If I'd Never Known Your Love by Georgia Bockoven Page A

country. Maybe more.
    And now, with one phone call on a clear January day, she'd been told all she'd ever really needed was a satin-lined casket and a one-way ticket.
    "I don't seem to have the phone number for the doctor in front of me," he told her. "I don't want to keep you on the line while I look. Would it be all right if I called you back in a few minutes?"
    "I'll need the contact number for the Colombian office that will release Evan to let him come home."
    "Of course. Will you excuse me for a moment?" When he returned, he said, "We can have the embassy make those arrangements for you, Mrs. McDonald."
    "When?"
    "I'll have them get in touch with you."
    "Make sure Ambassador Sidney is told that I want to be with Evan when he comes home."
    "I understand."
    "But you have to make sure they understand, too."
    She'd experienced too many well-intentioned mistakes. Messages weren't always delivered as they were intended.
    "I'll take care of it. I promise."
    "Thank you," she said. She would contact them, too. There was only one thing left that she could do for Evan. Propriety be damned.
    "Again, let me express my profound sorrow," he said. "For everything."
    She put her hand over her eyes and bit her lip. "I have to go now."

    "Are you sure there isn't anyone I could call?"
    "No—" She dropped the receiver and covered her face with both hands. A deep, keening sob echoed through the empty house.
    How could Evan have been dead for five years when his favorite cereal was in the cupboard, his clothes in the closet, his dresser filled with his underwear and socks and T-shirts, all waiting for him? How could he come to her in her dreams with tender promises of what their lives would be like when they were together again? How could she be standing at the sink, washing dishes, or driving the car, or talking on the phone, or working in the yard, and feel him beside her and know without question that he was thinking about her and telling her that she was loved beyond barriers or miles or time?
    How could she go on without the belief he was waiting for her to find him? How could she get up in the morning knowing she had to get through another day without hope?
    Four Months and Two Weeks Missing
    We found my dad in the barn, sharpening a lawn- mower blade. He had his back to us, oblivious to everything in the isolation of the high-pitched whine of the grinder and the goggles he wore to protect his eyes from the wildly flying sparks. I could feel your tension as we stood there waiting for him to finish; you really didn't want to be there. You were scared. And there was nothing I could say or do to reassure you.
    I reached for your hand and you jumped. It was then that I realized the depth of your fear and how important my father had become to you. For seventeen years you had lived in an environment that should have destroyed you. When you took over the care of your brother, you missed so much school that you sacrificed the dream of graduating high enough in your class to get a scholarship to college. And then when he died so uselessly, you'd suffered loss I couldn't conceive. Yet you not only hung on, you survived without anger or bitterness. I'd never known anyone like you. Your core goodness left me awestruck.
    Finally, Dad noticed us and flipped the switch on the grinder. He removed his goggles and flashed us a smile. When it wasn't eagerly returned, he wiped his hands on the rag sticking out of his overalls pocket and motioned us closer.
    "What's up?"
    You shoved your hands in your back pockets and
    tilted your head down, escaping in the shadows of your hair. "Julia thinks I should..
    Julia wants me to—" You looked up then and must have seen something in my father's eyes that made it all right, because you took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm a fugitive, Mr. Warren. I'm wanted for setting a fire in my old school. I didn't mean for it to happen, but that's not going to count for shit to the cops when they catch me."
    Not exactly the