God Only Knows (19 page)

Around the end of the first quarter, M.J. had either built up his nerve, or was just ready to get it over with. Popping Dante’s
shoulder, he nodded up toward the concession stands. “You wanna go grab some hot dogs?” Following his shorter, skinnier cousin
up the aisleway, he struck just as they neared the first beer stand. “Yo, D,” he said, stepping back a few paces, “need to
rap to you about all the stuff your pop and my parents have been trippin’ about.”

“Hey, man, I got it,” Dante replied, shrugging and reaching for his cell phone. “Ah, little shorty from last night ringin’
me up already.” He eyed the phone, then pocketed it again. “She can wait. I’m just telling you, M.J., I get it. I know your
parents think I’m a bad influence on you.” He jabbed playfully, his fist landing lightly on his cousin’s shoulder. “You not
gon’ let that cramp your style, though, right?”

“Well, it’s not that simple anymore, man.” M.J. was ashamed to feel his hands sliding deep into his jeans pockets, a sign
of unusual anxiety on his part. “Dante, look, you’re my dog, you know that, and on top of that, we’re blood, so I’ll always
be here for you. The thing is, man, I got to look out for myself at the same time. So what I’m sayin’ is, until you make some
moves to stop the pushin’, until you can chill out some, my faith in God tells me I gotta keep some new company.”

“Keep some new company?” The crescent scar over his left eye dancing, Dante opened his mouth wide and roared in laughter.
“Don’t tell me those words weren’t put in your mouth by one of your parents. Come on, baby, just be real with your old cuz.”

“Why can’t you just chill out some, man?” M.J. stepped closer to his cousin, and knew instantly he was abusing his superior
size. “God wants the best for all of us, but I know it takes everybody time to figure out what that means for them. That’s
why I haven’t passed judgment on you, man, why I enjoy hangin’ with you.”

“Yeah, so what’s changed?” Dante reached forward and shoved his cousin back a step.

M.J. raised his hands toward the sky, balling his fists to keep from losing his temper. “Be cool, Dante. You ain’t got to
put your hands on a brother.”

Dante took another step forward, spitting between his teeth as he said, “You feeling threatened, cousin? ’Cause you know I
got something beside my hands you should be fearin’.”

“Yeah, whatever,” M.J. replied, turning on his heels as his face flushed with anger. He knew Dante didn’t go anywhere without
being strapped up, but he was pretty sure he’d had to leave his favorite little .22 home before this trip. The security scanners
at the stadium gate should have caught him red-handed.

M.J. was almost cooled down by the time he walked away from the next concession stand, two jumbo hot dogs in each hand. Dante
sauntered up to him from out of nowhere —nonchalantly snatching two dogs from his cousin. “Yo,” M.J. said, elbowing Dante,
“those ain’t got your name on ’em. They for my pops.”

“Uncle Marcus got a little bit of a gut comin’ on there,” Dante replied, unwrapping the first dog and snaring a bite. “I’m
just looking out for him, saving him a few unnecessary calories.”

The two erupted into a fit of cathartic laughter, pausing to loiter a few feet away from the steps leading back to their seats.
“Yo, sorry for getting in your grill just now,” Dante said after nearly swallowing the second hot dog whole. “I know you’re
a loyal bro, M.J. Shoot, to be honest, I thought you’d act like I didn’t exist after my first stay in juvie all those years
ago. Not you, though. All your girls, all your headlines in the sports pages, not to mention your snooty parents, none of
that has made you embarrassed of me.”

M.J. unwrapped his first hot dog, keeping his head down as he munched. Dante would freak him out if he kept up this sentimental
talk. “Don’t mention it, man. I’m glad you understand, though.” He held out a hand and matched his cousin’s hand and backslap.
“We’ll be back on the road together eventually, soon as you get your nose clean and my mom deals with this little situation
she got.”

Dante crossed his arms, letting both hot dog wrappers fall to the floor. “What’s that?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.” M.J. remembered his promise to his parents —that no one outside the Gillette house needed to know about
Whitlock or what had happened to his little brother.

“Yo.” Dante’s eyebrows jumped. “I hope you slicker than that when one of your girls catches you in a lie. You are straight-up
see-through, M.J.!”

“Yeah, you got jokes.” M.J. playfully shoved his cousin, a move that did nothing to slow Dante’s braying laughter. “You know
what, bug it.” Why shouldn’t he tell Dante the whole truth? After all, this whole drama with the detective was the real reason
he had to cut Dante loose. His cousin may as well know the whole story. What would Jesus do? Tell the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but.

Having sold himself, M.J. stepped closer to Dante. Speaking in a low voice, he broke it down for him. As he recounted what
he knew, M.J. caught something different in Dante’s gaze, something he couldn’t recall seeing before. He wasn’t sure whether
to label it as confusion or concern.

“You kidding me, right?” Having absorbed the entire story, Dante widened his stance and planted his hands against his hips.
“This police pig trying to blackmail your ma on the strength of something she maybe did twenty years ago?”

“You heard me.”

“Yo!” Dante pressed a finger into M.J.’s chest, then hopped back as if he’d touched something hot. “You got a straight psycho
here, and to make it worse, he’s wearin’ a badge!” He paced suddenly, nearly taking a lap around M.J., who stood still with
arms crossed. “Why are you and your dad here, talking to me, when you got a major situation going on back home?”

“It’s being handled,” M.J. replied, not sure he was even convincing himself. “My parents insist they got this idiot covered
now. My mom’s got an attorney and everything.”

“Oh, that’ll solve everything.” Dante shook his head. “School me again in case I don’t have this right, man. A crooked cop
says he’ll take me out for sport, and squash you too —just to get at your moms?”

M.J. slowly raised his head, his chest suddenly tight. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he expected to like what he was about
to hear.

“War has been declared on our family, dog,” Dante said. “And you know what? The right soldier finally knows about it. What’s
this buster’s name again?”

B
y the time everyone at the table had started in on dessert and coffee, Julia could feel her self-restraint leaking away. For
nearly an hour, she had made civil small talk with Maxwell and his friends, but increasingly she felt she was the only one
showing such devotion.

For starters, she and Maxwell were the only ones to arrive at Mr. Hyman’s Fine Dining on time. Lyle and his wife, Stacy, who
looked like Beyoncé, with naturally straight hair, were fifteen minutes late, and Jake and his short, pudgy wife, Meghan,
came in ten minutes after that. For an outing that had been set up as more business than pleasure, Julia didn’t appreciate
what that indicated about the sincerity of their supposed interest in contributing to Christian Light’s struggle for survival.

Her patience was already fraying at both ends. There was the weight of her and Cassie’s ongoing attempts to deal with Peter
Whitlock, despite the extra drama Marcus had stirred up. In addition, Julia found herself spending increasing amounts of time
away from Amber, something she was determined to change as soon as possible. Riding to Mr. Hyman’s with Maxwell, she had wondered
whether she was up to building bridges with these two influential Christian Light alumni.

It had not been easy. First Jake had tied up several minutes with what felt like an inquisition, as if he would have preferred
Julia had stayed back in Chicago instead of returning home. Once she had endured the pastor’s curiosity, Julia had tried to
shift gears and brief everyone on the school system’s plight and Christian Light’s need for additional donations and volunteer
labor. From minute to minute, though, Julia was made aware of just how much of an outsider she was. Nearly every minute had
been wasted, consumed by the men’s arguments over their favorite NFL and college football teams as the women compared notes
on their children’s progress in school.

“I’m sorry,” Maxwell whispered into Julia’s ear as she held a fork above her slice of pecan pie. “We all get carried away
sometimes when we’re together.” He leaned into her farther, enough that Julia considered telling him to scoot back. Her heart
warming, butterflies forming, she decided against it. Instead, she sat very still as he said, “Watch this.”

“Well, before we wind this delicious meal down,” Maxwell said aloud, cutting Lyle off halfway through a sophomoric joke, “I
wanted to make sure the four of you got the information you needed from Julia. As tight as all of our schedules are, there’s
no telling how soon I’ll be able to get you all together again.”

Jake made fleeting eye contact with Julia —it seemed to be the only type he was capable of, at least where she was concerned
—then wiped some sweet potato pie from his lips before saying, “Meghan had a question, right, sweetie?”

“Well, I think we both have the same question, Jake.” Her freckled face shining with sincerity, Meghan popped her husband’s
shoulder playfully before looking over at Julia. “We really admire what you’re doing to save the school, Julia. The only thing
we can’t understand is how you’ll be able to provide children with a school environment that really looks like America.”

“Looks like America?” Julia felt herself frown instinctively, but the unofficial politician in her forced her to soften it
into a confused smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It’s really not complicated,” Jake replied, coming to his wife’s defense. “You see, when we were all students at Christian
Light, we were in the minority, right? There were —what —thirty or forty black students out of five hundred in the entire
system? We were basically right in line with our numbers in the general population.”

Oh, boy.
Julia quoted the words of Paul to herself, clawing for the peace of God that passed all understanding. “So,” she said, “you’re
saying that the old Christian Light looked like America because it was mostly white?”

“No,” Jake replied, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “I’m saying that the new Christian Light looks more like
Harlem than it looks like America.” Elbows on the table, the pastor’s thick eyebrows rose with his intense stare —further
evidence that, to Julia’s surprise, Lyle had come off so far as the friendly one.

Nearly gasping at the pastor’s nerve, Julia chose to sit still as Maxwell broke out in laughter. “Jake,” he said, “you clearly
haven’t been to Harlem lately. Bill Clinton has a major office there, and white yuppies couldn’t trail behind him fast enough.”

Jake frowned at his friend’s apparent disrespect. “You get my point, man.”

“The question,” Lyle said, one hand entwined with Stacy’s, “is whether we’re all comfortable saving a school that’s basically
turning into a black institution. A school targeted at poor African-American kids, not a cross section of kids from all races,
economic classes, and regions around the Miami Valley. That was an important part of what we all experienced, Julia.”

“I don’t question that,” Julia replied. “But I’m sorry, I’m not going to get into this argument with you all. If we had a
choice about what type of children to serve, maybe it would make sense. The fact is, we don’t. We need to serve the families
that are coming to us, and those happen to be minority children from lower-income households.

“Frankly, I think it makes our Christian mission all the more critical. We have the chance to do more than give these kids
a ‘good’ education and some feel-good scriptural teaching. We have the chance to transform their lives!” Julia was embarrassed
at how quickly she had climbed onto her soapbox.

Jake cleared his throat but searched Julia’s eyes as he said, “I hate to burst a well-intentioned bubble, Julia, but I’ll
just state what others are thinking. Why not just let Christian Light close? Maybe God has done the work He saw fit to do
through the school, work that can now be done by the better-funded parochial schools —”

“Sure,” Julia replied, “that sound great, Pastor. You got a few hundred vouchers to pay every Christian Light student’s way
into the suburban Christian school systems?”

“Well,” Jake said, grimacing and exchanging wary glances with Meghan, “now you’ve got your hand in my wallet.”

Silence enclosed their table for what felt like minutes before Stacy cleared her throat and looked over at Julia. “Is it really
true that there’s no choice but to serve one population? I’ve talked with Lyle about this. We have a heart for helping the
less fortunate —in addition to tithing, we give ten percent of our income to charity every year. We value your vision for
the school, Julia, we just think you should aim higher. Why not keep serving the poor but expand the school by upgrading facilities,
paying market-rate salaries so you can attract more of the region’s best teachers and administrators, and then compete with
the suburban Christian school systems?”

Perhaps if she had gotten one more hour of sleep the night before, Julia would not have spoken her thoughts aloud. “You’ll
have to forgive my blunt honesty, but you’re describing a fairy-tale world, Stacy, a world where I could raise millions at
the drop of a hat and where parents in Centerville, Springboro, and Beavercreek didn’t view the city of Dayton as a wasteland
for which their children are too good.”

“Well,” Stacy replied, tracing her napkin’s stitching with a fingernail, “some would say that as superintendent of schools,
it’s your job to go out and battle those perceptions.”

Julia shrugged as she kept her eyes on Lyle’s wife. “I’m sorry, but I have to live in the real world. I can’t change those
perceptions, only God can.” She scooted her seat back, deciding in the moment that she’d had about enough of this hopeless
exercise. “Excuse me, please, I need to visit the ladies’ room.” One hand on Maxwell’s back, she whispered into his ear, “You
can pay and meet me at the front door.”