Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [38]
“Oh, I hope so.” Maureen reached toward the backseat and patted Aubrey on the knee. “I sure hope so.”
She smiled to herself—thanking God for the gift of hope, even in little things—and confidently turned into the rain.
Despite her early optimism about the weather, Maureen’s spirits began to sag as the rain continued in a steady beat against the windshield. The fog, instead of dissipating, grew thicker. The combination of the two made drivers skittish and panicky, which turned normally tricky rush-hour traffic into a nightmare. What should have been an hour’s drive to the Sunshine Skyway Bridge stretched into two, and by then Maureen’s shoulders were knotted with tension. Even her hands ached from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.
Just as they arrived at the entrance to the bridge, the weather took a turn for the worse. The rain came down in a deluge, developing into a full-fledged storm, complete with lightning and thunder. Immediate concern for Aubrey caused Maureen to quickly check the backseat. But to her surprise, Aubrey appeared totally unaffected by the storm. She was chatting merrily away in an animated conversation with Rabbit. Now and then she’d gesture emphatically with a raised finger, causing Maureen to grin, despite her fears of driving conditions in the nasty weather.
The sound of the rain beating against the windshield was nearly deafening, and even the highest wiper speed couldn’t clear the windshield fast enough. Maureen slowed down even more, checking the rearview mirror—there were no car headlights blinding her from behind, for which she was thankful—and then peered cautiously at the car in front. She could barely make out that it was a dark-colored Mercedes, and was grateful she could focus on its bright taillights, using them to guide her safely across the bridge.
She’d just told herself, You can do this. You’re perfectly safe, when a jagged arm of lightning flashed across the sky, eerily highlighting the grace and beauty of the Skyway’s arched cables. The dazzling light show was still sending out sparks when it was joined by a crack of thunder. Maureen was momentarily startled. She felt the car move but wasn’t overly concerned. Dismissing it as a vibration from the thunder, Maureen focused more intently on the car in front of her.
But suddenly all reality of sky above and solid road below evaporated into thin air. She felt the car launch out into—nothing. The last thing Maureen clearly saw was her headlights shining into the Mercedes, the beams acting like a spotlight on a beautiful woman’s face staring out from the back window. Reacting instinctively, Maureen reached back toward Aubrey with one hand … and toward the woman with the other. Just before the car hit the surging black waters, Maureen asked herself a puzzling question.
Why is the woman’s mouth open, her face full of wonder?
Book Two
Pick Up Your Cross
March 2009
Glen Ellyn, Illinois
It was the semifinal soccer game, and the stakes were high. The score: one to zero. Only three minutes remained.
To the Glen Ellyn Flames, the team in the lead, those three minutes loomed like an eternity. Coach Paul Henry had lectured his twelve- and thirteen-year-old players to never stop attacking, never subconsciously shift to “protecting the lead.” But with the championship game within sight, the Flames succumbed to temptation. Their lack of aggressive play in the last ten minutes was obvious: They were merely trying to hold on to the one-point lead.
However, from their opponents’—the Raptors—perspective, those three minutes meant remaining opportunities. They played like a team possessed: heading, dribbling, passing, attacking. The ball lived on the Flames’ end of the field, the threat of a goal imminent.
Fans from both teams had risen to their feet when there were ten minutes left to play. Nearly as much adrenaline coursing through them as the players, the spectators stood shouting in support, urging their favored team on.
One of the most