Джордан Шор - The Search

“You shouldn’t be sorry, George. You should be angry,” Trisha said. “It’s not your fault. It’s his fault. You had the right of way.”

“I prefer not to get angry.” he said. “And I’m pretty sure it was a woman driving.”

“What do you mean by you prefer not to be angry? You can’t choose when to be angry. It’s not possible to choose your emotions.”

“I mean, why assume the worst?”

“What are you talking about?” Trisha asked loudly.

“I know I had the right of way, but I don’t know the reason why the other driver failed to give it. Perhaps the driver had a good reason.”

“Like what?” Trisha yelled.

“Perhaps her son was bleeding out in the backseat, and they were on their way to the hospital. Or she could be chasing a person who abducted her child. I mean, who knows?”

Trisha Boyle suddenly went all quiet and looked out the passenger window.

“The point being, I’ll never know why the driver didn’t give the right of way. However, I can make one assumption and keep driving with a sense of compassion and understanding. Or I can make another assumption, and keep driving with a sense of anger and frustration,” he said. “I prefer not to assume the worst, because it makes me feel better. I prefer not to get angry.”

Trisha Boyle kept staring out the passenger window and didn’t speak. George could tell by her reflection that she was really upset, but he wasn’t sure why.

“I’m not saying we can control our emotions. I’m just saying we can choose how to think. You know what I mean?”

Trisha didn’t respond to his question. George then went through a mental transcript of what he’d said in the past few minutes, but he didn’t find any reason for why the so-talkative Trisha Boyle suddenly went quiet.

“I have a son,” Trisha eventually said in a gentle voice.

“Yeah… Well, good for him,” he said.

George noticed a smile in her reflection, but Trisha never turned around.

“I’m sure he’s just fine, Trisha.”

“He’s with my mom,” Trisha said and looked him in the eyes.

Tuesday afternoon

She had stopped screaming their names.

She was all alone.

As the rain had picked up, she’d curled up closer to the tree trunk under the odd-shaped tree that resembled a crooked mushroom. She had her arms around her legs, and she kept staring at her swollen ankle with puffy and tired eyes. Then she glanced at the branches free of tree bark, and just at that moment she burst into tears.

Eventually, she looked at the mountain, her eyes scanning endlessly across the terrain. She wondered if Kevin and Jack had found a road, and that was the reason for them not returning.

She felt vulnerable and scared. The feeling reminded her of her childhood, and how she’d had no other choice but to accept her life as it was—she’d had little or no possibility to change her life back then. But she didn’t blame her parents for not being there. Instead, she blamed everyone else, and especially teachers and social workers whose job it was to keep her safe. She thought of all the pain she’d had to endure because people didn’t do their jobs properly. Now, sitting in solitude, she felt just the same way. Her pain was yet again caused by people not conducting their jobs properly. People who weren’t able to perform the simple tasks they’d been trained to do.

“I hate you!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Then she picked up a stone about the same size as her hand and threw it across at the lake, in the same direction as the hillside and the tree where Andrew had spent the night.

“I hate you!” she screamed again while her lips trembled and spit was dripping from her mouth. “It’s all your fault,” she mumbled and resumed crying.

Tuesday afternoon

After being lost in Paradise for quite some time, George and Trisha finally found their way to the home of the widow, Mrs. Irene Daniels, on the outskirts of town. The red house was wedged in between a mountain and a road. The white picket fence and the perfect green lawn made the property look picturesque. Several apple trees were growing in the yard, but none with apples. On the front lawn was a massively over-proportioned bronze statue of a horse attacking a man, the horse ready to strike with its hooves against the man lying on the ground with a frightened look on his face.

George and Trisha were greeted by a resident of German descent. The dog obediently performed its duties and made sure the visitors stayed outside the fence. However, as soon as Mrs. Daniels opened the gate, the dog lost all interest, and was happy to resume his prior engagement—which seemed to be slacking off on the porch.

After the usual mandatory greeting, and following small talk, George couldn’t help but ask Mrs. Daniels about the enormous statue.

“My late husband made it to remind us all to be humble in his presence,” Irene said. “And to honor him.”

He made a statue in his own honor?

“To honor your husband?” he asked, feeling confused.

“To honor our Lord,” Irene said in a decisive tone.

Mrs. Daniels gave George a reprimanding stare before she turned her back on him and proceeded down the perfectly crafted gravel aisle that led to the house. George looked at Trisha, and for a split second he wondered if perhaps she was a religious person also. However, he quickly dismissed the thought as soon as he saw her expression; Trisha Boyle ground her teeth, and her shoulders almost touched her ears.

Trisha quickly joined Irene in walking down the path, and the two of them seemed to talk about the flowers Trisha had bought for Mrs. Daniels. Again, George felt relieved regarding today’s chain of events, and was glad Michael Williams had talked him into including Trisha Boyle on his journey. Before he joined the two women on the gravel path, he took another look at the massive statue. This time, he noticed the inscription on the pedestal.

The hours flew by as Mrs. Irene Daniels and Trisha Boyle had at least one thing in common. George, however, hardly spoke at all. Mrs. Daniels didn’t seem to be interested in finance or liability claims. She did, however, enjoy talking about her son. She explained to Trisha how captain David Daniels never got to know his father, as her late husband had died not long after David was born. And she explained how her son had been a fighter pilot for the US Air Force, and how he’d served in Afghanistan. For at least an hour, the widow Mrs. Irene Daniels had displayed several albums with pictures of her son in uniform. George thought Captain Daniels very much matched his own mental image of a typical US soldier. The man was tall and muscular. The captain reminded George of the G.I. Joe doll he’d played with as a child.

Mrs. Daniels also disclosed it was she who’d convinced her son to quit the Air Force, and pursue a safer career as a commercial airline pilot. George felt uncomfortable as he thought of the irony, and he got the impression Trisha must have felt the same way, because suddenly, the so-loquacious Trisha Boyle had nothing to say.

However, after a long and awkward silence, the German resident of the house unintentionally provided the group with entertainment. The German shepherd not only pushed his bowl of food out of the kitchen, but he also managed to cross the long hallway and most of the living room. But then, the dog suddenly stopped eating and tilted his head, while he kept staring at Trisha Boyle who “pronounced” some tremendously high-pitched laughter; Mrs. Daniels, on the other hand, appeared to be in shock.