| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted September 17, 2020 | Chapters: |
...33 34 -35- 36... 
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What happens when Cody gets to go home?
A chapter in the book Looking for Orion - 2
Home - part 2
by DeboraDyess
| Background A chpater in the book,k, 'Looking for Orion'. |
Jack wandered back into the living room, stretched, sank onto the sofa and leaned back into its plush cushions. He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
Cody watched him, mystified. "What was that all about?" he asked when Jack didn't offer the information on his own.
"Oh. Me and Mikey had a talk the other night at my house."
"About?"
Jack hesitated, thinking back, trying to figure out how to summarize their conversation.
"Never felt sorry for guys in prison before," he had announced on that night, slouching onto the couch beside his nephew. He'd propped his feet on the coffee table before him and slouched down onto the comfortable old sofa, adjusting his shoulders against its high back.
"You do now?" Michael asked.
He had nodded. "Them and politicians."
The boy grinned. "Interesting combination there, Uncle Jack--politicians and criminals."
"Yeah." Jack put a plate of nachos between them. "Don't tell Aunt Laine I brought food in here, okay?"
"Talk about criminal." The boy took a heavily loaded chip and stuffed it into his mouth, wiping a stray drop of the yellow, saucy cheese from his blue-jeaned leg.. "She'd exile you to the garage forever."
"She'd do worse than that." He pointed to Michael's near-miss. "Be careful."
The two sat for a minute, watching a rerun of some Rose Bowl from years back, commenting on plays and strategies.
"So why do you feel sorry for crooks and politicians?" Michael asked during a lull in the game.
"Being stuck in this house is like a prison. And every time I go out I have some spook chaperoning me around."
"They prefer the term 'agent'."
"I don't really give a rat's ...' he settled on the word, "patootie what term they prefer."
Michael grinned. "Nice expression, Uncle Jack--very G-rated."
Jack grunted.
"Gets a little old, huh."
He put a third jalapeno on the nacho he held and nodded. "It's way past a little old,
"You bummed about not getting to go back to work?"
Jack grunted again and watched as the quarterback from the Texas Longhorns threw the game winning touchdown. He smiled. "I remember this game. I watched it with your dad, sitting right here."
"I miss him," Michael said simply, and something in his voice made Jack look at him. Tears brimmed, threatening to escape from the boy's eyes and down his face.
"Me, too, but he'll be home soon . We're counting days now, instead of weeks." Jack reached across the small space separating them and squeezed the boy's shoulder.
“I miss my mom, too.” Michael closed his eyes, inadvertently forcing tears onto his thin cheeks. "I miss my mom, too."
"Yeah... “ Jack agreed quietly. He sat up, moving the nachos from between them to the long coffee table in front of them.
"Sometimes I can't really remember her," Michael continued in a whisper. "I try real hard to hang on to her, but ... it's like she's fading, you know?" He glanced up at his uncle. "Like an old paper from school, or an old photo. Like a ghost. I can kind of remember some of her, but some of her is gone, and I'm scared that I'll never get that part back. I'm scared that soon all I'll have left will be all faded and dim."
A vision of Pam crossed thourgh Jack's mind, followed by a memory of his father laughing on their last outting. He cleared his throat and nodded. "The best way to keep that from happening is to talk about her. What don't you remember?"
Michael shrugged and studied his hands, which were busy twisting around each other. "The way she sounded when she talked, her laugh ... I remember she laughed a lot, but I can't remember what she thought was funny." He made eye contact with his uncle, and then shifted his gaze to a candle flickering idly on the entertainment center. The tiny flame caught a draft from somewhere and struggled for life, its flickering light sputtering into near nonexistence. "I know she was always getting tickled about something or another when you guys were playing cards and barbequing and stuff, and Dad and Aunt 'Laine would always give each other these frustrated looks and roll their eyes."
Jack smiled. "Yeah; we kind of drove the two of them nuts." He looked at the boy. "She had the same sense of humor I do -- kind of weird and off the wall. We'd kind of set each other off sometimes, you know? She'd say something that I thought was funny and after that it was one stupid thing after another, both of us cracking up the rest of the night. Your dad and 'Laine are so serious that they didn't always get us."
Michael nodded. He stared at the TV for a minute, and Jack watched the dims and brights bounce off his intense eyes. "I don't get God." Michael reached forward and snagged another nacho, but didn't put it in his mouth. He held it, turning it in his hands as though he was searching for an answer in its arrangement of ingredients. He glanced sideways at Jack and dropped his gaze back to the chip almost immediately. Above the television set the candle flame sputtered, disappeared, and jumped to life again.
"What don't you get about Him?"
The boy hesitated. "Do you think God really cares about what goes on with us? Do you think He even knows what we're going through? I have a friend that says God just set everything all in place and is, like, on vacation or something. That He doesn't care. It just seems like ... Sometimes it just seems like that's not real."
"Like God's not real?"
Michael shook his head, searching for the exact way to express his thoughts. "Like ... God caring about us isn't real."
Jack felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. His own bewilderment from the recent past was now coming out of Michael's mouth. He tried to think about what someone might have said to him to alleviate some of his confusion and fear. "That was quite a game," Jack said.
Michael looked at him, confusion and betrayal clear in his eyes.
"I wasn't so sure the 'Horns were going to pull it off right at first. In fact, your dad got so mad at that quarterback that he left the room and missed most of the third quarter and part of the fourth. Went out into the garage and banged around, checked on you kids and then came back for the end of the game."
Michael glanced at the TV set as if it held the answer to his uncle's mysterious delve into football memories.
"He pulled it out of the fire, though"the quarterback, not your dad. And what happened?"
"Texas won." Michael's voice was low and quiet.
"Life is like that game, Michael. Things make no sense at all. And yet, somehow they work out. All things work together, you know?" He looked at Michael and knew he was missing the mark. "That coach stayed on the sidelines the whole time, didn't he?"
"Well, yeah. It's his job."
"He never left, even though things were going bad. He never gave up on his players or his strategy. He just kept on doing what he does, and in the end he won."
"He might have just gotten lucky, Uncle Jack."
Jack paused, thinking through his poor analogy. "You're right. Maybe the team just got lucky. And the coach certainly didn't have knowledge of how the game would turn out before it ever started. But God has to let things play out, Michael. It's what makes Him who He is. It's what makes us who we are, too, and lets us know that He really does love us. Sometimes letting us fumble the ball is the best thing He can do for us, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. It lets us grow."
"Yeah, that's what Dr. Kitman said, except not with football. She said that if He made us all act a certain way we'd just be puppets, not loving anyone, and not being really loved by anyone."
"Clever woman, that doctor." Jack studied Michael's face, knowing he'd fallen far short of reassuring him.
Michael stared at the TV, avoiding his uncle’s eyes. "Would you feel this way if Dad had died instead of getting better?"
It wasn't a question Jack hadn't considered himself. He closed his eyes, prayed quickly. "I don't honestly know, Michael. I was so angry. But I was ready to hear from God, too, so I think I would. I hope I would." He changed tactics. "You know how much your dad loves you, right?"
Michael nodded and dared a look at him.
"And that he loves Kate just as fiercely, and loved your mom the same way?"
The boy stared into his face, taking in every word, his dark eyes hopeful.
"I finally figured out that God feels that way about me. And about you and your dad and our family. But He also feels like that about the Lehman family, Michael."
Michael frowned and shook his head slightly.
"Yeah, no matter how bad, how purely evil they are, no matter what crimes they commit. He loves them enough to send a savior for them, just like He sent one for us. And He feels that way about every other family, and about every individual on this whole planet. He wants us all to come to Him. I'll never get that, really. I'll never understand the whole picture or get the scope of who He is and how He feels. But coming close, just coming close, helped me see that He can do things we don't understand in order to do what needs to happen. Our job is to stand firm in Him and trust His ability to see more than we can."
The boy let his gaze return to the television set.
"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm not too good with words. Your dad could probably talk to you about this and actually make some sense."
"No." Michael looked at him. "You did fine. I kind of get it. I mean, I get that I don't have to get it." He got a handful of the cheesy nachos and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully, got it down to a manageable size and said through a full mouth, "I thtill with' He would've jus' zapped them, though."
As Jack recalled the moment, explaining each bit of the conversation to his brother, Cody watched him, showing surprise at some of the revelations, pride at others.. "That's my boy," Cody smiled as Jack relayed Michael's final comment. He sobered. "I kind of agree. Zapping the Lehman clan doesn't seem like such a bad idea right at the moment."
Cody watched him, mystified. "What was that all about?" he asked when Jack didn't offer the information on his own.
"Oh. Me and Mikey had a talk the other night at my house."
"About?"
Jack hesitated, thinking back, trying to figure out how to summarize their conversation.
"Never felt sorry for guys in prison before," he had announced on that night, slouching onto the couch beside his nephew. He'd propped his feet on the coffee table before him and slouched down onto the comfortable old sofa, adjusting his shoulders against its high back.
"You do now?" Michael asked.
He had nodded. "Them and politicians."
The boy grinned. "Interesting combination there, Uncle Jack--politicians and criminals."
"Yeah." Jack put a plate of nachos between them. "Don't tell Aunt Laine I brought food in here, okay?"
"Talk about criminal." The boy took a heavily loaded chip and stuffed it into his mouth, wiping a stray drop of the yellow, saucy cheese from his blue-jeaned leg.. "She'd exile you to the garage forever."
"She'd do worse than that." He pointed to Michael's near-miss. "Be careful."
The two sat for a minute, watching a rerun of some Rose Bowl from years back, commenting on plays and strategies.
"So why do you feel sorry for crooks and politicians?" Michael asked during a lull in the game.
"Being stuck in this house is like a prison. And every time I go out I have some spook chaperoning me around."
"They prefer the term 'agent'."
"I don't really give a rat's ...' he settled on the word, "patootie what term they prefer."
Michael grinned. "Nice expression, Uncle Jack--very G-rated."
Jack grunted.
"Gets a little old, huh."
He put a third jalapeno on the nacho he held and nodded. "It's way past a little old,
"You bummed about not getting to go back to work?"
Jack grunted again and watched as the quarterback from the Texas Longhorns threw the game winning touchdown. He smiled. "I remember this game. I watched it with your dad, sitting right here."
"I miss him," Michael said simply, and something in his voice made Jack look at him. Tears brimmed, threatening to escape from the boy's eyes and down his face.
"Me, too, but he'll be home soon . We're counting days now, instead of weeks." Jack reached across the small space separating them and squeezed the boy's shoulder.
“I miss my mom, too.” Michael closed his eyes, inadvertently forcing tears onto his thin cheeks. "I miss my mom, too."
"Yeah... “ Jack agreed quietly. He sat up, moving the nachos from between them to the long coffee table in front of them.
"Sometimes I can't really remember her," Michael continued in a whisper. "I try real hard to hang on to her, but ... it's like she's fading, you know?" He glanced up at his uncle. "Like an old paper from school, or an old photo. Like a ghost. I can kind of remember some of her, but some of her is gone, and I'm scared that I'll never get that part back. I'm scared that soon all I'll have left will be all faded and dim."
A vision of Pam crossed thourgh Jack's mind, followed by a memory of his father laughing on their last outting. He cleared his throat and nodded. "The best way to keep that from happening is to talk about her. What don't you remember?"
Michael shrugged and studied his hands, which were busy twisting around each other. "The way she sounded when she talked, her laugh ... I remember she laughed a lot, but I can't remember what she thought was funny." He made eye contact with his uncle, and then shifted his gaze to a candle flickering idly on the entertainment center. The tiny flame caught a draft from somewhere and struggled for life, its flickering light sputtering into near nonexistence. "I know she was always getting tickled about something or another when you guys were playing cards and barbequing and stuff, and Dad and Aunt 'Laine would always give each other these frustrated looks and roll their eyes."
Jack smiled. "Yeah; we kind of drove the two of them nuts." He looked at the boy. "She had the same sense of humor I do -- kind of weird and off the wall. We'd kind of set each other off sometimes, you know? She'd say something that I thought was funny and after that it was one stupid thing after another, both of us cracking up the rest of the night. Your dad and 'Laine are so serious that they didn't always get us."
Michael nodded. He stared at the TV for a minute, and Jack watched the dims and brights bounce off his intense eyes. "I don't get God." Michael reached forward and snagged another nacho, but didn't put it in his mouth. He held it, turning it in his hands as though he was searching for an answer in its arrangement of ingredients. He glanced sideways at Jack and dropped his gaze back to the chip almost immediately. Above the television set the candle flame sputtered, disappeared, and jumped to life again.
"What don't you get about Him?"
The boy hesitated. "Do you think God really cares about what goes on with us? Do you think He even knows what we're going through? I have a friend that says God just set everything all in place and is, like, on vacation or something. That He doesn't care. It just seems like ... Sometimes it just seems like that's not real."
"Like God's not real?"
Michael shook his head, searching for the exact way to express his thoughts. "Like ... God caring about us isn't real."
Jack felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. His own bewilderment from the recent past was now coming out of Michael's mouth. He tried to think about what someone might have said to him to alleviate some of his confusion and fear. "That was quite a game," Jack said.
Michael looked at him, confusion and betrayal clear in his eyes.
"I wasn't so sure the 'Horns were going to pull it off right at first. In fact, your dad got so mad at that quarterback that he left the room and missed most of the third quarter and part of the fourth. Went out into the garage and banged around, checked on you kids and then came back for the end of the game."
Michael glanced at the TV set as if it held the answer to his uncle's mysterious delve into football memories.
"He pulled it out of the fire, though"the quarterback, not your dad. And what happened?"
"Texas won." Michael's voice was low and quiet.
"Life is like that game, Michael. Things make no sense at all. And yet, somehow they work out. All things work together, you know?" He looked at Michael and knew he was missing the mark. "That coach stayed on the sidelines the whole time, didn't he?"
"Well, yeah. It's his job."
"He never left, even though things were going bad. He never gave up on his players or his strategy. He just kept on doing what he does, and in the end he won."
"He might have just gotten lucky, Uncle Jack."
Jack paused, thinking through his poor analogy. "You're right. Maybe the team just got lucky. And the coach certainly didn't have knowledge of how the game would turn out before it ever started. But God has to let things play out, Michael. It's what makes Him who He is. It's what makes us who we are, too, and lets us know that He really does love us. Sometimes letting us fumble the ball is the best thing He can do for us, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. It lets us grow."
"Yeah, that's what Dr. Kitman said, except not with football. She said that if He made us all act a certain way we'd just be puppets, not loving anyone, and not being really loved by anyone."
"Clever woman, that doctor." Jack studied Michael's face, knowing he'd fallen far short of reassuring him.
Michael stared at the TV, avoiding his uncle’s eyes. "Would you feel this way if Dad had died instead of getting better?"
It wasn't a question Jack hadn't considered himself. He closed his eyes, prayed quickly. "I don't honestly know, Michael. I was so angry. But I was ready to hear from God, too, so I think I would. I hope I would." He changed tactics. "You know how much your dad loves you, right?"
Michael nodded and dared a look at him.
"And that he loves Kate just as fiercely, and loved your mom the same way?"
The boy stared into his face, taking in every word, his dark eyes hopeful.
"I finally figured out that God feels that way about me. And about you and your dad and our family. But He also feels like that about the Lehman family, Michael."
Michael frowned and shook his head slightly.
"Yeah, no matter how bad, how purely evil they are, no matter what crimes they commit. He loves them enough to send a savior for them, just like He sent one for us. And He feels that way about every other family, and about every individual on this whole planet. He wants us all to come to Him. I'll never get that, really. I'll never understand the whole picture or get the scope of who He is and how He feels. But coming close, just coming close, helped me see that He can do things we don't understand in order to do what needs to happen. Our job is to stand firm in Him and trust His ability to see more than we can."
The boy let his gaze return to the television set.
"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm not too good with words. Your dad could probably talk to you about this and actually make some sense."
"No." Michael looked at him. "You did fine. I kind of get it. I mean, I get that I don't have to get it." He got a handful of the cheesy nachos and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed it thoughtfully, got it down to a manageable size and said through a full mouth, "I thtill with' He would've jus' zapped them, though."
As Jack recalled the moment, explaining each bit of the conversation to his brother, Cody watched him, showing surprise at some of the revelations, pride at others.. "That's my boy," Cody smiled as Jack relayed Michael's final comment. He sobered. "I kind of agree. Zapping the Lehman clan doesn't seem like such a bad idea right at the moment."
Synopsis:
When brothers Jack and Cody McClellan stumble across an assasination attempt while on a camping trip, Cody is severely injured. Jack manages to rescue him with the assistance of other campers nearby. But the assasins follow them to the hospital and make another attempt on Cody's life. Thwarted by the FBI agent assigned to the very complex case, only two of the bad guys are left.
Jack, who has struggled with his faith in God since the murder of his sister-in-law, feels more disalusionment with a god that doesn't seem to be paying attention to people who love Him. But after a conversation with a do tor in the hospital, he begins to understand more about God and returnss to his faith.
Cody and the ER trauma doctor, Abby Kitman, skeem to be developing a relaitonship while he's in the hosp[ital.
(That's a t>RRIBLY written synopsis! My apologies. I'll try to come back and fix it up a bit!k)
Characters:
Cody McClellan - early 30s, widowed, father of two. Private INvestigator since the death of his wife, Pam.
Jack McClellan - mid 30s, brother to Cody. Detective in the local police department.
Laine McClellan - Jack's wife
Rachel Mc - Jack and Cody's mom
Michael and Katie Mc - Cody's children, ages 12 and 6, respectively
Travis Mc - Jack and Laine's son 12.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. When brothers Jack and Cody McClellan stumble across an assasination attempt while on a camping trip, Cody is severely injured. Jack manages to rescue him with the assistance of other campers nearby. But the assasins follow them to the hospital and make another attempt on Cody's life. Thwarted by the FBI agent assigned to the very complex case, only two of the bad guys are left.
Jack, who has struggled with his faith in God since the murder of his sister-in-law, feels more disalusionment with a god that doesn't seem to be paying attention to people who love Him. But after a conversation with a do tor in the hospital, he begins to understand more about God and returnss to his faith.
Cody and the ER trauma doctor, Abby Kitman, skeem to be developing a relaitonship while he's in the hosp[ital.
(That's a t>RRIBLY written synopsis! My apologies. I'll try to come back and fix it up a bit!k)
Characters:
Cody McClellan - early 30s, widowed, father of two. Private INvestigator since the death of his wife, Pam.
Jack McClellan - mid 30s, brother to Cody. Detective in the local police department.
Laine McClellan - Jack's wife
Rachel Mc - Jack and Cody's mom
Michael and Katie Mc - Cody's children, ages 12 and 6, respectively
Travis Mc - Jack and Laine's son 12.
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