Chapter 5
“Seven Bridges Road”
The Eagles
~~~
Southbound and Heading More So,
Surrounded by Turquoise Water,
And Fast Running Out of Land.
ANOTHER WEEK GONE, along with mile after mile of highway and most of Jake’s insecurities. He kept company with his favorite group once more as the radio played their ode to stars, and moonlight, and moss-covered trees. No, he was nowhere near the Alabama road the Eagles had harmonized about, but Florida’s famous Seven Mile Bridge was only a few emerald and blue curves ahead. Close enough.
Life—or what passed for it these days—felt better all the time. He grinned. Drowning just might have been the best thing that ever happened to him—except for meeting Grace, of course.
The grin slid off Jake’s face. Even now, twelve years and his own death later, his heart still ached when he thought of her. His Saving Grace, he had called her, and it was the absolute truth.
He’d been utterly and completely lost when they met, bitter and angry as only an eighteen-year-old boy can be when he thinks God has deserted him. In spite of all the Sundays at church with his family, and all the earnest prayers offered each night, he’d lost everyone he loved. His prayers sure hadn’t saved his mother, his father, or his younger brother from the drunk driver who’d snatched them away. Oh, no. And Jake had been consumed—burned down to an empty shell—by his rage at such cruel injustice. His life slid off the rails like a runaway freight train.
Then Grace found him.
Ten years they’d had together, a young couple thinking they had all the time in the world to plan a future, raise a family, grow old together. Ten years of Grace’s healing love before they received the news that there wouldn’t be an eleventh one. He’d married her, anyway, regretting they hadn’t done it sooner and knowing they’d never drink that first-anniversary champagne.
On their wedding night, kneeling before her with tears streaming down his face, Jake had sworn he finally belonged to her forever in the eyes of both man and God, and he vowed not to demean what she’d given him by allowing anger to take control after she was gone. Instead, he promised to honor their love by being grateful for each and every day of the life he’d been given. And for twelve years, he’d done just that.
Sure, there’d been plenty of bad days after that long battle with cancer had taken her, but Jake had kept his promises. He’d refused to let those days consume him, and every morning he’d awakened thankful God had sent Grace to him at his darkest moment. He worked hard to make the best he could of a life lived alone, looking for joy in small things and trying to be a man Grace would be proud of. He never once forgot there were people in this world who’d been less lucky—who’d never had a Saving Grace in their lives nor learned to let go of anger and hate—but he hadn’t let himself become one of them, in spite of how much he’d lost.
In a way, things had come full circle. He now found himself on the other end of the equation, looking for ways to help the lost, lonely, and bitterly angry ones who didn’t know which way to turn.
Was he doing everything right? Doubtful. But he thought he might be getting better at it, and he wouldn’t give up. There were too many people in jeopardy out there. In the last forty-eight hours alone, he’d made contact with three rudderless Miami teens, each of whom had needed just the barest nudge to open their eyes and see the trouble coming for them. If he could turn them away from that path and toward help, that ought to count for something.
It broke Jake’s heart to see how many frightened young people wandered the dark city streets alone. There were way more than he could ever hope to reach, yet he took consolation each time he managed to do so, and he never forgot he’d once been there, himself.
Of course, the truly shattered and bereft souls who had reached the end of their endurance were out there, too, but so far, Hunter Painter had been the only one he’d found who’d been teetering right on that brink, mere steps away from the point of no return.
Did these troubled teens he’d met so far count toward the goal of his mission? He hoped so. Maybe he would ask Azrael when he saw him again. If he saw him again. But whether they did or not, there’d been no way he could have turned his back on them, so he’d planted the seeds of hope where he could, then pointed his big rig toward Key West and drove on
~~~
THE FAMOUS OVERSEAS Highway stretched one hundred twenty miles from the Florida mainland all the way to Key West. Jake had always wanted to toast the sunset from the southernmost point in the continental United States, and he figured it was worth the drive, since Margaritaville was surely the type of place he’d find plenty of souls in peril.
Mostly, he figured wrong on that.
He’d driven steadily south after Miami, leaving Key Largo and Islamorada behind and eagerly awaiting his first glimpse of the famous Seven Mile Bridge. In that, he wasn’t disappointed. The tires hummed and sang as the semi traveled over the impossibly long curve of concrete and steel, vibrant aqua and jade water below spreading out in every direction, as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking, and Jake slowed down as much as he dared, reveling in the view.
Of course, the original bridge was closed now, as parts of it were deemed unsafe even for bicycle and pedestrian traffic, but crossing the new bridge was still an incredible experience. He decided it had been worth every mile of his southward journey to see that marvel of engineering and the panoramic vista in front of him. Why he and Grace had never visited the Keys, he wasn’t sure, but she would have loved every minute of the trip.
Sorry to leave the bridge behind, Jake turned his thoughts back to spending a night in Key West. Maybe he’d splurge on indigenous food. Conch chowder and fried snapper washed down by the infamous margaritas Jimmy Buffet had made the town notorious for. Why not? The credit card he’d found in his wallet seemed to have no limit. He’d never abuse that, of course, but he had to eat—at least, that’s what Azrael had told him—so he found the most indigenous seafood restaurant on the island and enjoyed every bite of his meal.
After dinner, he’d strolled the streets, keeping an eye out for souls in need, then decided to enjoy a second margarita as the sun went down. Might as well have the whole experience, right?
He sat in a low-slung chair, shoes kicked off, and toes wiggling in the warm, white sand. The sun was a mere sliver on the horizon, a molten lava curve of red, disappearing into the sea. Oh, yeah. He should have brought Grace here for this alone. He lifted his half-finished margarita Heavenward and hoped she could see him. “Here’s to you, Grace. I don’t care what Azrael says, you were an angel here on earth, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t be one in Heaven, too. I miss you, babe. Every single day.”
Before he had a chance to follow that thought any farther, he heard the sound of weeping nearby. A casual glance revealed a woman threading her way blindly through the chairs, heading directly toward the water ahead. Senses alert, he watched as a man called her name. “Elena! Wait. Please wait.”
She tried to ignore him, but he caught up with her and pulled her into his arms. Even from where he sat, Jake could hear the sincerity in the man’s urgent voice. “I’m so sorry. That didn’t come out like I meant at all, I swear.” Whatever he whispered next must have come out just the way it needed to, if the kiss she gave him was anything to go by. All radiant smiles now, the couple walked away, hand in hand. No need for him to interfere with those two. They had a handle on love that would probably carry them along fine for many years. At least, he hoped so.
Jake stretched and rose from his chair. Tourists enjoyed themselves on every side. Locals were, for the most part, far too laid back to be in any kind of misery. Most were there because it was a place where the pace of life was slow and easy, without the frantic scrambling they’d been used to before making the move. Others had ended up there because they were free to be themselves without censure, and they were, if not happy, at least at peace with life. He hadn’t sensed a single soul in peril the entire evening, and that was a good thing, though he still longed for an opportunity to prove to Azrael he could handle the big challenges without breaking the rules.
He decided to head back to his room and get some sleep, the better to have an early breakfast in the morning and hit the road north again. Florida and Georgia, that was the territory Azrael had suggested, and Jake was fine with that. Plenty of roads, big and small. Plenty of towns, also big and small. And for sure, plenty of people to be found in both places, some of them in need of help.
He had work to do.
~~~
Cruising Along a Dusk-Darkened Causeway,
Somewhere Around the Halfway Point,
Between the Last Sandy Key and the Next One.
HEADING NORTH AGAIN. Well, actually east, since the Florida Keys hung a wicked right just after separating from the mainland then drifted west toward the Gulf of Mexico. But Jake wouldn’t turn around again until he reached north Georgia, so that was what his mental heading was. North.
He’d spent most of the day parked at various beach areas or small, touristy towns, where he’d strolled among the visitors on foot. Though ever alert for anyone he could help, he hadn’t picked up on a thing all day. Even the wandering teenagers—clad in skimpy wet bikinis or low-slung, sand-covered board shorts—seemed relaxed and happy. Or maybe it was just too hot to be bothered with teenaged angst. They may or may not have been kids without a cause, but not one of them appeared to be a rebel. And good for them. He wished them all the happy, carefree days they could grab. Then he’d climbed back into his truck and continued his northbound journey.
As the shadows of the palms and sea grapes stretched ever longer, the road became more causeway than bridge, and Jake felt an urge to go for a walk along the water’s edge. It wasn’t going to get him dinner as soon as he’d planned, but he didn’t question his sudden desire to stop. Instead, he turned into an asphalt parking area barely as long as his truck, hopped out, and strolled down to the water, willing to trust his instincts.
He didn’t see a soul in either direction, so he pulled off his shoes and socks and walked along the edge of the surf. Maybe he’d merely needed to cool his toes in the water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d waded in the ocean, and his shoulders loosened as he ambled down the beach, humming a few lines about looking for his lost shaker of salt. The low hiss of frothy water rushing across sand kept him company. It was kind of nice having the whole beach to himself, but then—he realized he didn’t.
Ahead, faintly visible in the gathering dark, a figure stood motionless beside the creamy foam, staring out to sea. Jake stopped, not wanting to interrupt anyone else’s quiet time. He’d almost decided to return to his truck when he heard the angry cry just before the person surged into the dark water.
Oh, crap! He’d been watching for it for days, but when someone finally needed help, there he stood, at least fifty yards away. He dropped his shoes and ran as fast as he could. Or at least, he tried to. Running on the soft, wet sand was a slow-motion task at best, and the gap between him and the person in the water didn’t seem to be getting any smaller.
He put on a burst of speed, calling out, “Hey! Hey, wait!”
Damn! Maybe he shouldn’t have announced his presence like that. What if he’d just scared the person farther out? He needn’t have worried. As he drew near, a tall man with dark hair angled back toward him, his face hidden in shadow.
Jake halted at the water’s edge, maybe fifteen feet from the man, who stared at him without speaking. Well. What now? He supposed he’d fake it, until he got a feeling for what was happening.
“You going for a swim?”
No change of expression. “Why?”
“Just wondering. I mean, you aren’t dressed for it.”
Looking down at himself, the man frowned. “No. I guess not.”
“Do you want to talk?”
Raising one eyebrow, the man cocked his head. “Are you trying to pick me up?”
“What? No. Sorry. Not my thing. Is that what you wanted?”
Finally, a tiny twitch of his mouth. “No. Not my thing, either.”
“Do you think you could come back up here on the beach? It’s just that you look troubled, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone.”
After a minute, the man shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” He waded out of the water. “Can we walk while we talk?”
“Whatever you want.” Jake’s heartbeat slowed to normal. So far, so good. “Do you need help?”
“Oh, for sure, but I don’t think I can get it from you.”
“You might be surprised. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, and then we’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”
Sighing, the guy motioned Jake toward a substantial piece of driftwood a bit higher on the shore. “Could we sit down?”
This was looking more and more promising. They sat facing the water, and Jake waited quietly. The guy was right on the brink of opening up to him. He felt sure of it, and asking more questions might be the wrong way to go. Whatever was bothering him was significant, though. Turmoil rolled off this one in waves Jake could almost taste on the salt air.
Eventually, the guy sighed again. “If I give you a name, will you remember it?”
“Yes.”
“Lauren Alford.”
“Got it. But if you want to get a message to her, why don’t you let me help you deliver it yourself?”
The man gave an amused little snort, then drawled, “Don’t think that’s likely to work.”
“You might be surprised. I’ll bet she’ll listen to you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?”
“I killed her this morning.”
Jake’s heart sank. His chances of helping this guy had just taken a serious nosedive, but he didn’t think Azrael would be happy if he gave it anything other than his best. There was such a thing as redemption, and who was he to decide whether or not this guy deserved a chance at that?
“Look, I don’t know what happened, but it’s possible it isn’t as bad as you think. I mean, maybe—”
“Shut up.” The guy shifted toward Jake, and the light from the newly risen moon gleamed on the gun in his hand.
Oh, great. It looked like he’d be putting Azrael’s whole “you can’t die in your world” theory to the test, unless he thought of some way out of this mess pretty quickly. Unfortunately, Jake didn’t do his fastest thinking while staring down the barrel of a big-assed gun, but it didn’t matter. The guy was done playing.
“Turn around, please.”
“No. If you’re going to shoot me, the least you can do is look me in the eye. I won’t make it easier for you.”
The guy laughed, though it had a bit of a catch in it. “You’re something else, you know that? But, okay. Whatever you want.” He leaned closer to Jake and confided, “By the way . . . I was never going to drown myself.” And then he put the gun against his own temple and pulled the trigger.
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