The Veritas Conflict (38 page)

Claire watched him stand in line and wait for his order. The girl behind the counter lit up when he smiled his thanks. Just like Teresa had during their little basketball skirmish last night. A small smile played on Claire’s lips, and she drummed her fingers on the tabletop, her eyes narrowing.

“That’s better.” He slid back into his chair. “I’m addicted to this stuff”

“Can I ask you a question? A personal question?”

“I already know what you’re going to ask.” He glanced around, then back at her, his voice a hoarse whisper. “It was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick”

“Cut it out.” Claire tried not to laugh. “This is serious.”

Brad sat back in his chair and took a careful sip from his mug. “Okay. Shoot.”

“You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

“Not right now.”

“I think that someone in the Fellowship likes you. I know you’re a nice, reserved guy and have never done anything to encourage her, but I’m quite sure she likes you and about 80 percent sure that she’ll be talking to me about it.”

“Claire …”

“No, no, let me finish. I’m wondering if you want me to sort of … broker an introduction, you know.”

“Claire!”

“Since I’ve gotten to know you pretty well in the last few months, I thought you might want me to give her a few insider tips on what you were thinking.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Or maybe you want a few tips on what she’s thinking?”

Brad took a slow sip, looking at her over the rim. Then he smiled. “Thanks for offering, but no.”

“Oh, come on! Teresa’s really cute. She—Oh!” She slapped her hand to her mouth. “I said her name, didn’t I?

“Yes, you did.”

“Well … shoot. Well, the cat’s out of the bag anyway, so what do you say?”

“Look, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But the answer is no. I don’t do things that way.”

“But—”

“Claire!” Brad set the mug down hard, and she stared at him, disconcerted. He stood to his feet. “Look, thanks and everything. But please don’t play matchmaker.” He shrugged into his jacket and dropped a dollar bill on the table. “I’ve got to run. I’ll see you tomorrow at the picnic.”

“Sure.”

He started away. Claire reached up and grabbed the arm of his jacket. He turned slightly. “Brad, I’m sorry. Is anything wrong?”

“Other than our Fellowship being attacked by a mean-spirited article?”

She didn’t drop her hand. “Yes.”

His eyes searched hers for a long moment. Then he smiled and jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They headed down JFK Street toward the river. Saturday shoppers crowded the sidewalks, and Brad kept a light hand against Claire’s back as he steered the two of them through the throngs.

They left the crowd behind and strolled quietly along the street, facing into the
wind. They crossed Memorial Drive at the light and turned left onto the sidewalk that ran parallel to the river. The usual Saturday crowd was thinned by the cold. A giggling couple whizzed by on Rollerblades.

“Claire, I don’t know you all that well yet, but I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I feel the same way about you.”

“That’s good, because I have something to tell you.” He looked sideways, then back at the path. “This may be hard for you to hear. I have a … very difficult personal struggle that some of my close friends know about, but it’s not something I desire to share with the whole group.”

Claire pursed her lips. “Okay.”

“I have struggled my whole life with the fact that I have never been attracted to any woman.”

It took Claire’s mind a second to process what she had just heard. Her lips parted in shock. Brad stopped walking and turned toward her. His eyes were vulnerable and sad.

For one interminable moment, she felt suspended, as if she couldn’t breathe. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’m sorry, Brad.” She felt him hug her in return. “I’m sorry. Thank you for telling me.”

She heard him choke something into her shoulder, and she kept her arms where they were. After a long moment, he released her and stepped back, wiping moisture from his eyes. He smiled in self-deprecation.

“Sorry. It’s so hard sometimes to see what everyone else has and to not have it. I pray every day that God will deliver and heal me. I love Him so much. I only want to live a life that’s pleasing to Him.”

Claire took a deep breath, her voice tentative. “So you haven’t…

“No. No way. I’ve stayed as far as possible from that lifestyle since God says it is displeasing. I may be struggling, but I would never describe myself as gay. I’ve never done anything—” He looked down at the ground. “It’s sort of weird to be talking about it with a girl.”

“We don’t have to if you—”

“No. This is all part of the friendship thing. It’s just that most of the people who know are guys. I’m in an accountability group with my roommate and several of the other guys in the Fellowship. Their job is to ask me all the tough questions.”

“Well, I’m glad you have that. That must almost be a relief.”

“It
is
a relief! And one of the rules I’ve asked them to hold me accountable on is to not date right now, or at least to not go out with any girl without telling them first. That’s why I told you no about Teresa. I just don’t think it’s a good idea at this point.”

They walked another few paces in silence, drawing near a footbridge that stretched across the river. Claire looked at the small nameplate.
Weeks Memorial Bridge
.

“I’ve always wondered what this bridge was for,” she said.

“Well, look.” Brad gestured across the river. “See those buildings over there? That’s the business school. The MBA students can use this bridge as a shortcut to get to this side of the campus. And see here on this side—” he turned all the way around—“that’s Dunster House right behind us.”

“Oh, that’s where Stefan lives. Sherry’s boyfriend.”

“Ah. Right.” He gestured at a nearby side street. “If we follow that street all the way up, we’ll run smack into the middle of campus.” He looked at his watch. “Speaking of which …”

“Yeah, I should be getting back, too.”

As they headed up the narrow street, Claire ventured a tentative smile. “Can I ask you another question?”

“As long as you don’t mind that I may not answer.”

“That’s fair.” Claire looked sideways at her friend. “How … does this happen? You know, becoming someone who struggles with this issue?”

“Well, there are lots of theories. For men, it seems to start as a very young boy, with a lack of emotional and physical affection, a lack of bonding with a father figure.” He glanced sideways as they walked. “Make sure you understand what I mean. It’s not that if you don’t have the father bond, you’ll necessarily struggle with this issue. It’s just that most men who do struggle with this have that one thing in common.”

“Oh.”

They walked on a bit longer. Claire’s memory began replaying the derisive comments she had heard in HCF from time to time about the gay agenda and the militancy of the gay lobby on campus. She bit her lip, thinking. Brad had been quietly sitting there the whole time. Even if he disagreed with the gay groups at Harvard, how must he have been hurt by that tone of derision? How many times had
she
unconsciously said something without realizing how it might hurt her brother in Christ?

She cleared her throat, wondering about something else. “A lot of people here say the reason homosexuality should be considered normal is that it’s genetic.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not genetic. The research is pretty clear. But let me tell you something.
It feel
genetic. When it begins as a very young boy, it sure feels inborn.”

They crossed another street and headed up a hill along a one-way road. Multistory building rose on either side.

Brad breathed a long sigh. “This issue really is an example of the sins of the fathers being passed down from generation to generation, as the Bible says. My father basically abandoned me out of selfishness, and look at the ramifications of his sin in my life. That’s why it takes so much prayer and discipline—and most of all, just pure deliverance by the power of the Holy Spirit—to overcome this.” Suddenly, his eyes grew fierce,
and he slapped his fist into his palm. “I have met men who’ve been delivered from this, and by the grace of God, I will be healed!”

“Do you want to get married someday?”

Brad stopped walking and swung toward her, his face incredulous. “Do I want to get married?” He drew a shuddering breath. “More than anything in the world, Claire. I want to experience that covenant joy that God created for His children. That’s why I will not—
will not
—let myself slip up in this struggle. I believe God will heal me, and I will not give the enemy a foothold in my life!”

As they resumed walking, the sound of traffic grew louder, and they stepped out from between two buildings onto the sidewalk along Massachusetts Avenue. Dozens of cars were whizzing by. Across the street rose the wall that bordered the south side of the main campus.

“Where’re you headed?” Brad asked.

“I’m just going back to my dorm.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He stepped toward her, enfolding her in a hug. His voice was soft. “Thank you.”

Claire found herself blinking back tears. “Thank you for telling me even though I’m a girl.”

He stepped back, smiling ruefully. “It was a good experiment.”

“Glad to be of service. Anytime.” She caught his eye and her voice sobered. “Seriously. Anytime.”

Brad inclined his head in acknowledgement, then turned away, walking down the row of shops toward Harvard Square. Claire stared wistfully at a giggling couple approaching from the other direction, their arms entwined around each other’s waists. They brushed past Brad as if he wasn’t even there.

THIRTY-SIX

T
HE EARLY AFTERNOON SUN WAS BRIGHT
in Claire’s eyes as she and Teresa walked along the riverbank. The weekend throngs were thick despite the chill; the crew races always drew a crowd. Out on the river, several crew boats approached from upstream.

The girls stopped talking and watched as several eight-man boats sculled by. The men in the long shells were pulling hard, the coxswains barking their commands. The elongated oars dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled, in a strenuous but graceful beat. The boats seemed to skate over the water.

The crowd grew thicker as the girls approached the Weld Boathouse. They were supposed to be right here somewhere.

“Claire! Teresa!”

She turned and saw Doug Turner waving. He had a prime spot right by the boathouse. Teresa and Claire walked over and said their hellos to the dozen or so people spread out on the blankets. There were three or four new faces, people who weren’t in HCF who had been invited to join the group for its annual picnic at the Head of the Charles crew race.

Claire found a spot on the blanket, wishing Sherry could have come. She’d been too hungover from last night.

She started to look for a plate and lunch fixings. A hand stretched out with an already-prepared sandwich, and she looked up in surprise.

Brad smiled and plopped down beside her. “I saw you guys coming. I knew you and Teresa were both the peanut-butter-and-jelly sort.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at her friend and punched him lightly on the arm. “I was starving.”

They sat in companionable silence while Claire munched on her sandwich.

Brad twisted a blade of grass in his fingers. “So how’s your supersecret project for Mansfield coming?”

“Oh, going in circles.”

Brad raised an eyebrow.

“I spent two days just fighting red tape. But I think I’ve finally figured out where to look, and I’m going over there on Monday. I’ve got until Thursday to finish the project,
so it should be okay.” She grinned sideways. “Unless I fail out of school because I don’t study for my tests.”

Claire glanced at the clock by her bedside and started. Nine o’clock already. How was that possible? She hadn’t even had dinner.

She returned her attention to the photocopied pages in front of her. Her hands were practically shaking as she typed the latest notation into her laptop. It had taken a few days, but she had done it. She had had to go through layers of red tape for her “historical research project”—as she had described it to desk clerk after desk clerk—but she had finally managed to find the documents Mansfield was looking for.

She had looked through file upon file of old typewritten pages, mimeographed sheets, and handwritten ledgers. And buried within all of that was gold. What on earth were they going to do with all of this? She couldn’t wait to tell the professor what she had found.

Claire finished typing and hit print. She stood and stretched, watching the pages glide neatly onto the tray. It was probably more information than the professor would want to go through, but she figured it was better to err on the side of too much detail. She could always verbally summarize it for him.

She knew there was a lot more she hadn’t yet found, but Professor Mansfield—Mansfield, she quickly corrected herself—wanted a status report as soon as she was done with her classes.

Classes!
She hadn’t done the homework for either philosophy or Mansfield’s European history class. For a fleeting moment she considered asking him for an extension, then quickly discarded that idea. Now was not the time for Mansfield to question her ability to handle this project.

The door to their room creaked open, and Sherry came in, giggling, Stefan right behind her. He was tickling her, playfully whispering something in her ear. He broke off suddenly when he caught sight of Claire. Sherry looked over at her and blushed.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Claire said.

“We missed you at dinner.”

“Yeah. I had to work on this project. I didn’t even notice.”

Sherry glanced back at Stefan, then looked at her roommate. “I thought you had a study group or something tonight.”

“Oh man! You’re right … I completely forgot. My biology TA was doing a review before the test next week” Claire looked at her watch. “I guess I won’t miss that much of it if I run.”