Forsaken (32 page)

“That’s what he said.”

“Why didn’t he tell you this when he quit?”

“Brandon may be sarcastic, but he’s the farthest thing from confrontational. I think it just wasn’t part of his makeup to cause a scene. I don’t know why he changed his mind and came to me yesterday.”

“You still haven’t called the man who left the note about your son, have you?”

He shook his head. “No, and he only asked for two hundred thousand anyway.”

A few months earlier I wouldn’t have even considered the possibility that Simon could have been involved in skimming money from his ministry. Since hearing the story behind the note, I was no longer sure what to
think. I set my iced tea on the deck beside my chair and turned my rocker toward his. “Do you know what happened to the money?”

He looked me in the eye. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

I studied his face, and in an instant I knew the answer. Knew it with certainty. “You’re a good man, Simon. I know you didn’t take the money. Did Brandon believe you?”

“He said he did. For one thing, he knows that I’ve never had anything to do with the money side of the ministry.”

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “Then who did take it?”

“I have no idea—and I don’t know for sure that anyone took anything. Remember, this was just Brandon talking. I had to fire him once for messing up an audit. No one has confirmed what he’s saying.”

I turned a palm up. “On the other hand, he’s sober now, and he strikes me as a pretty smart guy.”

“That he is.”

“If you’re not involved in the money side of the operation, who is?”

“A whole staff of people. We collect a huge amount of money in the course of a year.”

“Is Elise one of them?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Only in the sense that they all report to her. Look, Elise wouldn’t steal money from the ministry. She just wouldn’t.”

I rocked back in my chair. “I didn’t say she would.
I just wanted to know who was in charge. So what do you want to do?”

“Obviously, I don’t have time to investigate this before I leave for Beirut. I wanted you to know about it. If this were to blow up, I’d never want Kacey to think . . .” He ran a hand over his head.

“Don’t worry, she never would. When you come back, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Yes, when I come back.”

He picked up his glass off the rail, took a long drink, and put it back. He crunched an ice cube as he rocked. When he stopped crunching, he tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Can I show you something?”

“Sure, what?”

“Follow me.”

We walked back into the house, through the family room, and into the garage. He turned on the overhead light and led me around his pickup truck to his woodworking space in the back corner. The accumulated heat of the day made the garage air oppressive. I swiped the back of my arm across my forehead.

“I know, it’s like a sauna in here,” he said. “This will help.” He flipped the switch on a floor fan and turned it so it pointed at me.

I held out my arms to maximize the breeze’s coverage.

“I’ve been working on something for Kacey,” he said. “I put the final coat of stain on it this afternoon. This is where I’ve been hiding it.” He stopped in front of
a five-foot stack of moving boxes. He pulled the highest two boxes off the stack and motioned for me to look over the top.

I stepped away from the fan and leaned over the boxes. On the floor behind them was a mahogany baby cradle. I put my hand over my mouth.

He narrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t like it?”

There was nothing else to do. I ran into the house, shut myself in the hallway bathroom, and cried.

TEN MINUTES LATER I had composed myself, and we were back in our rocking chairs on the porch. My eyes were red and my mascara gone. Realizing that things could still get worse, I’d stuffed my pockets with clean tissues before I left the bathroom.

Simon rocked slowly, his eyes on the pool water. “I wanted her to have something from me—in case I don’t . . . in case I have to miss some of the important things in her life.”

“It’s a beautiful cradle.”

“I’m just glad you could identify that it
is
a cradle.”

“This is no time to try to be funny.”

“If I don’t laugh, I’ll be crying along with you.”

I took a drink of my tea and set the glass back on the porch rail. “I don’t know how to say this, because I know how much of yourself you must have put into the cradle, but you realize you can’t give it to her, don’t you? It would be like telling her you don’t expect to come back.”

“I thought of that too. I don’t intend to give it to her.”

“Then why did you make it?”

“I’m going to put it in the attic. She would never go up there unless something happened to me and she was sorting through my things. I’ll attach a note to it. The only way she’ll find it is if I’m gone. If I come back, I’ll save it until she has a baby.”

My hand went over my mouth again. With my other hand I reached in my pocket for a tissue.

A neighbor’s dog barked, and Simon glanced over his shoulder at the back door. “I wonder where Sadie is.” He went to the door, held it open, and whistled. I quickly wiped my eyes and stuffed the tissue back in my pocket.

Sadie ran onto the porch and shot past us down the steps. At the edge of the pool she froze and stared into the water, her tail extended and perfectly still. After a few moments she leaned back on her haunches and barked three times at the water. Then, as if that had been sufficient to discharge all of her poolside responsibilities, she turned and ran back up the stairs to Simon, her tail wagging frantically. Simon sat in his rocker and rubbed her behind the ears with both hands. Then he held his fist to his side. Sadie lay on the porch between our
rockers, her chin resting on her paws, her tail flicking sporadically.

“What was that all about?” I said, grateful for the interruption.

“She sees her reflection in the water and thinks it’s another dog. She’s got to let it know who’s boss of the Mason yard.”

I patted her side. “You’re funny, Sadie.” She stretched her head back and sniffed my hand.

Simon slipped his feet out of his tennis shoes and put one foot up on the porch rail. He seemed to focus on something just beyond the pool. “I’m going to miss you.”

I turned and looked at him. In the swirling light from the pool, his eyes glinted and he appeared younger. I could imagine him when Kacey was small—a strong, athletic father, the kind who would make a girl feel confident and secure.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have been sure.”

He smiled. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. You’re so much like me. We’ve got our flaws, but I think we’re basically good-hearted. I hope you don’t mind that I lumped you into a category with me.”

“It depends on what flaws you’re talking about.”

“Minor ones in your case; more problematic ones in mine.”

It was my turn to stare into the yard. “You know that I don’t want you to go.”

“That’s nice of you to say, and it’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He lowered his foot from the rail.

I quickened my rocking.

“I won’t deny that I’m trying to do something— something really important—to square things with God. I mean, how does a preacher make up for denying his faith? It’s all so crazy. Seventeen years ago I was just some guy working at an auto plant. I wish so much that I could go back.”

“You don’t deserve to feel this way.”

He reached over and stopped my rocker with his hand. “Please look at me, Taylor.”

I turned toward him. “This is so unfair.” I pulled another tissue from my pocket.

“I’m not looking for sympathy. I don’t have to do this; I’m choosing to do it. You know, Tom Carston talked about grace when he was over here that day. It’s not about that. I know how grace works, and I know that I don’t have to earn it. This is about owing God something. It may be irrational, but it’s the way I feel. Anyway, the point is that you’re right. A part of me wants to die. It may be the only way I can find peace.”

“That’s not martyrdom; it’s suicide.”

“No, I’ll say it again: It’s peace. Did Jesus commit suicide? He could have prevented his death, but he didn’t. Did the martyrs commit suicide? Many of them could have avoided death just by keeping their mouths shut. I don’t believe that it’s suicide to choose to put yourself in a position where you might die as a public statement of your faith.”

“What about Kacey? If you die, what happens to her? Do you think a cradle will make up for a missing father?”

His hand slipped from the arm of my rocker.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair,” I said.

“It’s okay. I want to talk about it. In fact, I need to talk about it. I
need
to tell someone how hard this is. I don’t think I can tell Kacey. It would only make it more painful for her.” He ran his hand over his head. “Do you think I haven’t agonized over her? My dinner with her tonight will be the most painful thing I’ve done in my life—saying good-bye.”

I dabbed at my eyes with my tissue. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m just upset.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. I told you, I want to talk about this. The truth is that I love Kacey more than anything. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Deep in my heart I’ve had to admit that I love her more than I love God. She’s part of me. I can see her, I can touch her, I was there when she was born. How could I not love her more than someone I can’t see and can’t touch? That’s why I have to make this sacrifice. I owe it to God. I turned my back on him once. I’ll never do it again. My love for him isn’t what it should be, but I will sacrifice everything for him. I’m willing to say good-bye to the one thing that matters most to me. My daughter.” His voice cracked. “There is nothing more I can give.”

Even if I had thought of something to say, I couldn’t have spoken. For several minutes we sat in silence. He stared down at the water; I stared up at the stars. I focused on one that was particularly bright. It flashed and pulsed in a rhythm I struggled to catch. For an instant my father’s
face came to me, looking up at me in the moment before he died. He was happy in that moment. He’d finally found peace. Dad was wrong that night when he told me that I loved the lights. I thought of Simon and Kacey, how much I’d grown to love them, and I knew that for me it had never been the lights.

It was the stars. How I loved the stars.

I touched Simon’s arm. “I understand.”

He squeezed my hand and nodded.

Sadie stood, gave herself a shake, and put her head in Simon’s lap. “So you want some attention, huh?” He gave her head a good rub. “I’ll miss you, too, puppy.” After a minute she moved back to the side of his chair, circled a few times, and lay on the porch again.

“I guess we got sidetracked from the reason I wanted to see you,” Simon said. “I’ve thought a lot about you lately. More than you would imagine. I’ll admit that sometimes I’ve wondered how you felt about me. That’s one of the reasons I asked you to come over. I want you to know how I feel.”

I leaned away from him as he spoke. He seemed to be heading in a direction that I no longer wanted to go.

He cleared his throat. “I never had a little sister.”

I realized I was holding my breath. I exhaled.

“If I had had a little sister, I’d like for her to be exactly like you. I feel protective of you, and I trust you. That must be obvious after the talk we just had. It’s about the best compliment I could give someone.”

I leaned toward him and smiled. “I appreciate it very much.”

“I want to ask you a favor, and I want to give you something. First, the favor: If anything does happen to me, I’m asking you to look out for Kacey. Be a big sister to her. Meg will give her all the mothering she could need. Kacey idolizes you, though—I’ve told you that before—and you could be a great influence on her. Will you do that for me?”

My eyes were moist before he even finished the question.

“You’re crying again? What did I say this time?”

I waved my hand in the air. “Oh, you know me.” I wiped my cheek with my sleeve. “This means more than just about anything that anyone has ever said to me.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Of course I will,” I said between sniffles.

“Thank you.”

“You said there was a second thing?”

“Yes. I have something for you.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded letter-sized envelope. “I told you I trust you. Now I’m going to give you a chance to prove I’m not a sap.” He handed it to me.

I laughed, still wiping my eyes. “Is it a million dollars?”

“Clever. Actually, there are some things about me that you still don’t know. For example, I knew more about you than I let on when I called you that first day from Chicago.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Just more. Now I’m asking you for a promise.”