Here Am I

I woke to the smell of coffee and frying bacon.

For half a second, I forgot where I was.

Not physically.

Spiritually.

The smell pulled me backward.

Sunday mornings.

Mama humming in the kitchen.

A world where the strangest thing I had to worry about was whether the Panthers could stop a third-and-long.

Then I opened my eyes.

The unfamiliar ceiling stared back.

Reality returned.

Unfortunately.

I dressed and followed the smell downstairs.

The kitchen was already alive.

Henry sat at the table nursing a coffee mug the size of a flowerpot. Gene stole bacon from a serving platter while Zelena repeatedly smacked his hand with a wooden spoon.

“Gene.”

Smack.

“Ow.”

“Stop stealing bacon.”

“It’s delicious.”

Smack.

“You’re hitting harder.”

“You keep reaching.”

Smack.

Kristy Lee laughed so hard she could barely drink her coffee.

Sasha sat beneath Gene’s chair like a professional accomplice. Every time Gene lost a piece of bacon, the dog somehow found it.

I watched the operation unfold.

Honestly, I respected the teamwork.

Bodhi and Rachel sat together near the window.

The sight should’ve made me happy.

After everything Bodhi had endured—years of grief, searching, and impossible hope—he finally had his wife back.

Except something felt wrong.

Rachel stared at her plate.

Not eating.

Not talking.

Just staring.

Bodhi noticed me watching.

He gave me a tired smile.

Rachel picked up her fork, moved some eggs around, then set it down again.

“You okay?” Bodhi asked.

Her smile appeared immediately.

Too immediately.

“Just tired.”

“You barely slept.”

“I slept.”

“You tossed and turned all night.”

“I’m fine.”

Bodhi didn’t believe her.

Neither did I.

Rachel looked pale.

Not sick.

Drained.

Like someone running on a battery that refused to hold a charge.

Until we reached the ranch, Rachel could enter a room and fill it.

That morning, she looked like she was struggling to remain inside one.

Zelena carried a bowl of fruit to the table.

Or what remained of it.

She frowned.

“Well, that ain’t right.”

Henry looked over his mug.

“What?”

“The peaches.”

Several had turned brown overnight. One had collapsed into itself, its skin wrinkled around soft flesh.

Zelena pressed a finger against another.

“I picked these two days ago.”

Henry set down his coffee.

“Already?”

“They should’ve lasted all week.”

Gene leaned across the table.

“Still edible?”

Zelena slapped his hand away.

“You’re like a raccoon.”

“I choose to hear that as a compliment.”

She wasn’t listening.

Her attention remained on the fruit.

Then shifted toward Rachel.

Henry saw it.

So did I.

Something passed between them.

Fear.

Brief.

Carefully hidden.

Breakfast continued.

Conversation tried to.

Kyle wandered in halfway through and attacked a stack of pancakes like he was attempting to break a record.

“Where’s Poe?” I asked.

“Looking for Edgar.”

Gene blinked.

“Who’s Edgar?”

“Edgar Allan Poe.”

“The dead one?”

Kyle nodded.

“She listens to recordings of his poems when she’s trying to jump.”

“Why?”

Kyle shrugged.

“Puts her in the mood.”

At that point, the ranch had destroyed my ability to be surprised.

Poe entered a few minutes later carrying a battered notebook.

Kyle looked up.

“Find Edgar?”

“No.”

“That’s because he’s dead.”

She stared at him.

“Thank you, Kyle.”

“You’re welcome.”

Poe dropped into a chair and poured coffee.

Rachel watched her.

Poe noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Felt like something.”

Rachel looked away.

Poe continued watching her.

Breakfast ended soon after that.

Bags were carried outside.

Weapons checked.

The damaged van waited near the porch, looking even worse in daylight. Bullet holes marked the rear panels. One side was scraped nearly bare from the ranch trail. A spiderweb of cracks covered the windshield.

Bodhi loaded supplies into the back.

Kristy Lee checked the trauma kit.

Gene complained about leaving before Zelena fried more bacon.

Rachel stood near the porch.

Beside the front door hung a dream catcher.

Colored feathers.

Leather cord.

Small beads catching the morning sunlight.

Nothing unusual.

Until Rachel noticed it.

She stopped.

The smile disappeared from her face.

Not gradually.

Like a television image flickering out.

Her eyes locked on the woven center.

Something cold moved across her expression.

Then Bodhi stepped beside her.

The smile returned.

“You should lie down once we’re moving,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“It isn’t.”

Rachel looked at him.

For one moment, she appeared grateful.

Then something exploded from the cornfield.

A body.

Movement.

Panic.

Jasper hit Rachel hard enough to knock her into the side of the van.

Bodhi shouted.

Gene moved instantly.

I barely had time to react before everyone converged.

Jasper fought like a terrified animal.

Not angry.

Desperate.

Kyle grabbed one arm.

Gene caught the other.

Bodhi pulled Rachel away.

Jasper kicked and twisted, trying to reach her.

“The dog told me!”

Everybody stopped.

“What?” Gene asked.

“The dog!”

Jasper pointed toward Sasha.

The black lab stood near the porch.

Her body had gone rigid.

Tail still.

Eyes fixed on Rachel.

I’d watched Sasha attack armed men.

Watched her bite, tackle, and protect Bodhi without hesitation.

She didn’t look harmless.

She looked certain.

“The dog said she’s wrong!” Jasper shouted.

Silence swallowed the yard.

Rachel stared at him.

Jasper’s eyes filled with tears.

Not because he expected punishment.

Because he was frightened.

“The dog said she’s wrong.”

Bodhi looked at Sasha.

Then at Rachel.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Jasper pulled against Gene.

“Wrong. Wrong one. She keeps saying it.”

Sasha growled.

Low.

Focused.

At Rachel.

Zelena stepped forward.

“That’s enough.”

Her voice remained calm, but her face had changed.

She believed him.

I knew she believed him.

Jasper looked toward her.

“The dog talks.”

“I know.”

“She said—”

“I know what you heard.”

Zelena placed both hands against his shoulders.

“Sometimes the animal voices and the other voices get mixed together. Remember?”

Jasper frowned.

“No.”

“Remember what we practiced.”

“But Sasha—”

“You’re overloaded. Come inside.”

The excuse sounded gentle.

Reasonable.

It was also a lie.

Zelena wasn’t protecting Rachel from Jasper.

She was protecting Jasper from Rachel.

She looked at Henry.

He understood.

Kyle led Jasper toward the house. Poe followed, one hand resting between Jasper’s shoulder blades.

Rachel stood beside Bodhi.

No longer pale.

Color had returned to her cheeks. Her posture had straightened. Her eyes looked brighter.

The struggle had lasted less than a minute.

It had been enough.

Bodhi knelt beside Sasha.

“What do you know, girl?”

Sasha pressed against him.

Her attention never left Rachel.

Rachel smiled sadly.

“She’s frightened.”

“No,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

I hadn’t meant to speak.

Rachel’s eyes found mine.

“She isn’t frightened,” I continued. “She doesn’t trust you.”

Bodhi stood.

“Dan.”

“What?”

“Not now.”

Rachel touched his arm.

The gesture calmed him almost instantly.

Another wrong song.

Another thought softened before it could become a question.

Zelena descended the porch steps.

“A fruit wagon comes through later this afternoon,” she told me. “Driver can take you into town, maybe farther. From there, we can get you to an airport or bus station.”

The offer caught me off guard.

“You’re offering me a ride home?”

“If that’s what you want.”

It was.

God help me, it was.

I pictured the ranch.

Mama’s grave waiting to be opened.

My porch.

My bed.

A world where other people handled their own madness.

“I can arrange the rest,” Henry said. “Get you headed toward Amarillo.”

He held out the van keys.

Not toward Rachel.

Toward me.

“You’ve got a choice.”

I looked past him.

Gene loaded ammunition beside Kristy Lee, complaining the entire time while never letting her lift anything heavy.

Bodhi opened the side door for Sasha.

The dog jumped inside, then turned and watched Rachel.

Bodhi climbed in after her.

He looked tired.

Lost.

Still trying to convince himself that getting his wife back should have repaired everything.

Nathan’s voice returned to me.

One word.

The first he’d spoken in years.

Move.

He had broken his vow so we could escape.

Henry’s words followed.

They need somebody who stays.

I wanted to go home.

But going home meant leaving these people alone with Rachel.

I took the keys.

“Appreciate the offer.”

Zelena searched my face.

“You sure?”

“No.”

That earned the faintest smile.

“But I’m going with them.”

Henry nodded.

Not proud.

Not triumphant.

Like he’d simply watched me choose a road.

Zelena hugged Kristy Lee.

Then Gene.

She held Bodhi longer than the others.

When she reached Rachel, she hesitated.

Rachel opened her arms.

Zelena hugged her carefully.

The way someone might embrace an injured animal capable of biting.

“There’s still darkness on you,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t stay here.”

Rachel pulled back.

Their eyes met.

“No,” Rachel said. “I shouldn’t.”

The goodbye ended quickly after that.

Poe saluted from the porch.

Kyle waved.

Jasper watched from behind the screen door.

Sasha stared back at him through the van window.

For one moment, boy and dog seemed to understand each other perfectly.

Then I started the engine.

Twenty minutes later, we reached town.

Ten minutes after that, I parked outside the county sheriff’s office.

The building looked exactly as a small-town sheriff’s office should.

Brick.

American flag.

A little tired around the edges.

The kind of place where people argued about parking tickets, missing lawn mowers, and whose cattle had escaped.

For the first time in days, I felt like we’d returned to reality.

Then shouting came from inside.

“DWAYNE!”

Gene sighed.

“That has to be him.”

“DWAYNE!”

The shouting continued as we entered.

Sheriff Dwayne sat behind a desk reading a fishing magazine.

Fifty-something.

Balding.

Round through the middle.

He looked up.

Then froze.

His eyes widened.

I knew that look.

Every professional athlete knows that look.

“Dan Callahan?”

Gene immediately stepped away from me.

Traitor.

“Yes, sir.”

Dwayne stood so quickly his chair nearly tipped over.

“My goodness.”

He hurried around the desk and shook my hand with both of his.

“I watched every game.”

“Appreciate that.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Believe me, Sheriff, neither can I.”

He laughed.

A big, genuine laugh.

Then subtly sucked in his stomach.

Not subtly enough.

I pretended not to notice.

“DWAYNE!”

The sheriff closed his eyes.

“Not now, Willard.”

“DWAYNE, TELL THEM ABOUT FELICIA!”

“Absolutely not.”

Gene perked up.

“We’re definitely talking about Felicia.”

Dwayne pointed toward a holding cell.

“We absolutely are not.”

A man lounged across the bunk inside.

Boots against the wall.

Hat covering his face.

Like county jail was a vacation destination.

He lifted the hat and looked us over.

Willard.

His eyes settled on me.

Then he grinned.

“Oh.”

The grin widened.

“You’re uglier than I expected.”

Gene pointed at him.

“I already hate this guy.”

Willard sat up.

“That’s because you ain’t met Felicia.”

I turned back to Dwayne.

“Henry sent us. I’d like to post his bond.”

Dwayne’s enthusiasm faded.

“You know this man?”

“No.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said all morning,” Willard called.

“What’s the charge?” I asked.

“Criminal trespass at Aunt Mable’s Family Restaurant. Disorderly conduct. Refusing to leave when instructed.”

“I was hungry,” Willard explained.

“They were closed.”

“Kitchen wasn’t.”

Dwayne rubbed his forehead.

“Judge set bond at seven hundred fifty dollars.”

“I’ll pay it.”

Dwayne blinked.

“You sure?”

“No.”

That seemed to be my answer for everything.

“But I’ll pay it.”

The process took twenty minutes.

Forms.

A receipt.

My identification.

A signature promising I understood Willard still had to appear in court.

Dwayne asked for an autograph on his fishing magazine.

Then another for his wife.

Then one on an old football he retrieved from a storage closet.

I signed all three.

Money and celebrity.

The two tools I understood.

For once, I used them without pretending they were faith.

Dwayne opened the cell.

Willard stepped out, adjusted his hat, and stretched.

“Appreciate it.”

“You behave yourself,” Dwayne warned.

“No promises.”

“You call Felicia?”

“Course I called Felicia.”

Dwayne sighed.

The exchange had clearly happened before.

Outside, Gene got straight to business.

“Where’s the key?”

“Bank.”

Everyone relaxed slightly.

“Safe-deposit box,” Willard added.

Even better.

“Your safe-deposit box?” I asked.

Willard considered the question.

“Define yours.”

Gene closed his eyes.

“No.”

“I went into the bank one night,” Willard explained.

“You broke into a bank.”

“Didn’t break anything.”

“You entered without permission.”

“I had a key.”

“You made a key.”

“That’s generally what Key Makers do.”

Kristy Lee folded her arms.

“What did you take?”

“Nothing.”

Willard sounded offended.

“I found an unused safe-deposit box, put my key inside, locked it, and left.”

Bodhi stared at him.

“Why?”

“It seemed safe.”

“You don’t have an account?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t rent the box?”

“Nope.”

“Then how do you get it back?”

Willard smiled.

“That’s where you folks come in.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“Why can’t you make another key?”

“Because the thing inside that box isn’t the kind of key you copy.”

“What kind is it?”

“The kind you need.”

Gene pointed at him.

“I’m going to throw him into traffic.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

“If you can enter anything, why don’t we go back tonight?”

Willard brightened.

“Exactly.”

“No,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“We’re not breaking into a bank unless we have no other choice.”

Willard shrugged.

“Fine by me.”

He started walking in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?” I called.

“Felicia promised me flapjacks.”

“You were arrested for trespassing at her restaurant.”

“Love’s complicated.”

“No.”

“She also owes me a Hershey Kiss and coffee.”

Gene frowned.

“Why a Hershey Kiss?”

Willard looked at him like the answer should have been obvious.

“I’ve been to Scranton.”

Nobody knew what that meant.

Willard kept walking.

Gene looked at me.

“This is the man you spent seven hundred fifty dollars on.”

“I’m beginning to regret it.”

“Beginning?”

Willard turned and walked backward.

“You coming or not?”

And somehow, against all reason, this was now our plan.