“Aww, it’s okay, Mom!” Alex said. “He’s not hurting it. I got you, Charlie! I scared you!”
“Is it safe for me to assume that I am found?” Carla asked from behind the chairs.
“Yeah. Come on out, Aunt Carla!” Alex said, taking notice of the odd way in which Charlie was looking at him. “He’s worried about me now, Mom. You got him all a’scared.”
Charlie squinted and then protectively lowered his chin to the top of Alex’s head. He cradled him and then rocked him back and forth.
“You’re so sweet, Charlie,” Carla said, leaning her head on his massive arm.
“What are you doing, Charlie?” Alex asked, sounding embarrassed at Carla’s sentiment. “I’m not that sick. I’m okay.”
Carla’s head lifted off Charlie’s arm. She squinted and looked up toward the front of the church. “I think your cell phone is ringing, Brooke.”
“I think you’re right,” Brooke said, running up to the first pew and pulling the phone out of her purse. “Hello.” She glanced back at Carla and held up her hand.
It was the call she had been waiting for.
Ian was there.
IAN SAT IN HIS GRAY FORD EXPLORER IN THE PARKING lot of St. Thomas. He stared up the hill at the light pouring through the glass of the church’s front doors.
He looked at his watch for the fifteenth time. Six thirty.
Time to head up.
He stepped out of the Explorer, buttoned up his coat, put his hands in his pockets, and started slowly up the stairs, deciding to abandon all of the lines he had just rehearsed.
He stopped in front of the church doors. The last time he’d been here, he was with David Mills for sixth-grade Vacation Bible School. He had correctly memorized all of the books of the New Testament and had won a fancy Bible. He remembered taking the Bible home and reading it for three hours until the novelty of it wore off in the middle of a blockade of Old Testament names.
He opened one of the doors and stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a loud click that seemed to echo in the mostly empty hall. Four people turned around as one to stare at him from the first pew.
Brooke and Carla both stood. And then there was the big guy he remembered from Bible school. But his eyes were on the small boy kneeling on the pew with his elbows on top of the backrest, looking back at him. He realized that he’d been thinking about Alex like something he’d forgotten and had to go and collect. But the little kid wasn’t a pair of gloves he’d accidently left at the airport, a watch he’d missed packing in some hotel room, or a putter he’d not grabbed at some golf course. This kid was his son.
But I didn’t know.
Brooke and Carla walked down the aisle, and Brooke gave him a hug. He and Carla exchanged an awkward smile, but his eyes were on his son. My son.
“Did you tell him?” Ian asked, pointing up at Alex.
“Not yet,” Brooke answered.
“And what’s the big guy’s name? I remember him from when I was a kid.”
“Charlie,” Brooke said. “He and Alex are best friends.”
“If you don’t mind, I would like to tell Alex myself,” Ian said, unbuttoning his coat. He took a deep breath and ran his hand across his forehead. “Wow. This is crazy.”
“Everything is going to work out,” Brooke said, taking Ian’s arm. She sounded more confident than he felt.
“It has to work out,” he said.
“It will,” Brooke said.
The three walked up to the front of the church and stopped at the first pew, where Alex and Charlie were sitting. They both looked up at Ian.
“Charlie, this is Ian,” Brooke said. Charlie stood, and the awe was no less for Ian than it had been twenty-five years ago. The only difference was that Charlie had gone from maybe six foot six to nearly seven feet tall.
“It’s good to see you, Charlie,” Ian said, smiling and holding out his hand. He suddenly remembered from VBS that a response wasn’t likely to come. He’s only fifteen? Look how tall he is. Hey, guys—the big kid can’t talk.
Charlie took his hand gently and then let it go.
Brooke gestured toward Alex. “And this is Alex.”
Alex looked up at him, and Ian’s first instinct was to hug him. But he couldn’t. He recognized the boy’s hair. He’d also seen the small button nose and the acceptably oversized Tobias ears. He had seen this child before, because he was looking at a five-year-old version of himself. He remembered one of his mother’s favorite photographs, the one where he was sitting on Santa’s lap at the Kiwanis Christmas party. He looked at Brooke and then back to Alex—back to his son. Ian squinted, and his mouth slowly opened and closed like he was a fish out of water. The resemblance was uncanny. That little boy had jumped out of his mother’s favorite photo and onto the first pew of St. Thomas’s sanctuary.
He turned to Brooke, who looked like she wanted to cry, but Carla beat her to it. Brooke kneeled in front of Alex and said, “This man wants to talk to you, Alex.”
“About what?” Alex asked. “Is he a doctor too?”
“No, baby,” Brooke said.
“Why is Aunt Carla crying?” Alex asked. Carla edged away.
Brooke took Charlie’s hand. “Aunt Carla, Charlie, and I are going to go sit in the back so you two can talk. Okay, buddy?”
“Why?” Alex asked.
“Ian has something to tell you, Alex.”
Alex shrugged and looked at Ian. “Okay.”
Ian took his coat off and sat down next to Alex as the others moved off. “I’m really not sure what to say to you, Alex.”
Alex stared back at him. “Who are you?” he demanded, looking suspicious.
Ian found it interesting that Alex’s question seemed to pierce the heart of the matter. He leaned closer to his son and tried to answer. “I am friends with your mom.” He lifted his hand and held it out. “Let’s start with a handshake, okay? My name is Ian Tobias.”
Alex shook his hand and looked up at him. “That’s a funny name.”
“I agree with you,” he said. “I don’t want you calling me that though.”
“Okay,” Alex said in a way that Ian felt was a bit indifferent, almost as if the boy was already losing interest in him. Alex looked back at his mother and then to Ian. “What do you want me to call you?”
“How about Dad?”
“I don’t have a dad,” Alex said, turning quickly back to his mother again. “I don’t have a grandma and grandpa either.”
Reading bedtime stories, playing catch, playing baseball, teaching a child how to ride a bike—things a father was supposed to do—danced through Ian’s mind like single frames of a black-and-white movie. He put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Yes, you do.”
“I do?”
“It’s me, Alex. I’m your dad.”
Alex propped himself up on the heels of his palms. “Really?”
“Really.”
Ian noticed the peculiar way in which Alex stared at him. The boy’s eyes suddenly rounded as if a five-dollar bill had just dropped out of a birthday card. Alex stood up on the pew cushion and yelled, “Hey, Mom! He’s my dad!”
“Yes, he is, buddy,” Brooke said, putting her hands on top of the pew in front of her and rising to join them again.
Alex pulled down the top of his shirt and pointed to his port. “I have this for my medicine.”
Ian smiled at Brooke as she approached, and then at their son. “Yes, you do, Alex.”
“I have leukemia and get chemo syrupy.”
Ian dared to put his arm around Alex, pulling him a little closer. He wished he could pull him into his arms.
“Are you all right?” Brooke asked.
“Yeah!” Alex said excitedly, clearly not realizing Brooke was talking to Ian.
“How about you?” Brooke asked, trying again and nodding at Ian.
Ian looked up at her and then over to Alex. “Never better,” he said. And deep down, he knew he meant it.
THIRTY-ONE
/> There was absolutely no doubt in Jim’s mind. He knew exactly who Kenneth was and wasn’t the least bit shy about telling him. “You are Jesus.”
Kenneth stared at him for a few long seconds, then finally nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think it would take you long to figure it out, James.”
Jim smiled into Kenneth’s eyes. “Shirley had you pegged too.”
The carpenter grinned and then gave a little tug on Jim’s tie. “And you make a good Fred Flintstone. Better lay off Shirley’s fudge.”
“Can’t. Wilma makes the best in the county,” Jim said.
The two had just sat down in the last pew of the church, and Jim could hear Bobby Boris Pickett’s “Monster Mash” entertaining the partygoers over in the fellowship hall. The second he had spotted the man wearing the ridiculously cheap brown cotton beard, T-shirt, blue jeans, terrycloth bathrobe, and sandals, he couldn’t wait to invite the carpenter for a little chat.
“Best costume goes to Charlie, though,” Kenneth said. “It’s kind of hard not to vote for a seven-foot tin man.”
“I don’t know. I kind of liked Dr. Norman’s Elvis,” Jim said, “but I’m a little partial, so I’ll make mine a swing vote.”
Jim thought about how Alex had laughed when Charlie had his turn at “Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” It had become “Pin the Tail on the Donkey Eight Feet to the Right of the Donkey.” Just remembering his hysterical giggles made Jim smile; he was thankful they could have this party and bring so many people together for good family fun. But he had bigger things on his mind.
“You know, Kenneth,” Jim said, “you have some people around here, myself included, thinking some pretty unconventional things.”
“Unconventional, huh?” Kenneth asked, pulling the beard down below his chin and scratching his upper lip. “I personally like the unconventional.”
“Me too,” Jim said. “More and more.”
Kenneth narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Something specific on your mind, James?”
Jim shrugged, then fidgeted with his tie. “I think you are blessed. I believe you have a gift.”
Kenneth picked up a hymnal and leafed through the pages. “Everyone’s blessed, James. Everyone has gifts.”
“You know what I’m speaking of,” Jim said, his tone slightly chiding. “Seven fourteen? How could you possibly know when I would see?”
Kenneth’s smile grew.
“It was no accident. And I believe that you were talking about Alex and Brooke with Luke 8:50. Correct?”
“Time will tell, right?”
Jim studied him, a little disappointed he couldn’t get the man to directly answer him. “Macey said there was a woman at the hospital who came out of a coma, and she seems to think you were somehow involved. Then, both she and Zach, two very smart people, think that the cross couldn’t possibly be fixed . . . and I think that maybe Charlie was trying to tell me the same thing. Then last night, even Carla . . .” He paused. “I’m sorry, I’m blabbering.”
“No, not at all,” Kenneth said. “Please go on.”
“Look. I am a man of God,” Jim said after taking a deep breath. “And I’m not sure what to say to these people when they ask me about the things that have been happening. Christ himself said, ‘Unless you people see signs and wonders, you will by no means believe.’”
“Not you,” Kenneth said quickly. “Not you.”
Jim shook his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me which verse that was.”
“John 4, verse—”
“I know you know the verse,” Jim said, shaking his head in humility. “Why do you think the Lord allowed me to see? I mean, kids are sick. Kids are dying. There is a war going on more often than not. There are so many things happening that are more important than I am.”
“Says who?” Kenneth asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“Says me,” Jim answered. The sounds of the party seemed to fade as Kenneth stared over at him, connecting with him.
Kenneth tugged at the beard again, exposing the thin rubber band that ran up his cheek into his thick brown hair. “You are an incredible witness, James—with or without your sight. You are, and always have been.”
“Who are you?” Jim asked, wanting—needing—to know how the carpenter seemed to be at the center of all these happenings. “How do you get the visions? How do you know what’s going to happen? Does it come straight from the Lord?”
“I guess you could say that,” Kenneth said calmly.
“Why didn’t you want me to tell anyone that you knew what time I would be able to see?”
“Because that isn’t important.”
“But I want to tell the whole world about God’s glory. I want to talk about the Lord’s incredible works.”
“You already do,” Kenneth said.
The earnest look in his eyes took Jim’s breath away for a second. It’s like I’m really staring into the eyes of Jesus. The man is touched. Gifted by God. I can see it in his eyes!
“I would give up my sight right now for Alex’s health,” Jim said. “Right now, this very second.”
“I believe that,” Kenneth said, leaning toward Jim and lowering his voice. “But you don’t have to do that. Tell her—tell Brooke to only believe, and Alex will be made well.”
“She does believe. I know it, Kenneth, I know it.”
“Yes, she does,” Kenneth said.
“How do you know?” Jim asked.
Kenneth smiled. “I just do.”
“Praise God,” Jim whispered.
Kenneth nodded. “Praise him, indeed.” He smiled again. “Should we get back to the party? I saw some Special Dark bars in there.”
Jim laughed under his breath. “I’m talking with a man who has the most incredible gift I have ever seen, and all he wants is some dark chocolate?”
“Best thing on earth,” Kenneth said, rising.
“Not better than a good Reese’s cup,” Jim said, standing too. “But can I ask you one more question?”
“Of course,” Kenneth said.
“You sure seem to be taking quite an interest in a lot of people around here.”
“Yes,” Kenneth said. “And?”
Jim opened one of the fellowship hall doors, and the noise from the party seemed to bounce off them. He raised his voice so the carpenter could hear him. “Carla said you were there at the bridge when she was saved—literally saved. And Macey . . . well, she actually thinks that you—”
“Macey Lewis,” Kenneth interrupted, scanning the crowd for her. “She sees things as they are. She is very intuitive, very perceptive. Maybe even more perceptive than you are, James.”
Jim wasn’t offended by his words. They gave him hope for the doctor. “I think it’s great that you’re using your gift to be a witness for the Lord. That you’re establishing personal relationships with all of these people, myself included. We’re really glad you’re here.” Jim felt something strange race through his chest as the carpenter looked at him with his warm green eyes.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, James,” he said, pulling his beard back into place and smiling. He rested a hand on his chest. “It’s all I’ll ever want.”
THIRTY-TWO
Brooke sat next to Carla on the couch, only partially listening to her chat with Ian, as everyone else in the house slept.
It had been a draining, strange couple of weeks since the harvest party, with Ian coming by every day, sometimes twice a day, to be with Alex and go to chemo treatments and other appointments.
Ian hadn’t been shy about letting everyone know he didn’t have the faintest idea what he was doing when it came to being a father. But the general consensus was that he was doing a pretty good job, and Brooke found herself wondering if maybe Ian was a little too good at it.
All she heard lately was “Dad this” and “Dad that.”
Alex was crazy about his father, and last week when her son, their son, had refused to let her tuck him in for
the night and insisted that Ian do it, the only thing that eased the hurt was the look on Alex’s face when Ian came into the bedroom. Stubborn as she was, nothing melted her heart like Alex’s joy. Especially now.
But that didn’t keep her from secretly hoping that Ian would do something that Alex didn’t like. Maybe it would bring the hero worship down a notch or two. Make a little room for her again.
She thought about the questions that kept her on guard. How could she possibly let Alex be around a man whose morals were loose enough to allow him to have an affair on his wife? But she knew how many it took to tango. She was as much to blame as he was. And if she was a different woman now, couldn’t he be different too?
She looked at Ian as he sat in Pastor Jim’s La-Z-Boy. They had agreed that neither of them wanted to be a couple, but she knew they both wanted to be good parents.
Parents, Brooke. As in plural.
Alex now had two. It was harder to get used to than she thought it would be. Half of her had expected him to give his sample to see if he was a match and then run. Becoming a dad? An involved dad? That really hadn’t entered her mind. And as much as she was struggling with it, she knew it was good—really good—for Alex.
My issue. Not his. Don’t make it his.
“Thanks for being here, Ian,” Brooke said softly, interrupting the conversation.
“Will you quit saying that?” Ian said, giving her a playful frown. “I want to be here.”
“I know you do,” Brooke said, trying to hide a small sigh with a fake yawn.
“So, let me get this right,” Carla said. She tossed a kernel of popcorn in her mouth and passed the bowl to Brooke. “They’re gonna do a platelet transfusion if the chemo lowers Alex’s white blood cell count too much?”
“Yes,” Ian answered. That’s another good thing about him being here. Ian asked lots of questions, and he seemed to understand practically everything Macey talked about, even when she was going a million miles an hour.
“So we should be scared if they have to do that?” Carla said, pulling her feet up on the couch and wrapping them in a quilt.