Sandcastle for Pegasus

by Bob Avey

  It was true. Martin loved his son for that quality.

  “I know what you are saying,” Krystal said, “but how will that help anything?”

  “We’re taking the message directly to the people,” the senator said. “I’ve been working with producers to put together some television commercials. We plan to start airing them two weeks from now. If the networks will run them, and that’s not a given, we could reach a lot of people. Once the public meets Luke and understands what’s at stake, we’ve got a good chance at beating this thing. I want Luke to be my spokesperson.”

  “But you said you have been working with producers. You wouldn’t do that if you didn’t already have someone lined up. Has Luke known about this, or possibly Martin?” Susan paused. “I can’t imagine Martin not telling me about something this important, though. He’s not like that.”

  Susan had mentioned him in the present tense. Was he not dead?

  “It’s time to lay all of my cards on the table,” the senator said. “Yes, there was someone else. At the last minute, the parents backed out. I’ll be honest. These people are dead serious about this. Threats have been made. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you didn’t want Luke to participate. But I pray that for the sake of all the special children, you will consider it.”

  “I do it.”

  Silence fell over the conference room as everyone turned to look at Luke.

  Luke had picked up on what everyone was saying and somehow understood what was happening.

  “No, Luke,” Susan said. “I don’t think you don’t understand what you are agreeing to.”

  “I understand. I do it.”

  A strong sense of pride filled Martin’s senses. His son was displaying more courage than he had ever been able to. Martin knew Luke well. He had decided, and once his mind was set on something, there would be no talking him out of it.

  Susan knew it as well. “Oh, dear God,” she said. “What are we getting ourselves into?”

  Martin understood something too. The chances of him constantly popping up in the places he had, at just the right times, were just too great for coincidence. Just as Luke had been chosen to help with this, so had he, and a certain amount of destiny was at play. He understood something else as well. Doctor Jackson Stewart was emotionally and monetarily connected to this hideous movement through his dealings with The Phoenix Foundation. And the way things were playing out, Stewart was also behind the threats, as Senator Padgett had alluded. Stewart knew about the efforts of Senator Padgett, which meant he also knew about Luke. Martin had been right in his sensing Luke was in danger. And all of this was most likely why Candy Barnes had been taken out of the picture.

  Martin had no choice now. He had to see this through. He had to protect his family, especially Luke.

  “Well then,” Senator Padgett said, “do we have a deal?”

  Susan walked over and stood behind Luke, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. “I’ll leave it up to you, Luke.”

  “I do it.”

  . . .

  The ride back home from the meeting with Senator Padgett was quiet but not empty of thought. Martin tried to keep himself contained within the bubble he had constructed, though his thoughts—which bounced between disbelief, shock, anger, and outright fear—were so powerful he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

  At home, the quiet, somber mood continued. It was as if the unsettling meeting were still happening, and Martin guessed it was ongoing to some extent within all their minds.

  Krystal gazed around the living room, and when Martin’s leather recliner came into view, she paused, as if considering whether she should, and then walked to the chair. She stared at the chair momentarily and then turned and plopped down into the cushion of the semi-forbidden recliner.

  It was then that Krystal became aware of what he had suspected all along. Not as Luke had known, having partially shared Martin’s journey, but in a way any sensitive person would be. Krystal sensed, on some level, his presence. He had tried to be as noninvasive as possible, though he understood something as dramatic as having someone else in your mind could not go completely unnoticed.

  Krystal glanced at the small table beside the recliner. Alongside the television remotes was Martin’s watch, the one his grandfather had given him as part of his last wishes. Martin suspected his grandfather had put much thought into the decision to bypass Martin’s father. Grandpa Frank wasn’t the type to make hasty judgements. The moment was heavy with thought but uplifting as Martin began to understand in a way few ever could, that his family loved him deeply. They had depended on his guidance, seeking strength where Martin saw only weakness.

  Krystal picked up Martin’s watch. As she turned the antique timepiece in her hands, looking for answers to questions she wasn’t quite sure of, Martin thought of his Grandpa Frank. Martin had always wished he could be more like his grandfather and had even aspired to be him, though he never thought he had it in him to reach such a lofty goal.

  Amid his reminiscence, he struggled to clear his mind as a sensation he could only describe as being slightly off balance held him in place. As he struggled to regain his balance, Martin’s vision lost focus.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MARTIN

  Friday, September 15, 1978

  When Martin regained his bearings, in a manner of speaking, he slowly rose from the sofa. He had traveled again. He was in an old, familiar house with high ceilings and clean, shiny, wooden floors below. On either side of the overstuffed sofa where Martin had sat moments earlier were two antique tables, not identical but complementary in an elegant way.

  To Martin’s left was a large, red brick fireplace where a small bundle of small logs smoldered peacefully, while the white mantle above held various family photos. Martin knew he was in his Grandpa Frank’s house, though he couldn’t remember it ever looking quite so fresh. He instinctively understood it was because the house had yet to experience the years that would follow.

  It was a large house, a mansion for its time, Martin guessed. And though he had always exercised a cautious reverence for the place, he quickly turned and walked briskly past the stairs near the front entrance and continued to a room that had always been called the library. Grandpa Frank had used it for his office. And, as Martin peered through the glass doors, doors which were always closed, he saw the man, his grandfather, sitting in the black, leather chair behind his desk.

  Martin fought off a sense of panic threatening to overcome him. He admired his grandfather, though he had always felt intimidated, even overshadowed by his presence.

  Grandpa Frank had played football at Central High, and later at the University of Oklahoma. As far as Martin knew, his grandfather succeeded at everything he tried, which explained the mansion he lived in. Martin had spent hours during his youth looking at the old photograph, which had been displayed in his own childhood home only a few miles away in a newer part of town. The dark-eyed man with a stern, chiseled face and large mustache in the photograph was the same man he now saw sitting in the library.

  Judging from his countenance, his grandfather appeared to be somewhere around thirty-five. A few days ago, Martin would not have believed it was possible, but impossible things seemed to happen now.

  Martin turned and looked at the wall opposite the office behind him. A large mirror had always hung there, and as Martin gazed into it, he found his answer. The image of the young man reflected in the mirror was not Martin Taylor. Martin could see the resemblance, but there was no mistaking his father who now looked back at him. Judging from the shocked look on his face, his father also wondered what was happening. Martin, unfortunately or not, had always been more like his father—struggling through life, making it but never quite able to
grasp the brass ring.

  He quickly put up the same mental wall he’d used with Krystal.

  “Billy, come here for a moment.”

  Martin turned back. It was Grandpa Frank—Frank Martin Taylor III, Martin’s namesake—and Grandpa’s requests, though never uttered with an edge of anger, were something that everyone always dropped what they were doing to respond to.

  “Now?” Martin asked. Or was it Billy who had responded? He just wasn’t sure.

  The sound of shuffling footsteps filtered through the house, and Martin diverted his attention away from the library and saw his Grandma Phyllis approaching. He had known she must be there and eventually would discover his presence but seeing her both unnerved him and filled him with joy. What would he say to her? Would she know he was there, and not merely her son, Billy?

  “What’s the matter, hon? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  Of course, Martin thought, Grandma would be taken aback. She was Billy Taylor’s mother, and Billy probably didn’t spend much time standing in the foyer, staring through the glass doors of the library.

  A smile forced its way across Martin’s face. “Hello, Grand—”

  Martin stopped himself before completing the words. He supposed he would be acting out of character for his father, but he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Oh, there, there,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”

  Martin tried to suppress the moisture that formed in his eyes, or his father’s eyes. But he could not, and a few tears found their way out and ran down his father’s face.

  Grandma Phyllis cupped Billy’s face with her small but strong hands and understandingly shook her head. “It’s okay, hon. Father just wants to talk to you. He’s not upset. He’s not the kind to get upset. Now, run along. It’s not polite to keep people waiting.”

  Martin wanted to stay and talk more with his grandma, but he figured doing so would only increase the probability of something going wrong. He started toward the library, but after a few steps he turned back.

  She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  “I just wanted to tell you how much I like your chicken and dumplings.”

  Martin stood there, staring at his grandma. Of all the things he could have said, he wasn’t quite sure why that popped out. But, in some strange way, he thought it had been just right.

  She laughed, “Billy, you say the strangest things. You’re not yourself today, but it’ll get better soon. I promise. Now run along.”

  She was more right than she realized. Billy was definitely not himself at the moment. To the best of Martin’s knowledge, his father rarely showed affection or any other emotion.

  “Love you, Mom. And you’re right. I am a little off-kilter.”

  Martin hesitated, but what other choice than to respond to Grandpa Frank did he, or Billy, really have? He walked toward the library, pushed open the glass doors, reclosed them because that was what you did, and then stood there, staring at Grandpa Frank.

  Grandpa motioned to the couch sitting along the wall in front of the desk. “Have a seat. You were standing by the door. You must have wanted something.”

  Grandpa opened a drawer of the desk and pulled out a cigar. He carefully snipped off the end, put the cigar into his mouth, and lit it. He savored the smoke for a moment and then said, “If this is about not making the football team, don’t worry about it. There will be other things.”

  It wasn’t at all what Martin had expected. He hadn’t spent much time around his grandfather. Mostly keeping to himself, he tried to stay out of the way when he had. He had thought his dad was in for a tongue lashing, but the love and concern on Grandpa’s face was nearly overwhelming.

  “But it’s just not fair,” Martin heard his dad say. “Kenny Johnston got picked, and I’m tons better than he is. His dad is all chummy with Coach Roberts, that’s all.”

  Martin felt strange, both he and his father seeming to be there in the same body. His dad hadn’t come out and said it, but he’d suggested Grandpa could have stepped in and gotten Billy on the team. Martin wasn’t sure how to feel about that. His dad was just a kid, and kids, especially kids his age, had all sorts of things going on inside of them, but the implied request was just wrong. Grandpa would never do anything like that; wrongfully use his influence to help someone. Martin could not fight the urge to step in and smooth things over.

  “You’re right, Dad, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have inferred something like that.”

  Grandpa Frank leaned back in his chair, took a long draw on his cigar, and blew out the smoke in one steady breath, intensely studying Martin’s, or rather his dad’s, face.

  A sliver of fear ran up Martin’s back. Grandpa Frank was an intelligent man. ‘The things he could do with the stock market,’ Grandma Phyllis would often say, ‘why, it was almost scary.’

  “Inferred is a big word for you, Billy. But I’m touched by your shift in behavior.” He paused and then added, “There’s something different about you, Billy.” He swept his free arm about the room. “Something strange about all of this.”

  Grandpa Frank leaned back in his chair again and enjoyed another draw on his cigar, wise that something unusual was happening but accepting the situation with ease. It was how he faced everything.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Billy. I have several times, but as you so aptly pointed out, it has always come out more inferred than it should have. So, let me be blunt about it. Your biggest problem and the only real reason you never seem to succeed in life is because you never really expect to. You don’t have any confidence in yourself.”

  A plethora of emotions flooded Martin’s senses. “I love you,” he had to fight not to say Grandpa, “Dad. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

  Grandpa Frank smiled. “I love you too, Billy. And I’m sure you’ve said it before, one way or another. I’ve never been disappointed in you, son. If I’ve given you that impression, please forgive me. Life is what you make of it. And if you don’t make much, that’s okay, as long as you’re happy and haven’t harmed anyone in the process.”

  “Thanks,” Martin heard his dad say, “I appreciate that.”

  “I need to ask you something,” Martin said, through his dad. “I have a feeling that I’m soon going to be thrust into a situation that involves a difficult choice.”

  “Once again, you use an impressive vocabulary. What kind of choice are we talking about?”

  “A really tough one, I suspect. And, as you pointed out, I’m not sure I’m up to the task. Let’s put it this way. If you had the chance to go back and change something you thought would help your family, but you weren’t at all sure what the effect on everyone else might be, what would you do?”

  Grandpa Frank studied Billy’s face again. “Whenever I face something that feels like it is way out of my wheelhouse and beyond my understanding, I take it to my Father in Heaven. After that, I keep myself aware and open to subtle suggestions that come in a variety of ways, like a related newspaper article I chance to read. It’s the way He moves in me.

  “Think of this decision like the other problems you’ve had to deal with; face them or run away. Life is full of joy, but it is also riddled with problems. To think you can insulate yourself from trouble by simply choosing to do nothing when called upon is unwise.

  “Becoming comfortable with the idea that God, full of love and grace, is on your side opens doors you probably never knew existed, and it brings a whole new understanding of operating from a place of confidence.”

  Martin had never really thought about it that way. He was aware of his propensity to avoid conflict, but he’d never
considered the problem under such an honest assessment.

  “It sounds easy enough,” Martin said. “But what if I do all of this and still make the wrong decision? What if innocent people suffer because of my error?”

  “If you do what you think is right with the confidence of believing in the power of prayer, you have done your best. Living in fear is a prison of your own choosing. Believe me, Billy, if I could solve all your problems for you, I would. But I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. We all must choose our own paths, make our own decisions. Otherwise, life is meaningless.”

  Grandpa was speaking in an entirely different tone than in the beginning, more like he was conversing with a business associate or a troubled church member, and not his son.

  “Is it wrong of me,” he asked, “to take these matters into my own hands?”

  “It’s beginning to sound like it’s something you must do. Your mother and I believe in you, Billy. You have the ability to rise above your doubt and believe in yourself.”

  “I hope you are right,” Martin said, through his father. “Something tells me a lot might ride on it.”

  Grandpa smiled. “I’ve enjoyed our talk, Billy. Unfortunately, I need to get back to work. Don’t worry, though. I have a feeling we will talk again soon.”

  Martin watched his grandfather busy himself with whatever business he had at hand for a moment, and then he turned and walked out of the library, closing the glass doors behind him.

  The aroma of something cooking in the kitchen, chicken and dumplings, filled the hallway outside the library, and Martin subtly reminded his father how lucky he was to have such caring parents.

  As Martin’s dad walked through the living area, the sound of an old-fashioned telephone ringing broke the silence, and seconds later Grandma Phyllis announced it was for Billy.