Free They Almost Always Come Home by Cynthia Ruchti

chest. Is that what I want? For this misadventure to be broadcast all over the church? Less than a day into this crisis, church friends were showing up at my door with casseroles, Bundt cakes, and Jell-O salads with fruit cocktail and marshmallows. Pastel-colored marsh- mallows. If God had wanted marshmallows to come in pastel colors, He would have—
    Never mind.
    It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gestures. But as I packed more food into my fridge, it became more evident that I was the only one at home to eat it. I suppose I’ll have to write thank-you notes when I get home. If I’m not knee-deep in funeral preparations or searching for a cheap but determined “marriage eraser” lawyer. People with Bibles on their coffee tables don’t use the “D” word.
    In the confines of the Blazer, it’s impossible not to overhear Jen on the phone. She reassures Brent that we all understand how much he wishes he could have joined us. I would have gladly let him take my place. He would serve this team well with his experience and strength and the fact that he can care deeply without falling apart like I do.
    His work wouldn’t allow his accompanying us. Plus we would need the space in that second canoe to . . . to bring Greg home.
    “That’s a little weird to get used to,” Jen says after finishing her test-run with the SAT phone.
    “What is?”
    “The time delay. We both can’t speak at the same time or the voices cancel each other out. I suppose it would work bet- ter if we did that thing they do in the movies.”
    I check my rearview mirror and pull into the left lane to pass yet another logging truck. The canoes strapped to the top
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    of Frank’s Blazer whistle and sing with the increased speed. That could get annoying.
    “What thing?”
    “Next time I use the phone,” Jen persists, “I’ll finish my
    sentence, then I’ll say ‘over.’ That’ll let Brent know it’s okay to talk.”
    “How much battery life does it have?” I’d love for us to have
    to use it our first day out to tell the boys and Greg’s stepmom and Pastor and the prayer chain that we found Greg, safe and sound, and are coming home. That’s what I want, right?
    A week. We have a week to find our answers before life and
    its appointments force us to return home. If Greg is out there somewhere in the wilderness, how could he last that long? If he’s on his way to a new life in Aruba with a woman who—unlike me—could afford a plastic surgeon for her imperfections, why are we doing this?
    ********
    We pull into the gas station/convenience store/Subway
    restaurant combo in International Falls for a much-needed bathroom break. We’re running on fumes in the gas tank, but Frank insists we need to wait to fill up until we cross into Canada. He wants to maximize our ability to stretch our gas supply for the Canadian side of our trip, noting the infrequency of gas stations there compared to the U.S. side.
    Frank danced in his seat when we crossed from Wisconsin
    into Minnesota at Duluth and discovered a significant drop in gas prices between the two states. I half expected him to call Pauline on the SAT phone and talk her into moving to Minnesota.
    Frank nods toward the restaurant half of the convenience
    store as he checks the straps holding down the canoes. “Better take advantage of the opportunity for some hot food.”
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    “Hot food? Does that mean I can’t have a cold smoked tur- key sub with provolone and cucumber?” Jenika teases. “Mark my words,” he says. We wait for what those mark- worthy words will be. Nothing.
    “I just want a Diet Pepsi,” I tell Jenika as I lean against the side of the Blazer to stretch my back muscles. “Ask for extra ice,” Frank says.
    “Why?”
    “A week from now, you’ll think ice is a gift from heaven.” So he’s assuming this will take all week. That’s not a good sign.
    ********
    It’s always a little nerve-racking with Frank