Sway (26 page)

The door opens and Scott walks in. He never knocks, so it doesn’t surprise me when he’s suddenly in front of my desk. But when he plants his hands on either side of my computer and stares hard, I’ll admit to a little discomfort. The guy doesn’t usually pull out his confrontational streak—he looks like a grown version of that kid on Andy Griffith, for heaven sakes—but today is different.

“What?” I don’t look up. This particular knife is taking shape nicely, and I don’t want to disturb the muse.

“Would you stop doodling and do something productive?”

“Don’t insult me. This isn’t doodling. It’s art.” The side of my pencil shades the blade to make it look more dangerous. Better to slice me with.

“I drew better pictures in first grade. Now get up.”

This surprises me, and I glance at him. “What do you suggest I do? Let’s see…I can go hang with Mrs. O’Hare and hear another talk about the nauseating things her husband did to her last night—I’d rather you stab me in the ear with this.” I hold up my paper. “Or I could walk outside and be accosted by reporters—equally as thrilling.” I’m aware that I’m throwing the temper tantrum of a twelve-year-old girl, but I’m on a roll. “Or I could call up Kate and ask her how it’s going, but something tells me I ought to avoid that conversation, seeing she’s the devil and all…”

“No one called her the devil.”

“Do you even watch the news? That’s been the headline all week.”

“Dude, she’s an atheist. What did you expect?”

That attitude right there. It ticks me off. I slap my paper on the desk and glare up at him. “She’s not an atheist.” It’s a dumb, untrue argument, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

Scott sighs and pulls out the chair across from me, then sits down. He looks at me. Sometimes I hate it when he looks at me. “Unless something has changed that you haven’t told me about, yes she is. From what I can tell, she’s been one her whole life.”

In a rush, my anger pours out of me. Scott’s right, and I’m lost for what to do. Still, the desire to fight hasn’t left me. “That doesn’t make her the devil, so you can take your pompous attitude and shove it where—”

“Don’t bite my ear off, Mike Tyson.” I meet his hard stare, and we study each other for a moment, eye-to-eye, man-to-man. “You’re right, it doesn’t. It makes her someone who needs a little grace.”

Those words settle me. Not much, but enough for now. “Yes, she does. It just seems like lately…like maybe, she’s starting to question things…maybe…” I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes, knowing my words sound stupid but unable to explain myself better. Finally, I give up trying. “What am I supposed to do?”

Scott rubs an eyebrow. “You could spend some time praying. If you’re right—if she’s starting to wonder about God even a little—she needs your prayers more than ever. Do you pray anymore, Caleb?” His tone is laced with concern so I can’t get angry. I try for a second anyway, but come up short.

“Of course I pray. You know I do. I think my faith is stronger now than it’s ever been. I’m just tired of the labels, and even sicker of the accusations. How did we get tangled up in this mess? And why the heck do reporters keep calling me Jesus? It’s stupid.” I flip my pencil to the desk.

“I don’t know. If they knew you like I do, they’d come up with a different comparison.”

“Shut up.” I close my eyes and lean back, locking my hands behind my head.

Scott leans back to stretch his legs in front of him. “All kidding aside, I really have no idea. One minute we’re just going along, living life day-to-day…the next we’re embroiled in a national battle. It’s unreal.” He shakes his head and disappears inside himself for a moment, staring unseeing, straight ahead. “It’s a new world, and we’ve got to learn to navigate through it. First things first, we need to fund the center privately from now on.”

Wait a minute
. My eyes open and I give him a look.

“What about the nativity?” I say with an edge. “Are you going to cave and take it down?”

He makes a face. “A judge hasn’t ordered us to, so no. Although even if we were, I’m sure you could figure out some way to keep it up that’s mostly legal.

“Darn right I would,” I say.

“But as far as funding goes…” Scott says, unwilling to give me time to elaborate on my supposed illegal ideas, “…right or wrong, we’ve relied on public funds since our doors opened. Only for food, but food is expensive, and like I said, it’s a new world. Separation of church and state means a lot more than it used to, and we’ve got to deal with the changes or be prepared to fight battles like this for as long as we’re open. I, for one, don’t have the desire.”

I just look at him. “I don’t cry ‘uncle.’ You know that.”

“I’m not saying uncle. I won’t water down our message for anyone. But I won’t let the doors close on this place, either, Caleb. If we have to, we’ll find another way to get the funds we need. Too many kids depend on it.”

I hear what he’s saying, but defeat tries to claim me anyway.

“What are we supposed to do, ask Kate for more albums until she runs out? I don’t have the slightest idea how to fundraise, and I can’t do that to her. I won’t. Besides, I haven’t heard from her all week.” My voice has a bite, but I’m not stupid enough to think Scott doesn’t hear the disappointment behind it.

He just looks at me. “You like her more than you’re letting on, don’t you?”

I chew a thumbnail and shrug. “A lot more than I should.” A lot more than I can even admit to myself. Yet another reason to keep drawing these knives. I pick up my pencil and get started on a new one. “Go ahead and call me an idiot.”

“Jury’s still out on that. But I’ve met her. And from what you say, she wasn’t any more prepared for this than you were.”

I sigh, remembering that kiss the other night, those tears, the heart that seemed torn in half for a few minutes until she hopped in the car and drove away. I swallow…recalling the disappointment the first day I discovered her identity, and again a few days ago while she delivered that speech dressed like a widow in mourning. I shift in my seat and don’t look up.

“She wasn’t.” Knowing it’s true doesn’t help.

“I didn’t think so.” Scott clears his throat. “I can’t lie and say I’m not worried about you, Caleb. Because I am. You’ve been through more than anyone your age should be. Just, please don’t—”

I blow out some air. “I won’t let it affect my faith. What do I have to do to prove it to you?”

Instead of getting defensive, Scott raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Well, there’s one thing that becoming a Christian never changed about your personality. You still have the temper of a demon on fire.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to question your faith. I was going to say
please don’t forget
that I’ve got your back. No matter what anyone says, no matter what the media tries to portray, I’ll personally rip the arms off anyone who gets too rough with you.” He gestures to himself. “I might not look like much, but I’ve been known to pack a mean punch if anyone gets too close.”

That earns a laugh from me, my first one all week, and it feels good. Except for the accidental cut he gave me a long time ago, Scott is full of crap and he knows it. I’ve seen him pick spiders up off the kitchen floor and set them free in the backyard more than a few times. And flies…don’t get me started on the way he treats those nasty things.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Scott says.

“Yes it was. Hilarious, actually.” I wipe at my eyes. “But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles at my still-shaking shoulders. “I’m serious, man. Anything you need…”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

He stands up and pushes the chair back an inch. “And as for Kate, I’m praying for her, Caleb. If God wants things to work out for the two of you, He’ll turn things around. Besides, she’s hot. Incredibly hot. All we need to do is get her to side with us you’ll be the luckiest guy on the planet.”

Geez, is that all?
I ball up my paper of penciled switchblades and throw it at his head. “Keep your eyes off her if you know what’s good for you. Or wait—maybe you want to wrestle for her. Show me some of that famous mean punch of yours.”

“Be afraid, Caleb. Be very afraid.”

I laugh harder this time, even though when it comes down to it, none of this is funny. Nothing at all. Kate and I are as different as black and white, as sunrise and sunset, and really… there’s not much hope. Barring a miracle, we’re doomed. We were from the start. I won’t abandon my faith, and as deeply entrenched as she is in her parent’s movement, I don’t see her embracing the God I believe in. It’s pointless. I stand up, too.

“You headed out?” Scott asks.

“Yep. I have a truckload of gifts to deliver to the center and Ben has already been waiting an hour. If I stand him up one more time, he might never speak to me again.” I pocket my keys and shrug into my jacket.

“It’s two days before Christmas, so you’d better show up. You’re practically Santa Claus for those kids, you know. I don’t know how you manage to buy so much for them on your salary.”

I buy the gifts because I save all year. I buy them because there may not be another chance for these kids next year. I buy them because Christmas stalled for me for nearly eleven years while I was growing up and these kids will have a present each year we’re open if I have to forgo eating and cable to afford it. As it stands, the only thing I’ve sacrificed so far is my gym membership, and running on the street works just as well.

“Need help delivering it?” Scott asks.

I shake my head. “Kimball rounded up a couple of guys. We’re meeting in the parking lot in five minutes.” I hold out my hand. Scott is like my brother, the best friend I’ve ever had. But sometimes thank you isn’t enough, and I’ve never been one for hugs. “Thanks, man. I mean it.”

He nods and shakes it. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I slap the doorframe on my way out. “Keep those prayers coming,” I call behind me. “You never know what might happen.”

It’s a nice thought. As far as nice thoughts go.

*

I’m still trying to recover from Mrs. O’Hare’s retelling of the ballroom dance lessons she and her husband took last night as I pull into the parking lot. I almost made it out the door undetected, but she caught me walking by on her way out of the bathroom and spent the next ten minutes giving me a detailed description of their evening. If she had stopped at the dance moves, I would have been fine, but the graphic details of her husband in skin tight black pants and jazz shoes has pretty much assured that lunch will be nothing more than a passing dream for me today. My stomach can’t handle it. Not sure how to wipe the memory from my mind, however, since whiskey is no longer an option. Maybe aspirin? Maybe I could pay someone to whack me between the eyes with a two by four. I’d choose the pain over envisioning a seventy-year-old-woman wearing sequins and shaking her thing with an equally old man any day.

I climb out of the truck just as Ben flies out the door.

“It’s a good thing you showed up,” he says, stomping across the sidewalk like the pseudo-tough kid he thinks he is. “I’m still not speaking to you since you bailed on me last week, though. What’s in the truck?”

“I can see that,” I say. “The silent treatment you’re giving me is just deafening.” I open the back hatch, smiling at the sound of his loud gasp. “That, my friend, is what’s in the truck.”

“Christmas presents! That’s more than you brought last year! Where’d you get the money for all them? You win the lottery and not tell me?” His jaw hangs slack, the width of his mouth matching his round-as-quarters eyes.

I pick up the largest package. “No to the lottery, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You ever heard that expression before?”

Ben just blinks. “What horse? There ain’t a horse around here.”

This makes me laugh. “I’m the horse. And it means, don’t ask people about money unless you want everything returned to Wal-Mart. Grab a package, will you?”

“Yes sir.” That’s the great thing about Ben. He doesn’t have to be asked twice. He practically lunges for the pile of gifts and snatches up three, steadying the stack with his chin. Kimball pulls into the parking space next to me and hops out of the car. Two ninth grade boys I recognize from youth group spill out of the back seat.

“Sorry we’re late,” Kimball says. “Give me some of those.” I dump two large gifts in his arms and reach for more. “Looks like you went all out this year,” he says. “I still can’t figure out how you afford this stuff.”

“I start saving for next year as soon as all the gifts are unwrapped. Trust me, it isn’t a hardship.” I turn to the other boys. “Thanks for helping. Grab what you can carry and set them under the tree. Has anyone checked to see if anyone fixed the lights? A couple strands were out when I came by last night and Scott was supposed to find someone to swap them out.”

“Yes!” Ben bounces on his heels. “That dude with the blonde hair came by this morning and now they all work!” That dude was Matt, and I share a smile with Kimball at the way he shouts. The tough-kid demeanor has vanished in favor of a little boy as excited about the prospect of lights and gifts and toys as he should be. Christmas is for everyone, but there’s a special part of it that I’m convinced God reserves just for kids.