The Bread of Sorrows

By the time Zelena called us back to the table that evening, I had spent most of the day trying not to think.

It hadn’t worked.

I called the ranch from one of the prepaid phones Bodhi bought.

No answer.

Called Nathan’s private number.

Straight to voicemail.

I called the funeral home Mama used when people from church died. They knew who I was before I finished saying my name.

The sheriff still hadn’t released her body.

There would be an autopsy.

Forms.

Questions.

Decisions a son should make in person instead of whispering into a disposable phone from a magical ranch in Kansas.

I left no number.

Didn’t know what location the Order could trace or whose phone they had already compromised.

The rest of the day passed in pieces.

Sleep.

Silence.

Bodhi and me avoiding each other.

Rachel keeping the van keys.

By supper, I felt like I’d lived three separate days without finishing any of them.

Then I entered Zelena’s dining room and thought—

Mama would’ve loved this.

Fried chicken.

Cornbread.

Mashed potatoes.

Green beans.

Corn.

Fresh tomatoes.

Peach cobbler cooling on the counter.

The table looked less like supper than somebody had robbed a church potluck.

For one stupid second, I forgot the Order of the Veil.

Forgot Rachel turning milk into chocolate.

Forgot John.

Dreams.

Visions.

First Lines and Strays and every other impossible thing that had turned my life inside out.

I thought about Mama asking Zelena for recipes she had no intention of following.

Mama insisting on doing the dishes.

Mama wrapping half the leftovers in foil before anyone could stop her.

The ache hit so suddenly I stopped walking.

Then Gene ruined the moment.

He snatched a piece of fried okra from a serving bowl and popped it into his mouth.

“Gene.”

Zelena hadn’t turned around.

Gene froze.

Chewed slowly.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“We haven’t said grace.”

“It was an emergency.”

“It was okra.”

“Could’ve gone cold.”

“Gene.”

“Sorry.”

Beneath the table, Sasha appeared beside his chair as if summoned by sin.

Gene looked around.

Then slipped her a carrot.

The black lab caught it before it struck the floor.

Bodhi pointed.

“Feed your own dog.”

Gene scratched Sasha’s head.

“Someday.”

Kristy Lee rubbed his arm.

“Someday we’ll put a sidecar on the motorcycle.”

Gene looked horrified.

“Like hell.”

She laughed.

The dining-room door opened before he could defend himself.

Two young people entered.

One was a skinny teenage boy with sharp elbows and hair that looked self-cut.

The other was a young woman around eighteen with dark hair, tired eyes, and the expression of someone who’d spent years being unimpressed by almost everything.

Both stopped when they saw us.

“We have guests,” the young woman said.

“We have guests,” Zelena agreed.

She pointed toward two empty chairs.

“Sit.”

Then she looked at Henry.

“Henry.”

He sighed.

“Grace.”

Everyone bowed their heads.

Even Gene, although one eye remained partially open in the general direction of the mashed potatoes.

I wasn’t sure whether God appreciated effort.

Gene gave Him everything he had.

“Amen,” Henry said.

The instant the prayer ended, chairs scraped and plates moved.

Gene reached for the chicken.

The skinny boy across from him asked, “So what are your powers?”

The room went silent.

Gene slowly lowered the drumstick.

“My what?”

“Your powers.”

Gene looked around.

Then pointed through the window toward an old refrigerator lying near the shed.

“You see that?”

The boy nodded.

“I could probably build a bomb out of it.”

His eyes widened.

“Cool.”

Henry sighed.

“They’re not like us, Duck.”

“Kyle.”

The young woman pointed her fork at Rachel.

“She is.”

The warmth left the room.

Rachel went still.

Bodhi looked at her.

Everybody did.

The young woman studied Rachel with open curiosity.

“She’s First Line.”

Rachel frowned.

“I’m what?”

“An Addy,” the young woman said.

“Evie,” Henry corrected.

“Addy,” Zelena said.

“Evie.”

Zelena looked Rachel over again.

“Could be a Lilly.”

Gene raised one hand.

“I’m going to regret asking, but are these people or prescription medications?”

The young woman laughed.

Henry didn’t.

“They’re names for the same thing,” he explained.

“They are not,” Zelena said.

Henry ignored her.

“Some folks believe the oldest line follows through Adam. They call them Addys. Others believe it follows through Eve. Evies.”

“Which is correct?” I asked.

“Nobody knows.”

“Then why argue?”

Henry and Zelena pointed at each other.

“Because she’s wrong.”

They spoke at the same time.

Gene looked between them.

“That cleared up everything.”

“What’s a Lilly?” Kristy Lee asked.

Zelena reached for the cornbread.

“What I call one when they’re acting mean and unruly.”

Rachel folded her arms.

“You decided that based on looking at me?”

The young woman shrugged.

“I feel things.”

“Who are you?”

“Polly.”

Her face soured.

“Unfortunately.”

“I thought your name was Poe,” Kyle said.

“It is.”

“You just said Polly.”

“My mother named me after a Nirvana song.”

Gene brightened.

“That’s—”

He stopped.

Apparently remembered which song.

His expression shifted.

“That is certainly a choice.”

“Exactly.”

She pointed at herself.

“Poe.”

Then at the boy.

“Duck.”

“Kyle.”

“Duck.”

“Kyle.”

Poe grinned at us.

“See?”

Kyle folded his arms.

“I hate everyone.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

The table relaxed enough for people to begin eating.

Normal conversation tried to return.

It made it about thirty seconds.

Poe continued watching Rachel.

“She’s strong.”

Rachel didn’t look pleased.

She looked tired.

Actually tired.

Her skin had grown paler since morning. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Even her posture had changed, as though the ranch pressed against her from every direction.

Bodhi looked worse.

He stared at her like he’d discovered another locked room inside a house he thought he knew.

Poe took a bite of cornbread.

“My mom was First Line too.”

Henry shook his head.

“Strong Stray.”

“Whatever.”

Rachel leaned forward.

“The woman you’re searching for?”

Poe nodded.

“She jumps.”

“Through time?”

“Only after tragedies. The bigger the tragedy, the easier the jump.”

Kristy Lee lowered her fork.

“How did she discover that?”

“Kurt Cobain.”

The table quieted.

“My mother loved Nirvana. The day after he died was the first time she disappeared.”

“Where did she go?” I asked.

“Seattle.”

Poe picked at her food.

“After that, she started going everywhere. The day after Lennon. Elvis. Hendrix. Cash.”

“She went to see them?” Bodhi asked.

“Not them. What they left behind.”

Poe’s eyes darkened.

“People crying outside buildings. Vigils. Funerals. Strangers hugging because grief gave them permission.”

Rachel watched her carefully.

“How did she seem when she returned?”

Poe gave a humorless smile.

“Hungry.”

That word settled over the table.

“Hungry for what?” Kristy Lee asked.

“The misery, I guess.”

Even Gene had no joke.

Poe pushed food around her plate.

“I started jumping because I wanted to find her. I thought if I followed enough tragedies, eventually we’d land in the same one.”

“What happens if you stay too long?” I asked.

Her attention shifted toward me.

“You start liking it.”

Across the table, Rachel sat a little straighter.

Some color had returned to her face.

Barely enough to notice.

But I did.

Zelena lifted a forkful of peach cobbler.

She tasted it.

Frowned.

Then looked toward Rachel.

The moment passed.

Kyle reached for a spoon.

“Want to see something cool?”

Gene pointed at him.

“Absolutely.”

Kyle held the spoon between both hands.

At first, nothing happened.

His face tightened.

The metal slowly folded.

Not smoothly.

With effort.

Kyle stared at the bent spoon.

“That was harder than usual.”

Henry and Zelena exchanged a glance.

“What’s the cost?” I asked.

Kyle wiggled one foot beneath the table.

“Can’t feel my toes.”

Poe laughed.

“Which foot?”

“Left.”

“Better than last time.”

“What happened last time?” Gene asked.

“My eyelids went numb.”

Gene considered that.

“How do you know your eyelids are numb?”

“You don’t.”

Gene pointed at him.

“I love this kid.”

Then his expression changed.

“Arm wrestle.”

“No,” Kristy Lee said.

Gene ignored her.

“Arm wrestle.”

Kyle sighed.

“I really don’t think—”

“Scared?”

“No.”

“Then put your elbow up.”

“Gene,” Kristy Lee warned.

“It’s science.”

“It is not science.”

Henry looked at Kyle.

“One round. Your choice.”

Kyle studied Gene.

Then placed his elbow on the table.

Gene grinned.

“Oh, you’re done for, son.”

Three seconds later, Gene’s hand slammed against the wood.

WHAM.

The dishes rattled.

Sasha barked.

Gene stared at his defeated hand.

Kyle stared into the distance.

“Oh no.”

Poe leaned closer.

“What is it?”

Kyle opened and closed his mouth.

“I can’t feel my tongue.”

Poe nearly fell out of her chair laughing.

Gene pointed at him.

“I still love this kid.”

For several minutes, the table became warm again.

People laughed.

Sasha patrolled beneath the chairs.

Kristy Lee teased Gene about losing to someone half his size.

I laughed too.

Really laughed.

Then I noticed the empty chair near Poe.

“Where’s Jasper?”

Zelena followed my gaze.

“Still in the corn.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking.”

“To whom?”

“Everything.”

Nobody seemed worried.

That told me this happened often.

Poe’s laughter faded.

“We just lost Peter.”

The change was quiet.

No gasps.

No dropped forks.

But the room closed around the words.

Kyle stopped smiling.

Henry stared at his plate.

Zelena’s shoulders lowered.

“Who’s Peter?” I asked.

“We don’t know his real name,” Poe said. “He came here when he was thirteen.”

“He was eighteen when he disappeared,” Henry added.

“Why Peter?”

Poe looked at Gene.

“He could fly.”

Gene blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“Peter Pan,” she said. “It made sense at the time.”

“He could fly,” Gene repeated.

“Only while he was asleep.”

The silence belonged entirely to him.

Finally, Gene looked around the table.

“I need somebody else to react.”

“I’m reacting,” I said.

“Not enough.”

“We tied him down at night,” Poe continued. “Soft climbing line around his ankle. Otherwise he’d rise out of bed and drift through the house.”

“What happened?”

Henry rubbed at his beard.

“Someone cut the tether.”

The room became very still.

“Cut it?” Bodhi asked.

“Clean through,” Zelena said. “Window was open too.”

“Somebody let him loose,” Poe said.

“We don’t know that,” Henry warned.

“We don’t know that we don’t know it.”

“That isn’t how knowing works.”

“It is if you’re me.”

I looked at Henry.

“Where did he go?”

“We didn’t know until the Navy contacted us.”

Gene’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

“The Navy?”

“A young man washed onto a beach.”

No one moved.

“They said he drowned,” Zelena said. “Couldn’t explain how he got there.”

“Where?”

Henry hesitated.

“California.”

My stomach tightened.

“What part?”

“San Diego.”

This time, the silence was complete.

Gene stopped chewing.

Kristy Lee looked at Rachel.

Bodhi did too.

Rachel looked at no one.

I laughed once.

Not because it was funny.

Because reality had become too ridiculous for any other response.

“Of course.”

Gene nodded.

“Yep.”

“Everything leads back to San Diego.”

“The beach,” Kristy Lee said.

“The Order,” Bodhi added.

Rachel lifted her head.

Some of the exhaustion had left her face.

Peter’s death had fed the room darkness.

And Rachel looked better for having heard it.

I didn’t understand that yet.

I only knew something about her had changed.

I pushed my chair back and stood.

Gene pointed at me.

“Uh-oh.”

“No offense to anyone here.”

“Definitely uh-oh.”

“I need somebody to tell me what we’re doing.”

No one answered.

“My mother is dead.”

The words came easier after that.

“I haven’t buried her. I don’t even know when they’ll release her body.”

Nobody moved.

“I’ve been shot at. My home may have burned. Nathan may be dead.”

Rachel lowered her eyes.

“I watched a woman turn milk into chocolate and paint the sky with stars. There’s a boy in the corn talking to rodents. Poe visits the aftermath of dead musicians. Kyle is stronger than a forklift but can’t feel his tongue.”

“More likely coyotes than rodents,” Zelena offered.

I stared at her.

She lowered her fork.

“Sorry.”

“Henry keeps talking about Eden. Something called the Lord of Dreams is hunting Rachel, and every road somehow leads back to the same beach in California.”

I spread my hands.

“My faith is getting fed through a wood chipper every six hours.”

Gene coughed into his fist.

Kristy Lee elbowed him.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

I looked around the table.

At the food.

The laughter.

The warm light.

Everything I wanted.

Everything I had lost.

“I want to go home.”

The words came out smaller than I intended.

“I want to bury Mama. I want to sit on my porch.”

My throat tightened.

“Maybe read Revelation until the Lord comes back.”

Zelena smiled faintly.

“Don’t tempt Him, child.”

I looked at Rachel.

“What are we doing?”

She stared at her hands.

For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer.

Then she took a breath.

“I was adopted.”

Bodhi went still.

“My mother gave me away because she believed it was the only way to keep me safe. Years later, she built another life. Another family.”

Rachel’s voice remained soft.

“I was trying to find them when I learned what my blood could do.”

That much sounded true.

Perhaps because some of it was.

“I found people who knew about the First Line. The Order found me through them.”

“And the Lord of Dreams?” I asked.

“The Order worships him.”

Rachel looked at Bodhi.

“He wanted my gift. My spirit. Everything that made me what I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bodhi asked.

The question barely made it across the table.

“I thought leaving would protect you.”

“You let me believe you were dead.”

“I know.”

“For three years.”

“I never stopped loving you.”

The words were perfectly delivered.

Quiet.

Broken.

Meant only for him.

Bodhi looked away.

Rachel watched his pain.

Her face carried exactly as much grief as the moment required.

No more.

No less.

“What does the Order want now?” Gene asked.

“To finish what they started.”

“And what does that have to do with us?”

Rachel looked around the table.

“I don’t know yet.”

A lie wrapped in honesty.

Henry leaned back.

“But we know where to start.”

Everybody looked at him.

“We need a key.”

Gene closed his eyes.

“Of course we do.”

“A specific key,” Henry continued.

“To what?” I asked.

“The place where this began.”

“The farmhouse,” Bodhi said.

Rachel’s attention snapped toward him.

Henry nodded.

“There are doors there that don’t look like doors. Things sealed that shouldn’t be opened without the right hand.”

Gene lowered his head toward the table.

“Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

“We need Willard.”

Gene sat up.

“See? Willard. Normal name. I like Willard.”

Kyle frowned.

“Willard isn’t normal.”

Gene pointed at him.

“And we’re back.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“The Key Maker,” Henry said.

Gene stared.

“The what?”

“He makes keys.”

“To what?”

“Anything.”

Gene lowered his forehead onto the table.

The wood thumped softly.

Kristy Lee rubbed his back.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m praying.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m considering it.”

“Where’s Willard?” Bodhi asked.

Henry and Zelena exchanged a look.

The kind that usually preceded bad news.

“He’s in jail,” Henry said.

The room went quiet.

Then Gene sat upright.

“Of course he is.”

“He’s always in jail,” Poe added.

That earned the biggest laugh of the night.

Even Bodhi smiled.

Even me.

Maybe especially me.

Because the magical Key Maker sitting in county lockup was the first thing I’d heard all day that sounded believable.

The laughter lingered.

Then faded.

Conversations splintered. Plates emptied. People carried dishes toward the kitchen.

I slipped outside before anyone could ask me to help.

The night air hit my face.

The ranch stretched beneath the moonlight.

Something felt different from the night before.

The garden remained beautiful, but several flowers along the porch had closed. Leaves drooped beneath the windows. The wind chimes sounded slower.

Tired.

The screen door opened behind me.

Gene stepped onto the porch.

A moment later, Bodhi joined us.

The bruise beneath his jaw had darkened.

My eye probably looked worse.

For a while, no one spoke.

Finally I cleared my throat.

“About earlier—”

Bodhi stared toward the garden.

“You hit hard for an old man.”

“You fight dirty for a children’s author.”

Gene nodded approvingly.

“Beautiful. Healing. I’m proud of both of you.”

Bodhi looked at me.

“I shouldn’t have shoved you.”

“I shouldn’t have tackled you into farm equipment.”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

Not completely.

But it was a start.

Gene sighed.

“Well.”

Nobody responded.

“That supper was horrifying.”

Despite myself, I laughed.

Bodhi shook his head.

Gene counted on his fingers.

“Time traveler addicted to tragedy. Superkid with a numb tongue. Flying man drowned in San Diego. Magical locksmith in jail.”

“Not helping,” Bodhi said.

“The rat was somehow the most reasonable part.”

Bodhi nodded toward the garden.

“Walk?”

Neither of us objected.

The three of us followed a narrow path between rows of vegetables.

Moonlight silvered the leaves. The air smelled of earth and growing things.

The ranch should have felt peaceful.

Instead, it felt depleted.

Like something had been feeding from it.

We rounded a bend.

John sat on a wooden bench holding a dove.

I stopped.

Gene stopped.

Bodhi stopped.

John looked up.

“Oh, good.”

Gene pointed at him.

“No.”

John smiled.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

The dove rested calmly in his hands. Moonlight filled the clearing around him.

The scene looked like something painted on a church ceiling.

Which immediately made me suspicious.

“Who were you talking to?” Bodhi asked.

John glanced upward.

Then released the dove.

It disappeared into the night.

“Friends in high places.”

Gene closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

John studied the three of us.

Not casually.

Like he was taking inventory.

“You boys enjoying yourselves?”

“No,” all three of us answered.

John laughed.

Then his attention settled on me.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“You’ve asked that question often today.”

“Because nobody answers it.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then answer me.”

John’s expression softened.

The disciples returned to my thoughts.

The boat.

The storm.

Jesus sleeping while everyone else became certain they were going to die.

I didn’t know why that story kept following me.

John seemed to.

“You’ll reach dry ground,” he said.

The words struck somewhere beneath my ribs.

Bodhi looked away.

Gene studied the dirt.

No one joked.

For one dangerous second, I believed him.

Then John looked among the three of us.

“You’re going to need one another.”

A chill moved down my back.

“Why?” Bodhi asked.

John tilted his head.

“Have you spotted it yet?”

“What?” Gene asked.

“The tell.”

The garden seemed to grow quieter.

“What tell?” I asked.

John looked genuinely surprised.

“The one you should be concerned with.”

Gene frowned.

“That means absolutely nothing.”

John rose from the bench.

Apparently, the conversation was over.

“John.”

He smiled.

That same infuriating smile suggesting he knew precisely how irritating he was.

Then he walked toward two trees at the edge of the garden.

No white light.

No wings.

No thunder.

Just a man walking away.

He stepped between the trunks.

And vanished.

Gone.

The three of us stared at the empty space.

The wind moved through the leaves.

Behind us, one of Zelena’s wind chimes stopped ringing.

Gene slowly pointed toward the trees.

“That.”

He looked at me.

Then Bodhi.

“That is some John-level bullshit right there, fellas.”

This time, all three of us laughed.

Because what else were we supposed to do?

The sound followed us toward the house.

As we approached, I saw Rachel through the dining-room window.

She stood alone amid the remains of supper.

Her shoulders no longer sagged.

Her skin no longer looked pale.

She looked restored.

Around her, Zelena’s flowers continued to close.