A Stranger's Wish (33 page)

“Did you always hate Adam so?”

“No. I used to like him,” he admitted. “But I’ve distrusted him for years. That’s why I began keeping my private set of books. He’s a charming man. Funny. Clever. And I never expected to use my information. I didn’t want to hurt him, just protect myself if the need ever arose. Turn state’s witness. Plea bargain. That kind of thing. And that’s the way it probably would have remained if he hadn’t killed Cathleen.”

“Mr. Geohagan!
She
made that choice.”

“
He
did! And he crippled Doris and ruined my life!” His voice shook with the intensity of his emotion. “He took away everything I’ve ever valued. Well, I just managed to do the same to him.”

The implacability of the obsessed,
I thought as I watched him struggle to breathe. I patted his hand to calm him. “Easy. Take it easy.”

He attempted to draw a deep breath. He couldn’t, not really, but I waited for a bit while he seemed to let some of his anger go.

“Why wasn’t I supposed to tell anyone I had your key?” I finally asked. I couldn’t see how that mattered at all.

“Because I didn’t want one of those strange coincidences that can stalk life to ruin my plan. What if you had by some chance known Adam? A lot of people do. You might have unintentionally messed things up.”

“You really had it planned, didn’t you?” I said. “Considered all contingencies.”

Mr. Geohagan looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t judge me, Kristie. You’re not the issue here. Neither’s Cathleen or Doris. Adam is, and he deserves everything that’s going to happen to him. Look what he did to Cathleen, to Doris, to
me
. He ruined my life!”

By the time he finished his tirade, he was gasping.

I leaned forward. “Shh! Calm down. It’s not good to get so upset.”

He snorted. “You think I care? I’ve got nothing left.”

“I care.” I was surprised to find I meant it. “I want you to get better. I want you to let go of your hate and bitterness. It’s making you sicker than your physical problems. God can help you forgive and recover.”

“No! I don’t want to forgive and recover! No! Not God! Not Adam!”

I felt unbearable sorrow as I finally understood that he had chosen revenge and hatred over God.

“Shh,” I said around the choking knot of emotion in my throat. I took his clenched fist in mine and rubbed my thumb back and forth over his hand in what I hoped was a soothing manner. Slowly his short, jerky breaths began to ease.

The door banged wildly against the wall, making us both jump, and in flew a fury named Irene Parsons Carmody Hurlbert. Her hair was unkempt, and her face without its usual masterful makeup was blotched and pasty. Her jaw jutted forward and her eyes flashed fire.

She strode to the bed and stood across from me, staring down at Everett Geohagan. Her face was ugly with loathing.

“How did you get in here?” I asked. “What do you want?”

She ignored me. All her energy was focused on Mr. Geohagan, and I didn’t even exist.

“You cruel old man! You foul, filthy beast! How dare you!” Venom dripped from each carefully enunciated word.

Mr. Geohagan shrank into his pillow, his face losing what little color it still had.

“Stop that!” I reached across the bed and grabbed awkwardly at Irene’s wrist. “Let him alone!”

She shook me off and grabbed Mr. Geohagan’s shoulders, digging long, perfectly manicured talons into his frail body.

“How long have you been planning this, you evil creature? Ever since Adam left your sniveling daughter? Well, don’t think we’ll let you rip us apart without tearing you open too!” She shook his shoulders. “We’ll take you down with us, I promise!”

“Let him go!” I grabbed Irene’s hands, trying to pry them from Mr. Geohagan. She was so consumed by her hatred that I had all the impact of a fly.

“We’ll make sure the world knows Cathleen was nothing more than a common whore,” Irene spat. “And you’re no better, keeping your information for years and then selling it for a tidy profit!”

I jerked with surprise, finally drawing Irene’s attention and scorn.

“You didn’t actually believe his sanctimonious lies about protecting the people, did you?”

“Well, no,” I said weakly. “But money?” I looked at him in dismay and he stared stonily back. While I hadn’t been naive enough to believe his stated rationale, I’d never imagined he’d been paid for his betrayal.

Irene laughed, sounding like the evil queen in
Snow White
. “Not the
Intell
.
People
magazine. They called us for a statement to include in the story he sold.”

National shame and humiliation.

She turned back to Mr. Geohagan. “I’ll get you, old man. You can depend on it.” She reached for him again, grabbing a wrist and squeezing, squeezing. “You’ll know the taste of gall, and you’ll hurt like you didn’t know you could hurt.” She leaned over and hissed in his face like Cleopatra’s asp. “You’re a dead man.”

“Stop it!” I yelled, running around the bed. “You’re going to kill him!”

“Yes!” she yelled. “Yes!”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her, dragging her back from the bed. “Help!” I screamed. “Help!”

It took all my strength to pull the woman away, so great was her fury. We stood locked together, my face buried in her back, while she fought to get free. Then slowly she calmed; slowly she began to breathe more evenly.

“I’m okay,” she finally spit. “Let go.”

I had just released her when a nurse and an aide arrived in belated response to my screams. The nurse gasped at what she saw.

Irene and I looked with her at the bed. Irene smiled. Then she turned and calmly walked through the door.

“Out!” the nurse screamed at me as I stood frozen. She leaped astride Mr. Geohagan and began the first movement of the Resuscitation Ballet. “Crash cart!” she yelled at the aide, who was already running.

I stood alone in the hall and watched the personnel and machines pour into Mr. Geohagan’s room. I watched alone as the same people walked defeated from the room, wheeling the machinery before them. I cried alone as the nurse walked up to me and said, “I’m sorry.”

22

I
found myself in the woods, sitting beside the little pond I had painted not too long ago. The brilliant leaves were now gone from its surface, and the surrounding oaks, poplars, and maples were drained of color, the few clinging leaves brown and shriveled. But the burble of the tumbling water was somehow comforting, its gurgling music soothing.

I watched a bubble detach itself from the froth of the little waterfall and float in circles on the pool’s surface. Suddenly it burst, gone forever, never to be seen again.

Like Mr. Geohagan.

I’d slept little last night, his voice with its various shadings and emotions running through my mind like a loop of audio tape.

“Did I ever tell you that you remind me of my daughter, Cathleen?”

“You can’t trust men who go to church, Kristie. They’re too dumb to know what a wonderful woman you are.”

“I spent the last couple of days worrying about you. First there was that louse, What’s-his-name, and then those men last night. Are you really all right?”

“You don’t have any acquaintance with hate, do you.”

I lay my face on my knees and let a fresh wash of tears wet my jeans. I hadn’t cried over Clarke, maybe because the hurt went so deep, but the absolute finality of Mr. Geohagan’s rejection of God and the unalterable reality of his death undid what little emotional restraint I had left.

The Zooks had been so kind to me, so solicitous. Mary had hugged me and John had prayed with me—in High German—asking God to ease my heart’s hurt. If I hadn’t understood the words, I’d understood the tone, felt the concern.

And Jake. Early this morning he’d been in the great room as I tried to force myself to eat, and he’d taken my hand in his.

“I’m sorry, Kristie,” he said. “I know how much the old man meant to you. I’m sorry he died and—” he swallowed hard, “—And I’m sorry for everything else too. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He smiled awkwardly and turned bright red. “Uh, I’m going to my first GED class Monday.”

I smiled weakly. “Good,” I whispered. “I’m glad.”

Then I went outside and walked and walked, trying to come to terms with Mr. Geohagan as the complex and all too human man that he had been. Encourager and destroyer. Kindly friend and implacable enemy. Lover of family and hater of any who harmed them. My cheerleader and my manipulator.

I finally came to the patch of woods with the pool and sank onto my rock. So much had happened in so little time. My head and heart swam.

Monday I had had the discussion with Jake about hiding behind his family’s faith. Judging by his kindness this morning, he had finally forgiven me.

Tuesday Clarke had come to my rescue—and then left to fly home with Mary Ann.

Wednesday Barnum Hadley had showed up.

Thursday Ruth got married and Adam’s perfidy was revealed.

Friday Cathleen’s involvement with Adam became common knowledge, Mr. Geohagan made the absolute choice to hate instead of to know God, and Irene got her supreme revenge.

No wonder I was weary beyond concentration.

Oh, God, at least You’re always there and always dependable.

I don’t know how long I sat staring at the bubbling water as it leaped fearlessly over the edge of its falls, joyously seeking what came next, singing as it went. I decided that I most certainly wasn’t up to leaping and singing, not up to being joyous. I wouldn’t be for a long time. But I knew I wanted—I needed—to move on with God.

Whatever waits ahead, God, I want to go through it with You. I choose You. I choose Your way.

Both the silence of the woods and the babbling of the brook seemed confirmation from God that we had a pact. We sat quietly together, He and I.

I thought that sometimes this choice would put me at odds with my parents. I wanted their approval and encouragement, but what if I never got it?

I’d been willing to forgive Mr. Geohagan for putting me in danger. Surely I could find the strength to forgive my parents for trying to force me into their mold. I thought of the young Clarke forgiving his parents for going to Brazil.

“I’ve learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”

“Lord, give me the grace to let go of the need to be understood. Help me—”

I broke off as the woods came alive with the sound of someone charging ahead, twigs snapping, leaves crackling. I jumped to my feet, back in the unpleasant and fearful memories of the man who had accosted me here before.

“Kristie!” called the man thrashing his way in my direction. My heart began to pound. I turned and managed to take a step or two before he reached me, but that was it. He grabbed me with an intensity and ferocity that undid me.

“Shh.” Clarke pulled me close. “Don’t cry. It’ll be all right. I’m never leaving you again. Oh, Kristie, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here with you when you needed me!”

Then I really cried, soaking the front of Clarke’s jacket.

“He never believed,” I sobbed. “He chose to hate.”

“Some people do,” he said, stroking my hair. “God doesn’t force us to trust in Him. Jesus may have died for the world, but all the world doesn’t believe. For His own reasons, God allows that.”

“But it’s so sad! It’s bad enough to have him die, but to have him die in unbelief breaks my heart.”

He held me as I snuffled some more. Finally I pulled back and we both stared at the huge wet spot on the front of his jacket.

“It’s supposed to be waterproof,” he said in a disillusioned voice.

“You should never believe advertising claims,” I hiccupped, running a shaky hand over my eyes, wiping away my tears. At least I hadn’t put on mascara, so I didn’t look like a raccoon. Just very red rimmed. And blotchy. Oh, well. He might as well find out how the real me looked now. It’d save him the shock later.

“Now tell me, guy,” I said, trying to sound at least a tad self-possessed. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”

“From home, of course,” he said.

“I thought you were gone for good, off with the fair Mary Ann.”

He looked at me quizzically. “We just went home to visit Mom and Dad. Mary Ann’s been on the road for a year, so this was a family reunion of sorts. My only regret was that I couldn’t take you along too.”

Mom and Dad? Family reunion? I looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Just who is Mary Ann?”

“She’s my younger and only sister. Why?” Then he understood and began to laugh, having a wonderful time at my expense. “You thought…” He couldn’t finish the sentence for his laughter.

I stood as straight as I could and stared haughtily at him, no small trick when you look as much like a sick chicken as I did. “If you’ll think back, you never told me who she was. All I know is that she kissed you in the church parking lot last Sunday and that you and she flew off together Tuesday night. And you never contacted me after she appeared. Not once.” My voice wavered.

“Poor baby,” he said, cupping my cheek.

I pushed his hand away. “Not that you contacted me much before she appeared, either. If I hadn’t been beaten up so many times, I’d probably never have seen you.”

He looked at me, his smile wide. “I’ve just been waiting to see if Todd was truly a thing of the past,” he said. “Do you know, I fell for you the first time I saw you, holding your cheek, your beautiful face all white and scared. Then you looked at me as we waited in the hospital and said in a haughty, don’t-mess-with-me voice, ‘I was just trying to make decent conversation.’”

“I did not!”

“You did, sweetheart. I recognized you as a woman of spunk even then.”

“Spunk! You like me because I’ve got spunk?” I was appalled. Where was the romance? The appreciation of all my finer qualities?

“No,” he said. “I don’t like you because you have spunk. I love you because you have spunk. And a kind heart. And a godly spirit. And the cutest red nose.” He bent and kissed it, and then he hugged me again.