In the distance he heard the sound of sirens approaching. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around the little boy, kneeling down beside him to hold him close. Tom repeated his reassuring lie like a mantra: “It’s gonna be okay, little guy. I know it’s gonna be okay. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay.” But in his heart, he knew he was praying for the child in his arms to somehow find the strength to overcome the events of the most awful day of his life.

A few hours earlier, as the sky began to fill with light, a black Cadillac Escalade pulled to a stop approximately thirty feet from the edge of the cliff at Nicholson’s Quarry. Danny Turner had come here many times in the past when he had no other place to turn and needed to be alone. He loved the beauty of the vista, the crunch of the granite under his tires; he had come to believe he had a spiritual connection to this place. The official town history always included a mention that the Cuyahoga Indians had revered this lookout as sacred ground and somehow had pushed two enormous boulders up the cliff to create a natural gateway of astounding beauty. Whenever he stood in the center of the opening, looking over the precipice, into the ravine, Danny would be overtaken by the awesome power, not of God, but of the random nature of life. Occasionally, he would pause to ponder the big questions.

How can there be a God? If I wanted, I could just jump off of here and end it all. Am I in charge, or is He? And if He is, then why has He let things get so out of control? If only … if only this, if only that. How can this beautiful world be so cruel? Danny always had more questions than answers. He knew one thing. He knew love existed because he loved Christopher and Evan, and, most of the time, he loved Rachel. But then life got in the way, and things had gotten so complicated. Where was God when he needed Him? Maybe some sort of God existed, pulling him to this spot, or maybe this was just one of those gifts of nature. After a cigarette and a few moments’ contemplation, he would return to his car, determined to confront whatever dilemma was before him. But most often, he would just go home, have a few beers, and watch the game. It was better not to admit there was a problem, because then he might have to do something about it.