The Isaac Project Read online

  A doll with a rope tied around its neck dangled from the rafters. Hanging in midair, it swayed gently in the evening breeze.

  The flesh on my skin crawled as goose bumps formed. My heart pounded. I looked around to see if anyone was in sight. I half expected a boy from town to be lurking behind one of the posts, ready to point and laugh at my frightened reaction. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  “Ha-ha, very funny, guys.”

  Taking out my pocket knife, I reached up and cut the doll down. There was no reason Luke needed to see this. If he’d overreacted to a little note, I couldn’t imagine how he would react to a lynched doll.

  I rolled the bale of hay I needed off the top, and it landed with a thud on the ground. I loaded the flakes of hay into the wheelbarrow and pushed it back out to the horses. Lady ran over to “help” just as I reached the fence.

  “And just where were you, oh mighty watchdog, when someone was stringing up a doll to the rafters of the lean-to, hmm?”

  All I got in response was slobbery panting and a wagging tail. She was more likely to lick someone to death than anything else.

  I threw the doll in the outside garbage before going back to the house.

  “Luke? You back yet?”

  Silence.

  “Guess not.”

  Removing a pot from the cabinet, I filled it with water, some olive oil, and a pinch of salt and set it on the stove to boil. The store-bought can of spaghetti sauce went in another pot on the stove to warm. When the water began to boil, I put in the noodles and began chopping vegetables for a salad. The sauce was starting to make tiny bubbly explosions when the front door opened.

  “Something smells good.” Luke sniffed the air.

  I stirred the sauce and turned down the heat and then turned to look at Luke.

  “What happened to you?” I blurted out. His face was red, and his hair was damp.

  “Well, when I usually have a lot on my mind or need to blow off some steam, I head to the gym and a punching bag. But since there was nothing around here I could punch, I went for a run.”

  “Feel better?”

  He shrugged. “A bit, I guess.”

  I wanted to apologize for not telling him about the note, but images of a swinging doll filtered through my head. I couldn’t apologize for one secret when I was still hiding another.

  “Luke.” I picked up the envelope with the tickets off the table. “How did you know? Thank you so much.”

  The corners of his lips turned up slightly, but his eyes still remained shuttered. “Your grandfather told me about your love of ballet. I’m glad you like your gift.”

  “I do. I love it. Thank you.”

  The cliché of crickets chirping during an awkward silence was surprisingly true. The late summer song of the cicadas out the window grated against my nerves as the thickness in the air threatened to suffocate me. I missed the camaraderie we’d shared earlier in the day. I turned back to the stove and finished getting dinner ready.

  After a quick blessing for the food, Luke turned toward me. I steeled myself for anything he might say. I had hoped he would let this whole thing go, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen.

  “I think we should file a report with the police.”

  “The police?” He was taking this all too seriously.

  “Yes, the police. Becky, whether you realize it or not, someone threatened you. I know you think it’s all some big joke, but, even still, the police should know. They need to have it on file. If you don’t think it’s a threat, at least consider it harassment. You never know what they might do next to scare you.”

  Oh yes, I did. They’d hang a doll from the rafters above my hay.

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow I’ll head over to the police station and file a report.”

  Luke’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

  ***

  A week later I sat across from Luke at a fancy restaurant in downtown Sacramento. The crystal water glasses reflected the dancing light from the candles in the middle of our table, the low murmur of conversation harmonized with the strands of Chopin coming from the baby Grand piano in the corner. I ran my hand along the lace overlay of my gown. The night felt so surreal, so Cinderella-like. Could the man across from me be my Prince Charming?

  “So why did you do it?” Maybe it was the euphoric state I was in—the ballet company’s excellent performance of Swan Lake and the ambiance of the upscale restaurant mixing to form an elixir that left me with little inhibitions. Or maybe I felt like tonight, defrocked of frumpy jeans and my ever-present ponytail, I was a different person, and if I didn’t seize this moment to satisfy my curiosity, then I’d wake up tomorrow plain ol’ me with the nagging question still unanswered.

  Luke dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Why did I do what? Take you to the ballet?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Yes to all of it.” The cloth napkin twisted in my grip. “Why did you marry a complete stranger? Why did you buy me a wedding dress when we had only known each other a day? Why did you go to all the trouble to make tonight so special?”

  “I’m glad you think tonight is special.” He reached over and touched my hand. “I think you’re special.”

  I blushed. “Seriously. I really want to know. You know why I asked Lisa to find me a husband, but why did you say yes?”

  He took a drink of water from a crystal goblet and leaned back in his chair after he set it back on the table. “When Lisa first told me about her friend who had asked her to find her a husband, I thought you were both crazy. I thought you must be this really unattractive woman who was so lonely and desperate that you would do anything to get married.” He pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward. “But I was wrong. You are very beautiful, Becky.”

  It was hard not to squirm. “Thank you, but stop stalling with your flattery.”

  He laughed and shifted positions in his chair. His foot brushed against mine under the table, so I moved it to give him more room. His foot followed mine. Was he flirting? Should I flirt back?

  A lazy smile stretched across his face. “My aunt thought it was romantic, and my uncle thought it was logical. He said feelings come and go, but a person must make a choice to love. I asked Lisa if she’d asked God for a sign, you know, like the Biblical Eliezer did.” He paused and then chuckled. “Apparently that was the sign.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. But it wasn’t until God spoke to me that I quit my job, packed up my car, and headed out here.”

  “God spoke to you?” I couldn’t help but lean forward in my chair. “What did He say?”

  “He quoted scripture to me. He told me to love my neighbor and that we love Him because He first loved us. He told me that, in the same way, if I loved you first, then you would love me in return.”

  Do you love me? Even as I thought it, I knew I would never actually ask him. That wasn’t a question you asked someone. That was something you were told. But the silence that followed spoke volumes. He didn’t say the three little words. He didn’t say any words. The clock struck midnight in my head, and my Cinderella dream crashed around me. Luke may be my Prince Charming, but would I ever be his lady love?

  22

  Luke

  “MASTERSON, GET IN here!” Captain Freeman bellowed as I passed his small office.

  “Yes, sir?” I stepped over the threshold into the captain’s immaculate space. Where Chief had had papers scattered all over his desk, Captain Freeman seemed to have a master’s degree in organization. Not a memo out of place.

  “Take a seat, son.” Captain Freeman tipped his head toward an empty chair. He bobbed a pen between his fingers like a manic seesaw. I’d never seen the man completely still.

  “We need to talk about your future here at station four.”

  My shoulders notched back. He paused, but I refused to break eye conta
ct. I’d done good work, and if he was dismissing me, I would go with my head held high.

  “As you know, it is very unusual to transfer to a new state, especially California. I took you on a trial basis as a favor to Chief Noles.”

  Another pause. This time, however, the lines around the captain’s eyes softened.

  “And I’m glad I did. You’re an asset to the team. I want to offer you a permanent place here, but in order to do that, we need to get you caught up with all the qualifications the other firefighters have when they graduate from the academy. Namely, you need wildland fire training.”

  “That won’t be a problem, sir.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He extended some papers to me, and I took them. “Here are the registration forms for the course. It’s offered in Sacramento in a few weeks, and I want you there. The sooner we get you trained, the better I’ll feel.”

  “Yes, sir.” The ball uncurled in my gut. I wouldn’t have to trade my bunker gear for hedge clippers.

  “That will be all, Masterson.”

  Thank you, Jesus. It seemed God was working everything out. Becky and I had a great time the other night at the ballet, and even though we were taking things slow, our relationship was headed in the right direction. I felt she was slowly coming to see me not as a complete stranger, but as her husband. And now my job was secure, which, to be honest, I’d been worried about. If the United States were a family, California would be the snobby cousin. Certified professionals such as firefighters and teachers had to pass California’s specific tests. The state wouldn’t accept out of state licenses.

  The rest of my shift passed quickly. On the way home, I stopped by a video store and picked up a John Wayne classic. I wasn’t sure what type of movies Becky liked, but I assumed since she was the cowgirl type she would enjoy a good Western. I hoped I wasn’t stereotyping.

  By the time I reached the house, the long shift was beginning to take its toll on me, and a few hours of sleep sounded like a good idea. I was surprised, however, by the excitement that mounted with every step I took toward home. Becky. Five more paces, and I’d see my wife. I felt like a seventeen-year-old picking up his date for the prom and wished I had flowers in my hand instead of a goofy old movie.

  I walked into the house and set my keys on the table. Becky stood by the stove with a daisy-print apron tied around her waist. Better than a prom dress. She looked up and smiled.

  “Lucky me. I married a looker and a cooker.” I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. Apparently corny lines were a family trait.

  She turned toward me, her eyes light with laughter. An eye roll is what I deserved, but I’d take the laughter any day.

  What would she do if I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and buried my nose in the crook of her neck? I’d breathe in her essence, sunshine, and wide open spaces. She’d turn in my arms, face lifted to receive my kiss. Our lips would meet and…

  My heart thumped against my ribs. I shook my head to dislodge the picture from my mind. What was I thinking? Becky needed time, and I wasn’t some teenage girl. Men didn’t daydream. We acted.

  I remembered the way she’d worried her lip on our wedding night.

  We also exhibit self-control. The last thing I wanted was to scare my wife with physical contact before she was ready.

  Becky spooned out runny scrambled eggs and burnt toast on a couple of plates and brought them to the table. After a quick prayer, we began to eat.

  “Thanks for making breakfast,” I said as I dredged an almost black piece of toast through the undercooked eggs, hoping to soften the bread before consumption. I appreciated Becky’s efforts, but her talents definitely lay elsewhere.

  “No problem. I know you must be tired,” she said. “Speaking of which, I was thinking. I don’t think you need to sleep on the couch.”

  I didn’t? But the only other place to sleep was the… My pulse raced. Was she really saying what I hoped she was saying? I never thought—

  “Today, I mean,” she rushed on. “Or the days you come home after a long shift. I won’t be in my room anyway, and when you’re on the couch, I’m afraid I’ll wake you up with all my comings and goings.”

  I swallowed the disappointment. It tasted bitter. And lingered. “Thank you.”

  Time to change the subject. “Do you like John Wayne?”

  The corners of her mouth slid up. “Who doesn’t like John Wayne?”

  I forced a smiled. “Good. I rented McClintock on my way home. I thought maybe we could watch it this evening after I’ve gotten some sleep and you’re finished with your work for the day.”

  “Sounds good. And nice choice, by the way. McClintock is my favorite John Wayne movie.”

  ***

  “Do you have any popcorn?” Becky had barely made it into the house before I pounced on her with a question, my head still buried in the cabinet-turned-pantry.

  “Yes, but it’s the air-popper kind, not the microwave kind.”

  I ducked my head out. “Where? I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find a single kernel.”

  She waved me aside and peeked in the cabinet. It took her less than a second to pull out an Orville Redenbacher container of yellow kernels.

  “That wasn’t there a second ago. I swear I looked in every nook and cranny.”

  Becky just smiled. My mom had called it “looking like a man” when my dad and I couldn’t find something and it took her no time at all to locate it. I thought it was some kind of conspiracy.

  Becky made the popcorn while I put in the movie. As soon as the previews started, Becky sat next to me on the couch with a large bowl of popcorn in her lap. I reached over for a handful but grabbed only air. Becky had moved the bowl to the other side of her.

  “This is mine, cowboy. Make your own.”

  I might have been offended if I hadn’t seen the teasing glint in her eye.

  Knowing my arm was longer than hers, I simply reached over her for the bowl. She swatted my hand away and jumped off the couch.

  Eyes glued to hers, I slowly stood. She was slightly crouched, ready to spring if I made a move toward her. “Didn’t Pops teach you to share?”

  “Oh, do you want some?” she asked innocently.

  “Yes, please.” I edged toward her.

  “Then open up,” she said as she took a step back for every step I took forward.

  I laughed but obediently opened my mouth.

  The popcorn bounced off my forehead.

  “I think you need to work on your—”

  Another piece pelted me on the chin.

  “I’m going to starve at this rate,” I growled.

  “Oh, we can’t have that.” Becky reached into the bowl and withdrew a handful of popcorn.

  I held up my hands. “Now Becky, don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”

  She laughed but raised her hand behind her head in a throwing position. Just as she released her ammo, I lunged. I was hit by at least a dozen kernels but was able to pin Becky’s arms to her sides before she made her escape. The bowl dangled in her grasp, about ready to spill.

  “Care to share that bowl now?”

  “Let me go, you brute.” Becky wiggled in my arms and I tightened my hold. Even with her arms pinned, she was still able to twist her body just enough that I couldn’t grab the bowl. Although, I admit, I wasn’t trying all that hard.

  “Since you won’t willingly share,” I said, mock seriousness lacing my voice, “I can only see one solution.” With my arm still wrapped around her and her back to my chest, I lifted her feet off the ground and carried her to the couch. I pulled her down onto my lap and let my hand rest on her hip. If she tried to dart back up I could easily haul her back down.

  She turned to give me a dirty look. I winked as I bit into a satisfying handful of Mr. Redenbacher’s finest.

  My cell phone rang just as the Duke made his entrance. Bummer—but not because I’d miss the scene. I allowed Becky to slide off my lap and walked to where
my phone lay on the table.

  “Hello?”

  What I heard next made me sit down hard, my head cradled in my hands.

  23

  Rebekah

  LUKE’S FACE FELL. Only minutes before we’d been laughing and teasing, and now he looked like someone had just killed his dog. I had to admit it scared me.

  Luke was silent as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. I wished he’d respond so that I could get some idea as to what the call was about. Obviously the news was not good, but there were so many possibilities, and I didn’t know him well enough to make an educated guess.

  “Okay, thanks for calling. Hopefully you can get ahold of his mom soon, but I’ll see what I can do.” He ended the call, his head still in his hands. He pushed one hand through his hair before looking up at me with glossy eyes.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s Marty,” he breathed. “He’s in the hospital.”

  Who’s Marty? I hadn’t heard Luke talk about a Marty before, but clearly he was someone very important to him. I groaned silently in frustration. These were things that wives knew about their husbands. They knew the people closest to the man they’d married and didn’t have to guess or ask who a person was in a time of obvious distress. But I wasn’t that kind of wife. I had no choice but to ask.

  I walked over to Luke and knelt in front of him. I took one of his large hands in mine and looked into his eyes. “Who’s Marty?”

  “Marty is this kid that I used to tutor back in Michigan.”

  “Was that his mom who called?” I gently probed.

  “No. It was the hospital.”

  The hospital? But why would the hospital call a nonrelative?

  My confusion must have been evident on my face, because Luke said, “Marty is in surgery right now. I wrote down my name and number on a piece of paper before I left and I guess a nurse found it in his pocket. The hospital couldn’t reach his mom, and one of the doctors recognized my name. Being a firefighter, I knew a few of the doctors there. Anyway, they called me as a courtesy. The doctor thought maybe I could come and stay with Marty until they could get in touch with his mom. He didn’t know I wasn’t in Michigan anymore.”