Dee eyed her carefully, studying her expression and body language. “So let’s hear what you think is the problem.”
“We’re not as different as you might suppose,” she said thoughtfully.
“How’s that?” asked Dee.
“I’ve been alone since I started college, at least emotionally. We’ve both been pretty isolated, but for very different reasons.”
“Now we’re getting’ somewhere,” Dee said, paying close attention. “Go on.”
“Well, he was something of a social and emotional misfit, and he still carries some of that. I had lots of attention through high school, but the one person who told me he loved me turned into my rapist. Then my spiritually counterfeit parents forced me to have an abortion. After that, it was all about revenge. I wanted to throw their phony faith in their faces every chance I got. I did what I wanted with whomever I wanted. I’ve had lots of men, but none of it was about love. I started targeting guys who reminded me of the hypocrisy I hated. They got what they wanted, and I got to ruin their reputation. Nothing like that even crosses my mind anymore. I want something real.”
“So where is Brian in all this?” Dee asked with a knowing look.
“A lot has changed, to say the least. We talk a lot about faith, about real Christianity, how people play church. I’ve thrown everything at him—all the questions I’d learned and internalized to justify how much I hated Christians like my parents and the guy who raped me.”
“And that’s been good for you,” concluded Malcolm.
“It has. Honestly, it’s been like therapy. Brian is never preachy, but he doesn’t flinch about what he believes. He just doesn’t care about pleasing anyone if it means he can’t be honest with them.”
“That’s honorable, and it’ll get you into trouble, too,” Malcolm said. “I learned that from Andrew.”
“Brian has definitely paid a price for telling it as he sees it. You two know he lost a job at a Christian college for some of his thoughts, but that isn’t all. Last summer he’d planned to go to seminary, but he’s told me he knew he wouldn’t last in any denominational environment. He enrolled in seminary because he didn’t know what else to do.”
“He didn’t want to just throw it all away even if he believed he had no future,” Malcolm said, nodding.
“Right. None of that has made him leave it all behind, but he has a fairly low tolerance for most of what goes on in Christianity—the trendiness and sappy theology. He says he isn’t a Christian because of Christians. He once told me that if Jesus were to apply for a divorce from the Church on the grounds of adultery and desertion, he’d get one.”
“That’s pretty brutal,” Malcolm noted, nodding, “but hard to disagree with.”
Melissa continued. “Being with him has convinced me I need to approach things the same way. I want what he has. It was something I thought I had a long time ago. He’s just helped me detach it from the phoniness—to frame it differently.”
“So how has all this affected your feelings for him?” Dee prodded.
Melissa looked down again at the table for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “Honestly, he has the character of the man I wanted when I was younger. That seems like a lifetime ago. It’s just, I trust him completely. It’s hard to imagine life without him.…” Her voice trailed off.
“What’s wrong, then?” Malcolm pressed gently.
“I’ll be blunt,” she sighed. “I can’t escape the feeling that when he looks at me, he sees used goods.”
“Melissa,” Malcolm said sympathetically, placing his hand on hers, “that isn’t true. You’re not reading him clearly. He knew about your past long before you got here. You were the one who told him. Why would you think it matters now?”
“I’m just not sure,” she answered. “What if our circumstances were different? And if I’m wrong, why won’t he say something? He’s impenetrable when it comes to what’s really going on inside.”
“He’s scared out of his wits, honey,” Dee said matter-of-factly.
Melissa looked at her dubiously.
“He’s terrified. Trust me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“He’s afraid of what might happen if he told you how he feels.”
“What do you mean ‘what might happen’?”
“You might not feel the same way,” she replied. “It’s a thought he can’t bear. And knowing him, he can’t imagine any other outcome. You know his story. He’d rather be with you the way things are than lose what he has by making the relationship awkward. He can’t imagine it would turn out any other way if he told you how he feels, so he ain’t touchin’ it. It’s simple, from where I’m sitting.”
“That seems … I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“You wouldn’t. You’ve been in control of all your relationships—except the abusive one, of course. He’s never been in that position. He’s emotionally locked down. But don’t think for a minute he doesn’t love you.”
Melissa looked at Malcolm. He nodded firmly.
“That means,” Dee said, her eyes narrowing, “the real question is how you feel about him.”
Melissa looked at each of them earnestly, then averted her attention to the snow falling against the dark sky, illumined by the lights shining on the sidewalk outside.
“If you really can’t imagine yourself with someone else—”
“Folks,” Malcolm interrupted in a low voice, “it’s time to change the subject.”
They looked over at him and saw him wave. Following his line of attention, they turned and saw Neff and Malone approaching.
“Hello, everyone,” Neff greeted them. “Are we ready to head over? I assume you talked to Melissa,” he added, smiling in her direction.
“They did,” replied Melissa. “I think I’m going to pass. Brian is supposed to pick me up in about a half hour.”
“He could join us—if he’s able to even get to campus. What kind of car do you have?”
“Just a sedan.”
“He’ll never get here,” Malone countered. “We rented the biggest SUV they had at the airport and barely made it. Interstates are passable, but the roads in town are in bad shape. Some of them haven’t been touched by plows yet.”
“If you’ll pardon me for saying,” Neff continued, “I think you should let me take you home this evening. We can get you there. It will probably be easier later on, too, even though it’s still snowing. It’ll give the road crews time to plow in town. I’d take you now but I might not make it back in time. Once I told President Fitzgerald I was coming tonight, he insisted I say a few words at the beginning—board member stuff,” he explained, smiling again.
“Sounds like good advice, Melissa,” Malcolm suggested. “It’ll just cost you a few hours. You don’t want to get stranded. It’s not just the snow; it’s the cold.”
“Real cold,” Malone followed. “It’s almost single digits.”
“I’d also consider it a personal favor,” Neff added. “I’m going to talk about how pleased I am with the performance of the new faculty member occupying the position I funded.”
“Do you mean to say—?”
“Yes,” he grinned. “That would be you, Melissa. Aloysius didn’t tell me anything about the faculty member who’d be hired with the gift. He just said there was an urgent need, and that the person needed protection and was highly qualified. Once I heard Father Benedict had made the request, there was nothing to debate. I didn’t know Benedict personally, only by reputation, and that was enough. That the beneficiary turned out to be you was a happy … coincidence,” he explained pleasantly.
“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.”
“I don’t. Please, I’d appreciate it if you were there tonight.”
“Well, all right,” she agreed.
“Good. I’m sure it won’t get too late. You’d best call Brian and tell him.”
***
“Hello?” Brian answered, sticking the phone between his
ear and cheek while he put on his coat.
“Brian, it’s me.”
“I was just getting ready to leave. Is everything okay?”
“Just fine. You don’t need to pick me up.”
“Why? If you need to stay a little longer I can come over and keep you company. I don’t like the idea of you being there after hours by yourself.”
“Graham and Malone are here, and so are Malcolm and Dee. Graham’s talked me into going to the Christmas reception tonight. He said he’ll bring me home.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Brian? Are you still there?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah.”
“I wish you could be here.”
“What are Neff and Malone doing there? They told me this morning they were flying out this afternoon.”
“They were, but the airport’s closed. They said the snowstorm is terrible.”
“I shoveled the driveway an hour ago. It didn’t look that bad.”
“They just got here and said the roads in town aren’t passable. They’re not plowed yet. They figure they’ll be more clear in a few hours, and they have the kind of vehicle it’ll take to get me home if it stays bad.”
“Hmm, okay,” he surrendered unenthusiastically.
Melissa sensed the melancholy in his voice. “Is everything all right?”
“I guess so.”
“Please don’t worry. It won’t be too late. I promise.”
“I won’t worry. I know you’re in good hands. Have fun.”
“I’ll try. Wait up for me, okay?”
“Sure. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Brian slipped the phone into his pocket and stood silently at the door leading to the garage. After a few moments he turned and slowly walked into the kitchen, turning off the oven and then the lights. A few steps later he found himself in the dining room, where he pulled out a chair and sat down, hands in his lap.
The house was dark now, save for the light from the delicate rays of two solitary candles on the table. He watched the random shadows mingle on the walls with the beamed reflections thrown from two Corsair wine glasses. They shivered with every vibration of the flames. He looked out over the settings, arranged neatly atop the pressed white tablecloth. Everything was in perfect order. He’d followed the instructions to the letter, then checked and rechecked them. A small, rectangular, elegantly-wrapped gift rested on Melissa’s empty plate. He sighed.
What were you thinking?
28
The risk of a wrong decision is preferable to the terror of indecision.
—Maimonides
Melissa closed the door and silently watched Neff trudge through the snow back to the SUV. He’d dropped Malone, Malcolm, and Dee off at the guest house after the reception. His guess had been on target. Though it was still snowing, the trip to the house had presented no difficulty.
After rearming the security system, she shook the snow from the edge of her coat and took off her shoes. The cold white powder clung to her pant legs. She bent over as best she could and took a few seconds to brush them off. Standing up, she removed her coat and draped it over her arm and the purse already hanging there. She looked around, her eyes adjusting quickly to the dimness. A faint light emanated from the dining room.
“Brian?”
No answer.
“Brian, where are you?” she asked, raising her volume a bit.
Still no answer.
She cautiously walked toward the dining room, stopping momentarily at the threshold, then crossed into the room. She gasped.
Melissa stood motionless, mouth agape, staring at the unexpected sight of an elegantly prepared table set for two. Every piece was unfamiliar, having been purchased for the occasion she now knew that her absence had ruined. The only discernible imperfection was the wax from the unattended candles, which had trickled down the high, slender tapers onto their holders.
She detected a faint aroma and looked into the adjoining kitchen, which was completely dark. She walked the length of the table toward the opening but stopped, her attention arrested by a slender, rectangular box, stylishly wrapped, positioned atop one of the plates. Her curiosity piqued, she picked it up, finding it to be heavier than she’d anticipated.
Returning the box to its resting place, she turned and went into the kitchen, flicking on the light. The sink and counters were strewn with an array of utensils and ingredient containers. The oven door was room temperature. She opened it and saw something covered with foil. She didn’t know what it was, but it smelled delectable. She closed the oven, wistfully. You blew this big time, Melissa, whatever it was.
Melissa shut off the light, retrieved the gift, and snuffed out the candles. A faint vertical crack of light helped her navigate her way to the basement. She approached the door and opened it, but hesitated, uncertainty welling up inside her. Her mind drifted back to the conversation with Dee and Malcolm earlier in the day.
She sighed and carefully descended the steps. The basement was dimly lit. The low light of the fireplace and the small lamp sitting atop Brian’s desk to her left provided just enough of a glow for her to make out his sleeping form on the couch. He was facing inward, a light blanket drawn over him, his jean-covered leg sticking out at an angle.
The desk was uncharacteristically disheveled. She walked over to it and picked up several of the papers scattered across the desktop. Recipes. She couldn’t help smiling as she flipped the pages, noting the highlighting and notes scribbled here and there. Trying to cook something was completely out of character for him, but this fit. Just like everything else he did, he’d made a study of it.
She quietly returned the pages and laid her purse and coat on the desktop. Her heart skipped a beat. The drawer. She’d playfully poked fun at his secrecy, making a game of guessing its contents every time she came downstairs. It appeared unlocked. She was sure of it. She’d memorized its appearance, and now her eye had detected something amiss. The flat surface of the top edge of the drawer was just barely visible, not even a quarter of an inch.
She sat down at the desk. The chair made a loud creak. She stiffened and held her breath for a moment, but there was no stir from the couch. She took hold of the handle and gingerly pulled. It gave way. A pang of conscience rippled through her. She desperately wanted to know what he’d been hiding since they’d moved into the house. She squinted vainly into the darkness of the crack her tug had produced. She closed her eyes. He’ll forgive me. She slowly pulled it open and peered inside.
“Oh, my,” Melissa whispered, stunned by the sight. Her eyes moved quickly to the couch, then back again. She carefully withdrew a clear plastic page protector, its top taped shut. Inside was a single piece of pale blue construction paper, to which was affixed a solitary, withered, white carnation, faintly yellowed by time, its stem bent in two places. She recognized it instantly.
Her mind raced back to Area 51, the day she’d visited Brian after he’d nearly died in surgery—after he’d put his life on the line to save her from the charging attack dogs. She remembered plucking the carnation out of a vase in the cafeteria and giving it to him the day of her first visit, overwhelmed with guilt for all that she’d done to him. She’d played the conversation over in her heart dozens of times. He’d forgiven her without reservation.
How did he get this out? No sooner had the question surfaced in her mind than the answer came. Images from their last day on the base suddenly rushed into her mind. There in Brian’s room, Father Benedict had laid out his plan. She’d had to remove Lieutenant Sheppard’s right hand and eye to enable their escape through the biometric security. She recalled wrapping the grisly items in a towel and putting them in Brian’s backpack. Then she’d gone into the bathroom to wash her hands. When she’d emerged, she’d noticed Brian closing his desk drawer, then standing to slip the backup on. I can’t believe it. He’d left everything he owned in that room. Of all the things he could have kept, he’d gone back for this.
She
looked down at the dehydrated, fragile blossom. The plastic had been pressed tight in an awkward attempt at preservation, but it had shriveled and come apart. Her lip quivered. Melissa closed her eyes, pressing the clumsy keepsake to her breast, and began to cry. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed, struggling to keep quiet.
After a few minutes she regained her composure. She took the sheet and reached toward the drawer to return it. The glow of the desk lamp penetrated the plastic, revealing that something had been scrawled on the back. She gently turned it over and stared in fascination. He’d penciled several rows of Egyptian hieroglyphs onto the reverse side.
Suddenly, Brian turned in his sleep on the couch. She gave a start and watched him closely. Stillness returned after a few seconds. She stood up, wiping the tears from her face with her finger. With the page in one hand and the gift from upstairs in the other, she made her way to where he lay. Once there, she knelt by the couch, carefully sliding the plastic sleeve underneath. She watched the slow, rhythmic movement of his chest as he breathed, laying on his side, facing her. She lightly touched his hair, letting her fingers course through it. He stirred, opening his eyes. The two of them watched each other for a moment.
“Hi,” he whispered, blinking.
“You didn’t wait up for me,” she said, taking his glasses from the end table next to the couch.
“Sorry, I guess I was tired.” He took his glasses from her hand and put them on, propping himself up on an elbow.
“Understandable. After all, you had a busy day, didn’t you?” She rocked back on her knees to watch his expression.
“Not real—oh, yeah. I guess I did.”
“I’m sorry about tonight,” she apologized. “Upstairs, it’s beautiful. I can’t tell you how surprised I was. You put so much work into everything.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. I did my best to keep it a secret.”
“Mission accomplished,” she said, pursing her lips into a thoughtful pout. “I had absolutely no idea—and still don’t. What’s this all about?”
The Portent Page 15