The Caregiver

CHAPTER 4





Calvin couldn’t believe he’d lost Lucy. He had watched with dismay when she pulled herself out of the line and backtracked to her seat. He was going to wait for her, but the attendant wanted none of that—and they needed to find a bathroom for Katie.

“Keep forward, sir,” the attendant had cautioned. “Don’t disrupt the process.”

Now, as he sat in the dark and could see faint traces of dawn peeking over the horizon, the bus sped down the highway—and he hoped Lucy was all right and had, indeed, gotten on the other transport to Toledo.

But of course, why wouldn’t she have?

He needed only a second to realize why he was worried. Because she seemed so fragile, that was why. He didn’t know much about what led people to do the things they did, but even he could tell that something had happened in Lucy’s past that made her see the world in a cautious, tentative way.

Right then and there, he vowed to at least help her get to where she was going. That would be the kind thing to do.

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out the book he’d found and opened up the front cover. “Lucy Troyer” was printed neatly on the inside cover. After slipping it back in his backpack, he amended his vow. He needed to help her get to her destination and give her back her book. Yes, that was the least he could do.

It had been years since John Weaver had been on a bus. Almost twenty. Once he’d gotten his driver’s license, he’d sworn to himself that he’d never get on the bus again. Well, not if he could help it.

Smelling the sweet, thick odor of sanitizer mixed with exhaust fumes made him feel sick. Because it all reminded him of his journey from Jacob’s Crossing to Indy—and how scared and awkward he’d been.

Now, as the overhead lights dimmed, and he’d assured himself that his niece and nephew were doing as well as possible, John went back to what had been occupying his mind for the majority of the trip.

The fact that he was finally returning to Jacob’s Crossing.

When he’d left the order at eighteen, he’d been a far different person. His temper had been lightning quick, and the chip he’d carried on his shoulder had been big and unruly. Almost the size of a boulder, he thought wryly.

But he’d felt justified.

His older brother had been the perfect son. He, on the other hand, had been the disappointment.

His parents had made sure to tell him that on a daily basis. “Be more like Jacob,” they’d said. “Try harder.”

They’d never attempted to understand his point of view—that no matter how hard he’d try, he’d never be the paragon that was Jacob.

And so he’d decided to leave.

For months, he’d put aside money and planned his future. But of course, he’d been beyond naïve. All he’d really planned was an escape, not a life.

But now that he was older, he found himself looking back on that confusing time with more than a bit of nostalgia. He’d taken the bus to Indianapolis because living in a different state had felt as daring as other boys might have felt about a journey to Africa or the Middle East. Soon after he arrived, he’d found a room in a rundown boardinghouse and had gotten a job washing dishes in an Italian restaurant.

But surely God had been looking out for him. The people who owned the restaurant were good folks and had taken him under their wing.

And of course, so had their daughter, Angela.

He closed his eyes, preferring to block out the present and focus on the past: Angela had long black hair and dark eyes. She lined those eyes with black eyeliner and wore red lipstick. Her skirts were form-fitting and her manner suggestive—and full of promises he’d only dreamed about. From the moment he’d met her, he was toast. She’d smile and flirt and was loud and loving and everything he’d never known before.

Barely a year later, they’d married.

Unable to stop himself, he recalled their first months together. He’d lived in a haze of newlywed bliss. Food hardly mattered to him. Actually, not much had mattered to him except her lips, he realized with some embarrassment.

During those days, he’d pushed away all thoughts about his past and his family. Concentrated on being a husband and provider. Ironically, he’d concentrated on being the kind of man his parents would have been proud of. The kind of man Jacob was.

And he’d thought he’d succeeded—until he found Angela with another man.

John’s eyes popped open. Remembering his dismay. Their arguments. Angela’s disdain of his “country” ideals.

The humiliation of knowing that he was the first person in his family to ever divorce.

And that’s when he also realized that everything his parents said had been true. He wasn’t good enough, and he never would be.

That pain felt as fresh as ever. Even now, almost twenty years later. Which showed him that even after all this time, he was still the same confused boy he’d always been.

Here he was, going back to Jacob’s Crossing—and he didn’t have a clue about what he was going to do there.