by Randy Alcorn
Emily laughed. Shane surveyed Adam. “You know what I like about you?”
“What?”
Shane pretended he was trying to remember. “Never mind. I was thinking about somebody else.”
Shane chuckled. Adam did his best not to.
Adam parked his F-150 alongside the curb at the far end of the Flint Community Bank parking lot. Shane got out.
“All right, you got five minutes, cabana boy.”
“Mr. Shane, can you bring me a lollipop?”
“Yes, I will, sweetheart.” Shane pointed at Adam. “I’m not gettin’ you one.”
Just after Shane closed the door, a catchy song came on the radio.
I’d like to sail to lands afar
out on a boat that’s built for two.
“Oh, Daddy, turn it up. I love this song!”
Adam raised the volume. “I’ve heard this before.”
Emily opened the back door and jumped out onto the grass.
“Hold on! What are you doing?”
Emily opened Adam’s door and grabbed his arm. “Oh, Daddy! Come dance with me!”
“Wait, honey. We’re right by the bank! This is not where people dance.”
“Please, Daddy! Just for this song. Come dance with me.”
Emily continued pulling on Adam’s arm. He turned and placed his feet outside the car but stayed seated. “Emily, people can see us.”
“That’s okay. They won’t mind, Daddy. The song won’t last forever. Please.”
“Tell you what. You dance and I’ll watch.”
Emily peered at him and frowned, then began to dance on the grass. “Okay, Daddy,” Emily said. “When you’re ready to dance with me, this is what you do. First, you put your right hand around my waist like this, then hold your other hand out like this. Then we sway back and forth to the music.” Face animated, she gestured gracefully while talking, lost in the moment.
Worries seem to fade away,
they become as distant memories
when we’re together.
Adam watched his daughter with delight. The world was dark, but Emily was sunshine.
“And . . . we can spin.”
Adam smiled as he watched, enjoying the music and the way Emily made it come alive. Her blue sundress flowed around her as she spun. She looked like a princess. For the moment Adam didn’t think of suicides, drug dealers, or fights with Victoria or Dylan. All he thought of was the magical beauty he beheld in his daughter.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna dance with me?” Emily pleaded.
He glanced toward the parking lot, then back at Emily. “I’m dancing with you in my heart.”
As the enchanting song continued, Emily twirled and dipped and held her hands out as if dancing with a partner. Just before the song ended, Shane approached the truck. “Emily, are you trying to teach your dad how to dance?”
“He won’t dance with me.”
“That’s because he’s an old fuddy-duddy.”
“Okay, everybody in. Mr. Fuddy-duddy is leaving.”
As the doors shut, Emily asked, “What’s a fuddy-duddy?”
“A fuddy-duddy,” Adam said, directing his gaze at Shane, “is anyone who still uses the term fuddy-duddy.”
Adam pulled out of the parking area and onto the road.
“Who taught you how to dance, Emily? I know it wasn’t your dad.”
“Hey, I dance at home with my wife.” Adam cringed as he said it since he probably had done it twice, the last time before Emily was born.
“I’ve never seen you dance with Mommy.”
“The truth comes out,” Shane said.
“You know, you could be walking right now . . .”
“But I’m not!” Shane grinned.
“So I’m supposed to drop you off to meet Tyler?”
“Yep. We’re going to hang out for a couple of hours.”
“You got a ride to the barbecue?”
“No problem.”
“Bring Tyler.”
“Nah. Mia’s got plans for him later.”
Five miles from the bank, two men leaned against a railing at Albany’s All American Fun Park.
“Isn’t this kinda weird,” the skinny, windblown one said, “two grown men meeting here?”
The slick operator wearing stylish sunglasses said, “Nope. Everybody assumes we brought kids. We’re just two strangers making small talk while the kids have fun. Smile and wave once in a while, to no one in particular.”
The speaker smiled and waved to fifteen kids playing video games. Then, just as a loud bell rang and everyone turned toward the Fascination tables, he reached in his bag, took out a bulging sack, and dropped it into the other man’s open backpack.
The second man reached down and zipped up his bag. “Will there be more, or is this it?”
“I’ll contact you. Don’t try getting in touch with me. That keeps us at a distance. It’s better this way.”
“For you, maybe. What about me?”
“Hey, it’s easy money. I could find someone else to deal with if you’re getting cold feet. Give it back and I will.”
“No. I’ll do it. You want the money now?”
“You wrapped it in foil and put it in a brown paper bag like I told you?”
The skinny man nodded and waved at some middle schoolers on a ride.
“Good. When you see me by that foosball machine, leave the money here at the base of this post and walk away. I’ll just stroll on over and pick it up. No one sees us together again.”
Nathan, Shane, and David gathered in Adam Mitchell’s backyard, on a flat lawn with a scattering of pine trees on the perimeter. Outside Adam’s ranch-style brick house edged with variegated willows, they sat at a dark-gray cast aluminum table with matching chairs. Adam’s gas grill was black and stainless steel with a side table on the left and a spare burner perfect for keeping the baked beans warm.
Shane was still in the same loud yellow shirt Adam had razzed him about. The other guys weighed in on it mercilessly. Everyone had enjoyed the feast—chicken, steak, burgers, and Victoria’s killer potato salad. Now the wives and kids were gathered inside, leaving the men to themselves.
While the guys picked at the last of their meals, Adam gathered his tray of secret ingredients and started toward the house.
Nathan finished off his bottle of water and launched it. The bottle hit the far rim of the trash can and fell in.
“Bet you can’t do that again,” Shane said.
Nathan reached for Shane’s Coke can.
“Hey, I’m not done!” Shane grabbed it from him.
“Okay, when you’re finished, I’m gonna do it again.”
Adam walked back to the table after being interrogated inside by Victoria and Kayla. “They’re in there with the kids dying to know what we’re talking about. I told them we’re debating the Falcons’ roster for this fall.”
“Speaking of which,” Nathan said, “I saw Bartkowski’s photo on your wall. I’m a few years younger than you, but he was still playing when I was in middle school.”
“Well, he’s got a special place in my heart,” Adam said. “Watching the Falcons was one of the few things I ever did with my dad. When he was home, I mean. He was an Army colonel, and he had important friends with contacts in the Falcons’ front office. That’s how he managed to wrangle that photo for me. He missed my high school graduation, so that was his makeup gift.”
“That’s a pretty good makeup gift!” Shane said.
Adam said nothing. But he thought how nice it would have been for his dad to have come to his graduation and given him the signed photo.
“Well, this barbecue was great,” David said. “It reminded me of my dad. He used to grill all the time.”
“Mine too,” Adam said. “Speaking of dads . . . that e-mail the sheriff read the other day? You think it was accurate?”
“The one about fathers?” Nathan asked. “And fatherlessness?”
Adam nodded.
“I agree with it. I grew up seeing that kind of stuff all the time. You know how many of my childhood friends went to jail or died before they turned twenty? And how many are still crack addicts? And no, it’s not about being black; it’s about being poor and hopeless. I wondered where all the good fathers went to.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Shane said.
“What?” Adam said. “I remember you talking about your dad, Shane. Wasn’t he an usher or something at your church?”
“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything. Soon as the church service began, he’d step out back for a smoke. The problem wasn’t the smoking—but why even go to church if you’re going to just stand outside? One time he says, ‘I’d better not catch you drinkin’.’ He had a beer in his hand when he said it!”
The guys shared knowing glances.
“My mom used to nag him . . . until they got divorced. Look, it’s not like I don’t love the guy, but it’s kind of hard to respect a hypocrite.”
“What about you, David?” Adam asked.
David took a while to answer. “I had a good dad, I guess. I mean, nobody’s perfect. My parents split after he had an affair. I think he regretted it.”
“Did he tell you that?” Adam asked.
“Not in so many words, but I got that impression. I struggled with it for a while. But divorce comes with the territory now.”
“I disagree, man,” Nathan said. “Divorce happens because you make it an option.”
“But you can’t always work stuff out,” David said. “Sometimes you need to part ways.”
“I think I agree with Nathan,” Adam said. “Calling it quits has become too easy. People don’t fight for their marriages anymore.”
“When you get married and have kids,” Nathan said to David, “you’re gonna figure out real quick how much you don’t know. Man, if it wasn’t for my faith in God, I’d be in a tailspin right now.”
“Yeah, me too,” Adam said.
“Guys . . . not everybody believes in that stuff,” David said. “You’re all religious, and that’s fine. But you can’t think religion is the only way to live your life. I mean, didn’t your parents get a divorce, Nathan?”
“That’s the problem. They were never married.”
The other guys appeared surprised.
“Listen, my dad never professed to be a Christian. He had six children from three women. I was the fifth. By the time I was born, he’d already left. I’ll tell you what, man. I’m thirty-seven years old, and I have never met my biological father.”
“No kidding?” Adam said. “That’s rough.”
“If I have five siblings I know of, from three different women, who’s to say I don’t have more? And statistically, some of them would probably have been killed.”
“Killed?” David asked.
“You know—what they do with unwanted kids before they’re born. One half of all black babies are aborted.”
“I never knew that,” Adam said.
“Some people think that’s better than to grow up unwanted,” Shane said. “I mean, look at the problem on the streets.”
Nathan weighed his words. “But does it occur to you that abortion isn’t just a symptom; it’s also an underlying problem? Black men, all men really, have been told abortion is between a woman and her doctor. Well, if I have no say over whether the child even lives, if that’s entirely the mother’s call, then why should I have anything to do with raising the child? The man is either the father of the child or he isn’t—you can’t have it both ways.”
“I’ve never thought about it like that,” Adam said.
David looked at Nathan. “Looks like you turned out all right.”
Nathan leaned back and smoothed his hands over his shaved head. “That’s because of a man in my neighborhood named William Barrett. When I was a teenager, just about to be swallowed up by a gang, he grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let go. He mentored me and changed my life. Taught me about God. We still stay in contact, and he’s one of the reasons I wanted to move back to Albany. I want my kids to know him. Every Father’s Day, he’s the one I call.”
“Did he make up for you not having a dad?” Shane asked.
“Nothing makes up for that. I’m telling you, not having a father has scarred me in more ways than I can count. Not having a dad to watch me play ball, my mom working two jobs, so she couldn’t be there either. At times I was just sad. Other times I got real angry.”
David squirmed.
“Ever try to track him down?” Adam asked.
“I tried a few times. Then stopped. His name is Clinton Brown, but he uses aliases, so I always hit a dead end. I could have tried harder.”
“Why didn’t you?” Adam asked.
“Afraid of what I would say.”
After a long pause, Shane shifted uncomfortably, stood, and said, “Look, guys, I’ve enjoyed our little heart-to-heart, but I need to go pay some bills while there’s still something left of my paycheck.”
Shane turned to Adam. “Speaking of paychecks, I talked to my man, Javier, about your shed. That guy did a phenomenal job on my deck, and he’s available next week, but he wants $150 a day.”
“Ouch. Well, I’ve got to have somebody who knows what they’re doing. I’m taking vacation time—got to get it done. If he could be here 8:00 a.m. Monday . . . that would be great.”
“Okay, I’ll call him. See you in church tomorrow.”
“You got it.”
As Shane stood to leave, Nathan grabbed his Coke can and shot it from the other side of the table. It landed in the trash can.
Nathan smiled. “Told ya.”
Chapter Ten
The rest of the household lay calm, but Javier Martinez, dressed in old jeans and a dark-red T-shirt, was animated as he spoke on the phone at 7:30 a.m. “Great! Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Good-bye.”
Javier’s wife, Carmen, walked into the kitchen wearing a robe. Hair frizzy, and with no makeup, she was groggy, having awakened minutes earlier. “Who were you talking to?”
Javier was putting on his construction boots. “I got the job! But I need to leave right now. They’re building a new office on Westover, and they need more men.”
“Thank God, Javy! The rent is due Friday. I would tell you to take the car, but the tank is empty.”
“I don’t mind walking when I have good news!”
Javier stood and put his hands on her shoulders, then gazed straight into Carmen’s eyes. “I told you God would give me a job.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I would give you a big kiss on the mouth,” he said playfully, “but your breath is very bad this morning.”
Javier left with a smile.
“I love you too,” Carmen said, only slightly sarcastically. She blew into her hand and inhaled, scowling. Her husband could be annoying, but he was a truthful man. She went to brush her teeth.
It took Javier nearly thirty minutes to reach the construction site. It was just after 8:00 a.m. when he walked briskly up to the foreman, who gave instructions to three men and sent them off to do their jobs.
“Hello, sir,” Javier said. “Are you Richard?”
“Yeah.”
“My name is Javier Martinez. I was told to come see you for work.”
“I just hired the last three guys we needed. Sorry, man; we’re good to go.” He walked toward the office.
Javier followed, pleading. “I can do most anything, sir . . . woodwork, brickwork, even drywall.”
“Look, I said I got what I need, all right?” The foreman turned and walked away. Javier stood there dismayed. He watched the other workers, waiting for someone to realize a mistake had been made. No one needed work more than he did. It was as if he were invisible. Nobody noticed.
After a few moments, reality sank in. His shoulders sagged, and he turned to go.
Javier wandered down a side street off Westover, face downcast. If only the car hadn’t been low on gas. If only the other men hadn’t gotten there first. If only th
ey needed just one more guy.
As he walked aimlessly, Javier stepped off the street into an alley between houses. He began to pray aloud, facing the sky and gesturing.
“Señor, no comprendo. I am trying to provide for my family. I need Your help. Por qué no me ayudes? Have I done something to displease You?”
Javy walked on, his emotions turbulent, wishing for a rock to kick.
“Dije a la familia que nos ayudaría. I told my family You would help us, Lord. What can I tell them now? Are we going to lose our home?”
He stopped in the middle of the alley. Overwhelmed, he put his hands on his face, then stretched out his hands and cried, “What do You want me to do? Dios, por favor, que debo hacer? God, please show me what to do!”
Why did God seem so silent?
If Javier’s own children ever asked him for help finding work, he wouldn’t dream of refusing them. Then why was God refusing Javy? Por qué?
“Hey, Javier!”
Javier blinked. Had he heard right? He turned and saw someone he didn’t know standing in a driveway sixty feet away, holding a tape measure.
“What are you doing?” the man asked him. Javier glanced over his shoulder to make sure the stranger wasn’t talking to someone else. But the man had called him by name.
“I’m not paying you $150 to just stand there! Let’s go!”
In the Mitchell yard, Adam snapped the tape measure shut and clipped it to his belt, then noticed the stunned expression on Javier’s face as he tentatively walked toward the yard. Did I scare him? Maybe he doesn’t understand English.
“Adam, be nice!” Victoria approached Adam from the house, a water bottle in her hand.
“He’s late. He was just standing in the middle of the alley. I’m paying him by the day, and he’s not cheap!”
“You need his help, so you’d better start off on the right foot! Don’t go cop on him, okay?”
Adam sighed, then turned to Javier as he cautiously walked up the driveway.
Adam extended his hand. “You are Javier, right?”
Javier, wearing a bewildered expression, shook his hand. “Yes. I am Javier.”
“Adam Mitchell. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He glanced at Victoria. “I should have come out and talked to you. This is my wife, Victoria.”