Snow Melts in Spring - By Deborah Vogts Page 0,102
struggled with the awkwardness, not sure what to say next. Why’d he even come?
“How ’bout you?” Dillon asked, his words slightly slurred. “How’s your horse?”
Gil tore the paper from the straw and tied it into a knot. “Dusty’s good. I’m good.”
“Don’t you live in California?”
The boy’s sharp memory surprised Gil. “I had some things I needed to take care of here on my dad’s ranch.”
Dillon took a bite of his lasagna, then shoved the plate to the side. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said when you were here before. Got lots of time to think now.”
Gil forced a smile.
“I’ve been reading the Bible.” Dillon placed his hands on the side of his chair and pushed the wheels backward. “Come on, I have something I want to show you.”
Gil followed Dillon down the hall to his room. The football he’d given him sat on the windowsill and a game show blared from a television high on the wall. The teen went straight to a Bible that lay on his nightstand.
“I killed my friend,” Dillon said. “I have to live with that. You wished you could have saved your brother. I know what guilt can do — I feel it every day.” He opened the Bible, then thumbed through the onionskin pages to a passage in the middle, marked by a red ribbon.
“People tell me I need to forgive myself, so I can go on.” The boy’s voice shook with irritation. “Why do they say that? Who am I to forgive myself?” He punched a button on the remote control and the television screen went blank. The only sound in the room now came from Dillon’s wheezing breath, and the thumping pulse in Gil’s neck.
“Forgiveness is important.” Gil hoped to calm the boy — make him feel better. “Without it, we’d be lost.”
“But I didn’t just sin against myself, I sinned against God. This book showed me that.” He searched the open page until his finger landed on a verse. “Here, look what else I found.”
He handed the Bible to Gil, and Gil read the verses he indicated. “The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.”
The boy pointed further down the page. “According to this, God won’t be angry at me forever. He won’t blame me for the awful things I’ve done — as long as I’m truly sorry.”
Dillon took the Bible in his hands and laid it on his lap. “I’m not the smartest kid in my class. But I know who my Savior is. And I know that I’m forgiven.”
He stared down at his lap and began reading. “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” His voice grew hoarser with every word spoken. “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.”
“As for man, his days are like grass . . .” Gil finished the familiar passage, the same verse he’d recited to his dad.
It was as though Gil understood the words for the very first time.
FIFTY-TWO
“THEY’RE LETTING ME GO HOME TOMORROW,” DILLON SAID AFTER THE two had talked for over an hour. “I’d give anything to go to the high school rodeo this weekend in Diamond Falls. But Dad won’t let me. Says it’d be too much of a strain.”
During their visit, Gil learned that Dillon had team roped, and that he’d been good with a horse. An idea began to form. “What if I could arrange for you to go? Would you be willing to speak in front of your peers? Admit to them what you told me tonight?”
The boy nodded. “If it might keep one of my friends from making the stupid mistake I made, you bet I would.”
Gil calculated the steps needed to accomplish what he had in mind. He fingered the smooth face of the watch in his pocket. There just might be enough time to put his plan into motion.
Forty minutes later, Gil pulled off the side of the road at an abandoned homestead and picked a handful of purple iris. He had one more stop to make before going home. The sweet scent of the spring flowers filled the truck cab as he drove to the cemetery. He followed the path to the stone markers and knelt beside his mother’s grave.
“I’m sorry, Mama, for not telling you good-bye.” He laid the flowers on the