Chapter 16 #3
The porch swing squeaked in protest as he sat down.
That shady spot beneath the trees at the end of the yard was where he and Briar played when they were little.
He’d mowed grass here since he was ten years old.
The house had sheltered him and protected him.
He’d been sick here, and got well here. The imprint of the Bandy family’s presence within the walls of the house would soon mingle with the others, who’d been here before them.
But it was time to leave, and he’d made peace with that, but not yet.
He still needed to tell Briar goodbye. That one was going to hurt.
* * *
Evan Springer made the call, and when he heard his daddy’s voice, his own rose in pitch and tenor.
“Daddy! Daddy! Did you find PawPaw yet?” he asked.
Bud Springer was heartsick. “No son, not yet. Are you okay?”
“Daddy! I sent an email to that Tate Bandy guy. The psychic you and Mama were talking about! And he answered almost instantly. I told him we’d lost PawPaw.
I told him I didn’t have any money to pay, and he still talked to me.
I wrote down everything he said to tell you. Daddy! I know where PawPaw is!”
Bud was in shock. “I thought you left that damn laptop at home.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t,” Evan said.
Bud frowned. “What if he was just lying to you?”
Evan persisted. “Then he was lying for free, because he did this out of the goodness of his heart. Just follow these directions and see for yourself.”
Then he read them aloud to his daddy, then repeated it again.
“He saw road signs. He saw the sign to Bigfoot Treehouse in his vision. He saw PawPaw lying on a bed inside it. He even described that ramp you walk up to get into the house. He doesn’t think PawPaw is hurt or sick, but he thinks he just got tired and found a place to sleep. ”
“I hear you, son. We’ll go look, okay?”
“Yes. And call me back when you find him,” Evan said.
“If we find him,” Bud corrected.
“Daddy, doubt never did get anything done. Stop arguing with me and go look. Please! If it wasn’t for my stupid ankle, I’d run there.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell the searchers right now. And I promise to call you back. Just stay off your foot.”
The call ended. Evan went back inside the tent to log out of his laptop, then got a cold pop from the ice chest and hobbled to the folding chairs scattered out in the shade beneath some trees.
He took a quick drink and then rubbed the cold side of the can across his forehead and settled down to wait for the call.
* * *
Bud Springer keyed up his walkie, told the search team the story, and waited for derision, but it didn’t come.
They had heard enough about Tate Bandy’s gift to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Every searcher in the area was on a four-wheeler, and the roar they made when they all turned and headed north echoed across the lake.
The first ones to reach Bigfoot Treehouse were members of the sheriff’s department. They stormed the ramp, entered the house, and found the old man asleep on a bed—just like Tate Bandy said they would—then woke him up to check for injuries.
PawPaw Springer sat up on the side of the bed, told them he’d been taking a break, and asked if it was quitting time.
A sheriff’s deputy patted him on the back, gave him a big drink of water, and after letting the searchers know that he’d been found exactly where Bandy said he would be, he offered him a ride.
“On your bike?” PawPaw asked.
“Yes, sir, right behind me. Would that be okay?” the deputy asked.
The old man nodded.
They walked him back down the ramp, loaded him up on the back of the deputy’s four-wheeler, and went back to the Springer campsite.
No one was more shocked than Bud Springer when he got the news. He immediately called Evan to let him know, and that they were on their way back to the campsite.
“Good, and Daddy…I think it’s time to go home.”
“I think you’re right, son,” Bud said.
* * *
The local news had already announced the old man missing, so when he was recovered uninjured, the sheriff’s department issued a statement to that effect.
But the family was on scene at the press conference, too, and Evan Springer wasted no time telling the media about reaching out to Tate, then writing down the directions Tate gave him that led them straight to the old man’s location.
Again, a police department was forced to admit Tate Bandy’s directions were on the money.
* * *
Back in Star Ridge, Tate was parked in the high school parking lot, waiting on Briar to come out of the building.
She knew he was going to pick her up, so when the bell rang and the students came flying out, he spotted her instantly.
The wind was playing fast and loose with her hair, and she was slightly stooped by the weight of books in her backpack.
Her face lit up when she saw him, then she smiled and waved.
Yet another memory to take with him.
The minute she got into the car, she leaned over the console and kissed him.
Without saying a word, he drove out of the school yard, then east out of Star Ridge up to a lookout point on the far side of the mountain, and made love to her in the back seat of the car.
Briar felt his desperation when they started back down the mountain, but when she glanced at him and saw the tears on his cheeks, she fell apart.
“That was goodbye, wasn’t it?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ll be gone in the morning while you’re still asleep. We will talk every night, but we won’t talk about each other to anyone else. This is killing me, but I’m doing this for the future us.”
“I know. I’m leaving before Christmas and Dad knows it. I’ll be living on campus. It’s required.”
“Dan Stennett called me this morning.” Then he told her about the little boy he saved from human trafficking asking his family to give the house to Tate.
“It’s a shotgun house in the French Quarter.
I haven’t seen it yet, but it will be mine, and that’s enough.
I may have to travel to jobs now and then, but it will be my permanent housing, and I’ll never lose you.
Don’t let your dad get to you. Every day you wake up, just focus on what’s next.
I’ll know if you’re in trouble. I will take care of you. ”
She made herself smile. “And now and then when I get to Tulane, maybe we will see each other in the shadows.”
He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Yes, baby. In the shadows for now, working toward the bright light of day.”
When they arrived at her house, he pulled up into her driveway and started to get out. Briar stopped him with a touch.
“No, love. Don’t get out. It will just prolong the goodbye.”
The look that passed between them was somewhere between a promise and fresh tears, and then she was gone.
He watched her running up the sidewalk and into the house. She didn’t look back, but he knew she was crying. He glanced up in the rearview mirror as he was backing out of the driveway. There were tears on his face as well.
* * *
Tate’s sleep was fitful. He gave up before four a.m., showered and shaved, got dressed, and left his parents a note with his new address.
I can’t say goodbye. That feels too final, but fate put this in motion the day I was born.
You are the best parents a kid could have.
Drive safe. Be happy in your wonderful home.
Plant that azalea. We’ll talk often. Call me anytime.
I’m off to find the ones who are lost. Alive or dead, they deserve to come home.
He was gone before daylight, missing the early-morning broadcast giving him credit for finding an old man with dementia who’d gone missing in Oklahoma. It was a nine-hour drive straight south on I-55 to New Orleans, and he made it in a daze.
Newton Belacroix, the lawyer he was to meet, was waiting in his office when Tate arrived. Belacroix eyed Tate curiously. He knew his story. He knew the Stennetts swore by him. And he knew why.
When their business was done, Tate stood and shook hands, then didn’t turn loose. “Take a different route home this evening,” he said, then walked out.
A cold shiver ran up Belacroix’s back. The warning was still on his mind when he started home. He almost ignored it, then turned two blocks early and circled around the neighborhood to get to his home.
He was getting out of his house when he heard sirens, both police and ambulance, only a few blocks away.
His heart skipped. What, exactly, did I miss?
He picked up his briefcase and hurried up the steps.
When he entered the house, his wife was on the phone, exclaiming to a friend about the horror of what had happened.
She hung up as soon as she saw he was home and ran to meet him, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him fiercely.
“I’ve never been so happy to see you walk in the door,” she said.
Newton frowned. “What happened? What are all the sirens about?”