Although he tried, Adam couldn’t conceal his
discomfort.
“It’s . . . it’s of a personal nature,” Adam
said.
“Look, why don’t you just spit it out? We’re
friends. I’ll stand by you and do whatever I can.”
Adam took a long, deep breath and said: “It’s about
Rachel Tremaine.”
“Wait, I know that name.”
“Dr. Rachel Tremaine—she performed my surgery.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember.” Dick said smiling, “You
told me she gave you a pretty bad time about being a preacher.”
“That’s the one, but I’ve discovered that there’s a
lot more to her.”
“Oh?” Dick replied, leaning back in the booth and
raising an eyebrow.
“Let me start from the beginning.” Adam relayed the
events of the last few days. He spoke of the investigation, the
walk at La Jolla Cove, and Rachel’s offer last night. As Adam
finished, the waitress brought Dick’s breakfast. Dick closed his
eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Adam couldn’t tell if he
was thinking or marshaling his concentration to stifle his urge to
laugh.
“Let me get this right,” Dick said. “You go into her
home to use the phone, you kiss for a moment, and then while you’re
makin’ your call, she comes out in a nightgown.”
“That
’
s right.” Adam looked into his
coffee cup to avoid eye contact.
Dick said nothing for a moment. Then with a broad
grin he said, “My pastor—the lady-killer. Don’t let Mrs. Bachelder
hear of this.”
“She won’t hear it from me.”
“She won’t hear from this side of the table either.”
Dick grinned again. “I’m sorry, Pastor, it’s just not every day
that a man hears that a woman try to seduce their preacher.”
“This is the first time, and I hope it’s the last,”
Adam said defensively.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you did the
right thing and showed more strength than most men could—preacher
or not.”
“I don’t feel strong; I just feel confused.”
“It sounds like you have feelings for this
woman.”
Adam sat quietly and turned his empty coffee cup on
the table. “Yes, I think I do. That brings about a whole new set of
problems, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Dick asked.
“Well, she’s not a believer. In fact, I think she
may be an atheist.”
“And so you think that a relationship between you
two wouldn’t work out.”
“That’s what I’ve been teaching our church,
especially our youth. We should avoid being unequally yoked.”
“Talk to her.”
Adam looked puzzled, “Talk to her?”
“Sure. Look, how do you know that God didn’t put her
in your path to solve two problems: companionship for you and
salvation for her? For all you know, you’re supposed to fall in
love.”
Adam blinked hard. “But I don’t see how . . . I mean
. . .”
“You amaze me, Pastor. How can you be so talented
and not see that talent yourself? Talk to her. If anyone can show
her the truth, you can. Do you remember that time we were downtown
and we came across the police attempting to stop a suicide? You
identified yourself as a minister and offered to help. Do you
remember that?”
“Of course. The man’s wife had left him and took the
kids with her. He had a gun to his head and was standing in the
middle of Broadway.”
“And what did you do?” Dick asked pointedly.
“The police let me talk to him and he gave up his
gun.”
“Exactly. But not only did you convince him not to
kill himself, but you even had him laughing. It was incredible, you
and this guy standing in the street surrounded by the police, and
you’re telling jokes—and he’s laughing.”
“Well, that was different.”
Dick chuckled. “No, it wasn’t. Adam, you’re the most
persuasive man I know. You can do things with words that are
unbelievable. You’re blessed in that way, and that’s not just my
opinion. I could bring dozens of people from the church in here and
they’d tell you the same thing.”
“So, what’s your point?”
“My point is this: stop feeling guilty for being
attracted to a woman. Talk to her. Tell her the truth about your
beliefs, and your feelings, and then let God do the rest.”
“It seems too simple.”
“It is, and that’s why you’re overlooking it. You’ve
been through a lot lately and maybe the simple things are getting
by you. Trust me, just talk to her. She’ll see the light, and if
she doesn’t, then at least you’ll know where you stand.”
“But after last night, she may not want to talk to
me.”
“She will, and if she doesn’t, then make her want to
talk to you.”
Adam leaned back and thought. Could it be that
simple? It sounded exactly like advice he had given others in
similar situations over the years. Apparently, he was too close to
the situation to see the obvious.
“Thanks, Dick.” Adam grinned. “I think I’ll do just
that. As soon as I get back from L.A., I’ll call her and we’ll have
that talk. I appreciate your help.”
“Do you appreciate it enough to pay for my
breakfast?” Dick asked and then laughed.
Adam joined the laughter.
IT TOOK JUST OVER two hours for Adam to arrive in
L.A. It took another thirty minutes to find the studio where the
show would be taped. Identifying himself to a young security guard,
he was directed to the guest parking. From there it was a short
walk to the studio’s reception area where a young man led him to
the makeup room.
A matronly woman dabbed powder on his face and
combed his hair. Adam noticed that he was the only one in the
room.
“Am I the first here?” Adam asked.
“Oh, no,” the woman said. “The rest have already
been through. You’re the last.”
“I’m not late, am I?” Adam was suddenly concerned
that he had misunderstood the time he was to be there.
“No. Mr. Phillips wanted to meet with a couple of
the guests beforehand.”
Adam wondered why he had been excluded, but then
decided he was being paranoid. A short time later Adam was led to
the set.
The set was different than the one normally used by
the
Milt Phillips Show.
Instead of the typical setup with a
large desk and several chairs in a row, there were four chairs set
in a semicircle around a large glass coffee table. Adam was shown
where to sit on the stage.
“The director and Mr. Phillips will be here
shortly,” his escort said.
For twenty minutes Adam sat alone on the set feeling
conspicuous. Cameramen and technicians began arriving and
positioning equipment.
“You must be Reverend Bridger,” a loud voice said
from nowhere.
Adam looked around to see who had spoken but saw no
one nearby. The cameramen continued to ignore him as they went
about their duties.
“I’m in the control booth, Reverend,” the voice
said. “Look up and to your left.”
Adam did as told. On the next floor above and behind
a glass wall stood a man waving. The man wore a headset.
“Go ahead and speak,” the man said. “The set is
wired for sound.”
“Yes, I’m Adam Bridger.” He felt a little
self-conscious at speaking to the empty room.
“Good. I’m Jerry Williams, the director. Margo, the
floor director, and the rest of the folks should be with you in a
minute, so just make yourself comfortable. Can I get you some
coffee?”
“No thanks. I’m fine.”
“Great. We’ll be starting soon. Margo will get your
mike and whatever else you need.”
True to the director’s word, a side door opened and
a line of people entered the set. Adam recognized two of them—Milt
Phillips and Dr. Charles Cruden. Three others entered whom Adam did
not recognize: an extremely tall, thin woman with blond hair;
another woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and a squat man in a
three-piece suit. The five of them walked directly to the set.
“Reverend Bridger?”
“Yes, Mr. Phillips,” Adam said cordially. “I’m
pleased to meet you.”
“And I you.” Phillips shook Adam’s hand. “Let me
make some introductions. This is Dr. Charles Cruden, our
astrophysicist for the program. This lovely young lady,” he said,
motioning to the tall woman, “is Amelia Larsons. She teaches New
Age philosophy. Over here is Dr. Robert Jennings, a local
psychiatrist. Finally, let me introduce Margo, our floor director.
Let’s have a seat and talk about today’s show.”
Adam took the seat he had been assigned and watched
as the others did the same. Adam thought the seating arrangement
had been established with some purpose in mind. He could only guess
as to the reasons. Phillips sat in the center. To his left was Dr.
Cruden, and to Dr. Cruden’s left Jennings. Adam sat to the
immediate right of Phillips, and Amelia to Adam’s right.
“As you all know, our show deals with modern-day
miracles,” Phillips said. As he spoke, Margo scurried about
clipping lapel microphones to everyone. “The program will be an
open forum with dialogue being shared by you folks. I will ask some
questions to get us started and will moderate the show. During the
last portion of the broadcast, we will take questions from the
audience. I hope you will all feel free to say what’s on your mind.
Any questions?”
“Audience?” Adam hadn’t thought about an audience
being present.
“Yes,” Phillips said. “They’re being seated now.”
Adam looked up and saw that a small crowd Was being ushered into
the studio.
“Any other questions?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “When will I be able to make my
appeal?”
“Oh, yes,” Phillips said. “You made that a
contingency, didn’t you? Well, we’ll save some time for you at the
end of the program.”
“Three minutes to taping,” the director said from
overhead. Everyone waited in silence for the cue from the floor
director. Suddenly, Margo held up five fingers that signaled five
seconds left before the taping began. The show’s theme song filled
the room. With each passing second she brought one finger down
until only one remained with which she abruptly pointed at
Phillips.
“Good evening,” Phillips said, smiling. “Tonight, we
are doing something different on our show: we are having an open
discussion on modern-day miracles. Recently, our newspapers have
been filled with fantastic stories of miraculous healings in the
San Diego area. Stories of burn victims, cancer patients, and
others, suddenly being returned to health.
“To help us in our discussion,” Phillips continued,
“is the eminent astrophysicist Dr. Charles Cruden of the Jet
Propulsion Laboratories in Pasadena; Dr. Robert Jennings, a
psychiatrist in private practice and author of
Real World
Living;
the Reverend Dr. Adam Bridger of the Maple Street
Community Church in San Diego and pastor to one of the individuals
allegedly healed. Also with us today is writer and New Age teacher
Amelia Larsons.”
Monitors mounted out of camera range allowed Adam to
see what was being recorded. As each individual was introduced, a
close-up of their face appeared on the monitor.
“Reverend Bridger,” Phillips said, turning to face
Adam, “you are close to the events at Kingston Memorial Hospital,
and I understand that you’re helping in the investigation. Just
what’s going on down there?”
Adam cleared his throat nervously. “Actually, I’m
not an official part of any investigation. I’m involved because one
of my members was healed and later mysteriously disappeared.”
“Tell us what happened to your church member—a Mr.
Lorayne, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “David Lorayne was admitted to the
hospital for surgery. Although the surgery went well, David slipped
into a deep coma. He quickly began to waste away; his heartbeat
became very irregular and his breathing labored. The doctors had
doubts that he would live through the night.”
“Then what happened?” Phillips prodded.
“I was in the hospital to visit with the family. I
had just been in the room with David and his wife, but had left to
talk to the rest of the family. When I returned, David was sitting
up in bed talking.”
“So, he just woke up?” Phillips asked.
“Actually, there’s more to it than that. Had he just
awakened, we would have said that he simply came out of the coma.
However, there was something else that took us all aback.”
“What was that?”
“As I said earlier, he had gone in for surgery.
After his sudden awakening, the doctors examined him. What shocked
them the most was that his surgical incision was gone.”
Several in the audience gasped.
“Gone?” Phillips asked.
“Yes. I was there. There was no sign that an
incision had ever been made.”
“And you expect us to believe all this?” Cruden said
sarcastically.
Since Adam was aware of Cruden’s acerbic nature, he
wasn’t surprised by the sudden sarcasm.
“Actually,” Adam said smoothly, “I have no
expectation of you at all. I was asked to tell what happened and I
have done so. What you believe or don’t believe is entirely up to
you.”
“I, for one, choose not to believe this fairy tale,”
Cruden remarked coldly.
“Why?” Phillips asked.
“Because surgical scars simply don’t disappear. It
is impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” Phillips prodded.
“Because it defies known laws of nature. It is too
much to believe.”
“How would you explain it, then?” Phillips
asked.
“Without a reliable investigation, it would be hard
to say, but it could be many things: a promotional gimmick,
hysteria, a mix-up in hospital records.”
“Each of your suggestions is equally unbelievable,”
Adam interjected. “The nurses had changed his dressing several
times and each time they saw the surgical incision. And let’s not
forget his wife who was with David immediately before his surgery,
and with him continually after. No, in the case of David Lorayne,
something supernatural happened.”
“A miracle?” Cruden’s sarcasm was evident to all.
“I’m afraid I don’t believe in miracles, Reverend Bridger. I don’t
believe in your God, or anyone else’s God. I am an empiricist. I
believe only in that which is tangible.”