The Lights of Tenth Street

by Shaunti Feldhahn

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  Sherry half ran back down the hall and into their bedroom.

  Doug was sitting on the bed, fully dressed and tying his shoes. He looked up as she hustled in.

  “Wow, you’re not ready yet?”

  “Aaaaargh!” She went for his throat, only half-joking. “Why didn’t you come help me!”

  “Are you kidding? Boogers and hanging dolls? I wasn’t getting in the middle of that one!” He stood, grabbed her around the waist, and smiled. “I’m sorry, hon. I’ll corral the kids and make sure their stuff is ready. We’ll be in the car waiting for you, whenever you’re done.”

  “Humph.” Sherry pulled off her robe and ran into her walk-in closet. She tried to stay irritated, but found that she couldn’t. How could she be mad when her husband smiled at her like that?

  She pulled on a simple dress—the only thing she didn’t need to iron—and ran into the bathroom, hurrying to undo her curlers. She hollered in the general direction of the hall.

  “Doug, don’t forget their Bible verse sheets! They need to turn them in today!”

  A distant holler back. “Where are they?”

  “Genna’s is on her dresser. I don’t know where Brandon’s is. You’ll have to find it!”

  There was a pause. “Uh—okay.”

  Sherry picked up a brush and pulled at her hair. She was always the one that got the kids ready, got them to do their homework, organized their belongings. Doug probably didn’t know where half their stuff was. He would just have to learn.

  Five minutes later, juggling her Bible, her purse, and her makeup kit, Sherry ran down the stairs, through the empty kitchen, and out the garage door. She collapsed in the front seat of the van, and Doug turned, his face tight, backing at high speed down the driveway.

  “What?” Sherry said. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re late.”

  “Well, you could’ve helped with the kids, you know! When you were basically ready and I wasn’t, why didn’t you go deal with them instead of me?”

  “You never asked. You just ran and did it. I figured why should both of us get involved and make us even later?”

  “Why should I have to ask? They’re your kids, too, you know! You saw how unready I was … you should’ve stopped me and told me you’d do it so I could get ready!”

  Doug clenched his jaw and didn’t respond. Sherry turned her face and looked resolutely out the window. Sundays were always the worst morning of the week.

  They drove for a few miles in silence, turning onto Tenth Street and speeding toward the church.

  “By the way, I have to do some work today,” Doug said, his voice a deliberate calm. “I’ll go into the office later, after dinner, so we can spend the day together.”

  “Fine.” Sherry didn’t look over.

  They pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the car; a ragged little group hurrying silently toward the church building, where the strains of joyful singing could already be heard.

  The hubbub in the church lobby after the service was loud and cheerful, as people mingled in the common area. Eric came up and slapped Doug on the back.

  “The gang’s going to McDonald’s for lunch. Wanna come?”

  “Sure.” Doug tried to find Sherry amidst the madness. “I guess. I should ask Sherry …”

  “No rush. Lots of folks in the home group are coming. We’ll just meet over there in about ten, fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure, sure.” Doug corralled Brandon as he ran by, chasing another boy. “Hey! Where’s Mom?”

  “Over there, Dad.” Brandon pointed. Sherry was deep in conversation with Melanie and her husband.

  Doug headed that direction and touched his wife on the shoulder.

  She turned. “Oh, I’m glad you found us. Melanie was just asking whether you’d be able to head up the youth retreat again this spring?” Sherry gave him a long look, trying to convey something with her eyes.

  Doug couldn’t tell what it was. He turned to Melanie. “Uh, thanks. I hadn’t given it much thought …”

  “Well, didn’t you get the e-mail we sent you last week, dear?”

  “Come to think of it, I guess I did see your request. I’ve just been so busy—”

  “Well, please think about it, Doug. And if you could get back to us soon, that would be good. We need to get started.”

  Melanie linked her arm through her husband’s and lowered her voice. “Pastor was thinking maybe one of the other men on the youth team could do it this year, but frankly I hear that the one he’s considering is having a bit of trouble at home. He and his wife are apparently in counseling. We need a good role model for our young people. Someone solid, with a stable marriage. Like you. So please do agree. It won’t be that much of a time commitment.”

  Doug caught Sherry’s frosty glance and turned back to Melanie.

  “You know, I really appreciate the offer. But even if it’s not that much time, it may be too much for me this year. It’s been really crazy at work.”

  “Well, but, dear, where are your priorities? Surely, wouldn’t the youth of the church be worth taking a little time off? Surely, they are more important?”

  Sherry took Doug’s arm, the same way Melanie held that of her husband. She gave the woman a sweet smile. “Melanie, I think what Doug is trying to say is that his family is even more important to him than the youth of the church. I think it’s great that he’s prioritizing me and the kids ahead of this project.”

  Melanie frowned. “Well, yes of course, dear. But you already have a stable family life. These kids need to see good role models. You know, some of these children actually come from broken homes, blended families, where the mother and father are divorced. They need to see people like you in leadership.”

  Doug could feel Sherry’s fingers digging into his arm. He gave Melanie and her husband a short smile. “You know that I love these kids, and I’ll gladly continue to serve on the youth ministry team. But this year, I don’t think I’m able to commit to leading the retreat. The time commitment just wouldn’t be fair to my family at this time.”

  “Well, dear, okay. But our next choice might just have to be the couple who is in counseling. And I don’t know if it’s appropriate to have someone with an unstable marriage in leadership.”

  Doug cocked an eyebrow. “Well, just because they’re in counseling doesn’t mean they have an unstable marriage, does it?”

  “Of course that’s what it means. That’s the whole point of counseling, I would think.”

  Sherry spoke up, and Doug could tell she was trying hard to keep her voice even. “Perhaps they have a better marriage because they’re willing to go into counseling to improve it. I know of a number of couples who look great on the outside, but could probably use some counseling if there wasn’t such a stigma attached.”

  Melanie was about to speak, when another woman approached her with a question. Doug and Sherry politely excused themselves. Doug held tight to his wife’s hand as they corralled the kids and headed for the car.

  Sherry loaded the kids in the van, then gave Doug a big hug and held him tight for a long moment.

  “Thank you. Thank you for not taking that project.”

  Doug put his arms around his wife, pressing her cheek into his chest, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair. “I love you, Sherry.”

  “I love you, too, Doug.”

  He held her for a long minute, then released her, aware of curious glances from the others streaming into the parking lot. He smiled. “Let’s go to lunch.”

  The McDonald’s near the church was large, colorful, and very noisy. The kids gulped their food and ran off to explore the playground equipment—for the hundredth time—while the adults settled in for a leisurely lunch.

  Doug and Sherry had arrived last and were seated at the end of a long table, chatting with the people nearest them.

  At the other end of the noisy table, one of the other home group members asked what Eric and Lisa were
doing that evening. Eric made a face.

  “I’m actually getting together with a friend from college, to go see some awful art-house movie.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “This guys a real skeptic; a classic arty, depressed, agnostic kind of guy. I try to get together with him every couple of months, as I’m probably the only Christian he knows. But he always chooses these awful movies. We’re going to the late show at some independent theater down the other end of Tenth Street.”

  Doug’s mind was wandering. Next to him, Sherry and another wife were comparing the latest ideas in window treatments. He pictured the pile of work on his desk. He had so much to do; he’d be at the office until close to midnight.

  And what about after midnight …?

  He closed his eyes as the unbidden thought rose in his mind. He tried to push it away, but it was there. A stark, inexorable choice. He tried to reengage in the conversation flowing around his end of the table, but it was still there. And in his head, the clock began to race toward midnight.

  THIRTY

  Doug Turner leaned down and gave Sherry a kiss. “Don’t wait up for me, hon. I’ll probably be at the office until the wee hours.” Doug ruffled the kids’ hair, grabbed his briefcase, and scooted out the door, leaving the rest of the family at the dinner table. Once he was on the road toward the office in the gathering twilight, he reflected on his casual lie. How smoothly he had set up the late-night sin he knew he would not avoid.

  He was weary of fighting. It was easier to just set up the excuse in advance and let what would happen, happen. If he could avoid the temptation when his car reached the exit later that night, fine. If not …

  Doug sighed. Who was he kidding?

  Eric Elliott kissed his wife good-bye at the kitchen sink, glancing out the darkened window. “Don’t wait up, sweetheart. It’s a late movie, and Rocko and I will probably get some coffee afterwards. I’ll try not to wake you up when I come in.”

  Lisa smiled at her husband. “Have fun. Uh—if you can.”

  “Yeah.” Eric grimaced. “This movie looks pretty depressing, but it’ll probably stir stuff up and give me a good opening for our talk afterward.”

  “That’s all that matters.”

  Eric gave her a big hug and reached around to pinch her bottom. “That’s my girl.”

  “Hey!” Lisa swatted him with a dish towel. “Get out of here, you big lech.”

  “You have no idea.” He pulled her close. “Maybe I will wake you up when I get in.”

  Lisa winked at him. “Feel free. I’ll be dreaming about you anyway.”

  “Okay, stop it!” Eric pushed her away, laughing. “Stop it or I’m never going to leave!” He turned and yelled toward the den, where he could hear the television blaring. “G’night kids! Time to do your homework!”

  There was a pause. “Night, Dad!”

  “Do your homework! Turn off the TV!”

  He could hear a couple of groans, then the kids came straggling out of the den and up the stairs.

  Eric winked at Lisa and headed out the door. As he drove out of his neighborhood and toward a less-familiar section of town, he prayed that God would steel him against the inevitable crud he would let into his mind during the movie that night. He sighed. Was it even worth going just to have another discussion with a friend who had heard it all before? Why had the Lord so specifically nudged him to go?

  He took the highway and got off at the designated exit, then drove quickly past the windowless, burgundy-and-silver building with the neon sign that lured so many travelers off the highway.

  He prayed for protection over his mind and spirit, and prayed for those inside. He’d gone into a club like that several times in college, and the images haunted him still. He drove quickly past the club, searching for the small movie theater his friend assured him was there somewhere.

  He found the theater just a short distance away and got out of his car. He saw a young woman leave the club, a garment bag over her arm.

  Eric wanted to stare, and several images from years ago rose in his mind. He forced himself to turn his back to the young woman, to the neon lights, and prayed for the Lord’s help in taking his thoughts captive. Then he hurried toward the theater, looking for his friend.

  Doug pulled into the packed parking lot and reached into his glove compartment. Feeling rather foolish, he pulled out the fake moustache, fake glasses, and shapeless fishing hat he had used ever since the COO had confronted him. For several days, distraught over the graphic blackmail video, he had managed to stay away from the computer, away from the club. But within a week, resisting became a torture. So he had improvised.

  He stepped out of his car and hurried into the sprawling building, his mind warring between self-justification and despair.

  The credits rolled against a black screen, and another edgy song with indecipherable, wailing lyrics began to blast over the loudspeakers.

  Eric waited until his friend stood and stretched, then joined him, merging with throngs of people shuffling past the darkened rows toward a weak exit sign.

  The feeling of emptiness, of hopelessness in that place was almost palpable. Eric’s heart hurt. These people needed Jesus so much. God would fill their void with life and hope. But what chance was there if the pulpit they chose was the sort of movie he had just watched, the songs he had just heard? It would not surprise him, once he got to heaven, to learn that Satan himself had had a hand in crafting those.

  They stepped out into the midnight breeze, and Eric’s friend gestured toward the next-door coffee shop. Eric nodded and prayed that he would have the right words to say.

  An hour later, his friend thanked him for his time and left, saying he had a big audition in the morning. Eric wished him well, and went up to the counter for another coffee. It was way too late, and he had a bit of a drive to get back home.

  Doug looked at his watch, yawning, as he stepped outside the club and pulled his coat up by his ears. There was a bustling coffee shop across the way, and he had to get some or he’d fall asleep at the wheel.

  He hopped in his car and parked right out front of the little coffee bar, hurrying in with his head bent under his fishing cap, pushing against the sharp night wind. He took one step toward the counter where a man waited for his order, and froze.

  Eric turned, the warm cup cradled in his hands, and brushed past a customer standing still in the doorway. He put a hand on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He pushed again, harder, and could feel his tiredness and irritation starting to rise. They must have locked the door while he was sitting there with his friend.

  No … That other man had just come in. He turned, glancing at the new customer’s profile. Suddenly, the oddest sensation crawled up his spine. A sense of certainty that made no sense. A feeling that the Lord was nudging him forward, to take the risky step. He took another look at the man, now standing rigidly at the counter, giving his order in a hoarse voice.

  Eric took a step back toward the counter. “Doug?”

  The man made busy about paying the cashier and didn’t move.

  Eric took another step, his voice stronger, more certain. “Doug.”

  The customer turned, his frame rigid, his mouth a thin pressed line under an unfamiliar mustache. Eric took in the strange disguise on his friend’s face, and suddenly he knew.

  Doug sighed and pulled off the hat. “Hi, Eric.”

  Eric gave him a long, searching look. Then he pulled a chair out from a nearby table. “I think we should sit down.”

  “Uh, no … no.” Doug shook his head. “I need to get home. Sherry will be wondering …”

  Eric pointed at the chair. “Sit down, Doug.”

  “So what is the status of the infrastructure strategy?”

  Tyson listened with half an ear, weary of Mr. Mohammed’s questions. Tyson had been working eighteen-hour days and was ready to crash for the night, but it was bright morning at Mohammed’s command center and he was only halfway through his list.

  “Did I lo
se you?”

  Tyson jerked back to attention. “No, no, I’m here. I was just looking at some data sheets with that information.” He’d slip up if he wasn’t careful. And Mohammed would notice. He stood, his secure phone in hand, hoping to get the blood moving. “The infrastructure project looks promising, though not certain. We have compromised a satellite system that will allow us to input false signals without detection—at least for a time. So when the primary plan is triggered, we may also have a window for disruption of emergency responders. It’s a good avenue for your backers to pursue.”

  “And other areas?”

  “The other areas are all just possibilities at this point.”

  The cultured voice was intense. “My backers want systemic disruption.”

  “I understand, sir, but remember the terms of our agreement.” Tyson clenched the phone tighter. “Until they commit to half the cost of that project, we are unable to move forward.”

  Tyson heard a long pause on the other end of the line. Despite his fatigue, he grinned to himself. Mr. Mohammed’s backers were probably already putting pressure on him to get more for their money. They were used to dealing with people who shared their ideology, who were willing to chip in for the cause. Well, too bad. They had their ideology; he had his. And his had to do with money—lots of it.

  The coffee shop was emptying. Eric’s coffee was half-drunk, but Doug’s was barely touched.

  Eric’s mind was whirling. If Doug was telling the truth about the COO at his office, this was an even bigger thing than a Christian husband fighting sexual temptation. But that was still the first thing that had to be addressed.

  “So that’s the reason for the disguise,” Doug said. “I can’t seem to stop it, but I couldn’t bear to give them more ammunition. I figured a disguise would solve the problem.”

  Eric gave a short laugh. “It worked, too. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Doug shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking at his watch. “I should get home.”