If there were no God, Grace thought, man would have to invent him, for we are too small and helpless to go it alone. “You might be in the way if you run to meet them,” Grace said to Sarina. “They’ll be here in a few moments. They’ll try to put the chopper down on Cove Road or there will be an ambulance along any minute.”

Bob offered his arm to help Max from his stretcher, then waited while the medic checked Max’s pulse and heart. “You’re fine,” he said. “The shock, your son and all, was a bit too much.”

The helicopter circled and settled on the wide swath of grass in front of the office. A medic intercepted Sarina, who rushed to her husband’s side. “He’s out cold. Sedated. He’s got a broken ankle, but otherwise he seems fine. We’ll go ahead and chopper him in to Mission Hospital.”

“Can I go with you?”

“No, ma’am, sorry. He’s fine. Sleeping like a baby.” He pried her fingers off the rim of the stretcher and eased Sarina toward Grace, whose arms circled her shoulders. “You just take your time getting there, and don’t you worry. He’s gonna be all right.”

Zack had always prided himself on being a man of action, a man not given to wasting time in contemplation. Restlessness was inherent to his nature. He had never wondered why. When he was little, his mother had laughed, referring to his fidgeting and inability to sit still as his having ants in his pants. When he was an adult, the grass appeared greener around every bend, over every hill, in the next town or city. But now, with a wife and child, his restlessness was no longer a laughing matter.

As the pain and swelling in his leg and ankle subsided and they sent him home, Zack’s mind fastened on his ordeal in the forest, on his fears and prayers, and his promise to change his behavior and his life. Easier said than done. Although pampered and fussed over by everyone, he resented the enforced rest.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zack had always felt he had been born too late. Ah, to have been among those stalwart men blazing trails west with Lewis and Clark or riding hard across the desert with Lawrence of Arabia. Perhaps, as they believed in Sarina’s India, he had lived those lives or had lived in those eras, and he ached to live them again.