Godless (9 page)

Kevin said nothing, offering a single nod while attacking the river with another stone.

Troy grunted in disgust.

Julia felt her own anger rise with Troy's. Two years earlier she might have celebrated such a tax. She probably would have written a column hailing it as another innovative response to the growing financial crisis. Twelve months earlier she might have wondered what to think, torn between the expectations of her readers and a Christian faith she had only begun to nurture. But today she had no doubt or internal conflict. Such bullying of the elderly was just plain wrong.

“I wish I could help,” Julia said.

Troy put an appreciative hand on his wife's sagging shoulder. They both knew it had been months since Julia received an assignment worthy of her reputation. The series of bright spot and dark zone stories written for RAP Syndicate had helped Kevin by creating a stir among readers. But it had also prompted questions from the editorial board that eventually led to the hushed departure of Paul Daugherty, the editor who had contracted Julia to pen the series. So her once-steady stream of work ran dry. All she had left was an occasional opinion column carried by syndicates too small to realize how far Julia's star had fallen.

“So do I, Julia,” said Kevin. “So do I.”

She sensed Kevin willing himself back into good spirits, a man determined to enjoy his brief but overdue break. Julia blushed at having burdened Angie with such minor worries as Amanda's tantrum.

“Listen, Troy,” Kevin began, “I've got a few ideas brewing…” He hesitated, glancing toward Angie, who nodded permission to continue the thought.

But rather than continue, Kevin's eyes peered toward the food pouch lying open on the ground. “But we can talk about that after…”

A spark of recognition lit Troy's eyes as Kevin removed a small object from the bag. “I'm with you, buddy!” he said eagerly, as if suddenly transported to another time and place.

Julia looked curiously toward Kevin's hand. From it dangled a package she hadn't seen in decades.

“Moon pies!” Angie said with repulsion.

“Yeah, baby!” Kevin answered, winking away his wife's rebuke. “A Tolbert/Simmons tradition.”

“Toss one of those beauties my way!” Troy said lustfully.

Angie moaned while flashing a mock gag in her friend's direction.

“Like I said,” Julia winked. “They can't help themselves!”

Alex finished
his usual Sunday morning greeting with a “special welcome for anyone visiting this weekend,” then moved seamlessly into the few platform announcements. As usual, each had been scripted so he could emphasize key details with a quick glance at a tablet screen embedded in the pulpit. He had learned not to veer too far from the prepared comments, since the same text would arrive in every attendee's pocket device halfway into his message, another brilliant idea from the innovation committee. They knew that many of the people sitting through the sermon while looking at their digital tablets only pretended to fill in the open spaces in his notes. Why not reinforce the announcements by providing a scrolling script in the right column of their screens? Those actually listening to the pastor would benefit from reminders of upcoming church activities. Those playing a game or reading an article might instead tap the links and learn more about how to get involved.

The next item, however, had no scrolling text. Phil Crawford had decided to bypass the usual routine in order to “up the game” for his announcement.

“Thank you, Pastor,” Phil began after approaching the microphone. As planned, Alex had explained that the chairman would be sharing “an important word from the elder board.”

Phil paused before launching into his prepared remarks. That's when a digital image appeared on the platform screen. It took Alex a moment to recognize the couple, a much younger version than the one he had met.

“Those of us who have been around for some time fondly remember Wayne and Wendy Bentley.” Phil paused while a different picture appeared, followed by a series of others, each showing the couple a bit older than the last. “The Bentleys modeled what it means to give sacrificially to the ministry of Christ Community Church.”

Alex took a seat beside Tamara in the front row. As usual, she clasped his fingers with hers and gently pulled her husband's body close. Only this time her reassuring touch met the stiffness of bottled ire. He knew what was about to happen. Everything within him wanted to stand back up, walk onto the platform, and cut Phil off. But he instead sat silently in his usual spot waiting for the teaching portion of the service, the one part of his job still largely in his control.

“Ten days ago Wayne went to be with the Lord and his beloved bride, who had ended a long battle with cancer only six months before.”

Alex recognized the next photograph. It included an image of his own daughter smiling broadly while presenting flowers to a weak but grateful Mrs. Bentley. Wendy loved it when Alex and Tamara brought the children with them on their visits to the hospital.

“Wendy loved children,” Phil said with a smile. “Not to mention flowers,” he added, prompting the congregation to chuckle on cue.

Tamara gave her husband a gentle squeeze as if inviting him to enjoy the moment. What his wife didn't know, and what infuriated Alex further, was that the image of their daughter had been included to increase the congregation's receptivity to a request Alex would never have made and that Wendy Bentley would have deeply resented.

“Do you know what else Wendy Bentley loved?” Phil Crawford continued. “She loved the work of the Lord. And it was that love that motivated her and Wayne to allocate a significant portion of their estate as a charitable gift to this church. So, on behalf of the elder board, I'd like to extend our deepest sympathies to the family of Wayne and Wendy Bentley as well as express appreciation to these longtime members for allocating a significant portion of their estate to Christ Community Church. Wendy. Wayne. If you can hear me now, know that we accept your donation with the utmost thanks and humility.”

A spontaneous outpouring of applause came from the congregation in a show of obligatory solidarity while the chairman of the board appeared to gather notes. Alex held his breath. Had Phil decided to nix the rest of his script?

“A final word is in order,” he began as the ovation waned. “I think Wayne would want you to know that he passed as a Youth Initiative volunteer…”

Alex sensed Tamara's eyes dart in his direction.

“…and that he made sure that his will specifically named Christ Community Church as a transition beneficiary, something I'm certain he would want us to encourage everyone over seventy years old to seriously consider as a way of giving their sacrifice even greater significance.”

“Did you know about this?” Tamara whispered intensely into Alex's ear.

He responded with the slow nod of a beaten man.

“What are you going to say about it?”

“Nothing,” he whispered back. “I can't.”

His wife's fingers slipped out of his hand.

As Phil moved off the platform, the worship leader took his place. That's when Alex noticed something dancing on his tablet screen. On everyone's screen. It appeared in the service-flow window designed for those old enough to remember and prefer hymnals, most of them in the target demographic for Phil's appeal. The same worship words that appeared on the large platform screens could also be sized to fit in the palm of your hand. The bouncing icon read
EXPLORE TRANSITION GIVING NOW
and included the tiny image of a heart. Alex looked closer. The heart had a cross in the center.

He scowled in the general direction of Phil Crawford, who retook his seat. The chairman looked pleased with his demonstration of how to make an announcement stick.

For the next thirty-one minutes Alex presented a sermon that, he hoped, managed to avoid a single pitfall. Psalm 23 seemed like safe territory. Who could object to the Lord's being our shepherd or leading us beside still waters? It was the kind of message his board seemed to want. No controversy or guilt, flawlessly delivered and perfectly forgettable.

As he invited the congregation to pray, he scanned the sea of bowing heads. Actually, not a sea. More like a collection of ponds interrupting the landscape of empty seats. Despite a trickle of growth that had occurred on Alex's watch, it had been many Sundays since anyone had accused the sanctuary of reaching capacity.

As he began to voice a closing prayer, Alex noticed someone seated too far back to make out with any certainty. He was pretty good at noticing visitors, but this man looked vaguely familiar. Someone he had met recently. Anonymous Frank? Perhaps. But it could just as easily have been Mrs. Mayhew's nephew, who attended whenever he couldn't get tickets to a Rockies game, or some other middle-aged man sampling churches for a fresh crop of aging single gals.

“Amen,” he said before glancing up quickly. No sign of the man, the back door settling itself closed after aiding a prayer-cloaked escape.

The next face Alex saw was Tamara's. A wink of approval told him she had forgiven his cowardice. He smiled gratefully, then readied himself for the second half of his Sunday role by walking to the back of the auditorium while the congregation sang a closing chorus. Members knew they could find their pastor standing at the exit door saying thanks for attending, meeting any visitors brave enough to identify themselves as such, and navigating requests for prayer or from-the-hip counseling on everything from aching joints to addicted children.

After shaking his seventy-third hand, Alex noticed Phil Crawford standing in the vestibule surrounded by a small group of middle-aged parishioners. Kenny James was standing by his side, nodding in agreement at whatever Phil was saying.

“Hello, Pastor.”

Alex forced his eyes back. He saw Brandon Baxter standing before him. The newest member of the board had apparently waited for the usual stream of well-wishers and prayer-requesters to dissipate before approaching. Judging by the look on his face, he had something on his mind.

Maybe Psalm 23 hadn't been as harmless as Alex had assumed.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Brandon asked with a pitch and posture that seemed more penitent than hostile.

“Sure thing,” Alex said. “What's up?”

Brandon scanned for listening ears. “Do you mind if we slip into your office for a moment?”

Odd. Brandon had never asked to meet privately before.

They walked fifty feet down the hallway, where Alex invited Brandon to sit.

“No need,” he said. “I'll keep this brief. My wife and kids are out in the car.”

Alex waited as the young man cleared his throat nervously.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Alex searched his memory. To his knowledge, Brandon Baxter had never done anything to cause him offense, or to offend anyone for that matter. His mild temperament had been a breath of fresh air to Alex in contrast to the opinionated and pushy crew who comprised the majority of the church board. “Apologize for what?”

“For sitting there like a bump on a log during the meeting this week.”

Alex again searched for clues. It was true that Brandon Baxter hadn't said much. But he rarely did. Why the sudden regret?

“I should have spoken up when Phil started pushing the whole transition-donation thing. What he did today was awful. Just awful!”

Alex smiled warmly at his new ally. “I agree,” he said cautiously. “My stomach is still in knots.”

“Mine, too,” said Brandon.

Alex placed his hand on Brandon's shoulder, sensing there was more to be said. “What else?”

“It's my aunt. She called me this week after receiving news she had been declined an essential surgery. She's pretty upset about what happened.”

Alex couldn't recall ever meeting Brandon's aunt, something he didn't dare mention. “Does she want me to visit with her?”

“She does. She's never met you, but she watches the streamed service every weekend. She said you would understand why she's so agitated.”

He did. Several other older members of the congregation had slipped into despair after being told a simple procedure that might have extended their lives would cost more than they were worth.

“Of course. Surgery is scary enough. Being denied treatment is even worse.”

The look in Brandon's eyes told Alex he had missed something.

“Yes. But that's not what has upset her the most.”

“I see,” Alex said. “Then what did she want to talk about?”

“She received a visit this week from representatives from a company that tried to convince her to volunteer.”

“Oh?”

“It gets worse. That same evening her son called to thank her.”

“For volunteering?”

Brandon nodded. “He didn't know she had refused.”

Alex sighed deeply, angrily.

“Exactly,” Brandon added. “Anyway, she told me she wished her son could have heard what you said last weekend.”

A blank expression told Brandon his pastor couldn't recall.

“You remember. Phil quoted you in the board meeting. You said we should treat the elderly as a source of wisdom rather than a source of capital to solve our economic problems.”

Alex nodded at the recollection.

Brandon appeared contrite again. “I felt terrible.”

“About what?”

“A day after I let Phil criticize you for playing politics my aunt quoted you as a source of hope. Until that moment I never connected the dots. Like the rest of the board, I was so concerned about your words offending some I never considered how they might sustain others.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Again, I'm sorry.”

“Forgiven,” Alex said warmly. “And appreciated.”

“Here's my aunt's number. I said I would ask you to call when you have time.”

“I'll do it.”

“Thanks, Pastor.”

“No,” Alex replied. “Thank you, Brandon. I can't tell you what this means.”

They returned to the lobby, where Phil Crawford and Kenny James appeared to be waiting to corner their pastor.

Brandon lingered, apparently sensing an ambush.

The pair approached full of news.

“You won't believe what happened after the service!” Phil began. “Tell him, Kenny.”

“A group of at least five couples circled Phil immediately after dismissal to ask about his announcement.”

Alex had a bad feeling they hadn't done so to confront him.

“Yeah,” Phil interjected. “I hadn't anticipated such positive response from the young. I thought my announcement would fly right past them.”

“What did they say?” Alex asked flatly.

“Not say. Ask! They had all kinds of questions, mostly about how to approach the subject with their parents.”

“What subject?”

“Volunteering. What else?”

“Yeah,” Kenny added enthusiastically. “Three of them had been discussing the subject for months, trying to figure out how to encourage a mom or dad to transition without hurting their feelings.”

“They said the way I framed it today would be helpful…”

“
Extremely
helpful!” Kenny corrected. “They said
extremely
helpful.”

Phil appeared pleased by the clarification.

Brandon's eyes met Alex's. Neither said a word.

“What did I tell you, Pastor?” Phil said before turning to leave with his sidekick. “Before long I think we'll see more lump sum donations coming our way!”

Alex watched the two men walk toward the door, Kenny patting Phil on the back in congratulations for a job well done. They stopped their advance when Phil turned back toward Alex. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, like a coach eager to motivate a promising rookie. “Great sermon today, Pastor.”