Godless (7 page)

“Something you did?”

Frank looked like a man covering cards he'd been dealt at the blackjack table. He leaned forward to pick up the thick novel. “Why do you like this?” he asked, apparently eager to redirect the conversation.

The question displaced Alex's train of thought.

“I mean, he makes a pretty good case against God.”

“Does he?” asked Alex while watching his guest inspect the volume.

“You don't agree?” asked Frank.

“I don't. But more importantly, neither would the author. He was trying to make the case
for
God, not against him.”

“A God who makes innocent kids suffer?”

“Is that what you took away from the novel?”

A hesitant nod.

“Then I'm afraid you may have missed the point.”

A flush on Frank's neck told Alex the comment had wounded a fragile ego. He continued anyway.

“
The Brothers Karamazov
is about what happens when people reject belief in God. When we abandon the good that God is, all that's left is the evil that he isn't.”

A long silence.

“Can I ask you another question?” asked Frank.

“Of course.”

“What's your view on death?”

“I'm against it.” Alex smiled at himself.

“I mean, do you consider it a good to embrace or an evil to avoid?”

Alex thought for a moment before answering. “I consider it a foe that's been defeated.”

“So an enemy?”

“Of course. We were made for life, not death. That's why our Lord came, to defang the snake.”

Frank appeared confused. Or perhaps disturbed. “You mean Jesus?”

“Yes. Jesus.”

“The one who embraced death?”

“Not embraced it. Defeated it.”

It suddenly dawned on Alex that his mysterious guest might be contemplating something drastic in response to his depression. But before the thought could fully form, a knocking sound invaded the moment. Alex spun toward the door to see a somewhat embarrassed Mrs. Mayhew peering in.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Pastor,” she said. “But I can't seem to find a diaper in little Joey's bag and, well, you know.”

Alex blushed toward his guest. “My apologies,” he said.

“Who's little Joey?”

“My youngest. Mrs. Mayhew is kind enough to watch him for the day. My wife is on a field trip with our daughter.”

“Two kids. Wow!”

“Three, actually,” Alex said while moving toward the door. He felt the rebuke of Tamara's final earlier instruction to “Pick up a pack of Huggies on the way.”

“Listen,” Frank said, standing, “I'll get out of your way. I appreciate your time and all, but…”

“No. Please.” Alex raised his hand like a cop halting traffic. “There's something I need to ask you. I won't be long.”

Five minutes later Mrs. Mayhew pulled away with little Joey strapped safely in his car seat, freeing Alex to return. The detour had given him a moment to consider how he might discover the real reason “Frank” had come.

His first
impulse was to leave.

He had expected a kind, elderly gentleman nodding mindlessly at details of the dark days: the heavy drinking, the gambling losses, and even the girls. If that had gone well he might even have scheduled a second session to discuss Reverend Grandpa, his mom, and the rest. Matthew had scheduled the appointment in search of respite. But this Pastor Alex, whoever he was, seemed ready to attack.

But curiosity won the moment. What question would the minister ask? How, Matthew wondered, had a complete stranger perceived a secret Matthew hadn't fully realized until the moment he heard the pastor say the words? Matthew
was
mad at God. Not the God he had abandoned in childhood. Nor the one he had borrowed from Dr. Vincent's lectures. Matthew was angry with the real God. The one who, as Alex had put it, had failed to show up.

So he stayed. No harm in sticking around a few more minutes and then going on as if the conversation had never happened. After all, Matthew had never mentioned his real name. He need never see Pastor Alex again.

“Please forgive me,” the minister said, closing the door behind him and retaking his seat. “Thank you for sticking around.”

Matthew nodded, an invitation for the invasion to begin.

Pastor Alex took a deep breath before restarting the conversation. “May I ask why you wanted to know my view on death?” he asked.

“No reason,” Matthew said. “Just curious, you being a minister and all. I figure you must deal with death a lot.”

“I do. I conducted a funeral just this past week for a longtime member of Christ Community.” The minister paused to look directly into Matthew's eyes. “He committed suicide.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” It was the thing to say.

“I had to try explaining why the man ended his own life to the four-year-old little girl who had discovered his corpse.”

Matthew winced at the image.

“She asked me whether her grandpa was in heaven with her grandma.”

“Sweet. What'd you say?”

“Probably the wrong thing,” Alex confessed. “But I couldn't tell her the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that I'm not sure where her grandfather is right now.”

“In a better place?” Matthew suggested. “I mean, don't all Christian ministers believe in an afterlife?”

“We do. But we also believe in an after-death. That little girl's grandfather could just as well be entering an eternity separated from God as the bliss of heaven.”

“You told her that?”

“Of course not!”

It hadn't occurred to Matthew that ministers might doubt the eternal destiny of the faithful. Hadn't he just said the man was a longtime member of the church?

“What did you say when the girl asked if her grandpa was with her grandma?”

Alex inhaled regretfully. “I hope so. I told her that I hope so.”

“Seems like a safe response. Harmless enough.”

“Is it?” the minister asked. “Is it harmless to let a little girl believe her grandfather's transition has nothing to do with the state of his soul?”

“Wait,” Matthew said. “You never said it was a transition. I thought you said the girl found the body.”

“She did, when the family came down from Nebraska for a visit. His corpse was in the bathtub.”

“Not in a clinic?”

“They're doing them in homes now.”

“They leave the bodies?”

“Oh, no, that was a scheduling error. The man had mistyped the date when registering himself for disposal.”

Matthew vaguely recalled his boss mentioning something about transitions taking place in homes, a practice that might reduce the number of potential MedCom clients. But he had dismissed the threat. Why would anyone choose a self-serve, low-cost option for such an important event?

Apparently, some already had.

Conflicting emotions played king of the hill in Matthew's mind.

First, a sense of diminishment, as if the end of some nameless stranger's life had somehow stolen a fraction of value from Matthew's own. He shook off the feeling in favor of a less troubling emotion, offense. How dare this minister equate a transition with suicide or suggest volunteering might damn an eternal soul! The girl's late grandfather, like Matthew's own mother, hadn't been a coward. They had been heroic. They had given a gift, not committed a sin.

“So you think the girl's grandfather went to hell?”

“I didn't say that,” Alex said quickly. “I don't presume to know what was going on in his heart and mind. I prefer to think he was confused, or even deceived. But I know one thing for certain, Frank. No matter what you're facing or what you might have done, suicide is not the answer.”

The statement stunned Matthew.
He thinks I'm planning to kill myself
?

“What did you say?” he asked.

“There are ways to treat depression, Matthew. Have you seen a doctor?”

Matthew felt a rising fury more intense than the one that had driven him from Mrs. Baxter's kitchen table. She had felt sorry for him. But that offense paled in comparison with this. Why on earth would he think Matthew so pathetic, so weak? Sure, he had gone through a dark spell. Who hadn't? But he had clawed his way back, no thanks to the God Pastor Alex Ware seemed so fond of. Matthew had a good job, one he did well. He was on track for the best month of commissions he had ever earned, which promised to put him back in the black.

He stood. “I need to go now.”

“But…” Alex began.

“No!” Matthew shouted, surprising even himself. He took a deep breath while considering his next move. Flushed with embarrassment and wrath, he chose to walk toward the door.

The pastor didn't pursue. He remained seated, calmly looking toward the space Matthew had abruptly fled.

“Have you read the whole book?” he asked as if the outburst had never occurred.

“What whole book?” said Matthew, his voice trembling slightly.

“
The Brothers Karamazov
.”

“Of course,” he lied.

The minister shifted in his chair, turning slowly toward the door, where Matthew stood eager to exit. “Then you know what happens to Ivan Karamazov.” He approached Matthew while extending his hand. “I'd hate to see something similar happen to you.”

They shook hands, silently, before Matthew slipped hastily out of the room.

Kevin recognized
the outcropping of rocks. Just beyond the river's bend, the quietness of their scenic trip through Brown's Canyon was about to end. He braced himself—not for the rough water ahead, but for Angie's reaction when she realized he hadn't been
entirely
honest.

“Kevin?” she intoned, nervously gripping the paddle even tighter. “What's that?”

He cupped his ear toward the faint sound of the approaching rapids while glancing to Troy for fraternal support. He just shrugged.

Angie looked at Julia. She had nothing to offer since it was her first time on the river also.

Kevin returned his gaze to his wife and smiled, sheepishly. “Um. Just a bit of white water.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But…well…you should know better than to trust a politician!” He pointed to the breaking water ahead with the end of his paddle. “Time for a little fun!”

The raft drifted faster now, swaying slightly in the increased flow of the river. Angie gasped, pulling her paddle backward through the water in a futile attempt to stop moving. “If we get out of this alive, Mr. Politician—”

She paused long enough to shove her side of the raft away from one of the huge rocks.

“—I'm going to kill you!”

A moment after they had steered around a large series of boulders, the front half of the raft reared upward, nearly catapulting Kevin from his seat before slamming back down into a watery valley. The splash soaked Kevin's face, temporarily blinding him as he repositioned his legs to prevent being thrown. Julia screamed with delight from behind as Troy shoved his paddle into the rapids to keep them heading in some semblance of forward. The raft shifted again as the river began another series of drops.

“Hang on,” Kevin shouted over the now-roaring rapids. He glanced at his wife, making sure she was OK. Even drenched from head to toe, with strands of hair stuck to her forehead in disarray, she was a lovely sight to behold. She brushed a clump from her face with the back of her paddling hand while tightening her grip with the other.

Ultimately, it had been Troy who'd convinced her to come along on this “little excursion,” as he'd called it. “Water might get a little bumpy a few times, but nothing too bad.” And of course, there had been Julia, all over the idea of a “little adventure.” The word
little
had been used no fewer than six times to describe the outing. Of course, there was nothing little about it. At least that's how Angie would see it. Kevin, however, wasn't worried.

“What about the kids?” Angie had asked, figuring she had a definite out with that one. “Who's gonna watch them while we're off gallivanting?”

But then Julia's sister Maria had stepped in to salvage the plan. “I think Jared and I can manage the rug rats for a few hours,” she had said.

Now the tiny boat spun halfway around before nose-diving into yet another valley, soaking everyone. Julia shrieked, then laughed wildly. She was having the time of her life, it seemed. Troy shared a satisfied grin with Kevin before digging his paddle into the water to help spin them back in the right direction.

Fifteen minutes later they were dragging their raft up onto the shoreline of a more peaceful stretch off the main river. Kevin thought that Angie might have actually enjoyed the white water for a few brief moments. Then he placed his hand on the small of her back affectionately. She just jerked away, giving him a rather cold shoulder. Now he was worried he'd made a mistake giving in to Troy's suggestion that they make their “relive our youth” trip through the canyon a double date.

Kevin sighed. At least they had made it safely through the roughest part of the trip. Now it was time to relax. Allow the sun to dry them off, refuel with food, and enjoy much-needed time away from Washington.

Angie and Julia unpacked their modest cooler while Troy unfolded the camping chairs. Kevin gathered fallen branches from some of the nearby trees and stoked a flame inside a makeshift fire pit.

“Whew!” Kevin said as he plopped onto the edge of the raft next to his wife. His excitement echoed off the surrounding rocky walls. “I gotta admit…I don't remember the river being quite that wild!”

Angie pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, glaring at her husband. “Trying to make orphans out of the kids?”

Troy laughed—until Kevin reached across and slugged him in the shoulder.

“So, the two of you did this a lot?” Julia asked her husband.

Troy shrugged. “Maybe two or three times a year. Back in our college days.”

“Men,” Angie said disparagingly…although Kevin noted the glint in her expression. He knew that somewhere deep down she quietly admired Kevin's adventurous side. And he loved her all the more for her willingness to play along—especially when she'd clearly rather keep her feet planted firmly on dry ground.

“I don't know, Angie,” Julia said. “I thought it was fun. Freeing. Like the rest of the world is a million miles away.” She leaned in close to Troy, resting her head against his shoulder. His arm reached up around her. It was still a foreign sight to Kevin, but one that looked good on his best friend.

“I'm glad you guys could fly out,” Troy said while pulling Julia closer. “We've seen less and less of you since the reelection campaign kicked into high gear.”

Angie tore open a package of hot dogs and skewered one before handing it to Kevin. Truth was he needed some kind of break from all the stress of politicking. Coming out to visit his parents had been as good an excuse as any. And Angie needed the distraction even more than he did. While he was off hobnobbing with the rich and powerful, she was trying to juggle physical therapy appointments for little Leah while keeping the other three kids fed, clothed, and alive.

“A million miles away,” Kevin said with a smile, Julia's words returning to him. He held his stick over the tiny flame. “It feels great. But I will say I'm starting to feel a bit like this hot dog out in D.C.”

Julia looked toward Angie inquisitively.

“Not getting the promised support for the Bright Spots Initiative,” Angie explained, repeating the very words her husband had said to her over the dinner table a dozen times in the prior month.

A million miles away, maybe, but Kevin still couldn't keep his mind from his work. Even here, away from it all, he'd managed to raise the subject.

“Sorry,” he said. “I did it again. I promised Angie not to discuss work for at least twenty-four hours and there I go.”

Angie grinned, then shrugged. “Well, you managed almost thirteen. I'll give you partial credit.”

He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, boss.”

Angie slapped his chest, then accepted his overpowering squeeze.

Troy poked at the diminishing flames with a stick, then stood. “Fire's not gonna last very long without fuel. I'll go find some dry wood.”

“Let me help,” Kevin said, handing his wife his makeshift skewer.

“Oh, I get it,” she said with mock offense. “Go on. I'll handle the cooking, as usual!”

Kevin laughed while planting a kiss on Angie's forehead.

They took their time wandering among the trees, away from the river's edge.

“So, what's
really
bothering you?” Troy prodded.

Kevin pursed his lips, glancing back to make sure Angie was out of earshot before answering flatly, “Franklin.”

Troy nodded knowingly as his friend continued.

“He promised me the Youth Initiative Expansion Act would include the Bright Spots amendment I worked my tail off to incorporate into the House version.”

“Cut from the Senate version. I know.” Troy cleared his throat. “And I told you.”

Kevin remembered his friend's warning. “Don't trust him. He'll sell you out.” He should have listened.

Troy shoved a pile of kindling into Kevin's arms. “Which incidentally means I owe you a head rub.”

Kevin smiled at the reminder of his friend's favorite retaliation. It had been too long. He missed their playful banter that had spanned decades, from debating the best way to attract freshman cheerleaders to which failing business to turn around. Even while serving as Kevin's chief of staff in Congress, Troy often stole a private moment to place his boss in a headlock until Kevin admitted the mistake of mistrusting his friend's instincts.

And this mistake, Kevin knew, deserved more than a mere head rub.

“Do you think it's too late to try your approach?”

Troy said nothing in response to the violation of tradition.

“Come on, Troy,” Kevin said.

Troy waited without a word.

“OK,” the congressman relented. “You were right. I was wrong.”

“I know,” Troy said with a rising grin.

“Now, will you answer the question?”

“Maybe. But maybe not.”

“Let's go with the maybe not,” Kevin prodded. “Best play?”

“Best play would be for you to tell Franklin you plan to walk.”

Kevin dropped the pile of sticks. “Walk? Are you nuts? The convention is less than a month away.”

“And?” Troy replied.

“And I represent an important voting bloc.”

“And?”

“And I can't walk or I lose all influence in the platform debate.”

“Oh. You mean the kind of influence that would prevent Franklin from cutting the Bright Spots amendment from the Youth Initiative Expansion?”

Kevin felt the rebuke.

“Don't kid yourself, Congressman. Franklin has no intention of letting your ideas shape the party's agenda. His biggest donors live and die by quarterly earnings reports, not generational demographic trends.”

They had had this argument before. Kevin had won. But Troy had been right.

“Go on,” Kevin said meekly.

“As soon as Franklin gets the nomination I expect him to abandon the Bright Spots proposal entirely.”

It was a reality that Kevin had refused to accept. Until now.

“So I should walk away?”

“Of course not,” Troy replied.

“But you just said…”

“I said you should tell Senator Franklin you
plan
to walk. I didn't say you should actually walk.”

“Bluff?” Kevin asked indignantly.

“No. Mean it. And make sure he knows you mean it. Then you won't need to do it.”

“I don't follow.”

Troy rolled his eyes, then bent down to begin recovering the kindling Kevin had let fall. “Franklin keeps you close for one reason. He's probably been told he can't win the nomination, let alone the election, without breeder support.”

Kevin winced.
Breeder
had been an offensive slur before it became a useful label among the political and media elite. Usually spoken with sneering disdain, the tag referred to the one segment of the population still growing. The segment Kevin, more than anyone else in D.C., embodied. It was the only real bright spot in an ever-darkening economy, and a source of long-term stability his Bright Spots amendment had been intended to defend.

“He won't let you walk. He can't. The bloc of votes you represent is too important to him,” Troy observed. “As it is, he hopes you'll play along and be nice until after the election. Then he'll drop you and your proposal like a hot potato.”

“You may be right,” Kevin said, the words sticking in his craw.

“I'm definitely right,” Troy corrected.

“But riding the Franklin wave seemed the best way to get my ideas out there.”

“It was,” Troy agreed. “But the only way to keep them out there is to play hardball. Make Franklin promise you he will publically support the Bright Spots agenda during the convention.”

“Make him?”

“Threaten him, then. Tell him you need concrete assurances or he can kiss your smiling, vote-generating face goodbye.”

Kevin sighed. “That would be bold.”

“It would.”

“But it would also be risky,” Kevin added hesitantly. “What if he calls my bluff?”

“I already told you,” Troy said sternly. “It wouldn't be a bluff. What's the point of everything we've done if we back down now? The fund-raising, the campaigning, even launching the Center for Economic Health would be for nothing if you don't hold your ground. Franklin is a fiscal conservative to the core. He's not going to change course on his support for the Youth Initiative without someone holding a gun to his head.”

Kevin said nothing as the weight of Troy's words settled onto his shoulders.

“Come on, Congressman,” Troy said, piling one final log on Kevin's burgeoning armload. “The girls are probably onto us by now. We have enough wood for a bonfire. Time to head back.”

Back to his wife, yes. Back to the world, a million miles away…not yet.