Summer Sanctuary (10 page)

It was slowly sinking in. Embarrassment rushed in as the anger drained out. “So why was she on probation?”

“Jerry,” Dinah said with disgust. “He's the one who got her drunk and made her drive him around to begin
with, and he's the one who made her drive his car to the store when the taillight was out. He's such a loser!” She started swishing her feet in the water and moving toward the bank.

We sat on the bank in silence and splashed our feet around in the water until the muck was all off.
Dinah's right. Dad's not going to hire someone just getting out of jail who can't drive. Dinah's mom will get out, and I'll never see her again.
We wiped our feet in the grass and put our shoes back on.

“Do you have an e-mail address?” Dinah asked me.

“No,” I said. “Mrs. Cleary said I have to be 13 to get one.”

“You don't actually have to
be
13,” Dinah said. “You just have to put down that your birthday was at least 13 years ago when you register.”

“So do you have an e-mail address?” I asked.

“I just signed up for one last night,” Dinah said. “I'm [email protected]. But I need somebody to e-mail back and forth with. I was thinking we could get you an e-mail address, too.”

“That'd be great!” I said. There were lots of computers in the library, but I never signed up for them. I
always just read books. But I could get on a computer whenever I wanted.

“Once we have you signed up, there's something else I want to show you, too,” Dinah said. “Let's go inside and see if we can get on a computer.”

“What about Mrs. Cleary?” I asked.

“I'll go first,” Dinah said. “You wait ten minutes. If I'm not back by then that means the coast is clear and there's a computer available. If not, then I'll be right back. Okay?”

“Okay,” I replied.

Dinah crossed her fingers and held them up. “See you inside,” she said.

I
WAITED TEN
minutes and then went in to the computer room. Dinah was on the farthest computer away from the door and back in a corner. “Pull up a chair,” she said. I grabbed a chair as Dinah pulled up the Yahoo registration page. “What do you want to call yourself?”

“How about [email protected]?” I suggested.

“We can try it,” Dinah frowned as she checked to see if it was available. “Nope. You need to personalize it more—but don't use your real name.”

“How about PKpianist?” I asked.

Dinah nodded. “That's better,” she said. “What's the PK stand for?”

“Preacher's Kid,” I said.

“[email protected] is available! All right!” Dinah said. “Here, trade me places and fill out the registration.” We switched chairs. “Make sure your birthday's
at least 13 years ago, and only fill in the boxes with asterisks.”

I filled out the form, picked my password, and in seconds I had my own e-mail account. I felt a little guilty because Dad always said that letting kids surf the web was like letting them drive all around the world unsupervised. I doubted that Mom agreed, but she never said so to me. One time I overheard Dad telling her, “When he's old enough to drive safely, he'll be old enough to use the Internet safely.” They changed the subject as soon as they realized I was there, though. Fortunately, they never actually told me I wasn't allowed to use the Internet.

“Okay, now send me an e-mail so I for sure have your address,” Dinah instructed. “Then I'll send you one back so you'll for sure have mine.”

“Do you want me to write you a message right now?” I asked.

“No, just put ‘test' as the subject and ‘test' in the message part,” Dinah said. “Then I'll reply back.”

As soon as I sent the test e-mail, we traded places again. “Okay, here's how you get to the login page.” Dinah switched back and forth between the mouse and the keyboard, but it didn't look that hard. “Now, you
just enter your user name and password like this, and there—you're in! See, I've got the test message from you.”

“Wow! That was fast,” I said.

“Now I just click on reply, type in my return message, and click send,” Dinah said as she replied to my test message. “All done. Now we can always e-mail back and forth.”

“Thanks, Dinah,” I said.
She's not just going to disappear at the end of the week.

“Now, let me show you what I found surfing the net last night.” Dinah pulled up a webpage with a NASA logo at the top. I read “Ask an Astrophysicist” across the middle of the page. “You can e-mail a question to an astrophysicist at NASA. What do you think?”

I was stunned. There was tons of information at my fingertips, and if I couldn't find the answer there, I could e-mail a real, live astrophysicist! “This is incredible,” I whispered. It was like Dinah just gave me my own rocket ship and I could travel anywhere in the universe I wanted to go. I clicked on Relativity. Dinah watched as I scanned through all of the articles available
on time dilation and space travel. “It doesn't look like anybody's asked my question,” I said.

“So ask it,” Dinah said.

As I scrolled down the form I had to tell them my age and grade level. Dinah was looking over my shoulder.

“Tell them you're 16 and a sophomore,” Dinah suggested.

“Do you think it matters?” I wondered.

“Better they think you're a little older,” Dinah assured me. “Plus, you're definitely at a high school level, right?”

“I guess.” I typed in my new e-mail address along with my new age. I was so slow compared to Dinah. Finally, I pecked out my question, one key at a time:

The Bible says God is Light, and that 1,000 years on earth is like a day to God. If you assume God is traveling at the speed of light, and the planet earth is traveling at a constant speed through space, can you calculate a time dilation ratio, and would it be anywhere close to 1,000 years is like a day?

“What do you think?” I asked Dinah.

“Sounds good to me,” she replied. “It says you could have an answer in a week or two. Let's see what happens.”

Before we left, Dinah showed me how to close down the programs, get back onto the Internet and e-mail, and I saw that her test e-mail reply was there in my inbox. She also took me to Ask Jeeves and Google, so I could do more research on my own.

“The NASA website had gov at the end of the website address,” Dinah told me. “That's good. Anything that's gov is from the government, and if it's edu it's from a school or university. Those are supposed to have the most reliable information.”

“Which ones aren't reliable?” I asked.

“Anybody can put up a .com or .net website and put anything on it they want,” Dinah replied. “You wouldn't believe some of the freaks out there. Surf around a little and you'll see.”

M
ARK WAS PLAYING
baseball that afternoon at the ball diamonds by the YMCA. When I told Dinah my whole family would be there, she decided she could probably show up without anyone noticing and see my family.

“Mark plays shortstop for the Reds. He's number 8,” I said. “Depending on how the game's going, my dad may be up walking around. Luke will want to follow him. Mom will probably have Johnny in a stroller.”

“Don't worry, Matthew,” Dinah said. “I've seen the photo of your family in your dad's office at church. I'll recognize them.”

Sure enough, I saw Dinah standing by the bleachers for the opposing team during the first inning of Mark's game. Mark was the lead-off batter for the Reds. He opened the second inning with a stand-up double. By the bottom of the second inning, Johnny was getting restless, so I offered to take him for a walk in the stroller.

“Don't go too far,” Mom said.

“Okay, Mom,” I told her. “I'll stay on the walking paths between here and the library.”

“Thanks, Matthew,” Mom said as I turned the stroller toward the paths. “His wafers and fruit snacks are in the stroller. If he gets thirsty, just give him some water from his sippy cup.”

I stopped behind the concession stand, outside my mother's line of vision and waited to see if Dinah might come over. I didn't have to wait long.

“Your brother's so cute!” she cooed. Johnny was pointing to the concession stand saying, “Candy, candy!”

“I have your candy, Johnny,” I said, pulling out some fruit snacks and handing one to him. “We're going for a walk,” I told Dinah. “Do you want to meet behind the library in about ten minutes?”

“That'd be great,” Dinah waved to Johnny. “Byebye!”

“Bye-bye!” gurgled Johnny as he munched on his fruit snack. Juicy slobber dribbled down his chin.

Dinah was waiting for us when we rolled up to the tree. When I stopped the stroller, Johnny yelled, “Johnny run! Out! Run!”

“I think he wants out of the stroller,” Dinah said.

“I think you're right,” I agreed.

“Out! Out!” insisted Johnny. He pounded on the tray in front of him with his open palms.

I lifted Johnny out of the stroller and pulled out his favorite blue ball. It was just big enough that he had to use both hands to carry it. He picked it up and started running in circles around the stroller.

“How can he do that without getting dizzy?” Dinah asked. Then Johnny dropped the ball, accidentally kicked it toward the tree, and rolled over the top of it trying to pick it back up. It didn't faze him, though. It was just a new game. He got up, rolled over the ball, landed on his back, laughed, and got back up again. Dinah and I kept him between us, and rolled the ball back toward him whenever he accidentally kicked it away.

“Mark's a pretty good ballplayer, isn't he?” Dinah asked as we played with Johnny.

“Definitely,” I nodded.

“Don't you play?” Dinah asked.

“I did when I was Mark's age.” I wrinkled my nose and forehead. “This is the first year I haven't.”

Dinah paused. “I've been thinking I should have you cut my hair in the back.” I was glad Dinah changed the subject, but stunned she thought I could cut her hair.

“I've never cut anybody's hair,” I said. “I'm not sure I'd do a very good job.”

“I can do the front and sides myself,” Dinah said, “but I can't see in the back. You can at least see what you're doing.”

“I'll try if you want me to,” I said. “You'll tell me what to do, right?”

“Definitely,” said Dinah. “I found a decent pair of scissors at the church. We can do it tomorrow afternoon before our jam session in the sanctuary.”

I nodded. “Well, I'd better get Johnny back to the game so Mom doesn't worry,” I said.

“Can I pick him up?” Dinah asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Come here, Johnny. Give Dinah a hug.”

Johnny put his arms in the air and toddled over to me. I picked him up and gave him a big hug. Then I rubbed my nose in his belly. Johnny laughed and grabbed my hair.

“Whoa, Johnny!” I cried. “Not the hair!”

I handed him over to Dinah, who was waiting with open arms. “That's Dinah,” I said. “Give Dinah a big hug.”

“Dinah,” Johnny said, grabbing her around the neck. “Dinah, Dinah, Dinah.”

Dinah laughed and snuggled Johnny around the neck. Then she propped him on her hip. “What are you going to tell your mom if she asks you who Dinah is?”

“I'll sing
Dinah, Won't You Blow Your Horn
all the way back to the ball diamond,” I said taking Johnny from her and hooking him back in his stroller. “If she asks, I can tell her I was singing that song to him.”

“Can I play it for him on my harp before you go?” Dinah asked.

“Sure,” I said. “He'd love that.”

Dinah pulled out her harmonica and started playing
I've Been Working on the Railroad
. When she got to the chorus, I sang along, rolling Johnny back and forth to the rhythm. “Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow, Dinah won't you blow your horn? Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah. Someone's in the kitchen I know. Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah strumming on the old banjo.”

When we got to the “Fee Fi Fiddle-e-i-o” part, I stopped rolling Johnny and the two of us clapped. “Oh, banjo. Oh, banjo,” sang Johnny. When Dinah was done playing, Johnny clapped again. “Again! Again!”

“Sorry, buddy,” I said. “We gotta go.”

“I'll see you at 3:00 tomorrow,” said Dinah, as she waved goodbye. Johnny and I sang all the way back to the ballpark.

J
OHNNY WAITED UNTIL
our Sunday lunch in between bites of macaroni casserole to start singing, “Dinah! Dinah!”

“Well, now there's a name we haven't discussed yet,” said Dad. “I wonder where he came up with that.”

“I'll get the baby book!” shouted Mark. He pushed his chair back, jumped up and ran off. His napkin landed just outside the dining room.

Every time somebody suggested a new name for the baby, we consulted the book of baby names to see what it meant. We never did that for Luke or Johnny, but I guess this time my parents knew they weren't going to name the new kid Acts.

“I was singing
Dinah, Won't You Blow Your Horn
to him yesterday,” I laughed. It was a pretty weak laugh, though, so I cleared my throat and added, “Yesterday he was singing ‘Oh, banjo.'”

“Oh, banjo,” sang Johnny, bobbing his head up and down.

“What's it say?” called Luke as Mark handed the book to Mom.

“Dinah. Let me see. It says that it's Hebrew, and it means good judgment,” read Mom.

“That's right,” Dad nodded. “Dinah means judgment or judged. Comes right from Genesis. Dinah was Jacob's only daughter.”

I took a big bite of casserole and waited to see if Dad was going to go into the whole Shechem story. He didn't. I guess circumcision and murder aren't exactly proper conversations at the table. I could tell he knew the story, though, and wasn't about to name any daughter of his Dinah. In a way, it would be kind of cool to have a sister named Dinah, but in another way, I kind of already felt like Dinah was my sister.