Atticus’s eyes rose from Giona to the house. It was a tall red Colonial with white shutters that the previous owner had refurbished and modernized. It was the perfect blend of past and present, or so the real estate agent claimed.
As he rounded the hood of the Explorer he saw a Coast Guard bumper sticker on a blue Volvo parked in front of the next house over. His mind instantly and painfully recalled memories of Andrea. After Giona had returned, Atticus’s life became a whirlwind. Between mending his relationship with Giona, the media attention, the legal work of the myriad contracts he’d signed and the innumerable briefings he’d given the Navy, contact with Andrea had drifted from phone calls to e-mails, and for the past two weeks, nothing.
But Atticus wasn’t entirely to blame. After Andrea had healed from her wounds, she was ordered to assist in the Titan ’s recovery effort. The Titan ’s captain had explained that the ship’s inner hulls would have sealed as it took on water. He believed that the majority of the Titan ’s treasures would still be salvageable. The Titan was eventually raised with the help of the Rough Rider battle group and Captain Vilk, who supplied protection. The contents of the Titan comprised the most valuable treasure trove the world had ever seen, and it would take years to categorize the contents and return them to their proper owners. It was a noble effort, one that Andrea wholeheartedly believed in, yet it served to widen the growing gulf between Atticus and her.
Atticus missed her, to be sure, but the distraction of finding a new home and a fresh feeling of doubt kept him from trying to contact her. She didn’t reply to his last e-mail, and he took that as a sign that she had moved on. Giona hadn’t met Andrea, but she knew about her. While Atticus, at the request of the Coast Guard, had left Andrea out of his story, Giona knew most of the details and suspected the rest. She tried explaining to him that e-mails sometimes went missing. A glitch in several systems it had to pass through on its way to her in-box, a crashed hard drive, or an overzealous spam filter could have blocked it. But, he didn’t buy it. She would have at least called by then if she’d wanted to contact him.
“You okay, Dad?” Giona asked, her voice pulling his eyes away from the bumper sticker.
“Huh? Yeah.” Atticus said, attempting to sound chipper. “I’m fine.”
Giona looped her arm through his and pulled him close. He felt his sour mood melt away under her affection. “I really like this house,” she said. “I think this might be it.”
“You haven’t even seen the inside yet,” Atticus said.
“Actually, I think I have.”
“You’ve been here before?”
Giona answered with a big smile. She’d yet to reveal everything she’d experienced while inside Kronos, which included several visions she’d had just before being expelled onto the beach. Without saying the words, she let him know that she’d seen the house in one of those “visions” but didn’t feel comfortable enough to talk about it yet.
While he still wasn’t keen on her new belief debate-God or insanity-he knew that he’d give his baby whatever she wanted…within reason, and if she wanted to live in this house, so be it.
As they walked up the steps of the Colonial’s front porch, Atticus noticed a plaque on the door. It read, 1641-original foundation laid by John Wheelwright, founding father of the town of Exeter. Atticus froze. Wheelwright. Memories of O’Shea’s lecture on the actions of Kronos over the centuries came back fresh in his mind. Wheelwright had been one of Kronos’s guests. Atticus shook his head and wrote it off as extreme coincidence. Wheelwright probably had plaques all over this town.
He was about to knock on the door when it opened suddenly and his real estate agent stepped out. He could tell by her beet red face and tousled hair, normally held in place by a rock-solid sheet of hairspray that she’d been arguing. “Look,” she said, “the owner has decided not to sell.”
“What? Why?”
“Some ridiculous thing about finishing something she’d started. She was being ridiculously cryptic and totally unprofessional.” Cindy straightened her vest and flicked her fingers through her hair, putting it back in place. She cleared her throat, and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Young. Is there anywhere else you wanted to see today?”
He looked down at Giona, whose eyes were wet and wide with confusion.
“No,” he said. “I’d like to see this house.”
“But I just said-”
“I’ll make an offer they can’t refuse.”
Cindy knew he had the money, but the owner must have been convincing. “That lady isn’t budging.”
“She will for me,” he said with a smile. “We’re famous, remember?”
Cindy offered a lopsided grin and shrugged. She stepped aside, and said, “Have at it.”
Atticus rang the doorbell. When no one came to the door, he rang it three times in rapid succession. This time he was greeted by heavy thuds as the home’s owner came toward the door. The heavy wooden door was flung open.
“Listen, lady. I already told you I’m not-Atti?”
Atticus stood dumbfounded. The sound of his name from the intimately familiar voice stopped his heart and locked his feet in place. “Andrea…”
Giona’s eyes squinted. “Daddy?”
After a few seconds of quiet stillness, which must have seemed like a lifetime to the nervously fidgeting real estate agent, she broke the silence. “Mr. Young?”
She jumped back as Atticus yanked the screen door open, and Andrea leapt into his arms. Their embrace was savage and tight.
Atticus loosened his hold when he felt a second set of arms embrace them. In that moment, he opened his eyes, and through blurred vision saw Andrea kissing Giona’s forehead. They gained in that instant-a family.
Andrea turned to the real estate agent; her eyes wet, and said, “I’m still not selling the house.” She turned back to Atticus, and continued, “But you’re more than welcome to move in.”
Atticus looked from Andrea to Giona and found a teary, yet hopeful, smile. She nodded. Atticus shivered, as he couldn’t help but see some master design weaving in and out of their lives, moving them in one direction, then another, making no sense at all until arriving at this final destination. He knew their lives were far from over, but he couldn’t deny that the events of the past months-perhaps years-had brought them to this doorstep. He now began to understand the kind of change Giona had gone through and, for the first time, considered, “What if?”
58
Somewhere…
The sandy white beach was the kind seen in Hollywood movies. Sweeping palms leaned out over an azure sea. The wind, just strong enough to sway the trees into groaning, carried a hint of salt and flowers. But unlike the beaches in the movies, there were no bikini-clad shipwreck survivors-no tall, dark, and handsome men escaping the pressures of the real world.
There were simply two bodies, both clad in black.
As the yacht crew who spotted the men while sport fishing would later describe him, the first man had a pale, wrinkled body and a head of stark white hair that ran to his shoulders. He was last seen running into the forest, eyes wild and shouting something about the end of the world.
The second man, a priest, was unconscious by the time the crew dropped anchor and rowed to shore. The priest was taken on board and tended to. Three days later they found his bunk empty, the dinghy missing, and a quickly scrawled note on a piece of paper: Job 3:8.
One of the men, who had a Bible, opened it and read a verse that led them to believe both men they’d seen on the beach were lunatics:
“May those who curse days curse that day, those who are ready to rouse Leviathan.”