(Sunday morning)

For Curtis, daily life was hard enough not knowing what happened to his friend, Christian–the friend he always protected. Curtis wanted to stay positive and believe that he would be found safe, but doubt kept creeping in. The farm work with his father consumed large portions of his free time. Chores forced him to stay busy, yet allowed his mind the freedom to try to remember any clues that he could provide to the Sheriff. When football practice, school work and chores were done, Curtis visited all the places that he and Christian had been together, looking for evidence of what happened to Christian the night he went running home.

Curtis and his father went to church on Sunday mornings, following the same schedule that they once followed when Mrs. Mason was alive. Curtis dressed in clean jeans and a white shirt with his sports jacket from the Booster Club, instead of his Varsity jacket. They sat in the same pew every Sunday, a position that Curtis chose, never explaining to his father that they sat where Curtis could see the pianist and the piano keys. Joy Rivers was the substitute pianist whenever Mrs. Cumming’s allergies kept her from attending church or accompanying the church choir. This morning Joy sat on the piano bench, her hands folded gently on her lap, like doves resting. Curtis longed to hold those hands in his and hoped for the chance someday to make her his wife. 

Curtis has never talked to her.

Joy Rivers attended a private school where she studied dance during the week. Her grandmother had taught her to play the piano when her grandmother was alive. She knew all the old hymns as once her grandmother had been the church pianist. Playing the piano made Joy feel close to her grandmother again, even though she had died of diabetes almost five years ago. 

Curtis sat quietly watching her slender fingers almost dance across the keyboard. “Flickers like a butterfly,” he whispered. He looked down at his calluses and hoped that he could hold her hand in his someday soon. 

(She doesn’t know him).

Every Sunday after service, Curtis and his Dad would visit his Mother’s grave. His Dad wiped the pine needles off her head stone. Then he left flowers from their garden that Mom had planted and tended when she was still here.

Curtis rarely spoke at church events. His stutter returned whenever he was in a situation where strangers could hear and make fun of him. He wished that he could be more like his Mother who always knew what to say–she had a way of making everyone comfortable and welcome. Today he wished that he could be more like Christian who could approach any stranger and make him feel like a friend. 

Where was Christian? He was haunted by his friend’s disappearance. He wondered if the Roy boys knew. Did they play a role in Christian’s disappearance?

Still no clue.