to the surface, to the light, to the air, struggle to remain afloat. I try to formulate the proper response, but no matter what actually comes out of my mouth, the answer could only be of course I will.
I bring moisture to my lips, eventually say, “Are you sure, Melody?”
She does not hesitate. “I’m sure.”
I whisk across two lanes of traffic, go up the exit ramp for Liberty Road, zoom around two loops of the cloverleaf, and head south. “I’m getting on I-70 right now. What’s the address?”
“Two-fifty-four Walnut Street, outside the university.”
“Two-fifty-four Walnut. Got it.” I punch the accelerator and merge back onto the westward interstate. “Don’t move.”
Our call ends and I pull in front of a crowd of cars. It takes only a few minutes before I have passed the exits for the roads leading to Ellicott City and Columbia; nearly all of the traffic goes with them. Heading directly away from the city, I have quickly broken free into the sprawling Maryland countryside.
And as I traverse the hills and valleys of western Maryland, I recall my prayer at the park-and-ride. Like before, I’d love to testify God gave me exactly what I asked the moment I requested it. And though sometimes His answer to prayer is No, turns out this time His answer was Not yet.
SEVEN
If you travel across and out Maryland’s narrow western panhandle, cross the steep ranges of hills and mountains that make the ride far longer than it appears on a map, you will eventually come upon Morgantown, West Virginia, a small city that doubles in size during West Virginia University’s fall and spring semesters. The university brims with active students and a positive urgency—I see little difference from the atmosphere at Johns Hopkins—an unlikely observation considering the depressed status of its home state.
During my journey, I completed three calls: one to Peter, assuring him things are fine on my end; one to Eddie Gravina, where I essentially gave the same information passed along to Peter an hour earlier; and one to Gardner: no update. For now, I’ll let Gardner think I’m still desperate for his information, that I still want to be notified should her information change. If her record updates while she’s with me, the appearance of a new and unused address for relocation, this could only indicate she’s working with the feds to bring me and my family down. The risk I’m taking is lessened only by a trust in her I can neither deny nor understand. Fools routinely die for inexplicable notions.
Through my various pursuits of Melody, I’ve seen more of West Virginia than I could’ve ever imagined, and I can say that Morgantown is more attractive than the other Blue Ridge towns I’ve seen. Walnut serves as one of the main drags through the city, and finding the coffeehouse required no reading of address numbers, the silver letters spelling out MOUNTAINEER COFFEE MILL visible from a half block away. The awning above the door is similar to Sylvia’s, reminds me of the work back home that I hope is being completed while I’m on this temporary journey.
I pull in front of the café, enjoy the luxury of empty city streets in a place where so many walk. I get out and run my hands through my hair, grab a pullover from the backseat and slip it on to cut the chill in the air. The coffeehouse has good bones, had obviously once become a dump, renovated with care by some prior owner, then allowed to fall into partial decay by the current one. The exterior has been covered in a grass green paint that is chipping near the moldings, and the awning has faded on the sun-facing angles. The windows are fogged by seasons of dust. Through the window next to the door I see Melody. And when she sees me, she stands and wraps her hands up in the bottom of her shirt, walks toward me.
I open the door and Melody collapses in my arms like a dying soldier. She trembles and shakes as though she’s detoxing from a drug. This moment tells me my instincts are right, that Melody is acting alone. If not, she’s one exceptional actress.
“It’s okay,” I say, “it’s okay, I’ve got you.” I recall that recent daydream when I imagined her falling into my arms in almost the same way. It’s all right, everything’s gonna be all right, I wanted to tell her.
The students and middle-aged hipsters in the café stare at us—her,