Changes of Heart Read Online Free

least until a new shepherd was found.
    The lapel microphone on Ellie’s robe was a recent concession to her age, but with its amplification, her voice reached every part of the old church, rich and true, although at times tremulous as emotion overcame her.
    “How I wish Helmut were here to comfort all of us,” Ellie said. “But we all know where Helmut walks now—and we know that Richie Locke walks with him.” She paused. “There’ll be no sermon today, nor will there be a eulogy as such, at least not from me. I’m not qualified to present either. But I can say this to you, my friends: Richie was loved—is loved—because of the man he was, a humble child of theLord, a wonderful husband, and a protector of our great country who died doing what he devoutly believed was his duty and his mission in life.”
    Only the quiet sobs of Maggie Locke disturbed the solemn quiet in Coldwater Church. Ellie’s voice broke again as she opened her Bible. “Let us pray together...”

    “... So here I am at sixty-five thousand feet, pulling almost three g’s at the top of a loop, with the fire light goin’ crazy and the system’s warning honker blasting in my ears, and here’s my wingman drifting toward me like he’s asleep or something...” The young pilot held his hands a little above shoulder height, moving them slowly together a foot apart, his left moving closer to his right as he scribed an arc in the air. The cluster of other men, the silver wings on their shoulders glinting in the bright sunlight, leaned forward toward the speaker, their eyes locked on his hands.
    “You guys know how shaky the stabilizer on the Thunder-Bolt 336 is, right?” Heads nodded, and a couple of the pilots grunted.
    “Well, all I could do was keep the power at max and try to engage my—”
    Maggie and her parents walked around the end of the Toole van. The speaker’s hand froze in the air in front of him. The heads of the flyers turned to Maggie, their faces like those of a band of little boys caught smoking cigarettes behind the barn.
    “Maggie...” one said. “We... uhhh...”
    Maggie’s voice was harsh, raspy, and she felt as if she were tearing the words from her heart and throwing them at the uniformed men. “I didn’t even have a body to bury! There was nothing left of Rich but black smoke and the stink of that fuel. And you... you stupid, selfish children stand out here playing airplane! How can you—”
    “Maggie,” her father said gently, taking her arm and leading her away from the stunned and silent group of pilots. Janice Stuart, Maggie’s mother, put her arm around her daughter’s waist, helping to move her away toward the Stuarts’ vehicle. “Come on, honey,” Janice said. “Let’s go home.”
    Maggie had been physically present throughout the service for Rich, but it was as if her body were a poorly functioning but automatic machine and her mind was stuck in a loop of images of her husband—his smile, the manner in which he used his hands as he spoke, the spontaneity of his love for her that so frequently ignited in his eyes for no particular reason, the way his hand so sweetly and unselfconsciously found hers when they walked together.
    Brad Stuart clicked his key fob, and the automatic locks of the Mercedes SUV popped open with a metallic snap. He opened the rear passenger door, and Maggie slumped inside, choking against tears and her sudden anger at the men who had been Rich’s colleagues and friends. Janice followed her daughter into the car, tugging Maggie to her, enveloping her, wiping away her tears with her fingers. “We’ll get through this, baby. You’ll see,” Janice whispered. She held Maggietighter as Maggie’s body convulsed and her voice choked out bits of indistinguishable words.

    Brad walked around the SUV to the driver’s seat. He hesitated a moment before opening the door. He was a wealthy man—the owner of more than a dozen “Get Rollin’ ” auto tune-up and repair