And the Shofar Blew (30 page)

Stephen sat at the counter of Charlie’s Diner. “Haven’t seen you in a while, handsome.” Sally poured his coffee.

“Pastor Paul still warming a seat in here?”

“Oh, not in ages. Not since he moved up to that new housing tract. I don’t think he jogs down our way anymore. At least, not that I’ve seen.” She set the pot back on the burner. “Still going to church?”

“Not lately. You?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Not as often as we used to. CCC’s gotten too big for us. Sorry. Forgot. Valley New Life Center. Beautiful facility though. That fountain is really something, Stephen.”

“Lot of splash.”

“You okay?”

“Why do you ask? Did you hear I fell off the wagon? Don’t believe everything you hear, Sally.”

She made a fist and stopped it just short of his jaw. “You should know me better than that. You just look a little down today.”

“Down, but not out.”

“So what are you building these days? Hotel? Hospital? New airport?”

“Nothing.” He still had business offers, but none that had excited him as much as building that church. In the beginning, at least. It was a good thing he’d made some sound investments. He needed time off.

“Sure miss going to church. You could sure feel the Spirit moving. . . . ”

“You should stop by Samuel Mason’s house if you want to feel the Spirit moving. He’s still holding his Bible study every Wednesday night.” It was the only port in the storms battering Stephen’s life.

Brittany had run away. The private detective ran into a wall in San Francisco. “She’s probably living on the streets. . . . ”

Stephen had bought a bottle of bourbon that night and come close to taking his first drink in years. Then he remembered what his AA sponsor had told him: “It’s the first one that kills you.” He didn’t want his little girl coming home and finding her father had turned into a drunk again.

“Might just come to that Bible study,” Sally said. “Wednesday’s a slow night. Charlie and I could close up early. You sure Samuel wouldn’t mind?”

“He always leaves his door open. You might have to sit on the floor, but there’ll be room for you.”

Others came in. Stephen ate his breakfast alone, praying for his daughter’s safety, praying she’d come home soon. He even prayed for Kathryn. She was a mess, her marriage tumbling down around her ears.

The only thing that kept him from selling his house and moving back to Sacramento was the Wednesday night Bible study. It had become a lifeline. He dropped by Samuel’s a couple of times a week. Every time he did, they sat in the kitchen or out on the patio talking about the Bible. Stephen had gotten hooked on it. It filled in the holes life had punched in him. Stephen always felt God’s presence during those short hours with Samuel. He came away feeling better, believing that God was at work somewhere, somehow. Just not in his line of vision.

“Don’t make yourself so scarce,” Sally said when he set the bell ringing on his way out the door.

Stephen headed out for a drive. He had the inexplicable urge to go to Rockville. The little town fit its name, the only apparent business a sand-and-gravel company on the outskirts of town. As he drove down the main street, he spotted a building up for sale. Pulling over, he looked at it. It could have been an old five-and-dime at one time with an apartment up-stairs for the proprietor. Brick and mortar with turn-of-the-century touches. An iron bench was out front, a derelict with a newspaper over his head sleeping on it.

Stephen got out of his truck and walked the street from one end to the other. It was lined with old maple trees and run-down buildings, a third empty due to businesses going under. Still, there was something about the down-on-its-luck town.

The place fit him.

Laughing at himself, he took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number of the real-estate office listing the building. Teresa Espinoza said she could be in Rockville in an hour. He spent the time driving up and down the rest of the streets. Half the houses were built on bare ground, having been put up before zoning laws would have prevented their construction without proper foundations.

Teresa was a small woman with graying black hair and intelligent dark eyes. “The bank foreclosed three years ago. I don’t think there have been any offers on it.” She unlocked the door and entered. “As you can tell, it needs a lot of work.”

That was an understatement. He walked around the big room, looking at the floors, walls, ceiling. The stairs creaked as he went up to the apartment over the vacant store. It had a great view of Main Street, assuming anyone would want to look at that depressing sight.

“How much?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Why would I kid you?”

“I saw the name on your truck. Decker Design and Construction. Haven’t you built a couple of places in Granite Bay?”

“Three or four.” Thank God she didn’t mention VNLC.

As they came outside, she grimaced in distaste as the bum slumped on the front bench, a half-empty bottle of Ripple next to him. “Frankly, I can’t picture you here, Mr. Decker.” She locked the door again.

He looked into the drunk’s eyes. “I can.” His own battle was far from won.

She told him the price.

Maybe taking on a challenge like renovation was just what he needed to keep his mind off what he couldn’t change or control. God had begun a complete renovation of his soul and remodel of his life. Why shouldn’t he take on this project?

Brittany, baby, where are you? God, keep her safe.

Let go. Let God. Live. Let live. Easy does it. Easier said than done, Lord.
Easier if his mind and hands were busy.

He told Teresa Espinoza he’d sign as soon as she had the papers ready.

Principal Kalish tossed a stapled document across his desk. Eunice could tell by his expression that he had had it. Timothy would receive no mercy this time. “It’s called a
zine,
Mrs. Hudson, short for underground magazine.”

She flipped through the photocopied pages, heat coming up her neck and filling her face. One article was titled “Who’s Really in Charge” and dealt with gangs roving the hallways while teachers looked the other way. The second page had a satirical article on school athletes. Every page had a cartoon. One was unmistakably Principal Kalish, his balding head and widening girth exaggerated by the button-popping shirt he was wearing. He was pictured sitting in his big office chair, feet propped up on his desk, a cigarette in one hand, a bottle of Johnnie Walker scotch in the other, a sign on his back wall: Just Say No. Another cartoon showing two PE teachers in a fistfight on the football field was captioned “It’s all in how you play the game.” “Safety in schools” had students passing a bazooka around the side of a metal detector while a teacher was closely examining a girl’s nail file. The last had the school nurse saying, “If it doesn’t work, I can always drive you to the abortion clinic,” while handing out condoms to students getting off the school bus.

Numb, Eunice sat, convinced she had failed as a parent. Tim sat beside her. She hoped he realized anything he said now would be held against him. How was she ever going to tell Paul about this? What would he do to Tim when he heard?

“We confiscated all his copies. Tim is suspended for three days, and I’m recommending expulsion. He’s lucky I don’t bring charges against him for that libelous piece of trash!”

“It’s freedom of the press,” Tim said. “And no more than everyone in the student body already knows about what you keep in your bottom drawer.”

Principal Kalish’s face turned beet red. “Who else was involved in your little enterprise?”

Tim crossed his arms and slouched. “I refuse to divulge my sources.”

“I want
names!”

The meeting went from bad to worse.

On the way home, Eunice dissolved in tears. “Help me to understand, Tim.”
Help me understand, God.
She felt powerless. “Why did you do this?”

“Because I’m sick of games.” He glared out the front windshield. “I’m sick of everyone telling me to live one way while they live another. I’m sick of the whole—” he used a vile word—“system.”

Eunice blushed. “You don’t have to talk that way to get your point across.”

“If you think I’m bad, you ought to stand in our school corridor for five minutes. You’ll hear a lot worse!”

“You’re not supposed to talk like everyone else, Tim. You’re a Christian.”

“Yeah? Well, what I’ve seen of Christians lately doesn’t make me want to be anything like one.”

She pulled into the garage. “Does that include me?”

“You most of all.”

Stunned into hurt silence, she could only look at him. He got out of the car and slammed the door. She got out, afraid he might try to leave. What would she do if he did? “We need to talk about all this, Tim.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? Go ahead and call Dad. Tell him whatever you want. You think I care? He won’t listen anyway. And all you ever do is try and fix everything. You can’t! Don’t you get it?” He stormed into the house.

She fought the urge to follow him and scream at him for getting her into this mess. What was she going to tell his father? What would the congregation think when they heard about it? A story like this would spread like wildfire with LaVonne and Jessie and Shirl fanning the flames. One of the students would say something to one of the parents who would say something to a friend who’d call another friend until the entire congregation was involved.

Weeping in frustration, Eunice tried to figure out what to do. She couldn’t think straight. Maybe a cup of tea would help.

The telephone rang as it did countless times during the day. Someone always wanted to talk with her about something, ask her advice, complain, or cry on her shoulder, until she wanted to press her hands over her ears and scream. The answering machine picked up and she heard her own voice. “This is the Hudsons. We’re sorry we can’t answer right now. Please leave your name, number, and a short message after the beep. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can.” So sweet. So calm. So phony.

“Euny, this is Mom.”

Eunice clenched and unclenched her hands, took a deep breath, and picked up the telephone. “Hi, Mom.”

“Screening your calls?”

“I just walked in the door with Tim.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She pressed her hand over her mouth and shut her eyes tightly. Sitting, she rocked back and forth on the chair.
Nothing is wrong.
Everything is fine.
How many times had she uttered that lie over the past few years?

“All right,” Lois said slowly. “If everything is all right, then there’s nothing to stop you and Tim from coming down for a few days, is there?”

What was the use of lying? “After what happened today, I think Paul will ground Tim until he’s eighteen and can leave home.”

“That bad?”

“Worse than bad. Tim thinks all Christians are hypocrites. Including me. And you know what?” She started to cry. “I’m beginning to think he’s right.”

“What’d he do? Burn down the church?”

Eunice gave a weak laugh. “Nothing that drastic. He wrote a zine.”

“A what?”

“An underground newspaper. He seems to have a talent for satire and expressing teen angst.”

“What will Paul do about it?”

She was afraid to think. “Ground him.” Lacerate her.

“Tim and I have always gotten along, you know.”

“I know.” There were only two people in the world Tim seemed to listen to these days: Samuel Mason and his grandmother. She wished it didn’t hurt so much that he couldn’t trust her anymore.

“I could certainly use his help, Eunice. The house sold this morning. That’s what I called to tell you. I’ve put an offer on a three-bedroom condo. I have a lot of packing and discarding to do. He wouldn’t be coming down here for a vacation. I’d put him to work. It would give him something to do and time for us to talk. Sometimes a grandmother can reach in where a mother can’t.”

“I can’t seem to do anything right these days.”

“Don’t blame yourself for everything, honey. You think about my offer. Talk it over with Paul. If he has qualms, tell him to call me.”

Eunice was shaking when she called Paul. “I know, Eunice. I just got off the phone with Don Kalish.” She was relieved at the gentle sound of his voice. Maybe he would be reasonable this time. Maybe they could talk things over and try to figure out what they could do to help Tim through this hard time. “Hang on a second,” he said. She could hear Paul speak to Reka. “Thanks. I’ll get to it as soon as I’m off the telephone. Just close the door on the way out, would you? Thanks again. You’re a real peach.” He came back on the line. “As I was saying . . . ” His voice was different. Rippling over dark water.

Nothing was going to change. She stood in the kitchen, body rigid, eyes closed, while he read her the riot act. He told her what the principal had to say about their son. He managed to keep his voice quiet enough that Reka wouldn’t hear, but it was a scream of rage in her ear. Everything was her fault. She was a lousy mother. He dredged up every misdeed Tim had committed since he’d been “old enough to know better” and laid the blame for all of it at her feet. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything in her own defense or in defense of
her
son.

“I don’t want to see his face when I come home this evening. You tell him to stay in his room, or I won’t be held responsible for what I say or do to him.”

She could hear his other phone line ring. “Hang on, Eunice. We’re not done talking.”

We?

He put her on hold.

She stood, shell-shocked and wounded. She waited two minutes. Feeling came back, deep, turbulent, rising. She waited another minute before Paul came back on the line. “Now, where was I?”

Did he really expect her to remind him? Was she supposed to take her position as target, hand him the ammunition to reload? He was a trained sniper. He never missed. “I’m taking Tim to your mother’s.”

“No, you’re not. You can’t dump Tim on her and expect Mom to solve your problems. She has enough problems of her own.”

“Tim isn’t a problem, Paul. He’s a person. He’s our son.”

“Now, look—”

“No.
You
listen. Your mother sold her house. She called a few minutes ago. She knows the situation. She invited me and Tim to come down. She said she could use Tim’s help. And I’m taking him.”

“You listen to me, Eunice.”

“I’ve listened, Paul. I’ve listened and listened. One of these days,
you’re
going to have to try it.” She hung up. How was it possible to love someone so much and dislike him so intensely? The telephone rang again. Ignoring it, she went upstairs. She tapped on Tim’s door and walked in. He was sprawled on his bed, his arm flung above his head as he stared morosely at the ceiling.

“I don’t feel like talking.”

“Get packed. We’re going to Grandma’s. We’re leaving in half an hour.”

“How long am I staying?”

“We’ll figure that out when we get there.”