Such tragedy. He hadn’t known the Pearces, but their deaths affected him just the same. He still had a hard time believing Travis had set a fire that burned up an entire family. Travis was such a gentle and innocent, beautiful soul. A person who built up others. He didn’t have a destructive urge. At least, that’s the way James remembered Travis.

Could his childhood best friend have changed so drastically—from beauty to beast—in James’s absence?

He hoped not. But then, James had changed. Wasn’t that why he was home in the first place? Because he’d had a change of heart. Had Travis lost his heart and his mind? Had he gone crazy? James stopped his thoughts. Standing in a cemetery communing with the soul of his mother wasn’t the time for deep philosophical examination of Travis…or himself. Right now, he couldn’t deal with what happened to Travis or his own reasons for being back home. He had other concerns to take care of, other people to see.

He said a final word to his mother and then made his way back to the truck.

Time to face his father.

2

The clink of stainless steel flatware against dishwasher-safe dinner plates clashed against the rhythmic ticking of the hall clock and disturbed the awful silence.

Had James really thought he was glad to be home? What happened to his family? This tense quiet wasn’t what he was used to. These people sitting with him at the table were like strangers, like characters in some made-for-TV movie, dining in state, as if the smallest sound from any of them would break an unspoken rule with dire consequences.

He glanced at his sister as she forked a broccoli spear. She didn’t look up from her plate. He wanted to start a conversation but couldn’t think of a safe subject. Pick the wrong topic, and the silence wouldn’t be the only disturbed thing in the room.

The weather? Hockey? School? He couldn’t see any of those being good conversation starters. He didn’t have a job yet, so he couldn’t discuss that, either. He couldn’t expound on the farm, winter was a time of rest, with little going except repairs. Repairs he hadn’t helped his father with yet. Censure would follow if he brought that up.

Across from Mary, Ian sat sullen, picking at his food as if he might find bugs in it. Had James been like that at fourteen? Probably. Everything good about that year had been erased by the death of his mother. He imagined he’d been sullen. He knew he’d been confused…and empty. The vacuum borne by her departure wasn’t filled, even to this day. Maybe that’s why he’d failed in his vocation. How many times had he preached that God could erase all loneliness, heal all pain, calm all anger—if we let Him.

James hadn’t let Him.

He had to be honest with himself. He believed God could do all those things, intended to let Him do them. Faith in that very promise was what led James to the ministry in the first place. But a part of him was afraid that if he healed completely, he’d forget her, and she’d truly be gone forever.