The word fiancé brightened Charlotte’s mood considerably. “I’d be delighted for Amy to come and visit.” She felt the weight of the world lifting from her shoulders.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rich watched Charlotte’s car disappear. As they’d stood together in the dusk, he’d battled the urge to draw her inside the house, hold her, kiss her, seduce her. Would she preach him a sermon or let him down easy? Either way, he knew the answer was no.
“Come on in, Buster,” he said as he opened the kitchen door. The faithful dog ran inside, wagged his tail energetically, and licked his master’s hand. “What would I do without you, Bus?” Rich asked, almost as if he expected an answer.
Something Charlotte had said on the road to Houston kept running through Rich’s head as he cleaned the kitchen. “I can’t tell you why, but the questions didn’t matter anymore. I understood enough to know Jesus is real.” How could an intelligent person not know something, then with no additional facts, decide they understood? It didn’t make sense.
Rich started the dishwasher and vacated the kitchen with Buster one step behind. He had searched for Dick’s diary in every conceivable hiding place upstairs. Time to start the downstairs hunt, perhaps in the library. Could there be an unmarked journal tucked in plain sight on a bookshelf? Charlotte must know more than she would say. She could already have told him if she’d let go of her precious scruples. He smiled to himself. If she weren’t so straight-laced, he could wake her up in the morning and make love to her. Again. After tonight when he would have swept her off her feet and carried her up the stairs...
Rich rubbed the palm of his hand. “Imagine a Roman soldier driving a spike...”
* * *
The ceiling clock display said four-fifteen—good progress adjusting to the time zone change. He nudged a snoring Buster and turned on the light. After a shower, he slipped into a yellow polo shirt and tan slacks.
Someone had left a large book open on the coffee table that sat between matching leather sofas in the library. Rich absently closed the book. The title on the front cover was The Message. It appeared to be a Bible. Thick envelopes inside the front cover kept the book from closing flat. Rich’s heart pounded when he saw “Nancy” in his father’s handwriting. Another envelope was addressed to “Granddaughters.” He knew the third one would be for him.
Years of training took over. He moved as he had in the jungles—slowly, deliberately, quietly. It was as if he expected to find a scorpion inside the envelope marked “Rich.” The only thing worse than knowing is not knowing, he thought.
My Dearest Son,
The news of your death devastated me. The pain was so great I decided to end my life. My plan was to commit suicide by crashing my car over the guardrail of the Interstate 10 Bridge. God had other plans…
Rich read the letter three times. He set it next to the Bible and began following Dick’s very specific instructions.
* * *
“Good morning,” Bob Dawson said warmly to the man sitting cross-legged on the hallway floor, reading. “You’re a little early.”
Rich stood and closed the book. “I’m Rich Martino.” He paused briefly. “Can you help me?”
“Bob Dawson.” The minister shook Rich’s hand and turned to unlock his office. “If I can’t help you, I know someone who can.”
They sipped cold bottled water as Rich outlined the events of the past week. He summarized the reading assignment contained in his father’s letter. “I read the Gospel of John, about half of Romans, and a patchwork of other things this morning. Nothing I’ve ever read impressed me half as much.”
“Rich,” Bob asked, “do you believe Jesus Christ was the Son of God, that he died for you, and he came back to life in three days, like John reported?”
“Yes, I do,” Rich replied. “Those eyewitness accounts are very persuasive. Don’t ask me how Jesus did the things he did. But I know what I read is true.” He drank some water. “When I used to hear other people say that, I thought they were nuts. Or stupid. Or putting on an act.”
“Do you want to become a Christian?” Bob asked.
“I believe I did that already. It was the first prayer I’ve ever spoken.” Rich took another big swig of water. “I’m here to make sure I did it right.”
“What Christ wants from us is faith, love, and honesty. The words you use don’t matter as much as what’s in your heart.” Bob added softly, “Do you want to tell me what you said?”
“Something like, ‘Jesus, please accept my apology. I thought you were a wimp, but I was wrong. I know now you were and are God’s son. I’ve screwed up my life and hurt a bunch of people in the process. I want you to change me like you did my dad and...” Rich took a deep breath. “And Charlotte. I can’t fix things by myself. I’ve tried and it didn’t work. I want you to give the orders from now on and I’ll salute and march to whatever tune you play.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever heard it put any better,” Bob said.
“You ought to read this.” Rich held out the Bible, then stopped himself and grinned. “I guess you have.”
“Once or twice,” Bob said. “It never gets old.”
Rich didn’t see Lottie or Martha at the early service. He felt intoxicated, except his head was completely clear. He didn’t know the songs the congregation sang, but loudly joined in anyway. He almost ran to the classroom area when the service concluded. Six or eight people, including Charlotte, sat at the table as he exploded through the door. Rich had planned to whisper quietly to her. Instead he bellowed, “Good news, everybody! I’m your newest Christian brother!”
There was a brief, stunned silence. Suddenly he was encircled by people giving him congratulations, hugs, hand shakes, claps on the back.
“I’m so happy for you,” Charlotte said. A tear rolled down each cheek, in contrast to her dazzling smile. Rich fought an impulse to dance her around the room.
“I have to go tell Dad. See you later, Cowboy fan.” In a flash he was gone.
The class leader smiled broadly and said, “Why don’t we defer our planned discussion until next week? Let’s talk about the joy of salvation this morning.”
* * *
Jerry and Martha sat scrunched by Dick’s bed in the critical care unit. “We didn’t expect to see you for another couple of hours,” Jerry observed.
“I’ve had a life changing experience,” Rich said. “I couldn’t wait to tell my dad.”
They stared at him expectantly.
“I don’t know if you can see the difference yet, but you will,” Rich said. “I’m a Christian. As of six-thirty this morning.”
“Oh, Rich!” Martha exclaimed as she leapt and hugged him. “That’s wonderful.”
“Is that a fact?” Jerry coolly studied his fingernails. “Martha, why don’t we get a bite to eat before I take you home? Junior can finish up our shift.”
“I bet Lottie doesn’t know!” Martha crowed. “She went to church with Chris this morning, to hear him play music. Wait till she finds out we heard this news before she did.”
“You can call her from my car phone.” Jerry took Martha’s arm and guided her out the door. “I’ll put her on the speaker if you like and we can both give her the dickens.”
Rich put a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “I don’t know much about praying yet, but I sure could use some help with this,” he said, with his eyes toward the ceiling. “Dad, it’s Junior. I got your letter. I studied everything you asked me to read. I thought about all the things you said. Jesus had more courage than anyone I’ve ever known, even Rocky. I understand now that what John wrote was a truthful, first-hand account. Dad, I’m alive. I’m a believer. You made me listen. You didn’t fail me the way you thought.”
* * *
Rich awoke to find Charlotte sitting next to him, reading a psychology periodical. She smiled. “I don’t know how you could sleep in that position,” she said. “You must have been worn out from all the excitement.”
He y
awned and stretched. “I can sleep anywhere. A chair, with the foot of the bed to rest my head on—that’s uptown by my standards.”
A young man pulling a huge wheeled machine poked his head in Dick’s small room. “I hate to disturb you folks,” he said. “But I need to take a sonogram. It only takes about fifteen minutes, but there’s not much room once I get Big Bertha in here. There’s coffee in the break room down the hall.”
Rich poured coffee while Charlotte made tea.
“How do you suppose Jerry and Martha ended up on a talk-a-thon shift together?” he asked. “Any chance Lottie’s involved?”
“About a hundred percent chance,” Charlotte said, laughing. “She must have enlisted Anita’s help. Jerry and Martha may as well surrender. They can’t beat those two schemers.”
“I found my dad’s letter,” he said casually. “Make that letters. Have you read them?”
“No,” she replied.
“This is bizarre. I’m furious with Rita for not telling Dad I was okay. That would have saved him so much misery. He would have had no reason to attempt suicide.” Rich sipped coffee and watched Charlotte for a reaction to his last statement. “But if Dad woke up right now, he would tell us the final result of her treachery was the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“Like Joseph,” Charlotte commented.
“Joseph who?”
“I forget you don’t know Bible stories,” Charlotte said patiently. “Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery and told their father he was dead. Everyone benefited, ultimately, and Joseph forgave his brothers.”
“I have so much to learn,” Rich said thoughtfully. He crumpled the coffee cup and lobbed it into the wastebasket across the kitchen. “I used to think I was such a smart guy.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Charlotte drained her tea. “You’ll look back in a year and be amazed how far you’ve come.”
The technician wheeled Big Bertha by the door and motioned toward Dick’s room. “The docs are in there now.”
Dr. Wang listened to Dick’s chest through his stethoscope, while Dr. Stephens studied the monitoring devices. “We’ll discuss treatment options in a few days, after Dr. Wang has analyzed the lab work and tests,” Dr. Stephens said. The two physicians were there and gone within ten minutes.
“I shouldn’t be in charge of Dick’s affairs,” Charlotte began. “You ought to call the shots on your father’s treatment. You should also manage his finances, not me. I’m ready to go to Jerry and insist.”
“You shouldn’t have to carry that load.” Rich realized for the first time how untenable her position must seem, as well as the amount of time she spent at the hospital.
“Please don’t think I’m complaining,” Charlotte responded quickly. “I will always be there for you and Dick. But you should be in control. It’s the right thing.”
“You’re right. It’s my job. I’ll set up an appointment with Jerry.” Rich would miss having Charlotte as a sounding board. She was unfailingly kind, caring. Would she miss him? Not that way, he surmised quickly.
Charlotte’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Visiting hours are about over. Do you want to say a prayer before we leave?”
“I’m not very good at it yet.”
“You need some private time with your dad.” She gathered her things. “Would you mind talking to Anita to schedule our appointment with Jerry?” She pecked Dick on the cheek. On the way out the door she turned to Rich. “If I were you, I would start a diary. There will be times when you’ll want to re-live everything that happened to you today. A written record will help you remember the details.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said. “Thank you, doctor.”
“No charge,” she said brightly and was gone.
Rich thought about gaining control as he drove home. That move had seemed so important a few days ago. Now he realized it meant not seeing Charlotte as often. Her serene encouragement made every situation manageable. He liked being with someone he could count on to be kind, considerate, and trustworthy. Nothing personal, he reminded himself. Charlotte would probably be nice to her ex-husband.
He smiled to himself. What kind of spree would Rita have had with the power to sign Dick’s checks? The prospect was staggering. Joanne would have gone shopping in New York. How about Virginia? In a week’s time she could have amassed an army of mercenaries and threatened world domination.
Rich let Buster in the house then walked into the library. He picked up the packets addressed to his mother and his daughters. They were not intended for him. Should he read them? He rubbed Buster’s ears. “A lot has happened since this morning, Bus. I’ve started to see things differently.” The envelopes were not sealed. Rich handled them, studied their thickness. He took them upstairs and placed them in his bedside table. Maybe later.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cedar trees dominated the passing landscape as Rich drove north from San Antonio on U.S. Highway 281 toward Scrappit, Texas. Rich’s twin daughters and their half-brother lived there with Joanne and her second husband, Brent Campbell. Joanne had not sounded happy to hear from him. When he asked for permission to see Karen and Kathy at a time and place of Joanne’s choosing, she replied shortly, “I’ll get back to you. Goodbye.” He couldn’t blame her for being wary. The girls were two years old when he divorced Joanne. They would be high school seniors this year. What had Joanne told them about him?
Two days later, a guarded Joanne returned his call. His visit was to be in her home. She and her husband would be present. “If you get out of line in the slightest, you are in trouble,” she threatened. “Brent’s nephew is the chief of police.”
The pleasant-looking rock house appeared to have been built in the nineteen-twenties. It had two stories, a generous porch, and huge pecan trees in the yard. “Please help me get through this without any blunders,” Rich prayed as he approached the front door.
Brent Campbell was a slight, well-dressed man with dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. The private detective’s report said Campbell was a banker and he certainly looked the part. He opened the door and stood aside.
“Come in,” he said coolly. He nodded to his right. “My wife is in the living room.”
Rich was surprised to find Joanne had aged. He expected her to look as she did the last time he saw her. She was a few pounds heavier, with a surprising sprinkle of gray in her light brown hair.
“Hello, Joanne,” he said tentatively. “I want to thank you, both of you, for letting me come. I couldn’t blame you if you had said no.”
Brent motioned toward a sofa. “Please sit down.”
“You can thank my husband,” Joanne spat out angrily. “I wanted to say no. He said the girls should decide.”
Brent stood. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Martino? Some tea or lemonade perhaps?”
“Either would be great,” Rich said. “I’m parched after the drive from San Antonio. Please call me Rich.”
Joanne leaned forward as her husband left the room. “So here you are. After all this time, you expect to waltz in and take charge. Go right ahead, drag up every sordid detail. Tell my daughters how you suffered when their mother cheated on you. Make sure they know our divorce was all my fault. Tell Brent—” She started to cry.
Rich was stunned. “You don’t understand.”
“Yes, I do,” she said bitterly. “I know you never forgave me.”
“That’s not true, Joanne. I—”
Brent returned with a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses. He glanced from his tearful wife to Rich. “This has been very difficult for Joanne,” he said matter-of-factly. He handed her a box of tissues.
“I know I’ve disrupted your lives, but that’s not my intent. Not at all. There are things in my past I’m not proud of,” Rich said. “The way I treated Joanne and our daughters tops the list.” He took a gulp of lemonade. “Now I’m asking for an undeserved chance to get acquainted with Karen and Kathy.”
“Shall I cal
l the girls?” Brent asked his wife. She waved her hand in assent.
One twin walked defiantly. Her sister hung back timidly. Rich’s heart leapt. They were tall, with identically freckled Joanne faces, his mother Nancy’s hazel eyes, and his white-blond hair. Tension dangled in the air. He licked his lips. “Hello.”
“Hi.” The first girl crossed her arms.
“Hey.”
“Thank you for giving me a chance to talk to you. I wish I could go back and undo the years of neglect, but I know that’s not possible. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. The worst one was abandoning you. I’m not asking for an answer right now, but please think about letting me be part of your lives. Whether you can believe this or not, I love you very much.” The words didn’t feel like they were coming out right.
Rich turned to Brent Campbell. “Thank you, Brent, for being Karen and Kathy’s real father. I’m grateful you were man enough to do the job I should have done.”
Brent nodded slightly.
“Joanne, I owe you a public apology for leaving you on your own to raise our children. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“If you’re so crazy about us, why did you leave?” a twin asked.
“Karen?” Rich guessed.
“Kathy,” she responded flatly.
“Kathy. I was selfish and too immature—make that stupid—to behave like a responsible adult.” Rich felt perspiration running down his back.
“Why now? Why not when we were in kindergarten or third grade?” Kathy asked.
“Last week I became a Christian.” Rich looked at his hands. “I faced up to the self-centered life I’ve led. God has forgiven me. I pray you and Karen may someday do the same. I will understand if it takes some time. I’m still working on forgiving myself.”
Karen started to cry. She crossed the room and sat beside Rich. Instinctively he put his arm around her and patted her shoulder. “My daughter,” he whispered.
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