The car followed a winding road to the back of the cemetery. There, to her right, under the shade of a thick leafy tree, Abby spotted the headstone. She instructed the car to stop, then climbed out and walked slowly to the grave. The headstone read “Raymond B. Caldwell. 1997–2088. Trailblazing scientist and devoted friend.”

Devoted friend. Not devoted father. Or grandfather. Friend. She supposed Nichols couldn’t honestly say anything else. And, in truth, neither could she. He was a grandfather she never knew.

She knelt and placed a hand on the ground in front of the headstone. She closed her eyes. She was back in the jungle again, saying good-bye to a daughter she had loved with all her heart yet hadn’t known long enough.

“Poppy,” she said in a quiet voice, “I know you aren’t really here. You’re much better off, with Jesus. But I came to say good-bye.”

She paused and pushed her palms against her eyes, trying to block the river of tears.

“I know that you loved me. You gave me the greatest blessing, raising a son who’d be an amazing dad. He loved Jesus with all his heart and then showed me how to love Jesus too. Through Dad, I felt like I knew you and Nonny and that you two were somehow with me in the jungle, supporting me. But now…now I miss you even more—I need you more than I did when I was a child.”

The tree leaves rustled in the breeze.

“Sixteen years ago you left me a message. I know you believed strongly in what you said. And I believe it too. But, Poppy…”

Abby wiped her face with her sleeve.

“But, Poppy, I keep failing. I’ve tried everything I know how to do. But God doesn’t seem to be in my efforts. It’s like I’ve been throwing sticks into the river; they have no effect. Now I think God has opened a door for me to testify for Jesus in Washington. But I’ve been wrong several times already. I wonder if I’m just fooling myself. Who wants to listen to what I have to say?

“I’m afraid I’ve let you down…let God down. I’ve failed at my mission. Somehow my faith worked in the jungle. But here…I’m not trusting God. I’m not at peace. And now I’m struggling with thoughts about Creighton that I shouldn’t be having about a man. Maybe I’m not as strong as you thought I’d be. Or as God wanted me to be.”

She felt the breeze on her wet cheeks, listened to the rustling leaves, and watched as the trees swayed under the cloudless sky. Perhaps, she had thought, God would speak to her at her grandfather’s grave, give her some direction. But she heard nothing. Her grandfather was not here. God seemed far away. She was alone. Again.