cork spent the early afternoon on the phone, frustrated and angry, talking to a number of airlines. He was hanging up a final time when the boxy green Honda Element pulled into the drive. Through the window above the kitchen sink, he watched Mal and Rose get out and begin to unload luggage. They worked together easily, touching often. Before she fell in love with Mal, Rose had been a stout woman. As far as Cork knew, she’d also been a virgin, deeply devoted to her Catholic faith. He’d never thought of her as pretty, but she’d always been beautiful in an ethereal, spiritual sort of way. Her marriage had changed that in ways that were both obvious and subtle. She’d lost weight and dressed to show it. There was a beauty in her face now that had an appealing earthy quality to it. It seemed to Cork that in marrying a man who’d worn a collar, she’d lost none of her faith but gained a very different and human kind of wisdom.

Cork went to the side door and greeted them. Rose’s face wore a worried look, and she gave him a prolonged hug. “It’s in God’s hands,” she whispered to him. “It’s always in God’s hands.”

Mal hugged him, too. “What’s the news from out there?”

“The snow’s stopped, but blizzard conditions continue across a lot of the area. Airports are closed. Planes are still grounded. They think the wind’ll let up later this afternoon. Even then it’ll take them a while to clear the runways.”

“Where’s Stevie?” Rose asked.

“In his room.”

“I’m going up to see him.”

Rose headed directly toward the stairs. Mal set the two suitcases in the living room and came back to the kitchen.

As a priest, Mal Thorne had been a tortured man. The competing pull between his duty to the Church and his attachment to the world had nearly torn him apart. He was a decade older than Rose, and when he’d fallen in love with her, he’d seemed wrung out by life, thick in the middle, and often rheumy-eyed from booze. His marriage had changed that. He now looked trim and happy. He was fond of saying that in opening his arms to the earthly love of a woman, he’d found his way back to God, and the happiness had healed him. He was still a man of great spiritual depth- once a priest, Cork thought, always a priest — but, like Rose’s, his wisdom was broader and his embrace of life much gentler. In Chicago, he ran a shelter for the homeless. Every day he helped people face bleak odds and tried to point them toward hope.

“If I made coffee, would you have some?” Mal asked.

“Yeah, thanks. But I can make it.”

“Sit down,” Mal said. “I know where everything is.”

The room was full of afternoon sunlight. Silver darts shot off the stainless steel sink faucet and handles. A gold rhombus lay across the floor, stamped with Mal’s shadow as he stood at the counter grinding beans and measuring into the filter. All day the room had felt close and stuffy, but Mal and Rose had brought in with them the perfume of the late autumn air.

“Mal, I’m going out there.”

His brother-in-law hit the Brew button and turned back to Cork. “Seems reasonable to me. When?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been on the phone talking to airlines all afternoon. The storm’s wreaked havoc the whole length of the Rockies. A lot of flight cancellations, and none of them can get me a seat until tomorrow night. At the moment, it looks like I’ll fly to Salt Lake and catch a connection to Cody first thing the following morning. It’s the best they could do.”

“Going alone?”

“That’s my plan. I can’t sit here doing nothing.”

“Of course you can’t. And don’t worry about things here. We’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thanks.”

Rose came downstairs from Stephen’s room, followed by Trixie. The dog padded directly to Mal, who bent and gave her a good long petting.

“How’s he doing?” Cork asked.

“For one thing, he’s not Stevie,” she said. “He’s Stephen.”

“Yeah, I should have warned you. He’s kind of sensitive about it.”

“He’s also scared and angry,” Rose said. “But he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“You were up there awhile.”

“I was doing most of the talking. I asked him if he wanted to pray with me. He told me he doesn’t believe in prayer. If there is a God, the bastard never listens anyway. Direct quote. Since when has he been like this, Cork?”

“New development. Like the name thing. We haven’t been pressing him on the issue.”

She sat down at the table. It had been a long drive to come to a place full of despair. “That coffee smells heavenly,” she said, and Mal reached into the cupboard for a mug.

“Cork’s going to Wyoming,” Mal said.

He handed Rose a mug of coffee, then gave one to Cork.

“Will that do any good?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know,” Cork said, “but I’ll go crazy if I have to sit it out here.”

“When do you leave?”

“At the moment it looks like late tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you going alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Do the kids know?”

“Not yet. It’ll be tricky, especially with Stephen. He’ll want to go.”

“Why not take him?” Mal said.

“Too many problems with that.”

Mal shrugged, but it was clear he didn’t necessarily agree.

“Maybe they’ll find Jo before then,” Rose said.

“Either way I want to be there.”

Rose nodded. “We’ll stay and cover here for as long as you need us.”

Cork leaned to his sister-in-law and put his arms around her and laid his cheek against her hair, and for a long time they held each other.

“We argued before Jo left,” Cork said, battling tears. “We were so angry that we didn’t even say good-bye. Christ, what was I thinking?”

“That the next day would be like that day and the day before and you would have forever to make things right,” Rose said. “You didn’t know any of this was going to happen, Cork.”