Stepping Into Sunlight (33 page)

When I finished my morning chores, and a few afternoon and evening ones as well, I stopped in front of the television and picked up Tom’s disc. He’d told me there was only one more message. I should probably save it a little longer.

But when would I need some support more than at this moment? I breathed on the shiny disc and buffed it gently with an electrostatic cloth. I inserted the movie, but the screen remained blank
. This is crazy. Why is this one disc so finicky?
Or was it a problem with the DVD player? I pulled the television away from the wall to loosen and reattach the cables.

When he arrived, Alex found me in a mess of power cords, dusty stacks of commercial DVDs, and haphazard electronic equipment. “Did the hamsters get out?”

I shoved the TV back into place, and pushed hair off my face. “Stupid recording. Stupid stubborn recording.”

“What?”

I settled back on the floor, tailor style. “Tom recorded some messages for me the day before he left. I know this sounds weird, but the silly thing only plays when it’s in the mood.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you were . . ?” His wave took in the mess around me.

“Trying to see the last message. Something to make me feel better for today. For . . . you know.”

He tossed his jacket on the couch and came to sit on the floor near me. “Let me try.”

I gave him the disc.

He checked all the connectors for the system before inserting the movie. Nothing played. “Sis, this is a blank. Do you have a supply of these for backing up your computer or burning downloads? You probably grabbed one of those by mistake.”

“No. This is the one. I keep it on the top shelf. And now it’s not talking to me.” I grabbed the remote and tried every button one more time. The screen remained blank.

“I’m sorry.” His eyes were clear and guileless. Even better, no worry lines to indicate that he thought his sister was a sugar-sweetened, orange-dyed, vitamin-fortified Froot Loop. “Maybe God is letting the messages play when you most need them.”

“Alex, I’m serious.” I searched his face for any sign of mockery.

He met my eyes steadily. “I’ve seen some strange things since I left Wisconsin. It’s better not to rule anything out where God is concerned.”

A warm tingle spun up my spine and raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Well, if God is controlling the DVD, why won’t it play today when I need it so much?”

He shrugged and stood, brushing his dusty hands off on his jeans. “Maybe He knows you’ll get more from it later. Now, quit stalling.”

The visit to the gas station. My make or break moment. I’d either conquer this last hurdle and start moving forward or I’d have the proof that I couldn’t cope and would never be normal again. A sensation very like morning sickness washed over me, and I heard someone whimper.

Alex suddenly shoved my head down toward the floor.

I wrestled against his arms. “What are you doing?”

“You turned white. I didn’t want you to faint.”

I knocked his hands away and came up glaring. “You idiot. I’m not going to faint.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

“So get your coat.”

The sick feeling swooped back in, but I marched to the closet for Tom’s hooded sweatshirt. “You driving?”

“I could. But it might be better if you drive your own car. Re-create the event, you know?”

I crossed my arms. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Taken my sister to the convenience store where she witnessed a shooting and nearly got killed?”

I kicked the closet door shut. “Ha, ha. I meant, you sound like you almost know what you’re doing.”

He shrugged. “I got a social work degree along the way, and some of what I do at the treatment center involves counseling.”

I can send what you need.
God whispered quietly—a soft cashmere scarf wrapping around my heart. At a time when I had felt most alone, He sent me my brother, who just happened to understand trauma and just happened to be a professional counselor. And that wasn’t all. He’d sent me Dr. Marci and her Troupe of the Terrified, and Laura-Beth, and Lydia and Barney, and . . .

I picked my purse up from the table by the door and looked for my keys, praying silently.
You never left, did you? I didn’t recognize
you all the time, but you’ve been here.
Gratitude gave me the push I needed to stride out to the car, leaving Alex scrambling to catch up.

The first few blocks were like a drive to the victim center, or church, or anywhere else. Low-grade anxiety buzzed inside my skull, but it didn’t paralyze me.

Then I turned left toward the gas station and Quick Corner. An instant wave of heat scalded my skin, and my arms shook. The car slowed. A horn honked and someone passed me. I pulled over to the curb and stopped.

“So, have you driven down this street since it happened?” Alex asked conversationally.

I shook my head. If I opened my mouth to speak, my breakfast might end up all over the dashboard.

“That must have taken some creative maneuvering. Isn’t this the shortest way out to the main road?”

His words peppered my nerves like sleet. I closed my eyes and went inside myself.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Stop shivering.

“Penny, you did it. You’re on this street and you survived it. You’ve taken a step forward.”

I squeezed the wheel and opened my eyes. He was right. Until today, driving on this road had seemed impossible.

“So what do you think about going one more block?” Alex pointed to a stop sign. “Could you drive us that far?”

I swallowed hard. “One block?”

“Yep.” He leaned against his armrest and smiled as if he had all the time in the world. “One block.”

Checking to be sure the street was clear, I pulled out and drove to the next corner. From there I could see the traffic lights ahead that guarded the corner gas station. My car idled at the stop sign. Another horn tooted a staccato triplet. I flinched.

Alex twisted to look behind us. “Why don’t you pull ahead, so this guy can go around you? Just across this intersection.”

I nodded. After a check of the cross street, I wobbled through and pulled over in front of a house. The van behind me drove past, and the driver threw a curious stare our direction. Probably thought I was a student driver. A nervous student driver.

“Hey, Pen. Wanna pray?”

Alex’s words triggered a grateful exhale. The knots in my muscles loosened. “Great idea.”

We’d never prayed together before. Unless you counted “Come, Lord Jesus” at supper when we were kids. I let Alex’s quiet petitions wash over me. When he stopped, I struggled to form words. “God, I don’t think I can do this.” Sweat beaded on my face. “But if you go with me, I’m willing to try. Help me take the next step. Amen.”

My heart still tap danced against my ribs, but the sensation of floating above my body had disappeared. “Okay. What’s next?”

“Can you drive up to the Quick Corner and pull into the lot?”

At this point, I was eager to be off the road, so I nodded.

Another block, a turn at the green light, and I pulled into the convenience store lot and parked. I turned off the ignition and squeezed my eyes tightly shut.

“What’s your favorite song?”

“Huh?” I opened my eyes and stared at Alex.

“You looked like you were getting lost in there. I thought it would help to chat about something.”

Past his tall form, I could see the glass doors of the store. I leaned back and closed my eyes again, fighting nausea. “I should have pulled up to the pump. The car is empty.”

“Sure. Let’s do that first. I’ll fill the car for you.”

I reached for the key, but my hand shook so hard, I pulled it back into my lap. Tears squeezed past my lids.
Oh, God, I don’t
want to be here.

“Tell you what,” he said gently. “I’ll switch places with you, okay?”

Yes. Take the wheel. But drive me to the ER. Maybe they can knock
me out and make this throbbing terror go away.

He got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. I slid across to the passenger seat, and leaned forward laboring to breathe.

From somewhere far away, I felt the motor start and stop, heard the door open and close. Suddenly Alex was talking to me again. “Okay, time to go in and pay.”

Already? Time had distorted. Moments had rushed by and disappeared. Yet, the current, pregnant second stretched into eternity.

Just get out of the car and walk. You can do that. Walk into the
store.

Alex opened the passenger door and offered his hand. “Remember what I told you when you didn’t want to climb up to the tree house?”

“Yeah. Your favorite line. You said it all the time. ‘Do it scared.’ But this is a little different than a tall tree, or a wobbly bike without training wheels, or the deep end of the community pool.”

He nodded. “Yep. This is easier. No climbing, pedaling, or swimming needed.”

“Anyone ever tell you that big brothers are a major pain?”

But his teasing had done its job. The latest wave of dizziness released me, and I stepped out of the car.

The smell of gasoline hit my nose, but in the cool autumn air, the note of sun-baked asphalt was missing—cushioning me from a full sensory flashback. A middle-aged woman hurried to the doors and set off jingling bells as she entered the store. The sound mocked me, but I squared my shoulders and followed her in.

The linoleum captured my attention first. Scuffed and gray, it could have used a good mopping. No viscous red crawled across the tile, but my memory filled that in. Blood clouded my vision.

A firm hand tugged my elbow, pulling me out of the way of another customer entering the store.

“You promised me a field trip,” Alex said quietly. “Walk me through it. Where did you go that day?”

I tore my gaze away from the hallowed, cursed patch of floor. “I wanted a Coke.” My shaky hand pointed toward the wall near the back with its beverage dispenser. I took a few steps. “I stopped in the candy aisle.”

The old man and woman were nearby. Teasing each other. Taking
stiff, unsteady steps.

“Then what?” Alex’s voice pulled me back to the present.

“The bells.” On cue, the door opened with a jangle. My chest moved faster as I panted, trying to find oxygen.

“Penny, look at the front of the store. There’s no one scary in here today.”

I turned to face the horrible doors. Sunshine streamed in, illuminating smudges on the glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man in the baseball cap. I snapped my head to the side, but no one was there.

“Alex,” I whispered. “I’m not sure this was a good idea.”

“Tell me what you see. Not what your memory sees.”

I struggled to obey. “The doors. The checkout counter. The floor. A lady in a green coat. A man in a jean jacket. Rows of shelves. Beef jerky. Snickers bars.”

“Good job.”

I nodded. “They moved the magazine rack where . . .” I stepped to the place where I’d held the woman’s hand as life stopped flowing through it. I crouched and tied my shoe as an excuse to touch the floor. Cold. Dry. Death had touched this place.

I am the Resurrection and the Life.

My lungs expanded. She wasn’t here. Her husband wasn’t here. Death’s power was no longer here. I rubbed my forehead, touching the place where the bullet would have entered. God protected my life on a late-August afternoon on this exact spot. And even when it was time to face death again, it couldn’t destroy me.
When the time comes, He has new life ready for me
. I sank onto my knees as gratitude and hope pushed back another layer of pain.

“Lose something?” The shoes of a clerk came into focus.

I stood and stuffed my hands into Tom’s jacket pockets, wrapping its edges around me more tightly. “No. Sorry. I was just . . .” My gaze traveled up to a name badge.
LaShaunda.

“Girl, I remember you,” she said. Dozens of small braids tipped with plastic beads framed a chocolate face. Alex hovered behind me. Another customer came in and set off the bells. “You were here that day.”

A weak smile strained my lips. “You were, too. You’re still working here?”

“Hey, my manager offered to have me transferred. But I figured, what are the odds of two shootings in the same store? I’m safer here than at a new place.” She gave a sassy grin and tossed her braids. “Didja hear the guy’s locked up?”

I nodded.

“Excuse me.” The sour voice of a businessman carried from the checkout counter. “Is anyone working here today?”

LaShaunda hurried to her station and rang up his coffee and muffin. I drifted closer, and after he left I leaned on the counter.

She busied herself with replacing register tape but smiled at me. “How’ve you been? You had it worse than me. That creep stuck his gun right in your face.”

I shuddered. “Yeah. It’s been kind of hard.”

Her eyes darkened. “People are slimeballs.”

“Sometimes. Some of them.” I managed a smile. “But then there are the folks like you with enough courage to keep going.”

Her hands stilled on the roll of paper, and she looked at me in surprise. “Courage?” Her smile grew. “I never thought I was brave.”

“Believe me. You are.”

Her pleased expression rewarded me, and I turned back to Alex with a smile. “Okay. This was a good idea. I faced it. Let’s go.” I threw one more look around the store, absorbing the truth that I hadn’t crumbled. Then I strode toward the door.

“Um, Penny?”

Now what?
“Alex, this is enough for today.
Veni, vidi, vici
.”

“Yes. You came, you saw, you conquered. But you forgot to pay for the gas.”

My cheeks warmed again, but not from panic this time. I stomped back to the counter and paid while Alex chuckled and LaShaunda giggled.

On the way out to the car, I laughed, too. And the laugh was as powerful as a shout of triumph.

chapter
30

A
LEX STAYED IN TOWN
for a few more days. He insisted on remaining at his motel, but came over each day. Long conversations filled in some of the gaps about his life journey, but left other mysteries. He didn’t explain what kind of care he was receiving to manage his depression, and he didn’t say much about how he had survived before that pivotal day in the detox center. I didn’t press him. He’d face his ghosts when he was ready. And I’d be there for him.