By My Hands (35 page)

“A little!” Greene laughed. “I didn’t know you
preachers were such a sneaky lot.”

“We’re full of surprises.” Adam returned the
laughter.

“All right, I’ll check into it. Unlike your friend,
I’ll need a court order to look at his bank records, but that
shouldn’t be a problem. One other thing, Reverend; don’t talk to
anyone else about this. Sanchez may have other hospital people
involved. You’ve done your part, now let me do mine.”

“Agreed. You will keep me posted, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Greene hung up abruptly.

“Nothing to do now but wait.” Adam heard Rachel’s
voice behind him.

“I guess so,” Adam said, as he turned and looked
over his shoulder. What he saw caught him completely off guard. He
leaped from the couch. Standing before him was Rachel, in an
elegant gossamer nightgown that set off her fair skin and dark hair
to perfection. Adam attempted to speak, but only managed to
stutter.

“My dear Adam,” Rachel said seductively, “you look
like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you like it?”

Slowly, Rachel walked toward him.

Tuesday, March 31, 1992; 5:05
P.M.

“OUT!” RACHEL SCREAMED. “Get out!”

“Rachel, listen,” Adam said softly.

“I want you out, right now!” Rachel’s face was
bright red. Adam stood his ground. Grabbing her firmly by the
shoulders he said, “I’ll leave, but first you must listen to me. It
is important you understand.”

Saying nothing, Rachel, glared through angry and
embarrassed eyes at the man who had just spurned her.

“I am not rejecting you,” Adam spoke softly. “There
is no problem with you. You are very attractive—very alluring. God
knows it is taking every bit of discipline I have to say no, but I
must.”

Tears rolled freely down Rachel’s cheeks.

Adam continued, “I am flattered, but I still must
say no. Not because I don’t care for you, but because I do. Rachel,
I am a minister; if I give in now, everything I’ve studied for,
everything I believe will be wasted. Tomorrow I will be racked with
guilt, and then what will our relationship be like? I know it
sounds puritanical to you, but I cannot make love to you now,
because it will ruin our friendship.”

Rachel pulled away from him and hid her face in her
hands.

“Rachel, I have feelings for you—strong feelings.
Feelings I never expected. I am drawn to you. You occupy my
thoughts day and night. Rachel, I honestly believe I’m falling in
love with you, but I need time.”

“I wanted to please you,” Rachel said, fighting back
the rising flood of tears. “I have never done this before in my
life. You are the only man I have ever been attracted to, and oddly
enough, I never wanted to be attracted to you. I should have known
better than to become involved with an archaic Bible-thumper. This
is the twentieth century, Adam. Wake up, or perhaps I should say,
grow up.”

“It was never my intention to hurt you.”

“Well, you did!” Rachel snapped. “I feel like a
fool!”

“I wish I knew what to do to make you understand,”
Adam said meekly.

“I’ll tell you what to do, Adam. Leave now!”
Rachel’s tone had turned cold and hard.

Adam’s heart skipped a beat. Without a word he
turned and left.

Rachel walked to her bathroom, turned on the faucet,
and splashed cold water on her face.

“I will not cry,” she told herself. “He isn’t worth
it.”

A moment later she fell to her knees and sobbed
uncontrollably.

Within fifteen minutes after Adam left, Rachel had
washed her face and changed from the gown into a pair of jeans and
blue sweatshirt with a Yale insignia. Five minutes after that she
was careening down the freeway, releasing her anger in aggressive
driving. Only San Diego’s massive freeway system and understaffed
Highway Patrol kept her from being stopped for reckless driving.
Within ten minutes she slowed to the speed limit, moved to the
right lane of I-8 and took the I-805 north turnoff.

He’s not worth getting killed over
.
After
all, he’s just a man.
She let that thought marinate in her
mind. Was he just a man? Or was he something more to her? If she
wasn’t attracted to him, then why did she act like such an
imbecile? And if she felt nothing for him, then why was she so
upset?

“It’s time for a long conversation with yourself.
There are a few things we need to get worked out.” Without thought
of where she was going, Rachel continued up the 1-805 to 1-52.
Before she was conscious of the fact, she found herself driving the
narrow streets of La Jolla headed for The Cove, the place where she
shared a hot dog with Adam.

In what many San Diegans would consider fortune just
short of a miracle, she found a parking place right in front of the
park. Several people strolling along the green grass gawked at the
antique T-Bird she drove. Taking the parking place as an omen,
Rachel left the car and began walking the serpentine concrete walk,
pausing from time to time to gaze at the ocean as it cast its
churning waves onto the shore. The cool salt air and setting sun
proved a natural sedative. With hands behind her back she strolled
along the walk, then through the grass and back to the beginning of
the walk again. She circled the small park four times while she
thought about herself and Adam.

At first she was angry with Adam for spuming her.
She reminded herself of what Shakespeare had said, “Hell hath no
fury like a woman scorned.” She smiled at that thought. Then she
was angry with herself for being so foolish to begin with.
What
was I thinking?
Did I ready think that I could seduce a
preacher? And why was I
so
angry when he rejected
me
—
no, he didn’t reject me, he
. . .
he
. . . she
paused to search for the right phrase . .
. he did what was
right. Of course, what else could I expect?

Rachel thought about the man named Adam Bridger. At
first he had seemed a superstitious cleric who clutched onto God
because the world was too difficult to face. But now she knew that
he was a man with a keen intellect and a heart for people. He
proved that several times, but never more than the kind, yet firm,
way he dealt with that Jehovah’s Witness woman. Now he has shown
himself to be a man of both character and conviction.
Just how
many men like that are there in the world? And how many of them
would be interested in an opinionated, quick-tempered
doctor
?

There was a great deal to Adam that she didn’t
understand. He carried himself with a confidence and assurance that
few possessed, and that she didn’t possess despite her usual
intense manner. There seemed to be a well of strength and wisdom.
That well must be connected to Adam’s God.

Rachel had never had any use for religion and knew
very little about it. Her father’s atheism was a source of pride
for him, and something he attempted to instill in his daughter. Her
mother, who spent her entire married life cowering in the shadow of
Rachel’s father, offered no opinion on the matter, or any other
subject. Rachel loved her mother, but despised her servant role in
the home and determined at an early age to be nobody’s second. As
much as she loved her father, she hated his domineering
personality, always saying what was on his mind regardless of whose
feelings it hurt. Yet she still admired the man who created in her
a love for medicine as he loved medicine. It was that admiration
for her father’s strength and a fear of her mother’s meekness that
made Rachel who she was: strong, forceful, and quick to share what
was on her mind. In many ways she had become her father, and she
both hated and appreciated that.

God was never spoken of in her home except to list
reasons why He did not exist. Rachel took such pronouncements from
her father as fact, without supplying any of her own thoughts to
the matter. Now she was attracted to a man who saw all of life
through eyes of faith. Adam was a man whose beliefs were easily
seen and not just heard. Rachel came to understand that without
faith there would be no Adam, at least not the Adam she knew.

What if Adam is right and my father wrong
?
What if all hat Adam believes is true
? The thought proved
sobering for Rachel— sobering and frightening. She didn’t know how
to answer the question because she knew nothing about faith. She
knew only medicine and that had proved incapable of making her a
better person or a happy one.

The sun was beginning its slow slide into the ocean,
leaving the sky scarlet with streaks of red. Looking back down the
walk, Rachel saw the hot dog stand where Adam had taken her for
“dinner.” The owner of the stand was packing away the condiments as
Rachel approached.

“Is it too late to buy a hot dog?” she asked.

“Almost, but for you I’ll stay open a little
longer,” the vendor said. He was a large, olive-skinned man in a
red-and-white checkered apron. “What’ll it be?”

Rachel thought for a second then said, “A chili dog
with extra onions.”

“Food of the gods.”

“A friend recommends it,” Rachel said through a big
smile. It was neither the hot dog nor the man that made her smile;
it was the remembrance of the last time she ate a chili dog here,
and the recollection of the man who bought it for her. She knew now
what she would do: she would eat her hot dog while walking around
the park one more time, then go home, call Adam, apologize
profusely, and ask to see him again. And when she did see him, she
would be open to anything—spiritual or otherwise—that he had to
say. For the first time in Rachel’s memory she felt good—really,
really good.

“Excuse me,” a voice said behind her, “aren’t you
Dr. Rachel Tremaine?”

Turning, she saw a man with a goatee. “Yes, who are
you?”

“That’ll be $2.50,” the vendor said.

“Please allow me,” the goateed man said. He pulled a
wad of bills from his pocket, peeling off a five and handing it to
the man in the checked apron. “Keep the change.”

Then, taking Rachel by the elbow, he led her to a
dark sedan parked alongside a red curb reserved for emergency
vehicles. “It’s important that I talk to you,” he said. “It’s about
Reverend Adam Bridger.”

“Adam?”

“Yes. He needs to speak to you right away.”

“Who are you?” Rachel asked again.

Looking over her shoulder she saw they had walked
about twenty feet away from the hot dog cart.

“Please get in the car,” he said forcefully.

“I don’t think I want to do that,” Rachel said,
making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “And what is this about
Adam?”

“Just get in the car and don’t make a fuss.”

“Forget it,” Rachel said, pulling herself free. “I
don’t know who you think you are—”

She stopped mid-sentence. They were the abductors,
and the car at the curb was the one that had followed her a day
before. The man with the goatee pulled his coat back, revealing a
revolver. Rachel knew nothing about guns but did know that her life
was in danger. She suddenly felt helpless and alone. She didn’t
know what to do, so she acted on impulse: she screamed.

Her captor acted quickly, reaching out and seizing
her sweatshirt. Then with incredible strength and agility, he
dragged her the remaining few feet to the dark sedan and threw her
through the open back door, stepping in behind her.

“Hey!” the vendor shouted, but too late. In just a
few seconds the goateed man had snatched Rachel from the sidewalk
and thrust her into the car which sped away with tires squealing.
All that remained of Rachel’s stroll at the beach was a hot dog
with its topping of chili streaking the sidewalk.

Wednesday, April 1, 1992; 7:15
A.M.

ADAM DROVE SLOWLY, not because he was punctilious
about traffic laws, but because he had much to think about.

After a restless night, Adam rose early to review
his notes for the
Milt Phillips’ Show
. Yet, he found it
difficult to concentrate on anything but Rachel and last night’s
incident. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind. He was
right in refusing her advances, but he wondered if he could have
done so in a better, less hurtful way. How could doing right feel
so wrong? He could still see the shock on her face when he said no;
the hot stream of tears running down her face. Adam was as
miserable as he had ever been.

“This seat taken?” a jovial voice asked.

“It’s good to see you, Dick,” Adam said, motioning
to the empty bench seat on the opposite side of the table. Adam had
asked Dick to meet him at the local Denny’s restaurant.

“Well, it sounded important.” Dick turned toward the
waitress, raised one finger and silently mouthed the word “coffee.”
The waitress nodded.

“I hope I’m not making you late for work,” Adam said
quietly.

“I own the trucking firm,” Dick said with a broad
grin. “I can be late anytime I want.”

The waitress brought the coffee and a menu to Dick
who waved it off and quickly ordered bacon and eggs, the same
breakfast he ate nearly every day. Adam declined breakfast saying
he would just have coffee. “I hope you have good news about the
Loraynes.”

Adam shook his head. “I wish I did, but the police
have discovered nothing, and we’re no closer to understanding the
Healer thing than when it all started. I have to admit it’s
starting to weigh on me.”

“I know.” Dick took a sip of his coffee. “Some of us
at the church are worried about you.”

“I’m okay, but I could use a little . . . advice.”
Adam’s words came out haltingly.

“About the Loraynes?” Dick asked.

“Uh, no.”

“If it’s about this television show you’re doing
today, then I’m afraid I can’t be of much use.”

“No, it’s not that at all.”