to avoid answering his phone because there were creditors on the other end who knew he was a deadbeat.
In other words, he was going to be a better man than his father.
He thanked the agent for his time and left the office. As he crossed the square to return to his truck, he passed the brass statue of Mildred Danforth, the founder of Rainbow Valley, which stood next to a large fountain. Beside it, printed on embossed paper beneath waterproof glass, was the Legend of the Rainbow Bridge. When Luke had lived there before, he remembered thinking the legend was just about the biggest bunch of crap he’d ever heard. As he read it again now, he didn’t find his opinion changing any:
In 1952, Mildred Danforth deeded hundreds of acres on which to build the town of Rainbow Valley, with one provision: the town could be built on the hillside, but the valley portion of the acreage would be preserved in an untouched state forever. An animal lover with pets of all kinds, Mildred believed the valley was a spirit world tied to earth, inhabited by beloved pets that had passed to the other side. With all earthly age and disease erased, they wait in this transitional paradise for their human companions to join them. After a joyful reunion, together they cross the Rainbow Bridge to heaven.
Mildred really had donated the land for Rainbow Valley. And she really did believe the valley was a spirit world full of pets that had passed on. The only thing left out of the legend was that Mildred Danforth was clearly nuts.
Luke shook his head. Was there anybody else who actually bought that nonsense?
Yes. They were called tourists. And they flocked to Rainbow Valley every year, particularly for the Festival of the Animals, which came complete with an animal costume contest, a blessing of the animals, and a trip to the Rainbow Valley Lookout, a stunning view of the valley where the spirits of all the pets that had passed on were supposedly waiting to cross the Rainbow Bridge. Then those tourists came back to town, bought a bulldog T-shirt and a Puppy Power tote bag, and called it a day.
Hey, anything for a buck.
Luke got back into his truck, and as he drove, a light sprinkling of rain intermittently pattered his windshield. But by the time he approached the city limits, it had stopped completely. He drove along the ribbon of highway carved into the hillside, surprised at how much he remembered about this place he’d wanted so much to forget. The memory of every curve unfolded in his mind seconds before he reached it, like a song he would never have remembered unless it started to play. When he’d driven this road as a teenager, he’d been behind the wheel of a rust and blue 1986 Mustang he’d held together with sweat and duct tape, smoking a Marlboro and dreaming of the day he’d never have to return there again.
He checked his watch. It was nearly noon. If he pushed hard, he could make it to Las Cruces tonight and drive the rest of the way to Phoenix tomorrow. That would put him in a day ahead so he could rest up before competing.
He swung his truck around a gentle curve, and the Pic ’N Go came into view. It was the same beige brick building trimmed in green and red with two gas pumps out front. Signs in the window included an ad for foot-long hot dogs and a multicolored poster advertising the Festival of the Animals.
He drove on, and soon he saw the entrance to the Rainbow Valley Animal Shelter. Animals lucky enough to end up there got a whole new life. When he was younger, he’d fantasized about a place where a kid like him could go for a second chance, too. Then he got older and realized that second chances for people like him came only with their own blood and sweat.
Forget all that. Past history. Keep on driving.
Then a twinge of foreboding ran along the back of Luke’s neck. If he was passing the shelter, it meant he was only a short distance from the gravel road that led to his father’s house.
Seconds later, he saw the property. The rickety metal gate hung open, and the rusted-out mailbox sat on the same wobbly four-by-four it had over a decade ago. A dilapidated barbed wire fence surrounded the acreage, its posts encircled by tall, thick-bladed Johnson grass.