As James pondered the pastor’s question in stunned silence another question came to mind: Why did he want so badly for Travis to be innocent? A barrage of images flew through his mind—Travis at seven years old sticking up for another boy who was being ridiculed; Travis at ten years old running out into the street, and almost getting hit by a school bus, to shoo a dog out of harm’s way; Travis at fifteen patting Karla Simpson on the back as she cried after losing the 100-metre sprint; Travis at seventeen as he grinned at James and said everything was going to be all right. James was leaving. He hadn’t thought ever to return, but Travis was hopeful and happy and supportive anyway. Even though James was Travis’s best friend…only friend.

And that was why proving Travis’s innocence was so imperative. Because if Travis wasn’t innocent, then James feared there was no innocence to be found anywhere in the world. Travis was James’s last hope to believe in the greater good.

Rationally, James knew that God’s goodness—the ultimate greater good—did not rest with Travis’s deeds, but rationality didn’t reside in James’s heart right now. The only thing living there at the moment was a sense of loss and dread. His faith and his relationships were stitched together by a whisper-thin thread, his will to find meaning in the world dangled by that same thread.

That thread was Travis’s innocence.

If that innocence didn’t exist, James feared he’d never find meaning for his own life, he’d never mend his relationship with his father, he’d never rediscover the deep faith he’d once lived.

And then where would he be?

~*~

Snow dusted James’s face as he trudged up the driveway and around to the back of the Wexler residence. After he’d left the Barrows’ earlier, his mind still churning the conversations he’d had and his own motivations for investigating, he’d decided the next course of action was to see exactly how long it took to travel from Taft to the Pearce farm…on Travis’s bike.

Mrs. Wexler stuck her head out the back door as he wheeled Travis’s bicycle across the patio. She warmed her hands around a large coffee mug as steam rose from its contents. He gave her a nod and then hiked the ten-speed into the bed of his truck. She didn’t ask anything, and he said nothing. It was as if she knew and was content with whatever James discovered.

The drive to Taft was arduous. Snow fell in a thick blanket, and James wondered if he’d be able to make the ride on Travis’s bike. God smiled down, though. By the time he reached the Taft High School football field, the flurries had eased and the temperature had even warmed enough to melt the snow from the asphalt.

James parked and hauled the bike from the bed of the truck. As he straddled the seat, he checked his watch and then hit the timer. Seconds ticked away. He peddled hard at first, but then realized Travis would not have been rushing. He’d have been travelling at a steady, comfortable pace, in no exaggerated hurry to get home.