Kaleidoscope Eyes (13 page)

“
As surely as I live, when I sharpen my flashing sword and begin to carry out justice, I will bring vengeance on my enemies.”

The words rang within him, and Dan took a slow drink of coffee. Okaaay … so maybe God understood better than he realized.

He went back to his desk, staring at Annie’s e-mail again. No notes of any kind for a little over a week now. That could mean a couple things.

One, whoever sent the threats had given up.

Or two, he’d changed tactics.

As much as Dan preferred the first, he figured the second was more likely.

And
, he thought, fingers tightening around his coffee mug,
more dangerous.

Jed jabbed his spoon into his cereal bowl, stabbing a floating square of Shredded Wheat. Who would believe it? Here he was, at his prime intellectually—or so they said—and his stupid brain just decided to call in sick for the day.

He’d spent all of yesterday immersed in thought, reading, brainstorming by himself and with Andy, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing!

The ideas for previous episodes of
Everyday Heroes
had come so easily. They flowed so fast and furious that Jed had to scramble to keep up with them. But now?

It was as though the Shredded Wheat was floating between his ears rather than in the bowl.

Muttering, Jed picked up the bowl and tossed it into the sink. He went to jerk the bottle of OJ out of the fridge, then turned to grab a glass—and promptly sloshed half the container of juice on the large envelope he’d received in the morning mail from Silas’s assistant, Mildred.

“Perfect! Just perfect.” He slammed the container on the countertop and tipped the envelope into the sink, letting the juice drain off.

He didn’t need to open the envelope to know what was inside. Newspaper articles, clippings, magazine articles—whatever she or Silas spotted that they thought would help prime the stalled creativity pump in Jed’s head.

Like it would do any good.

He wiped the envelope with a paper towel, then slit it open and looked inside at the soggy collection of papers.

Fine. He didn’t want to read them anyway He was about to upend the whole mess into the trash when he caught a headline—and stopped, midtoss.

What was that?

He reached inside the envelope, snagging a newspaper clipping between his forefinger and thumb. Easing it out of the clumped mass of paper, he held it over the sink. It was the front page of the “Lifestyles” section of … did that say what he thought it did?

He shook the rest of the juice off, then dabbed at the clipping with a dish towel, careful not to tear it. Yes. He’d read it right. The clipping was from the
Mail Tribune.
The local paper from Medford, Oregon.

His hometown.

Jed had left the Rogue Valley years ago, right out of high school. You didn’t break into TV by living in Medford, Oregon, so he loaded up his old beater of a car and headed south to find his dream.

And to escape what his life had become.

No, don’t go there.

Too late.

Like something straight out of a Stephen King novel, the specter of his past pushed free from the small corner of his awareness where he kept it captive. As it rose, memories pelted him, like cinders sent flying when a fresh log was tossed on a dying fire.

Angry voices. His father’s. His own.

Tears. His mother’s mostly.

The image of his father’s back as he walked away. For good this time. The sound of his own voice railing at his mother, screaming out his rage and fear: “You didn’t love him enough. He never would have left if you’d loved him more!”

Years of despair. Of loneliness and longing. Of watching out
the window, willing himself to believe. To trust that his father would come back.

And then the death blow, struck when Jed was in junior high.

“Jediah, this is Amos. We’re going to be married … ”

Jed’s breakfast threatened to resurrect. He grabbed a glass off the counter, filled it with cold water, and slugged it back. It helped calm his stomach.

But not his anger.

Amos Elhanin. The man who destroyed his life. His family Bad enough that he’d tried to replace Jed’s dad, but he brought all that God garbage with him too. Suddenly Jed had lost not only his father, but his weekends as well. His mom hauled him to church every Sunday, rain or shine. Bought him a shiny new Bible. Set up family devotions …

Yeah, and you bought into it, didn’t you? Hook, line, and sinker Memorized Scripture like it would disappear if you didn’t etch it on your brain.

“I was young.” Jed knew he was talking to himself, but it felt good to break the piercing silence. “And stupid.”

Really, really stupid. So much so that he’d started to believe not only in Amos’s God, but in Amos. He took Jed fishing. Went to all Jed’s sports events.

And he prayed. That was the one thing Jed still saw when he thought of Amos. The man on his knees. Praying. For his wife. For his son.

His son.

“God, be with my son.”

Not his
stepson.
Amos never called him that. Just …
my son.

The man did everything real dads were supposed to do. Everything Jed’s own dad had never done. And little by little, Jed found himself liking it. Even loving it.

Until that day. That Saturday, during Jed’s senior year, when his dad finally came back.

September 14, 1985. Jed’s eighteenth birthday. Football season
and
a Saturday. So, of course, Jed and Amos were outside,
doing their best imitation of the LA Rams, Jed’s team. Amos yelled at Jed to “go long,” and Jed raced to the end of the yard, jumping for Amos’s pass, missing by a mile.

“Yeah!” Amos chortled. “Now them’s some
hands
, son!”

“Maybe if you weren’t aiming for Meadowlark Lemon, I could catch the thing. This is football, Amos, not basketball!”

Their joking filled the fall air as Jed turned to hunt down the stray football—only to find it being held out to him by a man standing at the edge of the grass. Jed looked at the man, thanks poised on his lips—and froze.

The hair was gray where once it had been dark brown. The face was worn and strained where once it had been smooth. But the eyes … his dad’s eyes were the same.

Jed would have recognized them anywhere.

He stood there, wanting to say so much. Incapable of saying a word. A hand on his shoulder jerked his attention to the side.

Amos.

By the time Jed looked back at his dad, the damage was done. His father’s eyes had gone cold, hard. He looked from Amos to Jed, then turned.

For the second time in his life, Jed watched his dad’s back as he walked away.

His voice finally came to life. “Dad!”

But the man didn’t break stride as he crossed the street and got into an old beater of a car. Jed ran after him, pounding on the driver’s side window.

His dad didn’t look at him. Just started the car up and drove away, leaving Jed standing there in the street.

When Amos came to comfort Jed, he turned on the man. Railed at him. All the anger, the hurt, came back in a rush. He pushed Amos away and ran into the house.

They never played ball again. Didn’t talk. Didn’t do anything. Jed refused. And though he still saw and heard Amos praying for him, he didn’t care. Because it didn’t mean anything.

God was a joke. He had to be. Because no God of love and
mercy would let Jed’s dad come home at that precise moment—a perfectly timed opportunity to show him he’d been replaced.

The day after graduation, Jed packed up his beater and left his family—and their antiquated beliefs—behind. He left his mom a note, telling her he was going to LA. He knew she’d be upset. He didn’t care. He was doing what was best
for him.

And he’d been right. Hadn’t he found his dream? It had taken a lot of years and a lot of work, but everything was finally going great. Better than he’d ever imagined.

Still, seeing the name of his hometown like that did something to him. Stirred up something deep inside.

He carried the still soggy clipping to the table, sat down, and read.

The article told about an elderly woman getting lost in the mountains outside Medford. Jed knew that area. He and his dad used to hike there all the time growing up. And after his dad left, Jed spent more time up there than at home. He’d even found one spot in particular he really liked.

But as great as that area was for hiking, it sure wasn’t the place for some old woman. Especially one with Alzheimer’s.

Enter search and rescue. And, he flipped the page, one team in particular …

Jed stopped reading and straightened in his chair even as his pulse started dancing. He studied the picture of the woman and her search dog. The animal was huge, almost as big as the woman. As for her, well, that was one pretty woman. And there was something in her eyes. Something … hidden.

Something that Jed knew, without a doubt, he could uncover.

He laid the paper down and leaned back in his chair.

Fans of
Everyday Heroes
were gonna love these two. And even more important, the network was gonna love Jed for finding them.

THIRTEEN        

S
EPTEMBER
25—A C
ORNFLOWER
D
AY
(G
REEN AND
B
LUE
)

Oregon and Ireland.

Though thousands of miles apart, they shared a common trait: climate. And that was just one more thing Annie loved about Oregon, because that meant she had something many others throughout the states did not: daffodils in September.

And red clover. And roses. And poppies. And cornflowers. And irises. And glads … You name it, Annie had it in her garden. And it was all in glorious, hue-drenched bloom.

She sat back, wiping a hand across her brow. Though early morning, it was plenty warm. And working in the garden always had a way of making her sweat. She’d had no idea when she was little, watching her mother tend her pansies, what hard work gardening was.

But it was worth every drop of sweat, every aching muscle. For there, in her yard, was a blanket of dancing colors.

Her colors.

When she bought her ranch-style log home nearly five years
ago, she’d known that one day she’d plant a garden. But the idea to plant a garden this way, with greenery and blossoms that reflected the colors she saw in letters and numbers, hadn’t occurred to her right away. Not until after she’d lived in the home for almost a year. It was then, as she was building a fire in the river rock fireplace in the large family room, that she realized something was missing.

Color.

To be more precise, her colors.

Oh, she had them in several pieces of stained glass she’d done for the doors, for the crescent window overlooking the valley, but that wasn’t enough. She needed something more. And no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find any prints or paintings or decorations that felt right.

Then she received a bulb catalog in the mail. The moment she looked at the pictures of flowers, she knew. This was it.

She’d debated whether to plant the front-or backyard, then settled on. the front, lining the walkway to the main door. That way the flowers could greet any visitors.

Kyla helped her with the initial planting during one of her visits. They’d even put in a little pond for water lilies and cattails. What started as a small section of flowers had spread, making her front yard a virtual showcase. She had flowers almost year-round now, both outside in the garden and inside in overflowing vases.

Finally, her colors were everywhere, and she loved it.

The lyrical tones of her cell phone piped up, startling Annie so she jumped, almost sending her garden stool flying. She yanked the offending phone from her jeans pocket and flipped it open.

“Annie? It’s Bree.”

The moment Annie heard her friend’s voice, she remembered. Kodi’s vet appointment! “Did I miss it?”

Laughter danced over the circuits. “Nope. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Annie looked down at her muddy clothes and sighed. “It’s a good thing you guys love me. I’m a mess.”

“We don’t love you. But we love Kodi, so we put up with you.”

She made a face at the phone. “Ha ha. See you in a few.”

Flipping the phone shut, she took one last longing look at her garden, then ran to the house to grab the two things she’d better not forget: her car keys and her dog.

“You found ’em again, eh?”

Annie held Kodi’s head steady as Dr. Matthew Harding aimed the light from his otoscope to peer down an ear canal.

“Kodi found the woman, Matt. You know that.”

He clicked off the scope, then gave Kodi’s ear a scratch. “Indeed I do. You’ve got a regular star here, you know.”

“Hmm … ” As the vet made notes in Kodi’s chart, Annie lifted the dog from the exam table down to the floor. “She certainly knows it, with all the attention she’s been getting lately. I swear, this dog must have gained five pounds, what with all the extra biscuits she’s been getting from people we see.”