Linda Goodnight - A Place to Belong

“I warmed this in the dryer.” She draped the heated terry cloth around his shoulders. “You look cold.”

He was cold, inside and out. Tonight’s failed rescue chilled his soul.

“Thanks. Feels good.” The towel smelled good, too, clean, fragrant and warm. Or was that Kitty?

“You really should get out of that wet shirt. Sloan could probably loan you one of his.”

The rain had started, a soft drizzle right before they’d given up the search.

“I’m okay.” She couldn’t know that he would never remove his shirt in front of anyone. Ever. He was modest, yes, but more than that, he was ashamed.

Kitty hovered, and he searched for something, anything to say, but his useless tongue stuck to his mouth. He’d had no one to fuss over him since he was small, and having her bring him a towel or a glass of tea or a cheery smile felt good. Too good to ruin with words.

Ah, who he was kidding? If not for her motel and the work he did there, Kitty Wainright wouldn’t give him the time of day. The motel office was a shrine to her hero husband and according to the local gossip he’d picked up over breakfast at the Sugar Shack each morning, Kitty had openly declared herself a widow forever. As was her way, Kitty was kindhearted and good to everyone. Even a stray dog like him.

Which made them friends and neighbors and nothing else. Ever. He had long ago declared himself a lifetime bachelor, though his reasons were far less heroic than hers. He rubbed at his shoulder and remembered a time too ugly to forget.

“Let’s eat.” Annie waved her hand over the steaming bowls of chili she’d set at each place. “There’s plenty. Hope it doesn’t keep you up all night.”

They chuckled at the joke, knowing it wasn’t indigestion from the spicy chili that would keep them awake tonight.

They ate in silence until Justin broached the topic of to night’s tragedy. “Do you think they’ll find him?”

Sloan laid aside his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Drowning victims are usually found.”

“But not always?”

“No. Not always.”

Annie shuddered. “Gruesome.”

“I wonder if he has a wife and family,” Kitty mused and Jace turned to look at her. “I remember when Dave was killed. The army sent an officer. Who tells a civilian’s wife?”

“The police.”

Annie said, “I wonder if it’s on the news.”

“Should be. There were reporters everywhere.” Sloan trekked over to the counter where a small TV hung from the cabinet. He positioned the screen toward the table.

In the months since Sloan Hawkins, purportedly the bad boy of Redemption, had returned to his hometown and married his high school sweetheart, Jace had come to like and respect the man. There was darkness in him, a darkness Jace recognized because of his own shadows, but Annie Markham Hawkins and a relationship with God had smoothed some of Sloan’s rough edges.

Jace knew about that, too—the lightening of dark places with faith. He’d be a dead man without Jesus.

A half-dozen fast-paced, loud commercials flickered across the screen while Sloan surfed through the channels in search of late-night news.

“Here we go,” he said, tossing the remote to the table as he returned to his food. “Chili’s good, Annie girl. Just what I needed.” He winked and squeezed her hand on the tabletop.

Jace suffered the familiar pinch of envy. No man was an island, or some such proverb.

“Hey, Dad. There you are!” Justin leaped up from the table to point. Sure enough, the camera scanned the scene at the river, then focused on Sloan’s face. Relieved that he didn’t appear in the shot, Jace listened as a digital Sloan repeated his comments to the reporter. He’d no more than thought the thought when there he was. The shot was only a flash as the camera panned but enough for him to recognize himself. Not once, but twice as the cameraman surveyed the rescue attempt.

“You look handsome, handsome,” Annie said, smiling at Sloan.

Sloan thumped a fist against his chest. “Hollywood will be calling. What do you think, Jace? Me and you. Made for TV?”

Jace forced a laugh as the rest of them chuckled at Sloan’s attempt to lighten the situation.

But chili curdled in the pit of his stomach. TV was the last place he wanted to be.

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