Greg closed the hallway door before returning to his seat. "How's your wife doing?" he asked.

"She's okay. We're about two months from her due date and beginning to get excited." It was easier to give the short answer.

The smile on Greg's face faded, and he glanced at Matt before continuing. "This is lousy timing," he said. "But I've got some bad news."

"What?" Josh's first thought was concern for someone's health.

"We're having cash flow problems. And . . . we're going to have to release you from the label."

"What?" Josh repeated the question, this time in disbelief, as he scanned the faces in the room, hoping he had misunderstood.

"It's not you, Josh. Glory is going through some hard times right now. We're releasing five artists this week. I would appreciate your confidentiality before we talk to everyone, but we're cutting our roster to the core. We just can't-"

"We can't believe we're having to do this." Matt interrupted. "You're a breakout artist with lots of momentum. But we can't afford to develop anyone right now." Holliman's pale face blended into the ashen grey walls behind him. "It's killing us to have to do it."

"I'm shocked," Josh said, deflating his lungs with a single breath. "I knew the industry was down, but . . ."

"Let me put it this way." Greg Benton reached across the table, palms up, as if to allay any doubt of his honesty in the matter. "We're not sure how long we'll keep the doors open. This is better for you in the long run."

Josh couldn't imagine how this would be better. Nor did he want to extend this uncomfortable situation. He positioned his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself upward.

"Of course. Better for me. Right." He walked toward the door and, after several minutes of stilted conversation about keeping in touch and tying up loose ends, opened the door and left the room.

"Take care of yourself," Josh said to the receptionist as he walked quickly toward the outside doors.

"We're going to miss you," Rhonda said, her voice trailing off behind him.

Several times, Josh picked up the phone to call Beth and then put it back down. He needed to talk. To have her tell him that everything would be okay. But, right now, everything rested on his shoulders. Most of the reassurance would have to come from inside himself.

He prayed for strength where weakness now resided. If he didn't believe things would work out, his voice would give him away when he spoke to Beth. And he didn't want to alarm his wife.

Then a realization struck him. Perhaps Greg Benton had somehow found out that he had been witnessing from an empty heart. That he was a vacant body. A man without a soul dressed only in stage clothes.

God, please help me find who I am again. Please help me find you.

Josh knew he had to keep going on his own strength, if not God's. Somehow. He had no choice. He had to walk in faith and believe he was walking in the right direction by the Lord's leading.

One of his mother's old sayings came to mind. "Praise God," she would tell him, "and you will eventually understand how many ways he should be fully praised."

As Josh prepared to cross the Cumberland River into East Nashville, he picked up the phone and dialed Beth. He would suggest they go out to dinner. They would both feel better after discussing the record label situation over a good dinner. They would make alternate plans. Together.

He had time to work it out. For the next several months, he had a good position on a strong tour.

When Beth answered the phone, reality set in again.

"Hello," she said. Her voice sounded parched, almost unrecognizable. Another dry soul, this one consumed by drugs. He would be going home to a house where two empty people resided.

"Hi, hon. I'm on my way home. Would you like to go out to eat tonight? Maybe that Greek restaurant in Green Hills you like so much?"

"I'm not really hungry," she said, slurring her words. "I'm sorry. Can we just eat at home?"

"Sure. It's no problem. I'm not that hungry either," he said. "I'll pick up sandwiches on the way home."

Over supper Beth admitted to taking an extra Lortab because of excessive pain. They ate most of their meal in silence. Afterward, she followed Josh into the bedroom to watch him pack. He would be leaving at midnight for several days, beginning with a show in Atlanta tomorrow night.

Beth crawled between the blue flannel sheets, heaving a long sigh and propping her head on her elbow while he tossed things into his bag.

"I had a meeting with Greg and Matt at Glory Records this afternoon, and I don't have good news," he said, stopping his work to assess her reaction.

"What's wrong?" She frowned.

"They released me. They let me go."

"I don't understand . . ."

"I don't either." Josh stepped briefly into the bathroom to retrieve his shaving kit.

"But you just started working on your new CD," Beth said when he returned to the room.

"They're giving me the chance to buy the recordings back if I can find another label." He stuffed the kit into his bag.

"Do you think you can do that?" Beth settled into her pillow.

"I don't know." He zipped his canvas duffle.

She sighed, "That was so mean of them."

Then she dropped off to sleep.

38.

Present Day The sun rose through Alabama pine trees as Josh walked from the bunkroom into the front lounge of the bus. It was good to be back in his home state. After three sold-out shows in Georgia and South Carolina, the tour was now heading to Mississippi.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes. Everyone else was still in their bunk-and would be for several hours. Six-thirty in the morning was early for his crew. They had no reason to rise until closer to lunchtime.

"Good morning," Josh said, taking a seat to the right of his driver.

"Get enough sleep?" There was a grin in Danny's voice.

"Not really, but it's worth it to have this opportunity. Thanks for suggesting it."

"It's not that far out of our way, and I know how I would feel." This time Danny spoke with a hint of sadness. "How long has it been since you visited the cemetery?"

Josh reflected on the question. "My dad has been gone for close to a year and a half. It has been almost a year since I was there."

"Is this the exit coming up?"

"That's it. I could find this place in my sleep," Josh said. "And probably did several late nights coming home from college," he chuckled. "My dad was always waiting up for me, though."

An inexplicable emptiness of his parents being gone wrenched at his heart. Josh scanned the countryside, looking for solace in the familiar surroundings. A smattering of pines and a few wild, purple Wisterias in bloom decorated the immediate landscape.

This part of the world held many memories for him. Not the least of which involved football. Alabama was still a major contender in the SEC. The Crimson Tide had had a good run in the last few years.

Josh had chosen to attend the University of Alabama not only because of the school's proximity to his home but also because of his father's love for its former coach. Everyone in the state, and most football fans his father's age, had revered Paul "Bear" Bryant. Bryant had led the Crimson Tide to more major bowl games than any coach in the school's history. Most Alabamians shared a sense of pride in his accomplishments.

When Josh was a young boy, Samuel Harrison had often referred to Bear Bryant when he wanted to teach his son a life lesson. He had pointed out how the coach always taught his players self-discipline. "Through self-discipline you can win every game," his dad had said. "It will help you in every aspect of life, including the spiritual."

No doubt, that principle had stuck early. One day, when Josh was five years old, he refused to eat the green peas on his plate. Questioned by his father, he had looked up and said, "Call me Bear, Dad. I didn't let myself eat them."

From that point forward, the nickname stuck. Especially when Josh excelled or persevered.

Within fifteen minutes the bus pulled in front of Rock Creek Church. Danny eased the big Prevost to a stop beneath the shade of a few straggling pine trees, and Josh stepped into the cool, spring morning.

As he walked up the path toward the white clapboard church, he reflected on its steeple. Years ago, he and his father had carved the simple, wooden cross that sat on top of it.

The spire cast a long shadow upon the ancient plots to the west, the resting place of those who had planted the church more than a hundred years ago. When he was a child, Josh had enjoyed walking through the graveyard, reading the names of those who had gone before. Even then, many of the stones stood decayed and mute. The wind and the sediment had filed away the letters of long-forgotten names. Josh wondered now if the testimony of those who lay beneath had gone silent too. How long did our work remain after we no longer walked this earth?

Looking across the hillside, he marveled at the carpet of grass that already covered the ground. Several hundred feet away, a row of newly leaved trees stood guard, just before the land dropped to a creek below. It was a scene that had forever been painted in his mind the day they laid his daddy to rest beside his mother.

Josh walked toward the rise in the terrain, near the north end of the tree line. As he approached, he could hear the babbling of the water below. The sound took him back to days long ago, when he had fished in this creek with his dad. The stream always ran clear, cleansed by the rocks protruding from the brown, Central Alabama soil.

From dust to dust.

He had heard his daddy preach those words many times inside the old, white church behind him. The Genesis story of God creating man from the ashes of the earth had been one of his favorites as a child. That, and the beauty of this old cemetery, had almost led him to the study of archaeology.

He smiled. Perhaps his mother's love of music had been written stronger in his genes. He could see her now, sitting at the piano. Her face glowed when she played old hymns from a faded green songbook. She had known every page by heart, yet her expression displayed unexpected joy as she read each note.

Memories flooded back faster than Josh could comprehend. Daddy's sudden death from a heart attack. His mom's less merciful, extended relationship with cancer. Now Beth.

He choked back tears.

Was he destined to live his life alone? How long would it be before he knew if Beth would survive? If their child would live or die.

Tonight, he would sing for two thousand, but none could know the depths of his heart. He was thankful for that, because his faith had diminished to a shallow facade. Others saw only what he allowed them to see. Beth included. He couldn't let down his guard, for fear others would see that he was a fraud. An actor, who wondered if he could ever believe in complete joy again.

"Josh." Danny's voice pulled him back to the present. "I hate to bother you, but it's time to leave if we're going to make the show tonight."

Josh turned to see kindness and understanding on his friend's face. "Yes, we need to do that. Sorry-"

"No need to apologize," his driver said. "I spend a lot of time at my mother's grave." His voice faded into the rustle of the tree leaves.

Back in the bus, after a stop for fuel and a quick breakfast, Josh watched Danny merge into oncoming traffic, heading toward Jackson, Mississippi.

Several miles down the road, all of the colors appeared brighter. Perhaps it was the angle of the sun, or maybe Josh was refreshed by the time with his past.

"How do you do it?" he asked Danny.

"What?"

"How do you handle your mom's death so well? I know from experience, it's not easy."

"Look straight down the highway," Danny told him. He pointed with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. "Do you see how it disappears into the horizon when there's a rise ahead?"

"Yes."

"That's like our journey in this life." Danny glanced at the bus's control panel. "We're traveling seventy miles an hour. That's too fast to stop if for some reason the road ends over that hill." He shook his head. "But we would never make our goal-the show tonight-if I didn't keep the pedal to the metal."

Josh studied Danny's face for a clue about what he was saying.

"However," his driver continued. "I have faith that the road doesn't end over that hill. My faith is based on past experience that I can trust the department of transportation to continue the road." He glanced to Josh. "Just as I know I can trust God for whatever is next. Even for those things I can't see."

Josh nodded.

"He has gotten me and my family through some tough times. The hardest, so far, being my mom's passing. But the Good Lord has promised that I'll see her again. I have faith the road doesn't end here, and when the Lord calls us to the other side of the hill, the view will be completely different. We will see things as he sees them."

Josh marveled at his driver's words. "You should have been a preacher. You missed your calling."

"Nah." Danny's face turned a dark shade of red. "I'm just grateful for the blessings of my faith. And a little emotional." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Thanks for going out of your way today." Josh's response was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

It was Clint Garrett.

"Hey, man."

"Where are you?" Clint asked.

"In Mississippi, on our way to Jackson." Josh scanned the road ahead.

"Are you ready for some good news?"

"More than ready," Josh said. "Did we get our song cut?"

"Better."

"YOU cut our song?"

Clint laughed. "No."

"What could be better than that?" Josh teased.