30

I WAS TEN YEARS TOO EARLY —and I was alone.

A wool coat, scarf, and gloves shielded me from the cold air that bit at my nose and cheeks, and fallen leaves and twigs crunched beneath my boots as I made my solitary trek upward. The trail leading to the Siamese Twins rock formation was deserted, cloaked in predawn darkness. But that had been my hope all along when I’d arrived at the Garden of the Gods at five o’clock in the morning —right when the park opened.

The last time I’d walked this path lined with scrub brush, Pepper had been with me, her laughter ringing out as she led the way.

She always led the way.

“Are you sure it’s okay for us to do this?”

“We’re burying a small lockbox, Pay —not a dead pet or something.”

“Ewww . . . gross.”

“I’m just saying it’s no big deal.” Pepper turned and faced me, walking backward, not seeming to worry about tripping on stones or fallen branches on the trail. “We’ll bury the box out of the way, where no one else will see us.”

I shifted the camera strap on my shoulder. “How are we going to remember where we leave it?”

“I’ll write it down. And you can take a picture of the location, too.”

“What if somebody else finds it?”

“We’ll find a good spot —far enough away from where most people wander. . . . Just stop worrying, okay?”

Pepper had it all figured out. She’d gotten Dad to give us the lockbox. Talked us through what we were going to put in the box. Asked our parents if we could borrow the car, telling them we wanted to walk through Garden of the Gods —which was the truth. Just not the entire truth.

“Think about coming back here in twenty years and finding our time capsule —”

“Twenty years is a long time, Pepper. Who knows what we’ll be doing —”

“We’ll still be playing volleyball in twenty years. And we’ll bring our daughters with us. They’ll be volleyball girls just like we are.”

The breeze against my face was like an echo of Pepper’s laughter. She’d always dreamed bigger than I did. Always invited me into those dreams.

I couldn’t stop now. I wouldn’t be back in another ten years to find the lockbox. It was now or never. And for Pepper’s sake —for both our sakes —I needed to break the promise we’d made to keep the time capsule hidden.

But I would keep the promise to find the lockbox again.

So much had changed in ten years, but not the Siamese Twins. The two red stone columns rose up from the ground, side by side, an arch forming between them and creating a jagged oval opening in the middle. Facing west, I could see Pikes Peak off in the distance framed between the “twins.”

“We’ll have to wait our turn to get a picture.”

“This could take forever.” I didn’t even bother to keep the whine out of my voice.

“Just be patient.”

We stood off to one side, Pepper holding our time capsule, waiting for tourists and locals as they took their turns posing in front of the Siamese Twins.

“You want me to take your picture for you?” A middle-aged woman wearing a floral top approached, motioning to the camera I held.

“Sure.” I slipped the camera strap over my head. “Thanks.”

“You two are twins, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Identical?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Payton. She’s Pepper.”

“Those are cute names.” The woman took the camera. “Peyton, like the football player?”

“Yes, ma’am, only spelled with an a.”

We settled in the center of the rock formation, side by side, arms around each other’s shoulders, and smiled, the lockbox and spade at our feet.

I sat in the curved seat of the rock formation, the view of Pikes Peak behind me. All was quiet, save for the soft whisper of the breeze in the underbrush. Closing my eyes, I tried to recapture the moment, ten years ago, when my sister sat beside me, a stranger taking our picture, right before we hid the time capsule.

Now where had we hidden it?

“Let’s not make this too complicated. We’re facing away from Pikes Peak. Let’s head downhill . . . south . . . and see what we find.”

There was nothing magical about my search. No sense of Pepper’s presence or of her leading me to the location. But it was easier finding the hiding place than I expected —probably because I was looking for an outcropping of rocks with a small mound of various-size rocks we’d covered the lockbox with, after only partially burying it in the hard red dirt.

I leaned back on my heels, setting the box on my knees, brushing the dirt from the surface. My fingertips tingled, trembled, as I pushed to my feet, searching for a place to sit where I could open the container.

Should I wait until I was home? Hike back to my car?

But holding the lockbox, I couldn’t wait.

I settled on a larger rock that had overshadowed the lockbox’s hiding place, the box in my lap, and removed my gloves. Inserting the key into the lock, I mentally rehearsed what I’d find inside. Pepper had been so decisive about what belonged in the time capsule and what didn’t. I held my breath, bracing myself to view the treasured mementos we’d hidden away as idealistic sixteen-year-olds —unaware of what the future held in just nine months, much less twenty years.

“Hey, Laz! Come on inside, boy!” Zach whistled, searching the area for the rambunctious dog. He could always leave Laz outside while he was at work, but with snow predicted, it would be wiser to leave the dog lounging inside.

Laz’s barks sounded from around the side of the house. Why wasn’t he obeying the command to come when called? Had he cornered an animal by the woodpile? Zach strode toward the sound, stopping short at the sight of Payton’s car parked next to his truck. Laz paced back and forth beside the Subaru, occasionally offering several sharp barks as if to alert Zach to Payton’s presence.

How long had she been here? And why was she here?

Quickening his pace, Zach approached the car, peering inside the window that was obscured with haze. “Payton? You okay?”

She sat hunched forward in the driver’s seat. When she didn’t move, Zach rapped on the window. “Hey, Payton! Open the door!”

She startled at the sound of his knuckles hitting the glass, turning almost in slow motion, her gaze searching for his face. “Zach?”

What on earth? Didn’t she know where she was? He grabbed the handle, yanking the door open. “Payton, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

As he leaned down to peer into the car, Payton jerked, stumbling out, catching him off guard and off-balance. He anchored his boots in the ground, determined to keep them both upright as she wrapped her arms around his waist, buried her face against his chest, her body shaking uncontrollably.

“I shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t have looked . . .” Payton’s words were muffled, broken up by half sobs.

What? Shouldn’t have looked at what?

“I thought . . . knew what was in it. . . . I didn’t . . .” Payton’s body shook harder.

“Okay . . .”

“I don’t want it . . . I don’t . . . Why would she . . . ?” With those words, Payton broke down completely, wrenching sobs almost choking her, a torrent of tears soaking his shirt.

Laz paced at their feet, whining, nudging Zach’s legs. Zach didn’t know what Payton was talking about . . . who she was talking about, but they couldn’t stay out in this cold, not with the wind whipping across the land. He lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, praying for wisdom. She didn’t resist —just continued to sob while he carried her into the house.

“I’m going to set you on the couch, okay?”

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

Her plea caused an ache in his chest. “I’m not going to leave you. It’s just you’re cold and I want to get a blanket for you. You need to get warm.”

No reply.

How long had Payton been sitting in her car?

He settled her in a corner of the couch, managing to snag a knit comforter to wrap around her before pulling her back into his arms.

Payton wasn’t the first woman he’d ever seen cry —but he’d never seen one this broken. It was as if her sobs were tearing her apart . . . as if they would expose her heart . . . or some hidden wound that had been buried deep inside for years.

She’d always been so strong. Careful to maintain a distance between them, even the day she told him the truth about the night Pepper died. But now she burrowed into his embrace like a small child seeking both safety and solace, choking back her tears until she silenced them. But still her body trembled against his.

“I’m sorry.” Her words were fragile as if she skated on a thin surface of ice covering her emotions.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Zach continued to hold her. “And you don’t need to explain, either.”

Silence settled between them. Her breathing evened out, and she relaxed against him. Somehow even Laz, ever a barometer of the emotions around him, knew to stop his pacing and lie down at Zach’s feet. Within minutes, it was evident that Payton was asleep.

Zach ignored the questions running through his mind and continued to hold Payton as he prayed. For God to comfort her. For healing. For peace. For the Spirit to wrap around her like an invisible blanket —a spiritual comforter —and let Payton know she was safe.

At last he dared to ease her from his arms, shifting her onto the couch, still wrapped in the blanket, positioning one of the cushions beneath her head. She never stirred.

Was the car door still open?

Motioning for Laz to stay, Zach left the house to check. Sure enough, the driver’s-side door stood ajar. Zach leaned inside, thankful to find the keys weren’t in the ignition. Her purse sat in the passenger seat, and next to it was a tan lockbox.

Checking that Payton’s keys were in her purse, he gathered both the purse and the lockbox, then shut the car door before returning to the house. Laz cocked his head and then, with a soft groan, stretched his body out on the floor. Payton didn’t move.

Time to text Colin and ask him to pray. And then he’d pray some more. The best thing he could do was wait —maybe do some preliminary design work on a new project. Let Payton sleep. Be there when she woke up —and listen if she was ready to talk.

Three hours later, things were still quiet in the living room. Should he check on her?

Zach pushed away from the desk, stood, stretching his arms over his head, and made his way to the other room.

Empty.

The comforter was piled in a corner of the couch. No sign of Payton —or his dog. Her purse still sat on the coffee table, so she couldn’t have gone far —and she’d taken the lockbox with her.

Pepper’s bench.

She had to be there.

Zach made no attempt to sneak up on me, his boots crunching against the remnants of fallen snow, underbrush, sticks, and rocks. Laz heralded his approach with a bark but chose to remain sitting at my feet.

“I thought I’d find you here —” Zach stopped a few feet in front of me —“after initially being scared to death when you weren’t still asleep on the couch.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that —”

“It’s okay, Payton.” Zach remained standing, the wind shifting his hair against his forehead.

I moved the metal lockbox into my lap. “You can sit down.”

“Thanks.”

He settled on the bench, leaning forward onto his knees, leaving space between us. Memories of collapsing against him, sobbing, kept me silent. I wanted to apologize . . . and at the same time, I wanted to forget how undone I’d been.

“How are you feeling?”

I guessed there was no ignoring what had happened earlier.

“Calmer than I was when you found me in my car.” Nothing like stating the obvious. But maybe I also reassured him that I wasn’t going to dissolve into tears again.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

No. Yes.

I traced the edges of the lockbox with my fingertips. “I drove up here because I thought . . . I hoped you could make sense of something for me. But now I realize I was being irrational. And unfair to you. This has nothing to do with you . . .”

“Sometimes it helps to have a friend be an objective person.”

Just another thing I couldn’t figure out. Had Zach and I become friends since he showed up at my office months ago, wanting to talk about Pepper? To make things right?

Things couldn’t be more wrong.

“I’ve never tried to talk to anyone about this before. . . .”

Zach shifted, turning to face me but still leaving space between us. “I assume this has something to do with Pepper?”

“Yes.” Instead of bringing any relief, the admission weighed on me, making it hard to draw a breath. And now I struggled with the thought of another panic attack.

Zach touched my arm. “It’s okay . . .”

I gathered a breath. And another. “I thought if I came out here, sat on the bench . . . that I could finally figure everything out.”

“Because you’d feel closer to her?”

I nodded, closing my eyes for a moment. “I haven’t felt close to my sister in years —”

“That’s understandable —”

“No. You don’t understand.” How could I say this out loud? “The problem between us . . . it started before Pepper died.”

“Is that so unusual? I mean, sisters don’t always get along, right?”

“Not me and Pepper. Never me and Pepper. We were ‘the twins.’ We looked alike. Sounded alike. We liked the same things. Reading. Cartoons. Fishing and football, thanks to our dad. And volleyball. Always, always volleyball.”

Zach nodded. “What happened?”

It was only fair for Zach to ask the question, but I couldn’t answer him. Not yet. Instead, I tapped the lockbox on my knees. “So, this.”

“The lockbox.”

“It’s not just a lockbox.”

“It’s not?”

“It’s a time capsule.”

I had to give Zach credit for not laughing. “O-kay. I’ve never seen a time capsule before.”

“It was Pepper’s idea to make a time capsule right after our sixteenth birthday.” I focused on opening the box, tucking the key back into my coat pocket. Ignored Zach, who slid closer, causing our shoulders and knees to touch. “We hid it near the Siamese Twins in Garden of the Gods. We were going to come back and open it twenty years later. After . . . after Pepper died, I forgot about it until I found the key on Christmas Day.”

“And you decided not to wait to go find it.”

“There was no point.”

“What did you and Pepper put in your time capsule?”

I pulled out various items. “Our team photos from that year —varsity and club. You can tell us apart because she was always number 11 and I was number 13. A newspaper article. It’s mostly about Pepper, but I’m mentioned because we were Double Trouble. Our learners’ permits.”

“All fun things.”

“We also wrote out our dreams. Our goals.” I’d kept the lists, written on notebook paper, folded. I still hadn’t read those.

Zach was smart enough not to ask what they were. It wasn’t necessary to say none of those had come true.

When I’d opened the time capsule, I wasn’t surprised to see those things I’d shown Zach. But one item remained. Something Pepper must have put in the lockbox when I wasn’t looking.

“Anything else?”

Instead of answering his question, I stared off into the distance. “When our junior year started, Pepper made some new friends.”

“You mean she got mixed up with a bad group of kids?”

“Hardly.” It was my turn to laugh, the sound short. Sharp. “She’d been hanging out with another girl on the varsity team some during the summer. This girl —Tari —invited Pepper to a Bible study after school, and Pepper went. She liked it, liked the other girls, so she went again. When I asked her about it, Pepper said she wanted to learn more about God.”

“Okay.” If Zach was surprised, he hid it well.

“The more she went, the more she changed. She got a Bible —I don’t know if someone gave it to her or if she bought it —and started reading it. Memorizing Scripture verses she taped up on our dresser mirror. I tried to talk to her —to tell her to stop fooling around. That’s when she said she was serious. That she was a Christian. Our family didn’t —doesn’t —do God, Zach.”

At last I faced Zach, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Did she ever invite you to the Bible study?”

“Of course she did. All you Christians are the same! Share the . . . the ‘good news,’ right?” I bracketed the two words with air quotes. “We fought about that. And about how different she was. Then we stopped talking about pretty much anything except volleyball. Why did she have to change? She wasn’t my sister anymore. Why did she have to get new friends? Be all about God? I could never keep up with her anyway . . . and then she had to do that?”

All these years later, I still couldn’t understand what had happened. How was Zach supposed to explain it?

“She wasn’t choosing between you and God, not really —”

“It felt like she did. I mean, I figured a guy might come between us . . . but God? How do you deal with that?” I was tempted to close the lockbox. But I’d gone this far with the story. I needed to finish it. “On our sixteenth birthday, our grandparents gave each of us five hundred dollars.”

Zach took the change of topic well. “Nice.”

“I used my money to buy a new cell phone. I’d been begging my parents for one. I couldn’t figure out why Pepper didn’t do it, too. I figured she just put her money in the bank.”

Now, all these years later, I knew what Pepper did with her money.

I took the white envelope from the time capsule. My name was written on the front in Pepper’s handwriting —all loops and curlicues. First I removed the note inside. Then I slipped my fingers between the delicate gold links of the necklace, allowing the small diamond cross to fall against my palm.

Zach touched the cross. “That’s beautiful, Payton.”

“Pepper bought it for me. The note . . . the note says, ‘For when you know Jesus like I do.’”

I clenched the symbol between my fingers, pressing it into my palm. “Why would my sister do this? Waste her birthday money —hundreds of dollars —on something I would never wear?”

“She hoped you would eventually believe in God, too —”

“But I don’t. I won’t. Twenty years . . . we’re supposed to open the time capsule and find . . . this? What was she thinking?”

Zach’s hand covered mine, his bare fingers cold against my skin. “Payton, listen to me. We’re not talking about what you and your sister originally planned for the future. None of us controls life. Or death. You need to look at this necklace —today —for what it is.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s a gift from your sister. No strings attached.”

“Oh, there are strings, Zach. There are always strings with something like this. I can only wear it if I believe what she did . . . but I don’t. . . .”

“Then don’t wear the necklace. Put it somewhere in your house where you can see it and remember your sister. Or put it away in your jewelry box. But remember you loved her and she loved you, too —no matter what kind of distance there was between you. Her faith was important to her, and she wanted you to have that same kind of faith because she loved you. Can you accept that much?”

“Before she died, there was no talking to her unless I agreed with her —”

“I get that. New believers . . . we’re just plain stupid sometimes. We’re excited. Eager to talk about something that has made such a difference to us. Something that has brought us peace. Comfort. Cut Pepper some slack.” Zach’s tone was so earnest. “Maybe she didn’t do it all right. Maybe she said things wrong. But can you think about it with ten years of perspective and realize you were both sixteen . . . that you both got things wrong . . . and that you still loved each other?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I returned the necklace to the envelope. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It will change you, Payton —who you are today. And it will help you tomorrow, too.”

Zach believed what he said, but did I? Could the imperfect love between my sister and me span the past, present, and the future . . . and somehow heal the grief I was only beginning to face?

“Why do you believe in God, Zach?”

Of all the things Payton Thatcher could have said next, he hadn’t expected that. But since she’d asked the question, he’d tell her.

“Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘coming to the end of yourself’?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“That happened to me. I’d messed things up pretty badly because of my choices. Doing drugs and drinking. Lost my scholarship. Strained my relationship with my parents. Still haven’t fixed that yet. I messed up things with my college girlfriend too.” He paused. How much did he need to share about the mistakes he’d made before and after settling things with God? “Anyway, after she kicked me out of our apartment, I found myself sitting in my car with no place to go, about ten bucks in my wallet, and that was it.”

“What did you do?”

“I cried like a baby. I wanted to go home, but I knew I couldn’t do that. My parents had told me they’d given up on me the last time I came home drunk for my mom’s birthday.” Zach stared straight ahead as he talked. “There was only one person who’d ever believed in me.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Welkins —you probably remember the high school cross-country coach? He taught history, too.” The memory eased some of the regrets surrounding him. “I drove to his house and knocked on the door. His wife answered, took one look at me, and called for Coach. Honestly, I don’t know why she didn’t shut the door in my face. But they took me in, fed me, let me stay in their basement bedroom —”

“For free?”

“Oh no. That’s not how Coach Welkins does things. I was welcome to stay, but not freeload. At first I did yard work for him —and by that I mean I painted his deck and repaired his fence —after I got sober. That was the other condition —no alcohol and no drugs. That wasn’t easy . . . or pretty. After a while, I got a job and paid rent.”

“So where does God come in?”

“I’d heard about God on and off during my life —”

“You haven’t always been religious?”

“No. My family was the kind that went to church for Christmas and Easter.” He twisted to face her. “I had to decide what I believed about God —if I even believed in God —for myself.”

“And?”

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? So Payton had to be asking more. What was her original question?

“Why do you believe in God, Zach?”

“Once I was sober . . . I could listen when Coach talked about God. He told me his story . . . and I realized I needed God —”

“Like a crutch —”

“No. Like the One who knows me best because He created me. The One who offers me more grace than I offer others . . . more grace than I offer myself. The One who forgave me of things I still struggle to forgive myself for. That’s why I believe in God, Payton.”

There was so much more he could say to her, but Zach forced himself to wait to see if Payton had any more comments. Any more questions. He’d learned it was better to be ready with an answer than to rush ahead, assuming someone else wanted to hear what he had to say.

She shifted on the bench, and for a moment, he thought she’d pull her hand away. But she didn’t.

“No one’s ever talked to me about God like that before.” Payton made brief eye contact with him. “Thank you, Zach.”

He wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for. “You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for being my friend.”

“I’m glad we’re friends, Payton.”

There was a moment’s pause before she replied. “Me, too, Zach. Me, too.”