Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [124]
“Michal, you can’t—”
“I know now I’m not fit for the mission field.”
“Please don’t do this, Michal. Don’t make a decision when you’ve just been through two horrible situations. It’s been an unreal day. Promise me you’ll wait and talk with me about all this tomorrow, okay?”
She wavered. Stared into his eyes and wanted. So much. And then, determining to lie—to get away from him before she weakened—she nodded.
Allistair cradled her arm in his hand, gently and patiently guided her in. “Come on. You need to get a good night’s sleep. I’ll meet you tomorrow? Before chapel?”
“Sure.” It gets easier to lie once you start, she thought.
His eyes were so deep, full of concern for her. Once again, she almost gave in. Knew she had to go right away, before she lost the courage to do what she had to.
“Well, good night then, Michal.”
Taking him in, memorizing the wave of his hair, the crystalline blue of his eyes, the strength of the line of his jaw. The question struck her, What would it feel like if Allistair kissed me? She dismissed the wistful musing, but tucked every miniscule and cherished impression into her heart, knowing she would never forget how he looked at her that moment.
“Good night, Allistair.” She started to weep again. And so she turned and fled. Not daring to look back, knowing that if she did, she would fly back into his arms.
The next morning, Ruth rapped on Michal’s door. She’d heard no stirrings from the room and, becoming concerned, tried the knob. Discovered it was unlocked, and opened the door a crack to peek in.
Michal’s bed was bare, the mattress particularly ugly now that it was stripped of the lovely star quilt. Panicking, Ruth checked the desks. Beth’s still had textbooks and various items scattered across it. But Michal’s was completely cleaned off, not even a pencil left behind. Jerking open the closet, Ruth noted Michal’s meager assortment of clothes had vanished—and a drawer yanked open proved her dresser was empty also.
“Sam. Jenny, Jess—come here, quick.”
“What?”
“What’s wrong?”
When they entered the doorway, Ruth merely pointed to Michal’s star quilt. It had been folded neatly and placed on Beth’s bed, along with her other washed sheets, blanket, and the raggedy quilt. Attached to it was a note.
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, Beth. I wasn’t the friend you deserved. Remember me when you wrap yourself in Aunt Sarah’s quilt. I know she would’ve wanted you and your baby to have it. Love from Michal.
They looked mournfully at each other, sharing the ache of yet another loss.
Michal sat on the same bus she’d taken to Fort Myers before, though when she boarded this time, the driver noted Michal not for her joyous buoyancy and gregarious nature. Instead, he took in the red-rimmed eyes, her agitation, and how she ducked her head to avoid his eyes as she handed him her already damp, rumpled ticket. And then, pointedly ignoring anyone already seated, Michal hurriedly made her way to the very back seat. Where she slumped down and sat with her forehead resting against the windowpane, staring out with unfocused gaze.
As the driver watched Michal in the rearview mirror, he thought to himself, Another down-’n’-outer, for sure, lookin’ pretty desperate. Wonder what she’s running away from? Or if she’s in trouble? He shook his head and sighed audibly. And it’s such a nasty morning, too. Bad weather … homeless—or worse passengers. I’m not thinkin’ this day is gonna go well. But he turned the key in the ignition, bringing the old bus to sputtering life, intent upon