Times and Seasons

by Beverly LaHaye

  She tried not to let him know how affected she was. “I know they feed you, Mark.”

  “Yeah, but do you know what they feed me? I mean, we’re not talking pizza and hamburgers here. Who needs Weight Watchers? They ought to just send fat people here and they’d lose weight in a few days. My stomach’s been nauseous since the first thing I ate.”

  “That’s because you’re nervous.”

  “No, it’s because the food makes me gag.”

  She closed her eyes. She had to keep this in perspective. They were playing by a new set of rules. “Mark, there’s nothing an attorney can do. I’ve tried.”

  Mark slammed his hand on the table. “Then try something else! Wake up! Look at me. You’re walking around like you’re in some kind of daze, like you have to accept everything that comes down. You don’t accept other things. You didn’t accept it when Joseph was dying, and when Tory and Barry split up, you didn’t accept that. You didn’t accept it when the school system was passing out condoms. You fought like crazy that time. Why can’t you fight for me?”

  She wanted to tell him that she would fight for him, that she would fight anyone she could, that she would gladly trade places with him to get him out of here. But the fight was over, and Mark had lost. “There comes a time, Mark, when fighting is not appropriate and accepting your guilt is.”

  He opened his mouth in astonishment and banged his hands on the table. “Great, Mom. What about your guilt? How come you never have to pay?”

  She knew this line of accusation. It came as no surprise. “Mark, I’m not gonna sit here and take this. I want to see you, talk to you, but I’m not gonna take your abuse. So you can stop throwing your accusations at me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  The words angered him more, and his face turned crimson. “Why don’t you just get out of here?” he asked.

  She drew in a deep breath. “What?”

  “I said get out of here. If you’re no good to me, then don’t come. I don’t want to see you.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Mark, you don’t mean that. Later today, you’re going to regret saying it.”

  “I’m not going to regret it,” Mark said. “I hate you. You don’t love me, and I don’t love you. If you can’t help me, then get out of here.” He got up and headed back to the guard who stood at the door.

  “Mark!” she called.

  “I mean it,” he told her, swinging around and pointing a threatening finger at her. “Unless you have something good to say to me, don’t even come in here. I don’t want to hear anything else.”

  The guard took him out of her sight and the door swung shut behind them with a clash. Cathy just sat in her chair, staring at that metal door and wondering where she had lost her little boy.

  After a moment, she realized he was not coming back, so she headed back to her car, feeling as if every ounce of energy had bled right out of her. She drove home in a fog of numbness.

  When she pulled into the cul de sac, she saw that Brenda was in the car across the street, with Daniel behind the wheel. Tory sat on her porch with Hannah, watching. Cathy wondered whether either of them had anything better to do than sit outside while their children romped and played around them.

  And here she was, grieving the loss of her child, while a child across the street—exactly the same age—did the things that fifteen-year-old boys were supposed to do.

  It was as if Mark had died a week ago, and something or someone else was occupying his body. She didn’t know how to relate to him or how to reach him, and his anger reached much deeper than the love she could show him.

  She got out of the car and started inside, unable to talk to the friends she knew cared about her. She had no energy left to vent right now. She just needed to lie down and cry about her lost son.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Four

  As frightening as the prospect of speaking in public was to Brenda, she would have taken on a coliseum full of hostile hecklers rather than ride in the passenger seat when Daniel was driving.

  It wasn’t that her fifteen-year-old was a terrible driver. She couldn’t have said that for sure, since he hadn’t yet made it more than a few feet without slamming on the brakes.

  Her hand gripped the door of her minivan, and she silently thanked the Lord for their anti-whiplash headrests. Her knuckles were turning white, and she was beginning to get a rare headache.

  But she didn’t want to discourage him.

  “Daniel, your spatial skills just amaze me,” she said.

  Daniel grinned over at her. “Sure you won’t let me off the cul de sac?”

  “Not yet, honey,” she said too quickly. “You need a little more practice.”

  He let his foot off the brake and stomped on the accelerator, thrusting the car forward again.

  “Not so hard, Daniel!” she shouted. “Let off the gas a little!”

  He took his right foot off the gas and slammed his left one on the brake, making the car jerk again. She checked the street for children in harm’s way.

  “Honey, you can’t drive with both feet. You have to drive with your right one.”

  “But I’m left-handed,” he said. “I drive with both feet.”

  Brenda closed her eyes and leaned her head back, wondering where she could buy a neck brace. “You can’t drive with both feet, Daniel,” she said, “not with an automatic transmission. Only people who drive standard transmissions can drive with both feet. And then they only do it because there’s a clutch.”

  “What’s a clutch?” Daniel asked.

  “Something we don’t have.” She glanced back at the house. “You know, maybe your father ought to be the one teaching you to drive. He doesn’t get to spend enough time with you and—”

  “But I’m doing a good job,” Daniel cut in. “I haven’t hit anything yet.”

  She thought about how much money her van had cost and wondered if the insurance would cover her son. He had just passed the written test and gotten his learner’s permit, and it wouldn’t look good if he totaled the car on his first day out. She looked out the window and saw Tory sitting on her porch with baby Hannah in her lap. Spencer and Brittany were standing in the yard, jumping up and down, cheering for Daniel. She was glad the van was pointed away from them.

  “If I agree to drive with my right foot will you teach me?”

  She cleared her throat and wondered if these palpitations could do serious damage to her health. “Daniel, don’t do it for me. Do it because that’s the way it’s done.”

  There she went, getting negative. She should have learned more patience after dealing so long with Mark. “But go ahead and drive to the corner. Nice and smooth.”

  He shifted the car into overdrive and gave it gas again. They thrust forward.

  “Why did you put it in overdrive?” she asked. “You can’t do that.”

  “Dad does that sometimes.”

  “Only when he’s going up a steep mountain. We don’t need to do that right now. Stop, Daniel! Stop!” They were coming up on the stop sign, and his foot was nowhere near the brake. “Daniel, I said stop!”

  He slammed on the brake, and the car jerked again. Her head was beginning to throb.

  “Daniel.” She wished she had a paper sack to breathe in. “I think maybe we need a bigger space to work in, some place where there aren’t houses and other cars and mailboxes and little children.”

  Daniel was injured. “Mom, you think I’m going to hurt somebody,” he said. “I made 100 on the learner’s test.”

  “But driving is different on paper than it is in real life,” she said. So much for being positive. “Honey, I want you to keep your foot on the brake and put the car in reverse. Then slowly let off the brake and back up until you get to our driveway. Very slowly.”

  Daniel breathed out a defeated sigh and did as he was told. The car inched back until it was right in front of their yard.

  “Now,” she said, “just put it in park and get out. I’ll pull it in the driveway
.”

  “No, Mom,” he said. “I can’t let everybody see me handing it over to you for something as simple as parking. I can do it. Just let me try.”

  “Spencer and Brittany are little children. They don’t know the difference.”

  “Well, Joseph and Leah and Rachel do. They’ll make fun of me, too.”

  “They’re your brother and sisters. They always make fun of you. You’ve never let it bother you before. Come on, honey. You’re not ready.”

  “But how am I ever going to learn if you don’t let me try?”

  She looked at his hands clutching the steering wheel, his foot on the brake, and glanced back at the driveway. It couldn’t be that hard, she thought. Maybe he could do it, after all. She didn’t want to destroy his confidence or give him the idea that she didn’t expect the best of him. So her head would hurt, and she’d wear a neck brace for a few weeks. Mothers had to make sacrifices. “All right,” she said, fearing that she would regret this. “I want you to put it in drive and slowly turn the car in a circle, and then pull into the driveway very carefully with your foot on the brake the whole time.”

  “Score!” he shouted, as if he’d just made a touchdown. “I wish Mark was here to see this.” He put the car in drive and carefully gave it some gas. She was pleased as he gently turned the car around and pointed it toward the driveway. Maybe he could do this after all. Maybe he wasn’t as bad a driver as she thought.

  The front bumper scraped the concrete as he took the pitch of the driveway too quickly. “Slow down,” she said. “On the brake, Daniel! On the brake!”

  But instead of the brake, his foot pressed the gas. The car bolted up the driveway, dragging the back bumper as it went over the gutter.

  “Daniel, that’s the gas! The gas!”

  Panicked, he stomped the accelerator.

  “Look out for the truck!”

  Brenda threw her arms over her face as the van crashed into the truck—an awful sound of metal smashing metal and thousands of dollars’ worth of vehicle being crunched like empty Coke cans. The impact flung them forward. Seat belts jerked them back.

  When she had uncovered her eyes, Brenda surveyed the damage, her heart still in panic mode. Daniel froze, clutching the steering wheel and staring at the smoke rising from the van. “Oops,” he said.

  “Daniel, are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “At least, until Dad sees.”

  Brenda tried to open her door, but it was jammed. She thrust her shoulder against it, forcing it open.

  Leah and Rachel came running across the lot next door, bouncing up and down as Brenda got out.

  “Daniel wrecked the van!” Leah shouted. “Go get Daddy!” Rachel dashed around the house.

  Having heard the crash, David was already out of his workshop and halfway to the driveway. He stopped at the sight and stood with his hands hanging at his side as his face betrayed his shock.

  “What in the name of all that is good happened here?” David asked through his teeth.

  “Dad, I’m sorry,” Daniel cried, getting out of the van. “Mom said to hit the brake and I accidentally hit the gas.”

  “I can see that,” David said. “Son, this is our family van. I’ve had that pickup truck for twelve years. How could you do that the first time you got behind the wheel? Don’t you know the difference between the brake and the gas?”

  Brenda touched his arm to calm him down. “He didn’t mean to, David.”

  “Didn’t mean to?” David asked. “Daniel, didn’t you learn anything when you were studying that handbook?”

  “Dad, I was trying, okay? I did really well when I was turning the car around. Didn’t I, Mom?”

  Her head hurt so badly that she didn’t know if she had enough Tylenol to get rid of it. Joseph had come around the house now and was laughing his head off at Daniel’s plight. Daniel looked like a little boy as he walked around the van, assessing the crumpled metal, as if he could fix it somehow.

  “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Just go in the house, Daniel,” David said. “Just…go.”

  Daniel walked up the front porch steps. That old protective maternal instinct kicked in, and Brenda’s heart surged with compassion for the boy.

  When the front door closed, she turned back to her husband. He was still gaping down at the van, as if wondering if he could fix it.

  “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “He wasn’t ready.”

  “It was not your fault,” he flung back. “How could he ram the truck in the driveway?”

  “At least no one was hurt.” She knew the statement was weak, that it didn’t really help matters at all.

  “I don’t believe this,” David said again. He started into the house. “I’m going to call the insurance company.”

  “It’s Sunday,” she said. “They won’t be open.”

  “Right,” he said. “Well, let me go in and look up our deductible. We may not even be able to afford to get it fixed.”

  She followed him in. Daniel was waiting just inside the door. “Dad, I’ll pay for it myself,” he said. “I’ll get a job and I’ll pay every penny back.”

  David wasn’t in the mood to hear. “Daniel, go to your room.”

  “But I didn’t mean to—”

  “Just go upstairs. Your mother and I are going to need a little time here.”

  Leah and Rachel had their hands over their mouths and were muffling their laughter, and Joseph was running along beside Daniel like a paparazzo trying to get the dirt.

  “Joseph, Leah, and Rachel—go to your rooms, too!” David yelled.

  “But we didn’t do anything, Daddy,” Leah piped in.

  “Just do as I said.”

  Slowly, they all climbed the stairs and retreated to their bedrooms.

  “Go easy on him,” Brenda whispered. “He really didn’t mean to do it. This is not a punishable offense. It’s just really bad driving. Really, really bad. Why do they even let teenagers drive?”

  “Do you think we could get the state to take back his learner’s permit?” David asked. “You know, just because the law allows it doesn’t mean we have to.”

  She drew him into the kitchen and got them both a glass. As she poured David some ice water, her hand came up to touch her aching head.

  David took her wrist and brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No. Just a headache. I had it before the wreck.”

  He kissed her forehead, then let her go, and she poured her glass and sat down. David followed.

  “So what do we do now?”

  David shook his head. “I guess we call the insurance adjuster to come look at it tomorrow, and we see if it can be fixed. Let’s hope it can, because we can’t afford another car right now. Maybe I should let him get a job and help pay for it.”

  “No,” Brenda said, “he’s too young to work. He’s just barely turned fifteen.”

  “Hey, I was working at fifteen.”

  “Yeah, but that was different. He has a lot to do, and I don’t want him having that kind of commitment right now.”

  “You just don’t want him having to go to work and be surrounded by people who aren’t Christians.”

  Brenda wished they could talk about this later. “David, you know that’s not true.”

  “Of course it’s true,” he said. “You’re used to sheltering him.”

  “What is wrong with that?” Brenda asked. “Would you rather he hung around with drug dealers and wound up in jail like Mark?”

  “No,” he said, “I’m not saying that you’ve done wrong. You’ve done a good job with him. But I’m telling you that it’s not going to hurt him to be exposed to other types of people. Especially when he just totaled our car and we need help paying to get it fixed.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and looked out the window at the two damaged vehicles. “Well, the truck’s not in bad shape. Maybe it still runs.”

  “We can’t
transport six people in a pickup truck,” he said.

  “Well, maybe we won’t all need to go somewhere at the same time. I’ll just have to hold my driving down a little.”

  “Brenda, it won’t hurt him to pay for what he’s done.”

  “But it’s not like he broke the rules or was disobedient,” she said. “He just doesn’t know how to drive.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, heading to the computer room where they kept the file cabinet. “I’ve got to find the insurance policy and see what our deductible is.”

  Brenda lowered her face into her hands as she awaited the verdict.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-Five

  Spencer played fast and hard with a friend who had come home from church with him, and Tory wondered if she should coax them from the front yard into the back. It seemed somehow disrespectful to have her son playing out in the open, where Cathy would see and be reminded of her own child, locked in a jail.

  The thought of forbidding her children to play in public seemed a little overreactive, but she had no clue how to make things easier for her grieving neighbor.

  And just across the street, both of Brenda’s vehicles sat crumpled and possibly disabled. Tory wondered if the strain this put on the family finances might send Brenda back into the workforce. Again, she wished there was something she could do.

  Sylvia would have known exactly what to do. She would have shown up at Cathy’s doorstep at the perfect time, would have known when to hug and when to speak and when to be quiet. She would have known whether to cook a meal or call on the phone or send a note.

  And she wouldn’t have spent a moment wondering if she was doing all the wrong things. She would have known that it wasn’t about her.

  Tory was still learning, but she would have given almost anything to have Sylvia still here to teach her.

  And the first thing Sylvia would tell her was that she didn’t need to borrow trouble from the neighbors up the street, because she had enough of her own.