“When? Where?”

“I don’t know. That’s all I know. Sorry.” He nodded, gave James a quick tap on the shoulder, and then turned to leave.

James stood, frozen in place for a moment which the crowd buzzed around him. What would happen to Travis now? Who in this town would visit him if he was moved further away? Not that many did anyway. In fact, James wasn’t sure anyone even cared. He went numb inside. He’d failed Kipling once, failed God in His special call; he would not fail Travis. Not this time.

He hoped.

He joined the crowed and filed out of the stadium. The cold air struck his lungs as he crossed the parking lot to the truck. The temperature seemed to have dropped considerably since they’d entered the stadium at the start of the game. Or, maybe it was just the shock and numbness inside that made the cold seem colder. The hinges on the truck squeaked and rattled as he pulled open the door. He hurried into the seat and slammed the door.

“What did Duane want?” his dad asked.

“Oh, nothing.” James blew on his hands and rubbed them together.

“Oh yeah, I hear that’s a good show.” He pulled off his glasses and gave James a pointed look. First in the stadium, and now this. Was his dad actually joking around with him? That tenuous connection forged another link in the chain of reconciliation.

James half-smiled at getting his own words playfully thrown back in his face. “Travis.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know. What’s your take on all this? You think he could have done what they’re saying?” He eyed his dad’s weathered face, a face that looked as though it held a host of wisdom. Today, after sharing a hockey match that brought fond memories of bonding and camaraderie, James hoped Glen Moore had copious wisdom to unload. Since his Heavenly Father wasn’t imparting much these days, perhaps his earthly one would make a good surrogate. And maybe that connection would grow even stronger, and he and his dad could mend the relationship that broke when his mother died.

“What I think doesn’t matter, but isn’t Travis saying the same thing—that he did it? I thought this mess was over and done.”

“Yeah.” Trouble swirled in James’s mind as he mentally tried to make sense of the entire situation—now with time running out for Travis. He scrambled to think of a way to save the man, but he had so little to go on. Searching the rubble, digging through the ashes had gleaned only the Word of God. Talking to Travis was like talking to a brick wall. He stoically said he did it with a cigarette, even gave a motive, but beyond that, nothing. No details, no other feelings, no contemplation of the heinous crime’s results. That wasn’t like Travis, he was always worried about how other people felt. James’s thoughts circled. It was hopeless.

Long moments of silence passed between James and his dad, and in an attempt to clear his jumbled thoughts, James focused on low-volume engine revs and human conversations which filtered through the windows.