The Rules: Book Two of the Shepherd Chronicles

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1

Rewind

LIFE IS A JOURNEY. LIKE snowflakes, each of our paths are different. At a moment in time when I thought my road had come to an end, when my remaining heartbeats could be counted in single digits, I made a promise. That promise not only extended my journey, it dramatically changed it forever. It went from my road to a road about people I have yet to meet. I went from being on a highway that had been only visible to my eyes to one that is being followed by hundreds of thousands of dedicated eyes. It took me from a life in which religion was a stranger to one that brought me face to face with a messenger from God not once but three times. Instead of walking a path of my own design, I now find myself moving along with no map, no star to follow and no plan, following nothing more than a seed planted in my heart, nurtured by faith, maybe destiny, and open to all possibilities.

I know … sounds pretty dramatic doesn’t it? Yet here I am, ready to launch myself again. The words of my messenger still echo in my head: David, go out and find the lost sheep and bring them back to their path.

It’s 5:30 on a warm May morning and I’m leaning against the back of my beloved red Jeep Wrangler, parked in the driveway of my childhood home in Tonawanda, New York. Steam from a fresh cup of coffee wafts lazily into the cool morning air. My backpack waits on the floor and across the passenger seat lies a shepherd’s staff, a long walking stick with a large hook at the top. It was left for me by a messenger from God, so I can only wonder whose biblical hand previously held this gift.

My parents, Tom and Debbie Hynes, are still asleep, as are my amazing sisters Jeannie and Hannah. They will all wake up soon and find a note carrying my love, my good-byes, and my decision to strike out again on my renewed path. The sun is just turning the scattered clouds from a light gray to a stunning array of red and orange. I bring my father’s police department mug to my lips to finish my last draw of coffee. It’s time.

I move slowly back into the garage and place the mug on the stairs leading to the kitchen door, where I know my mother will find it. Walking back down the driveway, I slide into the driver’s seat and quietly close my door so as to not disturb my family or the neighbors. I turn the key and back down the driveway as I’ve done a thousand times before. But this time, I don’t know if or when I will ever return.

As I shift into drive, a vision flashes across my windshield. It’s Peggy, my Peg, sound asleep only a few blocks away. Her eyes dominate the vision, looking at me as only she can, her blond hair surrounds her freckled face, and she smiles at me like no one has ever done before. It was only a few short hours ago that we said our goodbyes, admitting that our love for each other has not diminished. She knew before I did that I would take to the road again and she gave me her blessing, doing what she has always done, lifting me up and bolstering my confidence, telling me once again that she believes in me. Leaving her behind is the hardest part of my decision to move forward with my mission. Her smile and those dancing eyes will never be more than a thought away on any road I travel.

I move onto the ramp of the I-290, heading east into the rising sun. It only takes a couple of minutes to reach my first decision, a fork in the road to lead me to the New York State Thruway heading either east or west. Two weeks earlier, at the start of my journey, I chose east. I decide it’s only fair to give west a chance, so I stay to the right; the bright sunshine leaves my windshield. Shopping malls to my left and the city of Buffalo’s skyline, glistening in the morning light to my right. I head out on a road I’ve traveled a hundred times before, one that will lead me past the State University of Fredonia, where I spent four years, chasing a degree that I may never use. I know every inch of the forty-five mile road between Buffalo and Fredonia, every bump in the road and every place along the way that the state police hide with their radar guns. I won’t tempt them this morning because I keep my speed close enough to legal to not to draw their attention.

Making the decision to venture out again was the easy part. Heading in the right direction not so much, especially since I discovered how little control I have over the events that keep drawing me onto their path. I feel like a pawn being moved across a chessboard not of my design.

Barely half an hour out of my driveway, I come to the Evans/Angola exit, the one that leads to my home away from home, The Breakwall beach club, owned by my best friend in all the world, Jacob Horlansky. It was less than twenty-four hours ago that I said my good-byes to him, too. At this hour, he’s probably still sleeping on a couch somewhere because he rarely finds his way to a real bed. The urge to see the club one last time before I leave seems to have taken control of my steering wheel as I rumble off the road and head towards the beach. The two-lane roads are mostly deserted as I near the private driveway leading to Jacob’s property.

I find my favorite parking spot across from the side deck and step out of the Jeep. I cross the deck and step down toward the break wall, crossing the volleyball courts and down again to the white imported sand spread throughout Jacob’s playground. I stare out over Lake Erie. A cargo freighter breaking up the straight line of the western horizon. The soft sound of the water breaking onto land plays as the music of the beach. A few seagulls scavenge scraps left behind by last night’s revelers. Long shadows, created by the club behind me, stretch out over the sand as the sun breaks full over the water, it’s summer heat tickling the back of my neck. The sights, the sounds, even the pungent aroma of nature. The smells of beer, perfume, and cologne comes back to me as it had so many mornings over the last four years. It feels right to say good-bye one last time.

With my hands buried in the pockets of my jeans, I turn from the lake and head back to the club, staring down at the sand as I go. When I reach the first steps leading from the beach to the courts, I look up. There to my surprise, in his trademark khaki cargo shorts, sandals and Hawaiian shirt, with hair flying in every direction imaginable, is Jacob. He looks down at me with a grin across his face.

What are you doing up at this hour? I ask.

Well, to assume I’m getting up at this hour, you first have to be sure I ever went to bed in the first place, he cracks back.

A mighty big assumption on my part, huh?

The better question is, Why have you shown up on my beach so soon after I threw you out of here?

Technically, you didn’t throw me out, I left of my own accord.

Moments after I told you that you no longer have a place here.

OK, I’ll give you that, I mutter just as I reach the top step, falling into a bear hug from my mentor. I just needed one last look at this place before I hit the road.

The hug releases as my hobbitesque friend looks up at me. So you decided to venture out again?

I did. It’s the only choice that makes any sense to me. Staying home now would feel like I am dishonoring all I have already done. It doesn’t feel over yet.

I can understand that. Did your parents give you a big send-off this morning?

No, Jacob. I snuck out before anyone got up. I just left them a note telling them of my decision.

Then you haven’t had any breakfast. Come on, let me whip up something for you before you go.

He didn’t wait for an answer. I follow him into the darkened bar and take my regular seat next to Jacob’s personal stool, which sits next to the wall at the end of the bar. He had started out working in his own kitchen at his first club and knew his way around a stove top. It seems like only seconds before a ham and cheese omelet, smothered with salsa, accompanied by toast, show up in front of me on the bar. He brings no plate for himself, just mugs of coffee for both of us. He hops up onto his own stool with the intent of watching me chew. So, where are you off to? he asks.

I’m not sure, Jacob. I’m heading west, but that’s the only decision I’ve made so far. I’ve learned not to put too much thought into it. Whichever road I’ve taken seems to have been the right one so far, so I’ll just go with that. I do have one piece of news for you though.

You’ve only been gone for ten hours, Jacob laughs. What could have happened to you since last night?

Peggy happened.

No! Jacob exclaims.

She showed up at my house just after midnight. Jeannie tipped her off that I’d come home.

I never would have guessed that one. So?

To be honest Jacob, it was like the dream I’ve been having almost every night since our relationship fell apart two years ago. We both admitted we still love each other deeply. She told me she had been following my journey on the Flockless Shepherd Facebook page that Jeannie and Hannah had created. She also said she believes I should keep going and that whenever I decide to come home, she will be waiting for me. It was magical, my friend.

David, I couldn’t be happier for you. A spark went out of your life without her in it. I know how much you love her. Does this change anything about your journey?

Other than our commitment to talk every night, no, this doesn’t change a thing. I’m still on the same path with the same mission and the same boss. I capture the last piece of ham with my fork and lean back on my stool. I’m glad you are here, Jacob. I didn’t expect to find you awake but this is a nice way to head out. And thanks for the breakfast. It was perfect.

Most important meal of the day, young man, he chuckles, wagging his finger at me.

We slide off our stools and walk silently across the bar, out through the double doors onto the L-shaped deck. We turn the corner and head out toward the private road. Jacob watches as I slide my key into the door and swing it open. The shepherd’s rod catches his eye immediately. Where did that come from? he asks.

I was visited by the messenger from God last night. He told me my debt had been paid and I no longer had a promise to serve being held over me. I told him thanks anyway, but I want to keep serving if I’m needed. He smiled and told me no one who asks to serve is ever denied. As usual, when I looked up he was gone, only this time he left this rod behind. Other than it being a gift from God, I don’t know it’s significance, but I have no intention of going anywhere without it.

Now you see what I mean, Jacob responds. Keeping you at this club would have been like hiding a candle under a basket. Make sure you keep in touch. Are you going to keep up your nightly email messages?

I’m planning on it. The girls will keep up the Facebook page, so there will be plenty of links for you to follow. Thanks again Jacob, for everything.

We hug again, but this one lasts just a little bit longer, not knowing when we will see each other again. I climb into the Jeep and close the door. I let the window drop down and when it hits bottom, Jacob sticks his hand through the opening. My hand meets his.

Be careful, my friend. There are a lot of people out here that are depending on you now. Whether you know it or not, you have become a symbol of hope and reassurance for all us failed humans.

Wow, I respond. You have no idea how good that sounds coming from you. Good bye, Jacob. Get some sleep someday please. I wink and pull onto the road. As I near the first turn, I look at the rear view mirror and can still see Jacob in the middle of the road, watching me disappear.

It’s nearing 8 AM as I approach the entrance to the Thruway. The morning clouds are gone and traffic has increased with the later hour. As I reach full speed, a memory flashes back to me. I think about an invitation I received during the first leg of my journey. At the time, I was in Washington, D.C.. I met Terry and his father Walter. After our encounter, Walter had texted me that if I was ever in the Cleveland area I should stop at their home. He wanted to talk more and have me meet his wife, Margie. Knowing they were both teachers, and considering it was summertime, I figure they might be around and open to a visit.

I pull my cell phone off of my belt and scroll down through my contacts. I pull into the rest area and hit the dial button. Two rings later and after a moment of silence, a very serious Hello, Walter here, echoes back at me.

Hey Walter, it’s David Hynes. How are you?

David, what a surprise. I’m doing well thanks. What about you, young man?

All is good, Walter. Last time you wrote me, you left an open invitation for me to stop by for a visit if I was ever heading through Cleveland. Well, it appears as though that might be happening in a few hours so I thought I’d check and see if the invite is still open.

Today? came his delayed response. What time do you think you’ll be here?

I’m already on the road so I guess a few hours, somewhere between 10:30 and 11. Is that OK?

I think that would work great, he replies. Terry should be awake by then and we should have time for a nice visit. Do you know where Chagrin Falls is?

Just that it’s a suburb of Cleveland. Text me your address and I’m sure I will find it. I’m looking forward to seeing you and Terry again and getting a chance to meet Margie.

Alright, David, we will see you soon, is the last thing I hear before he disconnects the call. I’ve only been in his company one time and only for a few minutes, but Walter seems more than just a bit off his game, even for him. He is a perfectionist in everything he does, from the words he chooses to the clothes he wears. It isn’t just important for him to be perfect; he pushes his son, Terry, into the same perfection.

When I first met them, Walter was on the verge of losing his son. Our meeting was no accident. The same was true with all the other connections I made on my first journey. Just as the meeting was not of my doing, neither were the words I used or the actions I took that broke the ice between father and son. They may also have served to save young Terry’s life. The three of us have remained in communication since, and I believe they have turned a corner. Just the same, I can’t help but feel that there is more to their story, that they are holding back something more that drives their relationship into such dark places. Maybe someday the wall that holds those secrets back will come down too.

My phone vibrates with an incoming text message. It’s Walter. He sends his address, house color, length of the driveway and even the color shade of the roof shingles. In fact everything except temperature and wind direction. Apparently he doesn’t trust me or my phone GPS to get me there. I program in the address and his location pops right up. It’s a distance of roughly 170 miles, mostly on major highways, to his town. Chagrin Falls is a small community about 25 miles south of Cleveland. The way Terry tells it, Walter is a big man on campus; mayor of the village, a deacon in his church and he and his wife are both teachers in the only high school in town. This left Terry with nowhere to hide, nowhere to be himself and no way to live his own life. It didn’t help that Walter did everything but chew Terry’s food for him. Terry, not wanting to confront his father on his behavior, allowed Walter to run his life for him while forcing him to rebel in any discreet way imaginable.

I pull out of the rest stop and continue west on the Thruway. Almost instantly, that feeling of being on the road and all the sensations of a journey begun, come rushing back. The road has become my sanctuary, warm and comfortable. I feel at peace with a growing confidence, knowing I am not alone. If I had any doubts about my mission during the last 24 hours, the hum of my tires on the blacktop shields me from their return. The radio is off. I am accompanied only by my own thoughts and passion for the task at hand, the beating of a heart committed to the One that has saved me, the One that heard my promise and set me back on the path that had been laid out for me at my birth.

Something is rattling on the seat next to me. I look to my right to find the source. My eyes focus on the shepherd’s staff that is moving with the Jeep, bumping against the underside of the dashboard. I smile knowing that the sound is just a reminder that the passenger seat is occupied by more than a walking stick. I am still protected, still surrounded by his arms. I am safe, I am home.

2

Behind the Wall

THE SUN HAS TAKEN OVER the skies, chasing away any hint of clouds. It is a perfect summer morning, the kind that the northeast specializes in. A soft breeze and moderate temperatures are typical of what I have grown accustomed to, especially with my summers at The Breakwall. Say what you want about Buffalo winters, but the summers are heaven on earth.

It’s close to 11 AM as I turn into Walter’s driveway and nothing about the view is a surprise. The front lawn is impeccable; there is not a blade of grass out of place and no weeds to disrupt the appearance. The rest of the landscaping is immaculate too. The house is no less perfect. There is hardly any indication that people live here. You could literally eat a meal off the driveway. I’m suddenly worried that my old Jeep will leave a spot of dirt or oil where neither had ever been.

I throw my Jeep into park and slowly climb out and spin in place, taking in the park like setting. I hear the garage door motor crank into gear and the door slowly rises behind me. I turn to see Walter walk almost majestically under the archway. Being only five and a half feet tall, it doesn’t take long for the door to raise high enough. Even his leisure clothes are well pressed and there isn’t a wrinkle to be found, no grass stains on his boat shoes and the crease in his pants could slice turkey. He walks in a straight line towards me, his right hand extended almost the entire length of the driveway.

Hello David. Welcome to Chagrin Falls, Walter beams as he shakes my hand.

Hello Walter and thanks. It’s a lovely town, very quaint. It kind of reminds me of East Aurora, a town just outside of Buffalo. It’s almost postcard ready.

Come on inside, David. I’m sure Terry is looking forward to saying hello.

I follow Walter through the garage and into his family room. It looks like a page out of Good Housekeeping, exquisite from every angle. However, it feels darker, more somber than I would have expected. Walking in from the bright sunlit summer day, to a cavernous room with all the blinds down and the draperies closed, makes me feel like walking into a funeral home.

Can I get you something to drink, David? Walter asks.

Some water would be great thanks, I reply.

I just made some iced tea if you’re interested, Walter calls back over his shoulder.

Then make it iced tea, I answer.

Almost on cue, as Walter leaves the room for the kitchen, Terry comes down the stairs and enters from the other end of the room. He comes right for me and wraps me in a big hug. He appears genuinely happy to see me. He sits down on the couch with me, leaving the recliner for his father. I get the sense that Terry wouldn’t sit in that recliner on a bet. As Terry gets comfortable, Walter returns with iced tea for me and a cup of coffee for himself, but nothing at all for Terry. The old friction between them is still there. It’s not at the crisis level it was at when we first met, but it is stronger now then when we parted company. Just the same, they both seem to avoid any eye contact.

So how are you guys doing? I begin.

Not too bad at all, remarks Terry. I’ve been accepted at Oberlin Conservatory of Music and have already registered for classes in the fall. I quit both the town and Olympic Development soccer teams I was playing on and am focused more now on my violin, getting ready for the fall. My girlfriend and I are back on solid ground, and I’m staying away from creeks and street corners.

The last comment causes Walter to snap his head towards his son and me to laugh out loud. Walter can only guess what Terry means while I know exactly what he is referring to. During the time that Terry was rebelling against his