Lisa turned off the television and gestured toward the recliner. "Would you like a Coke? Or maybe coffee? Mom brought over some of her poppy-seed muffins yesterday."
"No, thanks."
Rachel settled in the recliner, and there was an awkward pause that neither of them quite knew how to bridge.
Lisa swept up a copy of Redbook from the sofa and took a seat.
"How is your daughter?"
Lisa shrugged. "She's sleeping now. We thought her leukemia was in remission, but then she had a relapse. The doctors have done everything they can, so I brought her home."
Her eyes looked haunted, and Rachel understood what she wouldn't say. That she'd brought her daughter home to die.
Rachel bit her bottom lip and reached for her purse. From the very moment it had happened, she'd known what she had to do, and now the time had come. "I've brought something."
Rachel pulled out the check for twenty-five thousand dollars that Cal Bonner had given her and handed it over. "This is for you."
She watched the play of emotions ranging from confusion to disbelief cross Lisa's face.
Lisa's hand trembled. She blinked her eyes, as if she were having trouble focusing. "It's—it's made out to you. What is this?"
"I've endorsed it over to Emily's Fund. It's postdated a week from tomorrow, so you'll have to wait to deposit it."
Lisa studied the signature on the back, then gaped at Rachel. "But this is so much money. And I don't even know you. Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want you to have it."
"But…"
"Please. It means a lot to me." She smiled. "I do have one request, though. I'm leaving town next Monday, and, after I'm gone, I'd really appreciate it if you'd send Cal Bonner a note thanking him for his generosity."
"Of course I will. But…" Lisa retained the stunned look of someone who wasn't accustomed to hearing good news.
"He'll love knowing his money will be helping your daughter," Rachel allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. She would have fulfilled Cal's terms, so he couldn't ask for the money back. But he'd also know she'd gotten the best of him.
"Mommy…"
Lisa's shoulders straightened as a small, weary voice came from the back of the house. "Coming." She rose, the precious check clutched in her hand. "Would you like to meet Emily?"
If Lisa's mother had been present, Rachel would have made an excuse, but Lisa didn't seem to expect any miracle healing from her. "I'd love to."
Lisa tucked the check in her pocket, then led Rachel down the short hallway that opened between the living room and kitchen. They passed a bedroom on the right with a bathroom directly opposite, and then came to Emily's room.
Little girls in sunbonnets frolicked across the wallpaper and yellow eyelet curtains framed the room's single window. A bouquet of partially deflated helium balloons bobbed lethargically in one corner and get-well cards were propped on every surface. Many of them had begun to curl at the corners.
Rachel's eyes sought out the room's twin bed, where a pale little girl lay in wrinkled blue sheets. Her face was bloated, and dark bruises marred her arms. A few short wisps of fuzzy brown hair covered her small head like thistledown. She held a pink teddy bear and regarded Rachel out of luminous green eyes.
Lisa went to the side of her bed. "Want some juice, peanut?"
"Yes, please."
She fixed the pillow so Emily could sit up. "Apple or orange?"
"Apple."
Lisa straightened the top sheet. "This is Rachel. She's a friend, not a doctor. Maybe you'd like to show her Blinky while I get your juice. Rachel, this is Emily."
Rachel came forward as Lisa left the room. "Hi, Emily. Do you mind if I sit on your bed?"
She shook her head, and Rachel settled on the edge of the mattress. "I'll bet I know who Blinky is."
Emily glanced at her pink teddy bear and hugged it tighter.
Rachel gently touched the tip of the child's button nose. "I'll bet this is Blinky."
Emily smiled and shook her head.
"Oh, I've got it now." She touched Emily's ear. "This must be Blinky."
Emily giggled. "No."
They continued to play the game for a few more rounds until Rachel correctly identified the bear. The little girl was a born charmer, and it was heartbreaking to see the devastation the disease had wreaked on her.
Lisa came in with a yellow plastic mug, but just as Rachel began to get up from the side of the bed so she could give the juice to her daughter, the phone rang. Lisa extended the mug toward Rachel. "Would you mind?"
"Of course not."
As Lisa left, Rachel helped Emily sit the rest of the way up and brought the cup to her lips.
"I can do it myself."
"Of course you can. You're a big girl."
The child grasped the mug in both hands, took a sip, then gave it back.
"Can you drink a little more?"
Even that small effort had exhausted her, and Emily's eyelids drooped.
Rachel lay her back down and set the cup on the bedside table amidst a jungle of pill bottles. "I have a boy just a little older than you."
"Does he like to play outside?"
Rachel nodded and took the child's hand.
"I like to play outside, but I don't get to 'cause I have 'kemia."
"I know."
Old ways died hard, and, as Rachel gazed down into the little girl's small, pale face, she found herself once again berating the God she didn't believe in. How could You do this? How could You let such a terrible thing happen to this beautiful child?
From out of nowhere, Gabe's words came back to her. Maybe you've got God mixed up with Santa Claus.
Sitting next to this child who clung so desperately to life must have heightened her senses because the words struck her in a way they hadn't before. Something inside her grew still and calm, and, for the first time, she understood what Gabe had been trying to say. Her vision of God was a child's vision.
All her life she'd seen God as someone entirely separate from humans, an old man who arbitrarily dispensed good fortune and bad, all on some divine whim. No wonder she hadn't been able to love this God. Who could love a God so cruel and unfair?
God hadn't done this to Emily, she realized. Life had done it.
But even as she sat there, Dwayne's theology hammered at her. God was omnipotent. All-powerful. What did that mean to this dying child whose hand she held?
It came to her suddenly—the realization that she'd always thought of God's omnipotence in worldly terms. She'd compared it to the power of earthly rulers who had the mastery of life and death over their subjects. But God wasn't a tyrant, and at that moment, with Emily's small hand curled in hers, Rachel's entire vision of creation shifted.
God was omnipotent, she saw, not in the way of earthly kings, but in the same way that love was omnipotent. Love was the greatest power, and God's omnipotent power was the power of love.
Warmth stole through every part of her, moving out from her very center, and along with that warmth came a sense of ecstasy.
Dear God, fill this blessed child with the omnipotence of Your love.
"Your skin is hot."
The child's voice startled her. She blinked her eyes and her feeling of bliss faded. Only then did she realize how tightly she was gripping the little girl's hand, and she immediately let her go. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to squeeze so tight."
As Rachel stood up, she realized her legs were trembling. She felt weak, as if she'd just run for miles. What had happened to her? She'd had a glimpse of something important, but she could no longer grasp exactly what it was.
"I want to sit up now."
"Let me see if it's all right with your mother."
The screen door banged, and a loud male voice rang out from the front of the house. "I know that car. Damn it, Lisa! What's she doing here?"
"Calm down. I—"
But he wasn't listening. Rachel heard a heavy tread in the hallway, then
a man Rachel recognized as Russ Scudder filled the doorway of Emily's room.
"Hi, Daddy."
Chapter Twenty-One
« ^ »
Lisa pushed past Russ. "Emily, what are you doing sitting up?"
"I got hot."
Her hand flew to the child's brow. "You don't feel hot." She grabbed the thermometer from a glass on the bedside table and pushed it between Emily's lips. "Let's see if you're running a temperature."
Russ glared at Rachel, then moved toward his daughter. "Hey, puddin'."
"You said you'd come yesterday, Daddy." Emily spoke around the thermometer.
"Yeah, well, I was pretty busy. But I'm here now." As he sat on the side of the bed and took Emily's hand, he shot Rachel a venomous look.
"Rachel's got a little boy," Emily said. "Her hands is hot."
Russ's eyes grew fierce. "Get out of here."
"Stop it, Russ." Lisa stepped forward.
"I don't want her near Emily."
"This is my house now, and what you want doesn't matter."
"It's all right," Rachel said. "I have to go anyway. Good-bye, Emily. You take care of yourself."
Emily pulled the thermometer from her mouth. "Can your little boy come play with me?"
296
"We're going to be moving soon. I'm afraid he won't be around much longer."
Lisa tried to put the thermometer back in, but Emily shook her head. "Want to read a story. Want apple juice."
"What's going on?" Russ said. "You told me she's been too sick to sit up."
"I guess she's having a good day." Lisa walked over to Rachel. Taking her hand, she drew her into the hallway. "I'll never be able to thank you enough. That money's going to make a lot of difference."
Russ appeared behind them. "What money?"
"Rachel is giving us twenty-five thousand dollars for Emily's Fund."
"What?" He sounded as if he were choking.
"The check is from Cal Bonner," Rachel said. "It's his gift, not mine."
Lisa's expression indicated she didn't believe it, and Russ looked as if he'd been hit by a stun gun. Suddenly Rachel needed to get away from them both. "Good luck."
A small voice called out to her from the bedroom. "Bye, Rachel."
"Bye, sweetie."
She left the house and hurried to her car.
As Ethan pulled into the left lane of the interstate to pass a Ryder rental truck with two bicycles hanging off the rear, Kristy gazed at his calendar boy-profile. "I can't believe you're serious about this."
He slipped back into the right lane. "I'm just not cut out to be a pastor. I've known it for a long time, and I'm tired of fighting it. I'm planning to turn in my letter of resignation on Monday, as soon as we get back."
Kristy started to argue, then shut her mouth. What was the use? He'd dropped his bombshell just as they'd left Salvation. Now they were approaching Knoxville, and she'd been debating with him the whole time. Unfortunately, he showed no sign of changing his mind.
Ethan Bonner had been born to be a pastor. How could he not understand that? This was the worst mistake of his life, but no matter what she said, he wasn't going to listen.
"Could we please talk about something else?" he said.
It was already late, nearly evening on Friday. They'd be returning to Salvation after the conference's Sunday-morning prayer service and luncheon, which didn't give her much time to reason with him. "What will you do?"
"Counseling probably. Maybe I'll go back to school and get my Ph.D. in psychology. I don't know."
She played her trump card. "Your brothers are going to be so disappointed in you, not to mention your parents."
"We all have to live our own lives." They were approaching an exit ramp, and he pulled over. "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."
He knew as well as she did that the conference kicked off with a buffet dinner at seven, and her car trouble had already made them late. She hadn't wanted to spend too much time alone with him, so she'd planned to drive separately to Knoxville, but when she'd tried to start her normally reliable Honda, nothing had happened, and she'd been forced to go with him. "It's already six, and we really don't have time."
"Are you afraid somebody's going to give you an F on your report card if you're late?"
This sarcasm was new to him, one of several changes hat had taken place since she'd told him she was quitting, and she didn't like it. "It's your conference, not mine. I wouldn't even be going if you hadn't nagged me into it."
Her two weeks' notice had been up nearly a week ago, but he'd bullied her into staying on the job through this weekend, and since her new position at the preschool in Brevard didn't start until Monday, she'd agreed. Now she wished she hadn't been such a pushover.
Being with him had grown even more painful since last Friday night at the Pride of Carolina. What had happened in the front seat of his car had destroyed her illusions that she might be getting over him. She still loved him, and she knew she always would, even though being around him this past week had felt like a ride on a runaway roller coaster.
He alternated between uncharacteristic bouts of snappishness and being so sweet and thoughtful that she could barely hold back tears. When he wasn't snarling at her, he displayed an almost puppy-dog eagerness to please. She knew her accusation that he hadn't been a friend had stung him badly, and she only wished she could chalk his behavior up to an emotion other than guilt.
Sometimes she'd catch him watching her, and even her inexperienced eyes recognized the desire she saw there. It should have made her happy. Wasn't that what she'd wanted? But the knowledge only depressed her. She didn't want to be some babe he lusted after. She wanted to be his love.
She realized he'd passed the fast-food restaurants that sat near the freeway exit. "I thought you said you were hungry."
"I am." But he continued to drive down the two-lane country highway. Finally he slowed and made a left turn into the parking lot of a dingy diner that sat next to an eight-unit motel.
The diner's gravel lot contained mostly pickups. As he parked between two of them, she regarded the place with distaste. Its dirty mustard asphalt shingles and flickering neon beer signs hardly looked promising. "I think we should go back to the Hardee's."
"I like this place."
"It's not respectable."
"Good." He jerked the keys from the ignition and threw open the door.
It was going to be a long weekend if his mood didn't improve soon. Gruder Mathias, one of the town's retired clergy, was preaching for Ethan on Sunday, and Monday was his day off, so he wouldn't be in any hurry to get back.
With a sigh of resignation, she trailed after him to the entrance, which featured a pair of heavy wooden doors in a fake Mediterranean motif. She heard the whine of a country ballad even before they stepped inside.
A blast of air-conditioning plastered her tomato-red ribbed tank dress to her body. She smelled hot grease and stale beer. At the dimly lit bar, a group of ol' boys wearing gimme caps and muddy jeans sat drinking beer and smoking.
Since it was still relatively early, most of the tables were vacant, as were the brown vinyl booths. Dusty plastic vines that looked as if they'd been stapled to the paneled walls a decade earlier provided the decor, along with some framed health-department certificates that had to be forgeries.
Ethan steered her to a booth in the back. As soon as they were settled, the bartender, a no-neck bald-headed man, called over for their drink order. "What'll you have?"
"Coke," she replied, hesitating only a moment before she added, "In the can, please."
"I'll have scotch on the rocks."
Kristy gazed at Ethan in surprise. She'd never seen him drink strong liquor. He didn't even order margaritas in Mexican restaurants.
She had to remind herself that he was no longer her responsibility, so she bit her tongue.
One of the men at the bar turned to stare at her. Having men notice her was still new enough to make her uncomfortable,
so she pretended not to notice.
The bartender brought over their drinks, then slapped down two laminated menus sticky with old condiments. "Jeannie'll be with you in a minute. Special tonight is fried catfish." He walked away.
Kristy poked the grubby menus out of the way with her little finger. Ignoring the empty glass of ice cubes, she wiped the rim of the can with her paper napkin before she took a drink. The Coke was warm, but at least it was sanitary.
The man at the bar continued to watch her. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, with a Miller Lite T-shirt and powerful biceps. She tugged nervously on one of her fake diamond studs. Her short tank dress was sexy, but not so trashy that it served as an open invitation, and she wished he'd look somewhere else.
Ethan took a sip of scotch and shot the man an accusing glare. "What do you think you're looking at?"
She gasped. "Ethan!"
The man at the bar shrugged. "Don't see no 'sold' sign on her."
"Maybe that's because you can't read."
Her eyes widened with dismay. Ethan, the dedicated pacifist, seemed to be spoiling for a fight with a brute who outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, all of it muscle.
The man at the bar uncoiled from the stool, and she swore she saw the light of anticipation in Ethan's blue eyes. Her mind raced. What would Rachel do?
She gulped and held up her hand toward the muscular man. "Please don't take offense. He hasn't been the same since he gave up the priesthood." It wasn't much of a lie, she thought.
But the bully didn't appear to be buying it. "He doesn't look like a priest."
"That's because he isn't anymore." She took a deep breath. "He's very protective of me. I'm… uh… Sister Kristina, his… sister."
"You're a nun?" His gaze slid to the scooped neck of her tank dress.
"Yes, I am. And God bless you."
"You don't look like a nun."
"My order doesn't wear habits."
"Aren't you at least supposed to wear crucifixes or something?"
She tugged on the delicate gold chain around her neck and withdrew the small gold cross that nestled between her breasts.