Lines in the Sand (Crossing The Lines #0.5) Page 3

  “Ah, man,” Jonah said.

  “I rushed over when I heard the sirens and saw the commotion.” He set down the leather piece and looked us in the eye. “I found Lettie lying on the sand, alone, forgotten, dying.”

  I blinked hard and swallowed, choking back tears as my throat burned.

  “I was so angry at those people,” Dr. Thomlin continued. “They let this poor dog suffer, not wanting her any more now that she’d done this wonderful thing than they did before. She gave her life for that baby and they didn’t care.”

  “So what’d you do?” Jonah asked, his voice tight.

  “I held her in my lap as she gave her last breath. And I cried.”

  Silence reigned heavily in the room. I breathed in and out, not sure what to say.

  Jonah shifted, his chair squeaking as the air conditioner hummed to life.

  I studied Dr. Thomlin’s tear-streaked face. “So you made that leather band with her name on it?”

  “Yes, as a collar for her. And I buried her wrapped in the white cloth.”

  “On the beach?” I asked, wanting to be skeeved that I’d found her bone, but somehow I wasn’t.

  “Yes,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know I wasn’t supposed to. But it was where she was happiest, so it seemed the right thing to do. For her. And after how people treated her, I thought she deserved that one thing.”

  I nodded. He was right.

  “So, what happened to the old lady who fed her?”

  “Mrs. Spencer? I think she was committed to a psychiatric facility by her children.”

  “Committed?” Jonah choked.

  “Yes. Those kinds of things happened much more often back in those days.”

  We all sat there quietly for several more moments, reflecting on the solved mystery of Lettie, then I stood. “Well, thank you, Dr. Thomlin. We appreciate you helping us.”

  “No, thank you, boys. You’ve helped me remember a good friend today.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We said our goodbyes then started for home.

  “Can you believe it, dude?” Jonah said with excitement as we started on our way. “We finally figured out our mystery and we’re not going to get busted for murder!”

  “Shut up.” I elbowed him. “But, yeah, it’s cool.”

  It was cool. But something about Lettie had a firm grip on my mind and heart and wouldn’t let go. I wasn’t alive then, but it was as if I could remember her. But, why?

  “And isn’t it so cool that she was a hero? I wonder if there was anything written about her in the paper or on the news. Maybe . . .”

  That was it.

  What wouldn’t let go of my mind.

  My heart.

  I glanced at Jonah, and without a word, took off for home like my feet were on fire.

  The Savior

  I didn’t stop until I was home. I bypassed my mom cooking in the kitchen, didn’t even hear whatever she called to me about chores or what was for dinner. I had more important stuff to deal with.

  I threw open my parents’ closet door and reached for my mom’s old shoebox full of memorabilia, photos, and newspaper clippings. I plopped down on her bed and dumped out the contents, sifting through the pile, knowing I’d recognize what I was after when I saw it.

  Jonah came in a minute later. “Dude. What crawled up your butt?” But he didn’t wait for an answer before he approached the bed and looked over my shoulder. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Lookin’ for something.”

  “Should you be in here? Won’t your mom get mad?”

  I shrugged and kept sifting. Prom picture. Homecoming. Picture of me in a diaper—embarrassing. A clipping of an article about Mom and Dad’s wedding—now we were getting warm.

  Bingo.

  A yellowed newspaper article with a grainy picture of a baby being held by her mother with a forced smile. The caption read: Toddler saved from drowning by stray dog.

  I check the date. It matched up and my heart began to throb as adrenalin coursed through my veins. Holy cow. Could it be?

  I glanced up to Jonah. His eyes were huge as he read the short article that told the story of a little girl who was swimming with her family, slipped under the water, began to drown, and was pulled out by a dog. No mention of her neglectful family or the dog’s fate.

  He looked at me. “Is that . . ?”

  “What do you think you’re doing? And what is this mess?” Mom said, frowning from the doorway, startling us both.

  My guilty gaze flew to her. “Oh. Hi, Mom.”

  She tilted her head, waiting for her explanation.

  “Uh . . .”

  Jonah just looked at me like ‘you’re on your own.’ What a good friend.

  I glanced down at the article in my hand and realized for the first time in my life what fate and miracles were all about.

  I looked back up at Mom. “You might wanna sit down for this.”

  Mom and Dad stared at me from across the dining room table. Dinner had long since been eaten and the dishes cleared, though Mom’s creamed spinach—yuck—still scented the air. Jonah stayed to eat and we rushed through telling Mom everything we’d found out about Lettie. She didn’t say a word, and I wondered if she believed us. Maybe I was wrong, and the stupid article was just something my mom had kept for some other reason. Now, I was alone after Jonah had escaped up to my room and my Playstation, and the tension at the table had me feeling like a shaken up soda bottle, ready to explode. I wish my mom would just say something!

  Isabelle wiggled in her chair. “Mommy? Can I have an ice cream?”

  Mom glanced up, as if waking from a trance. “Hmmm?” She glanced at Dad. “Hon, would you give Izzy a bath?”

  “I don’t want a bath!” the brat whined, “I want ice cream.”

  I stifled a grin when Dad stood and scooped her up. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He glanced at Mom, then me, before he took my squirming, whining sister from the room.

  Once we were alone, she looked at me with the same hazel eyes that I saw in the mirror everyday—about the only thing it seemed I’d gotten from her genetically, as I was practically my dad’s twin. Well, other than her love of Jack in the Box tacos and horror movies . . . if that kind of stuff counted. Oh, and her crooked baby toe. Gross.

  “Tell me again,” she said softly.

  I blinked. “Again?”

  She nodded.

  So I did. All of it. From our messin’ on the beach and accidentally finding the piece of leather, cloth, and bone, to what we’d heard about Lettie being everything from a witch to a mean, mangy dog. I told her about the woman who hit her with her car and how we found Dr. Thomlin and the story he’d told us.

  “Can I see what you found?” she asked.

  I paused, surprised my mom wanted to look at something as gnarly as a bone. Cool. “Uh, sure.” I jumped up and ran to my room and returned with the ammo box. I gently laid out the items that had been my obsession for the past couple of days.

  Mom studied them without moving for several heartbeats. With a trembling hand, she touched the cloth first. Next, she caressed the leather with her fingertip, tracing the letters one at a time.

  “Her name was Lettie. I’ve always wondered,” she said. I glanced up to my mother’s face and watched the tears tracking down her cheeks. “I’ve always wondered if it was true and what happened to her.” She looked back at me. “I can’t believe you, of all people, found her.”

  “So, what Dr. Thomlin said, the article . . . ?” I swallowed. “That was you?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  My heart fell to my toes. “So, you almost—?” I couldn’t say the word.

  “Died? Yes. And it took a strange dog—” She glanced down at the bone. “Lettie—to save me because my own parents couldn’t be bothered. Story of my life.” She stood and turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  She paused in the doorway, but didn’t face me. By the ten
se line of her shoulders I knew she was trying not to cry.

  I didn’t quite know what to say, only that I wanted to say something. I had so many questions. About that day, about my grandparents, about why she kept me from them. Though I guess I had a better idea now. “Is that why we don’t see grandma and grandpa?” I cleared my throat when the last word came out with a broken hitch.

  Mom’s shoulders drooped as she heaved a heavy sigh. She finally turned back to me with sad eyes. “No, baby. We don’t see them because they aren’t nice or loving people. They didn’t take good care of me and my brothers, which is why I nearly drowned that day, not to mention several other near misses over the years for all of us.” She looked down and wiped her hands on her pants. “I love you and your sister, Reed, more than you’ll ever know, and I won’t have you around that. It’s to protect you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. But what about Uncle Robert and Uncle Kenny?” I was going for broke on the family stuff tonight. We saw them and their families sometimes, but it was hardly ever, and it always felt kinda tense.

  She gave a small, tired smile, her eyes still glazed with tears. “I love my brothers, I really do. But after everything we went through as kids . . . well, we all deal with it in our own way. So, we’ve just kind of grown apart and don’t always see eye to eye, if that makes sense. They were just as innocent as I was though.”

  I nodded and she ducked out of the room. It was hard for me to truly understand because I had no real memory of my grandparents. But she looked so sad, I felt sorry for her.

  Silently, I moved to pack up Lettie’s things, and wondered what it would be like to be unloved.

  “Reed, sweetie, wake up.”

  I groaned and rolled over, only to be shaken again. “Come on, sleepyhead. Jonah’s already ready. Get up. It’s important.”

  I squinted one eye open and looked at the clock. Seven forty-eight. Seriously? “Go away, Mom,” I complained. “It’s summer. I get to sleep in.” I pulled the pillow over my head. “Besides, don’t you have to be at work?”

  She yanked the pillow away. “I called in sick. We have something to do.”

  I looked at Jonah’s grinning mug. How was he so wide awake this early? I guess the Mountain Dew in his hand had something to do with it. “What?”

  She picked up the ammo box from my dresser. “This. We have to give Lettie a proper burial.”

  My brain was starting to function and I sat up as that sunk in. “What do you mean? She was buried by Dr. Thomlin.”

  “I mean a proper burial. She saved my life, so we’re getting dressed up and she’s getting flowers, nice words, and a marker at the site. She deserves better than a litter-infested, sandy mound at the beach.”

  I scrubbed a hand down my face and yawned. My mom was weird. But it was kinda nice. I threw back the covers. “Okay.” I looked at Jonah in what I knew were his nicest clothes—black jeans and a polo shirt. He must’ve run home to get them especially for the occasion. “Get outta my room so I can get dressed.”

  They left with stupid grins on their faces. I yanked one leg into a pair of jeans, then I remembered my mom saying something about getting dressed up and rolled my eyes. I pulled out my khaki slacks she liked and a button-down shirt, feeling like a dweeb.

  I stepped into the kitchen and found them all—Jonah, Mom, Dad, and Isabelle—munching on muffins and juice. “Dad and Izzie, too?”

  Dad turned with his coffee mug in hand. “I took the day off. It’s important to your mother, buddy.” He stepped toward the back door. “Plus I made this . . .” He leaned over and picked up a sturdy white wooden cross. He turned it over, and on the back, he’d burned words into the wood:

  LETTIE

  A FRIEND. A HERO.

  “Cool.”

  He smiled at my praise. “Glad you like it, man. I’ll go put it in the car.”

  We all ate a quick breakfast, then loaded up, along with my ammo box. We made a quick pit stop at the florist for a bouquet of yellow, pink, and white flowery things—I don’t know what they were, but they smelled good.

  Five minutes later, we were at the beach. It was surreal to end up at the place it all began.

  Suddenly, as I stood looking out over the pounding surf, my heart began thundering. Jonah walked up next to me. “You good, man?”

  I looked at him and tightened my grip on the handle of the ammo box, a gust of salty air rustling our hair. “Yeah. You?”

  “It’s weird, right?” he said. “We found the bones of the dog that saved your mom? You think that was a coincidence?”

  I shrugged and looked back out to the ocean. A gull soared over the foaming caps in the distance. It looked so lonely. “Yeah, probably.”

  Mom came up on my other side. “You ready?”

  I glanced behind us where Dad and Izzie hung back with the cross and flowers. “I guess.”

  She nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Because it seemed appropriate, I gripped her hand and started walking. Jonah grabbed her other one.

  The salty wind whipped our cheeks and plastered our clothes to our bodies as the sun warmed our heads. Luckily, it was early, so not many people were at the beach yet, just a couple joggers and an old guy using a metal detector in the distance.

  We mounted a small sand dune, our shoes sinking into the sand, then came to the place Jonah and I had been sitting that day. We stopped and I glanced at my mom.

  “This is it?”

  I nodded.

  She glanced at the ocean momentarily, as if remembering, though I knew she would’ve been too small. But perhaps some spark of Lettie remained in the sand, in the water, in this place. In my mom who lived because of her sacrifice.

  Dad crouched and swept some sand away to clear it of debris, then placed the cross in a flattened area. He pounded it in as deep as he could, the hammering resounding between the persistent swell of the waves.

  Once he had it in place, my sister put the flowers on the sand, their petals gently fluttering in the breeze. “Thank you for helping my mommy,” Izzie said. “You were a good doggie.”

  Dad brushed his hand down my sister’s hair. “Yeah, thank you, Lettie. Rest in peace, girl.”

  Mom stepped forward and touched the cross, the wind drying the tears as fast as they could streak down her cheeks. “Thank you for saving me when no one else would. I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you.”

  She stepped back and my dad put his arm around her. He looked and Jonah and I. “You boys want to say something?”

  Jonah shook his head, obviously too emotional. Mom wiped her tears, then collected him into her arms.

  I turned away, not sure what to feel. I watched the wind flutter grains of sand through the petals of the flowers at our feet and listened to the mournful cry of the gulls for a moment.

  Finally, I knelt and opened my ammo can. It was time to return what didn’t belong to me. I dug a hole in the sand about a foot deep. I wrapped the bone and strap into the cloth and placed them inside, then covered them back up.

  I stood and Mom grabbed my hand even though she still held onto Jonah with her other arm. Guess she had enough love to go around. And as we stood there for several moments, I realized I’d learned some things these last couple of days, especially about my mom. She understood Jonah, his crappy life, like I never could. And she needed to love him just as much as he needed the love. I guess I could learn to share.

  I smiled and glanced down at Lettie’s cross.

  LETTIE

  A FRIEND. A HERO.

  I also had to admit I hadn’t been totally honest with Jonah. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence we’d found her. We were meant to. Because all those years ago, Lettie saved more than just my mom, she saved me and Jonah, too.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed Lines in the Sand. It was truly a labor of love for me.

  If you would like to read what’s next for Reed, Two Blue Lines is available now. Jonah’s book, Blurred Lines, will be available later t
his year. Please note, these stories takes place a few years after Lines in the Sand, so the story elements and themes are meant for more mature audiences.

  And, if you enjoyed any of my stories, reviews are always greatly appreciated. I would also love to hear from you and keep up on social media. Here are all my links . . . hope to be in touch soon!

  Website

  Facebook here AND here

  Twitter

  Goodreads

  Instagram

  Words cannot express the excitement I feel releasing my debut Young Adult series. It’s been a God-given labor of love and I’ll be forever grateful for the journey.

  What I need you to know, is that this story was never going to be published. I was never going to attempt YA. But, when my mother was diagnosed with a terrible terminal illness, I knew I could bring her joy with my words, penned just for her. Lines in the Sand is her story, and it’s published only because she gave her blessing and wanted me to share it with you. Thanks, Mommy. Love you.

  I also need to thank any and everybody who has had a hand in helping me with my books and with bringing a new series and genre to life . . .

  C.C. Hunter, you read my stuff, told me it made you cry, and have been one of my biggest cheerleaders. Thank you.

  Hugs to all my beta readers and critique partners, who without their input, the story wouldn’t be as good as it is: Jan Nash, Susan Muller, Donna Flint, and my super wonderful assistant, Kimberly Dawn.

  Shout out to my fellow Divas, Ink authors for all their love and support.

  And, last, I can’t express enough love to my husband and three children. I write for me, I write for us. You are the joy of my life.

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