We keep working, quiet but for the shuffle of paper and Mara’s sniffles. Kane gets bored with the books and switches to the file cabinet.


Suddenly Bailey jumps up from the chair and hurries out the door. She returns in a few seconds with my father’s Bible.


“When we were in the bedroom, I noticed he left this on the nightstand with bookmarks in it.” Standing in the middle of the room, she opens the Bible to one of the marked pages. “Jonah. Isn’t that the guy who was eaten by a whale?”


“Ooh!” Kane rattles the handle of the top file drawer.


“If it’s a clue, maybe they went somewhere with whale watching.”


I go over to join Bailey. “That seems too literal.”


“Have you met our father?” Mara says. “He took the Bible literally.”


“He believed in the Bible literally, but he used its words to talk about sports and the weather.” I peer over Bailey’s shoulder at the page the book is opened to. “Ninevah.”


“Maybe that’s where they are.” Mara suggests. “Is there a real town called Ninevah?”


“There’s a real town called everything,” Kane answers. “Especially in Pennsylvania, home of Intercourse and Blue Ball.”


“Don’t forget King of Prussia,” Bailey adds.


He tilts his head. “I guess that is weird. Huh.”


I tap the edge of the Bible. “Ninevah was a city of evil people who turned good after Jonah told them to repent. God promised Jonah he’d destroy Ninevah, but when they got their act together, God changed His mind. Jonah was pissed about that.”


“He wanted to see fire and brimstone?” Bailey arches an eyebrow. “ Ty pical g uy.”


“It’s funny, though. There are tons of Bible passages about the end of the world, but Dad picked one that’s about the world not ending. It’s like he found the most nonapocalyptic passage in the whole Bible.”


Bailey held the place with her finger and turned to the other bookmark. “Jeremiah twenty-nine. What’s that about?”


I skim the footnote to refresh my memory. “Exile in Babylon. God was telling the Israelites to suck it up and make the best of it. In seventy years they’d get to go back to Jerusalem, but for now they should ‘seek the peace of the city’ where he sent them.”


“‘Seek the peace’?” Mara spins in the chair to face us. “That’s what Dad said that day when he wanted to move away from this house. So this definitely boosts our theory that they ran away.”


“To find peace,” I whisper. “But where?”


“A city of peace with whales,” Kane suggests. “San Francisco?”


“Will you stop with the whales?” I tell him. “Besides, Jonah was eaten by a big fish, not a whale. And I don’t think these are clues. I think they’re comfort.”


“In case the Rush didn’t happen,” Mara says. “So the Jeremiah passage was for Dad to remind himself he’d find peace somewhere else. A real place, not heaven.” She looks at me. “I’m not saying heaven’s not real, just that they wouldn’t have to die to be happy. They could go somewhere.”


“A place with big fish,” Kane states emphatically. “And now I’m craving salmon, which reminds me, I gotta get home soon. We have Mother’s Day brunner reservations at two o’clock.”


“What’s ‘brunner’?” Bailey asks him.


“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all in one magnificent, gut-busting buffet.” He kneels before the file cabinet and pulls out the lowest drawer. “I’ll just check this one last—oh, shit.”


Bailey crosses the room and peers over his shoulder. “Whoa.” From the expression on her face, I know what’s in there.


“Not again,” I whisper.


“Not again what?” Mara says. “Kane, what’s in the drawer?”


He lifts out a folder, which sags beneath a heavy weight. “I guess we can rule out suicide, because this gun would’ve worked great for that.”


My feet turn cold. I press them together, bare toes overlapping, to fight the sudden numbness.


Mara stands up, dropping the book in her hands. “Don’t touch it!”


“It’s not loaded.” Kane pokes his finger into the grip’s empty chamber. “Plus the safety’s on. It’s not gonna blow up. Trust me.”


She takes a step closer. “Can you tell if it’s been fired?”


“Remember when I said I wasn’t a one-man CSI unit? I have no idea if it’s ever been fired. It looks new, I guess.”


“It is new.” My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed sand, and feels like it too. “He had another one before.”


“What? When?” Mara demands.


“Before. October? November?” The past is blurring. This room . . . the guns . . . John . . . I have to shut my eyes or I’ll puke.


“David, are you okay?” Bailey’s voice comes from close beside me.


“Yeah, I—I have to . . .” I turn away, with no clue how that sentence ends. Numb as they are, my legs propel me down the hall, away from that room and its lethal memories.

CHAPTER 16

ABOUT SIX MONTHS BEFORE THE RUSH

"Aminivan for a rock concert! Whooo!” Bailey gave me a brief but solid kiss before climbing inside.

I followed her, between Nate’s and Aleesha’s seats, to the back row. “Sorry, the VW bus with the shag carpet’s in the shop. This was the best we could do.”

“David, you’re sitting back there now?” Mara called from the driver’s seat. “What am I, a chauffeur?”


“I’m sure Francis’ll be happy to sit up front with you.” Nate’s laugh cut short as he turned to get a good look at Bailey. She was dressed more conservatively than usual, in non-skinny jeans, a purple scoop-neck T-shirt, and pink-and-black–striped hoodie (maybe she thought Christian rock fans dressed like nuns and monks), but was her usual stunning self.


Nate raised his eyebrows and gave me what he thought was a subtle thumbs-up. Aleesha smacked his arm with her silver-glitter purse.


When we got to the Trocadero, the two of them went off with Mara to meet their other senior-year friends. Bailey and I waited with Brooke and Austin in a corner of the lobby while Francis picked up tickets from the will-call window.


A trio of high-heeled, big-haired girls streamed by, squealing “Cody!” (the lead singer’s name) in a giggled-garbled voices.


Bailey stepped back to avoid getting run over. “I’m way underblinged compared to them.”


I wanted to tell her she was still the hottest girl in the club, but I wasn’t sure we were at that point yet in our relationship, or if what we had was a relationship. Before Bailey, my girl experience consisted of sneaking out of Vacation Bible School with Carla Nóbrega for “kissing practice.”


Francis battled the flow of crowd traffic to get to us. “Voilà, tickets.” He passed them out to Brooke and Austin and Bailey.


Bailey reached into the little purse at her hip. “How much do I owe you?”


I froze. Francis paused, looked at me, then back at Bailey. “Don’t worry about it. David covered for you.”


“Aw, thanks, David.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. I gave Francis a grateful smile and mouthed, “I owe you one.”


But as we filed into the theater, my conscience got the better of me. I pulled Bailey aside. “Francis paid for your ticket because I didn’t have the money, but I really wanted you to come.”


“Why did he tell me you paid for it?”


“So I wouldn’t be embarrassed. He was being a bro.”


“Wow.” Her face turned pensive, and I would’ve given anything to know what she was thinking. As we filed in and joined our friends in the general admission floor area, I wondered whether she was seeing me or Francis—or both—in a new light.


The moment the first song began, I forgot my nerves over Bailey. I forgot everything.


With booming bass and grinding guitars, Tree of Life sang and played from the bottom of their souls. Out of the studio, Cody’s voice held an aching edge I’d never heard before. It felt like he was singing the story of my life, of doubt and grief and rage battling my trust in God, and sometimes winning. While the music in church seemed to offer such easy, sunny answers, Tree of Life’s music asked all the hard questions, and sometimes gave hard answers, too.


We danced and sang along, hands lifted in praise and passion, faces glowing in the overflow of stage lights. Bailey seemed as swept up by the Spirit as the rest of us (though I figured for her it was more of a lowercase spirit). In those moments, I felt like I’d never again need food or water. This music could sustain me forever.


About an hour into the show, the rest of the band took a break while Cody came to the mic alone with an acoustic guitar.


“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked laconically, as if we were all chilling on his back porch. “As you guys probably know, I’m from way out in Colorado. Can you believe this is my first time in Philadelphia?” The crowd cheered at the name of our city. “I know, I suck. Thirty-one years old, never been to the City of Brotherly Love.” He tuned his guitar as he spoke. “I had a cheesesteak, of course. Actually, it was a Cheez-Whiz steak, ’cause my friend from South Philly said it was more authentic. I think it was a test, to see how gullible us Western boys can be.” Cody gave us a lazy half smile as we laughed.


“Anyway, this next song—if I can get this E string tuned—I wrote about ten years ago, for a friend of mine who left this world way too early.”


The crowd cheered, but I couldn’t join in due to the thickening in my throat. “Stars” always made me want to cry, thinking of John. On the album, it was obvious Cody was on the verge of tears himself when he recorded it, and I’d heard he rarely got through a performance without his emotions making him drop a line or two.


“Since I wrote ‘Stars,’” he said, “I’ve done a lot of thinking and praying and writing—and sometimes throwing stuff against walls.” He let a smile slip through as he fastened the capo to the guitar neck. “Wait, short rewind first: back in high school, I played wide receiver. Loved football. Lived for it. Then senior year I hurt my knee and couldn’t play anymore. I took up the guitar, since I had to get girls to notice me somehow, and it sure as heck wasn’t going to be with my looks or my dreamy personality.”


Every girl in the room let out a simultaneous sigh, then a scream.


“Anyway,” he said with a chuckle, “these days, when it rains, I still get an ache in my knee. It reminds me of what’s gone, but also of what was, the joy that football brought me.”


“Go, Eagles!” a guy in the back of the room shouted. Figures.


Cody raised a friendly hand to the interrupter. “I’m partial to the Broncos, but sure, whatever. Where was I? Oh, yeah, pain. I think it’s the same when we lose someone we love. It never stops hurting. But maybe it shouldn’t. That pain, after all, is a souvenir of our love.”


I wanted to believe him, that there was some use for the stone that had lodged deep in my chest years before.


“One thing that I’ve found that eases the pain,” Cody said, “is to remember that we are all connected, to those we know and those we don’t know. To all people, animals, and yeah, even the plants . . .” He gestured to the green-and-white tree of life on the banner behind him. “Everything in the world. And especially to those we think we’ve lost.”


He started playing “Stars,” and I took Bailey’s hand. If I didn’t leave this spot, I was going to lose it big time in front of my friends and complete strangers. But I didn’t want to be alone. “I’m thirsty. Get a drink with me?”


Bailey looked surprised, but she nodded. I led her through the crowd to an upper-level bar. It was a little quieter here, enough that we could talk without shouting.


“What do you think so far?” I asked her.


“I like it! A lot more than I thought I would.” She lifted her braid off her neck and fanned herself with her fingers. “Tree of Life looks like a real rock band.”


“They are a real rock band. Were you expecting white robes and halos?”