Riven (13 page)

“You make it sound like the city dump.”

“No, no. It’s really quite interesting, but you need to check it out for yourself. You said she was under the weather anyway.”

“That’s why I’d rather not leave her.”

“She’s that bad off?”

“It’s just that we aren’t sure what the problem is. But I’ll let her decide.”

Dennis Asphalt & Paving

“Boring!” Peter called from atop the cab of the flatbed truck. “And I’m tired!”

“I gotta finish this,” Brady hollered back from the forklift. “And I don’t want you walking home alone.”

“Ma’s gonna be worried about us and probably mad.”

“I left her a note. Now just hang on.”

Brady had broken only one car stop, which he left in plain sight for Alejandro. But being so careful had cost him time, and it was already after ten. He was determined to fully load the delivery truck. He wanted to prove himself quickly and lock in this job. He liked the idea of being so close to the office—and, he assumed, petty cash or even a safe—with no one else around.

Peebles

“Seems to me if there’s one person we can trust,” Grace said, “it’s Mr. Johnson. I’ll be fine. You go tomorrow and hurry back because I’ll be dying to hear.”

Thomas got on the extension phone in the guest bedroom while Grace dialed Ravinia from the living room.

Their daughter had never been one to ease into a conversation.

“All right,” Ravinia said, “I know we’ve got some hard talking to do, but tell me why I should forgive you for worrying me to death. For all I knew you could be lying somewhere dead by the side of the road. What happened?”

“Now, dear,” Grace said, “we knew how you’d react, and obviously you know how we feel about your new living arrangement.”

“Does that make me an untouchable, Mom? You were never going to speak to me again?”

“You know better than that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, now stop being ridiculous. Your father will tell you what happened in Oldenburg after you tell us about your conversation with Patricia Pierce.”

A long pause.

Finally, “Well, first of all, I liked the idea. She sounded nice enough, and I was actually encouraged that a church had finally figured out how to welcome a new pastor. But then she said she hadn’t realized that I was married, that my parents hadn’t mentioned that for some reason—and believe me, I caught her tone—but that my husband was certainly welcome too, and wouldn’t it be a wonderful surprise.

“Of course I told her right away that Dirk and I were not married, and you could have cut the silence with the sword of the Lord. She said, ‘Yeah, well, I’m going to have to get back to you on that.’

“I said, ‘So, we’re uninvited; is that it?’

“She said, ‘Are you telling me that you and this Dirk are roommates?’

“I said, ‘More than that, ma’am; we’re lovers.’”

“Oh, Ravinia,” Grace said.

“C’mon, Mom. This is not news to you. I figured you had called. I hadn’t wanted you to hear it that way, but you know I wasn’t going to hide anything.”

“I almost wish you had.”

“No, you don’t. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. You have to give me that.”

“That
is
commendable, Rav,” Thomas said. “But there is the matter of considering our feelings.”

“Your reputation, you mean. So you got run out of there because you’ve got a daughter living in sin; is that it? You don’t have to answer. I know. I grew up with people like that.”

“We’re not like that, Rav.”

“I’m not talking about you, Dad. You’re surprisingly nonjudgmental, considering the people you associate with. But what do you call it when they judge you unqualified because a grown woman doesn’t still obey your wishes?”

Thomas spoke haltingly, telling Ravinia about the suggested course of action by the elders.

Ravinia responded with a hint of tears in her voice. “Dad, I’m about as livid as I can be. I’m sorry you and Mom are on the lam again, but I couldn’t be more proud that you did the right thing. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll find somebody to make these people wish they’d never even dreamed of this.”

“You know we’d never allow that,” Grace said.

“Of course I know that. But it’s a crime that they hide behind their religious status, their . . . their . . . I’d just love to teach them a lesson.”

“Leave that to the Lord,” Grace said.

“Dad, please get out of the ministry. I know you believe in it and think you’re serving God and all that—”

“I
am
serving God, Rav!”

“So where is He in this? Why does He let you get bludgeoned every time?”

“We don’t blame this on God, honey,” Grace said. “It’s His people who are imperfect, and—”

“You consider Patricia and her husband and their cohorts
God’s
people?”

“They’re just human, Ravinia.”

“They’re evil.”

“Now don’t—”

“I know. I’m evil too. But I have to tell you again, most of the people I’ve met since I left home have zero interest in God or church and certainly Jesus, but—with a few exceptions—none of them would ever do to another person what your so-called fellow Christians have done to you your whole career.”

Thomas rubbed his forehead and forced back a sob. “Rav, we would be remiss if we didn’t express how we feel about where you are right now.”

“I know, Dad. I know, I know, I know, okay? Spare us both the lecture. I don’t mean to hurt you. I hope you know I still care about you or I wouldn’t have even tried to find you.”

Thomas fought the urge to say she was showing her concern in a strange way. “And we want you to know that we love you unconditionally and that we’re praying for you.”

“And for Dirk?”

“Of course.”

“Mm-hm. Dad, please find something else to do. I mean for work. You’re smart and you’re kind. There must be something less stressful, more fair.”

“Well, I’m looking. I’ll keep you posted.”

Addison

Peter was yawning as they moseyed home. “I don’t have to come with you every night, do I?”

“’Course not. But you got a chance to see what I do.”

“Yeah, and it was cool. But it’s just the same thing over and over. And it looks harder than cleaning the laundry place, but at least you get to drive that thing.”

“It’s more money, and that’s important. I don’t want to live here all my life. Do you?”

“No way. But I don’t know what I want to do.”

“Just get out, I hope.”

“Long as I can live with you.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be easy. Soon as I get out of school or get a car, I’m gone. I’d have to fight Ma to let you live with me, and how would that work anyway? I couldn’t watch you, be home when you get out of school, all that. Maybe I can still talk Uncle Carl and Aunt Lois into taking you till you get out of school.”

“Ma’ll never let that happen.”

“Let me worry about that. She touched you since I warned her?”

Peter shook his head.

“You tellin’ me the truth?”

“Yeah. She hollers at me a lot. Threatens me.”

“Just one more time . . .”

“I know. And she knows. But when she’s drunk, I get scared because I think she forgets.”

“That I warned her? She’d better not.”

“Why does she hate me, Brady?”

Brady shrugged. “She hates everybody. She’s had a hard life, but you’d think she’d want to keep us close. I hate her.”

“Families on TV look like they have fun sticking together.”

“That’s just made up, Petey. You know anybody but Carl and Lois whose family is still together and seems to get along?”

Peter shook his head.

When they got home, Erlene Darby stood in the doorway, staring at them.

“What are you thinking, keeping Petey out this late? Give me one reason I shouldn’t whip your tail.”

Brady pushed Peter past her and told him to get to bed. “Because I’d kill you, Ma, that’s why. You think I’m gonna leave him here with you when you come home drunk and mad?”

“I’m not mad at him, Brady! I’m mad at you!”

“Just don’t worry about me. If Petey’s with me, you know he’s okay. If he’s with you, I never know.”

“He deserved that beating, and you know it.”

“Nobody deserved that.”

She flipped him an obscene gesture.

“Yeah, that’s nice. I’m so glad I’ve got a classy mom.”

She swore. “Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.”

Brady stomped back to his and Peter’s bedroom and undressed, banging doors and drawers and dropping onto the bed.

“Sorry, Brady.”

Brady fought his rage. He didn’t want to break down in front of Peter.

“Oh, it’s not your fault, little man. I shoulda known she’d be ticked. I can’t take you with me every night, so just get along with her any way you can. Stay out of her way. Do what you’re told. And if you ever feel scared, like she’s gonna do something to you, you know where I am, and you come running.”

15

Noon, Wednesday | Denny’s Restaurant | Adamsville

Thomas didn’t have much of an appetite, and he wished Jimmie Johnson would get to the subject: the Careys’ future.

But Jimmie was eating ravenously, sometimes talking with his mouth full and about only inconsequential matters. Finally he wiped his mouth and pushed his plate forward and his chair back. “Ever done prison ministry, Thomas?”

“Cook County Jail when I was a student in Chicago. Jail stuff in small towns. A prison in Alabama. Nothing extensive.”

“How’d it go?”

Thomas shrugged. “I always felt terribly for the prisoners. But I could never tell if I was getting through. Just preached Christ, you know. Never got into teaching or discipling, anything like that.”

“But you could.”

“Sure.”

“Ever thought about becoming a prison chaplain?”

“Can’t say I have. You have no more churches that need an old expository preacher?”

“You’re not that old, Thomas, but you do carry yourself that way. Ever been told that?”

“I have. I don’t guess I care that much about appearances.”

“Sure you do. You’re well groomed, clean, neat. A little dated, but more than presentable.”

Thomas sipped his coffee. “Now there’s high praise.”

Jimmie laughed. “I’m just trying to encourage you, because I’ve got to tell you, if I’d been through what you’ve been through, I’d have thrown in the towel a long time ago. All I hear about you is that you’re a wonderful servant, but people tend to walk all over you. If I have to be honest, and I know no other way to help, your preaching doesn’t get high marks. Nobody says you don’t know your Bible, but you’re no—”

“—Billy Graham. Yeah, I know. I should put that on my résumé. But I’m not a quitter, Jimmie. And if it’s true I get bullied now and again, are you sure a prison chaplaincy is the right move? I’m not sure I could handle the endless jokes about a captive audience and all that.”

“You’d get your share of those. I don’t know, Thomas. My fear is you’re out of options. But I’m not going to try to talk you into anything.”

Thomas turned and stared out the window, exhaling loudly. “Well, where’s the opening?”

“The state penitentiary.”

“Right here? It’s a supermax, isn’t it?”

“State-of-the-art for the worst of the worst, they tell me. There are something like twenty-two thousand inmates in this state, and the worst nine hundred or so are here at Adamsville.”

“Quite a mission field.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“That would be a baptism of fire, Jimmie, when the worst place I’ve been is Cook County and that more than twenty-five years ago. How’d this position come open anyway?”

“Our guy’s retiring. Been in the system forty years. Lots of rules and law changes make it almost impossible to get a chaplain in there, but because we had one for so long, and the administration loved him, we can grandfather in someone new if we act fast.”

“Who would the new guy work for? You or the state?”

“The state, but while it includes benefits, they don’t pay much, so we subsidize. It’s still not much, Thomas, but it’d be regular and you wouldn’t have to worry about congregations coming up with your salary.”

“That would be nice.”

“You’re open to this?”

“Grace and I will pray about it.”

“See why I didn’t want her to come? She couldn’t visit the prison anyway, and if she did, she might be against it.”

“Can I visit?”

“We can see. But Chaplain Russ is happy to talk to you, provided you’re at least curious.”

“Oh, I’m at least that.”

“Then you’ll forgive me if I wave him over?”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s here, just in case. That’s him in the corner.”

A large, ruddy, robust man in his late sixties smiled shyly and raised his brows. Thomas offered a subdued salute, and Jimmie beckoned him. He brought his sandwich and coffee with him.

After quick introductions and a laugh when Thomas said he felt conspired against, Ross said, “Reverend Carey, I’m not gonna try to sell you on this. Fact, I might try to talk you out of it. It’s not for a weak man, not for someone looking to take a break.”

“Oh, I assure you—”

“’Cause let me tell you what ASP consists of, bein’ a security-level-five institution. First off, it’s got a death row. There’s nine in that pod right now. Then you’ve got your real baddies, lifers who have murdered, raped, abused, whatnot. Then you’ve got your attempted escapees from other facilities. There’s none of that here, understand, because this place was built in what’s called an envelope design. Other words, say a guy somehow escapes his cell—which hasn’t even happened since this place opened ten years ago. These guys are in their houses—that’s what we call their cells—twenty-three hours a day. They get an hour alone in the exercise unit, which is just a few feet away from their cellblock, and every three days they get to go to the shower. That’s the only chance they’d get to try to pull something. But let’s just say they did. From the exercise area or the shower, they subdue a corrections officer—don’t ever demean those professionals by callin’ ’em guards, by the way, or worse, turnkeys or screws—and somehow get out of the cellblock. That’s just the first of eleven envelopes they’d have to open to even get out to the yard, which is surrounded by walls, guarded by sharpshooters in the towers, and covered by razor wire. And every one of those envelopes is constantly watched, live and on monitors, and every door can be unlocked only with the cooperation of an officer in a control unit.”