Sam looked away before he answered, then quickly recognized his mistake. He turned back to his father and stared him in the eye, trying to hide any fear. “I do okay,” he answered defiantly.
His dad snorted with doubt.
“I can’t teach you a whole lot, boy, but I can teach you how to fight. And there’s only one way to learn. Just like with swimming, you’ve got to jump into the pool. And not on the kiddie side—you need to jump in over your head. So I’m going to help you, Sammy. And one day you’ll thank me for this.”
Sam looked at his father, his eyes wide. The older man took a short step toward him, a shadow passing over his face. He was six inches taller and weighed at least a hundred pounds more. “You’re going to need to know how to do this,” he explained as he lifted his fist. “Now come on and get me! There’s only one way to learn. It’s time to jump in, Sammy, and I ain’t the kiddie pool.”
Sam stumbled backward. “No, Dad!” he cried.
The old man moved forward. “You coward!” he sneered.
* * *
Jody beat his son so severely that he knocked him unconscious. Stepping over the crumpled body, he dragged him under a tree, then turned back to the boat and started slapping on paint.
Sam came to later that evening. He lay there a long time, trying to clear his head, then forced himself to his feet, washed his head from the hose, and stumbled into the house.
His dad eyed him warily, then slapped him on the back. “You’ll learn,” he said lightly. “You’ve got to keep your hands up to cover your face. And you’ve got to bulk up; you’ve got the muscle tone of a fly. I’m not asking that you be a jock like I was, heaven knows there’s no hope of that, but I won’t raise a kid who can’t take care of himself. And I bloody sure won’t have a son who is afraid of a fight.”
A little more than a month later, his dad wanted to bare-hand box him again. “No!” Samuel whimpered. “I don’t want to fight you anymore, Jody.”
“Come on, boy. Be a man. You got to learn. At least you know I won’t kill you, but the next man might. Come on, boy, and fight me. This is for your own good. I’m not raising a woman. I’m raising a man!”
“You’re not raising me!” Samuel cried as he backed away from his dad.
Jody stopped. “Bloody straight I’m raising you, you snotty little puke,” he shouted. “I am your old man! And don’t you ever forget it! I don’t care what the law says! I don’t care if those white-shirted goons from the state came and took you from me. I am your father! I brought you into this world. I gave up everything just to have you, without anything in return. Now you can spend all the time you want with that goody-two-shoes family where you’re living now, but you’re still my son and you will learn to fight. This is a tough world—don’t I know it—and a man’s got to know how to deal with it. I owe you this, Sammy, so let’s just get it done.”
His father took a step toward him and lifted his fists.
“You don’t owe me nothing,” Sam said as he pushed his old man away.
“Do what I tell you. Get your hands up. Keep them high, near your face. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about! Now watch for the sucker punch!”
The fight was bloody and furious, a half-boxing, half-wrestling match with dust and blood and spit on the ground. Sam went home beat up and cut, though not as bad as before.
“Oh, Sammy, what happened!” Sara asked him, holding her hand to her mouth.
“Fell on the boat,” Samuel lied as he held a rag to his split lip. Neither Sara nor Neil believed him, but he wouldn’t say any more. They considered calling the authorities, but they knew Sam would never forgive them if they did, for he followed a code of silence when it came to his dad. And they also knew that Family Services wouldn’t do anything if Sam refused to testify—he was now old enough that Family Services would be focusing instead on the many younger and more vulnerable children in their charge. So even though they were furious, they couldn’t do anything.
That night as Sam lay on his bed, his entire body aching, his temples throbbing in pain, he made a decision. His old man wanted him to learn how to fight. Then that’s what he would do.
The next day he spent every dime he had on a set of
free-weights and started pumping iron at least five times a week. He also started working out with the wrestling coach and running five miles every day.
Six weeks later, after his usual six-pack of beer, his old man took notice. “See there, boy, I helped you already,” he said as he thumped Sam on the chest. “Feel that,” he sneered. “The kid is building a six-pack of his own. Well, let’s see what he’s got now.” Jody peeled off his T-shirt, flexed his biceps, then dropped the shirt on the ground.
Sam held his ground, his eyes firm and unafraid. “I don’t want to fight you anymore, Jody. You made your point. I’ve learned this lesson from you.”
His dad didn’t back off. “Who knows if you’ve learned anything? You ain’t proved nothing yet!”
“Stand back, Jody. We don’t have to do this, okay?”
His old man took another step forward and spit on the ground.
The fight only lasted eight seconds. Three hits: a right to the midsection, just above the kidneys, a left to the jaw that broke a back tooth, then a right to the eyebrow that sent his old man’s brain rattling in his skull like jelly. Pow, pow, pow, it was over and his old man went down like a sack of worn bricks. He lay there, his eyes open, his jaw moving up and down like a fish sucking water. Sam went to the hose and turned it on to soak his old man.
“You satisfied, Jody?” he asked as his old man shook his wet head.
His old man nodded, his eyes unfocused, his breathing coming in grunts.
“Have I passed your stupid little test, then?”
The old man grunted again.
Sam leaned down to face him, looking into his bleary eyes. “Then let me tell you something, Jody. You touch me again, and I’ll kill you! You understand that? I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to fight anymore. But you come after me again, and you won’t wake up in this world. And the same goes for Momma. You touch her again, and I’ll find you. So grow up, old man.”
Sam threw the hose down and walked away. He left his dad sputtering and never looked back again.
That night he locked himself in his room, refusing to speak to anyone. He ignored Sara’s gentle knocks on the door as he cried in his pillow.
He knew it was time to start over. Really start over. Forget the old man and old lady. It was time to move on.
He had a chance at another life, a chance to do something more. He had a chance to be normal. A chance to make something of his life, a chance to do something besides what his parents did: drink beer and watch football and look for a party or the next sleazy lover who could pay a few bills.
From that day forward he quit thinking of his biological parents as his mom and dad. Sara and Neil were his parents, the only true parents he would ever have; they deserved the honor of being called Mom and Dad. He loved them with a depth of emotion that could be born only in despair, a depth of loyalty that came from a man who had been thrown a lifesaver in a sea of loneliness and fear. And he knew that they loved him. Why? He didn’t know. He didn’t have any idea. It was a great mystery, something he would never understand, but they really did love him; they weren’t just saying the words. And they had saved him from a life of constant bitterness and self-inflicted wounds.
And it was almost a year before he saw Jody or Phyllis again.
* * *
Samuel continued to work out every day. He grew strong and fast. And he also grew smart. His senior year of high school, he went from a struggling C and B student to make almost straight As. He also tried out for football and became a star running back.
“I’m too much like my real dad,” he once said to Sara as they sat at the kitchen counter after one of his football games.
She looked at him for a long time. “Who is your real dad?” she asked.
&nbs
p; Sam looked away guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he said. “What I meant was my biological father. I saw him tonight at the game. He used to play football too. I’m too much like him.”
Sara kept her eyes on him. “That’s not what I meant, Sam. Who is your real dad?”
Sam stared a long moment. “Is He really my father?” he wondered. His voice was pained and wounded. “Is there really a God?” He stared at his tight hands.
Sara’s eyes softened. “I know there is, Sammy,” she answered. “I know that He loves you. And I know that He’s proud. You were given a bad deal, Sammy; there’s no way around that. There isn’t any more I can say. There’s no better way to explain. But I really think that what matters is not the hand we’ve been dealt, but what we do with our cards. We have to play the best game, play the best way we know how. And that’s what you’ve done, Sammy. And I know your real father is proud.”
Sam looked at her and smiled.
But Sara could see.
He still didn’t get it. He had grown so much, he had come so far. But he still didn’t get it. He didn’t see the big picture, at least not yet.
* * *
After his senior year in high school, Sam and Jody seemed to patch things up a bit. He started hanging out at the old home on the weekends every once in awhile, though he rarely spoke with Neil and Sara about the visits. He was embarrassed for Jody and Phyllis. They shamed him. They had beaten him. They had treated their dog better than they had treated him. But somehow he had forgiven them—at least that’s how it appeared—and he even seemed anxious to have some kind of relationship with them.
The spring before Samuel graduated from high school, his mom came back from Vegas and took a few baby steps to clean up her life. She and Jody got back together, and though they still enjoyed an occasional rip-roaring fight that would scare half the fish in Chesapeake Bay, they settled down in the old house on the bay and took to the slow life. They expanded their business, taking it seriously for the first time. She drove the boat. Jody ran tackle and cleaned the client’s fish. Both of them attended Sam’s high school graduation. They even gave him a present—a hundred dollars cash and a pair of black-leather Italian dress shoes. Sam held them up, the soft leather shining in the afternoon sun, then looked at Jody. “You’re going somewhere,” his old man explained. “You’re going to be successful. You’re going to be someone someday. So you need to dress right. And a good look starts with the right shoes.”
Sam smiled at him. It was one of the happiest moments of his life.
Chapter Nineteen
General Brighton smiled as he remembered the early days and progress of his adopted son, thinking of the words that Sara had said that first night in the kitchen as they talked in low voices by the sink. “He’s supposed to be here.” He remembered her words perfectly. And of course she was right. He had known as well as she did that it was supposed to be.
As the aircraft flew east, he stared absently out the aircraft window, still lost in his thoughts.
Sam stayed with the Brightons for six weeks after graduating from high school. It was a trying time, a period of discontent and frustration, and he spent much of his time wandering around the house, reading in his bedroom or puttering in the garden. Although he had always loved working the dirt, feeling the earth and making things grow, even this seemed to cause him frustration, and he frequently commented on how he was planting new seeds that he would never see grow to maturity. Neil and Sara didn’t push him, knowing Sam was anything
but lazy—he just needed some time to sort out a plan. They recognized his uncertainty and left him alone, confident he would eventually figure it out.
Sara walked into his bedroom one afternoon to see him standing in front of his mirror wearing one of Neil’s Sunday suits, the patent leather shoes Jody had given him shining under the loose cuff of the pants. He filled out the suit nicely, although the legs were too long. He turned from side to side, looking at himself in the mirror as Sara watched him with pride. “Wow, you look great,” she said as he pulled on the tie. “There is something about a suit,” she continued. “Yeah. Wow. You really look good.”
He looked a second longer, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mom. It feels too tight.”
Sara walked to him and tugged on the shoulders. “Oh no, it looks great,” she said. “It fits you just right.”
He looked at her and smiled. “That’s not what I meant,” he answered. “But thanks anyway.” He disappeared into his closet, took the suit off, hung it up, then pulled on some old clothes and disappeared to the garden.
* * *
Though Sam had joined the Church when he was fifteen, Neil suspected he may have done it more out of respect for him and Sara than out of any real conviction within. And when it came time to consider a mission, the real struggle began.
“Can I talk to you, Dad?” Sam asked him one night.
Neil put down his work and moved away from his desk.
“I’m in trouble,” Sam said, his face pale and tense.
“What’s going on, Sam?” his father asked, his mind starting to race.
“I’m in trouble,” Sam repeated as he took a deep breath. He held the air, then released it and seemed to deflate. “Let me ask you something,” he said in a tired voice. “When it comes to life . . . to religion. . . . How do you know what is true? I mean how do you really know? What is it that makes you believe?”
Brighton thought a long moment. “I don’t know, Sam. There’s just something about it. It all fits together. It all makes too much sense. But I guess in the final analysis, I know what is true because of how it makes me feel. By their fruits ye shall know them, and I know this fruit now. It is good, it is real, and it brings happiness.”
Sam looked away, disappointed. He needed much more.
The two men were silent until Sam finally said, “I just can’t do it, Dad.”
“Do what?” Brighton asked, though he already knew.
“You and mom were asking me about a mission . . .”
Brighton felt his heart quicken, but he didn’t respond. Sam shot a quick look to his father, hoping to measure his reaction, but his father kept his face passive and he didn’t reply.
“I wish I could,” Sam continued, his voice pleading and tight. He stared at his father, looking him straight in the eye. He wasn’t being flippant. This was something he had considered for a very long time. And he wasn’t being rebellious. He was just saying how he felt. “If there was any way . . .” he continued, “any way at all I could go on a mission, you know I would. But I just don’t know the same things you do. And I can’t go out there and fake it; you know I can’t. That’s not the way I operate. That’s just not who I am.
“But I love you, Dad. You know I do. I respect you and admire all the things you believe. And in my head, I agree. I look at the evidence, and I think you have to be right. It is the only thing that makes sense. If there is a god out there, then surely this is his church. But I don’t know that he’s out there. I want to believe, but there’s nothing in here.” Sam touched his chest. “And until it is here, I can’t go out and tell others that I know it is true. Do you understand what I’m saying? Dad, can you accept how I feel?”
Neil pressed his lips together and stared at the floor. His mouth went dry as he swallowed. He didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Sam concluded. “I really am. I know how much this will disappoint you.”
“What is it, Sam? What is it that you no longer believe?”
“Any of it. None of it. Is there a god? Is there a plan? Can we live together as a family? What about my real mom and dad? I don’t know, but sometimes I wonder if this life isn’t all there is. I just don’t feel anything inside me that leads me to believe anymore. All the times I thought I felt the Spirit, I think it was just because I wanted it so badly, I wanted to please you and Mom, so I convinced myself it was real. I have prayed, but got nothing. There just isn’t anything there.”
“No, Sam,” his father answered, his voice more firm now. “That isn’t true and you know it. You know it inside. You have received answers many times in your life. You have felt the Spirit—I know you have—but that is not what you are looking for now. You aren’t looking for answers; you are looking for reasons not to believe. You think you are asking God. But you’re not asking, you’re telling. You’re demanding to know. You’re looking up and saying, ‘You must answer me, and you must answer me now! What you have told me before wasn’t good enough and I demand to have more!’
“You’re putting yourself above God, Sam. You want to be in charge, rather than submit to his will. But he is the God of the universe. He doesn’t answer to you.”
Neil paused. They were harsh words and he knew it, but they also were true. Sam looked away, his eyes lost. “He didn’t answer me . . .” he muttered, his voice trailing off.
“He will answer you, Samuel, but he will test you first. He is testing you now, because he wants to know. Are you willing to trust him? Are you willing to remember the times he has told you before? Are you willing to take that lonely step into the dark, not knowing, not even believing, but still trusting somehow?”
Brighton fell silent, and Sam kept his face low. His father moved forward, sitting on the edge of his chair. “I can see it so clearly, Sam. I can see it as clearly as I see the sun or the moon. Lucifer is standing beside you, shaking his fist in your face. He is lying to you, Sam. ‘Stop!’ he’s saying. ‘Turn away! It can’t be true. If there is a god, and he loves you, then why didn’t he answer your prayers?’ That’s what he is saying. I can almost hear his words. He wants you so badly, and he knows he’s so close. He knows who you are, Sam. He knows the good you are capable of accomplishing in this world. He tried to destroy you in the premortal world, and when you turned away he promised to come after you. Now he’s here. And he wants you, just like he did before.
“And now you must choose. There isn’t more I can say. We are reaching for you, Sam, and we will always love you, but know this, my son, once you have gone off this cliff, your life will never be the same again.”
The Great and Terrible Page 35