by T. K. Chapin
“I have an open house coming up out there on the lake. You want to go?”
Shaking my head as I thought about people walking around a home and eating little treats as they toured, I felt it wasn’t for me. “Doesn’t sound like my kind of scene, Teresa.”
“Oh, c’mon.” She lightly touched my arm. “Just give it a try. You can leave if you don’t like it.” Her pretty eyes were far too excited to let down, and she did agree to come to church with me on Sunday. The least I could do was show up for a few minutes.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll come check it out.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE SUN WAS STARTING ITS descent over the tree tops in the distance when Teresa and I headed outside to see the cars and the shop. I found my heart growing increasingly attracted to her with each passing moment. She listened, which was something I wasn’t used to in a woman. I had barely just met her at the grocery store, but something told me that this wasn't just a stranger I bumped into. There was something bigger going on.
Pulling on the rusted handle of the hanging garage door, I slid the wood slab on its tracks, opening it up wide. There was still enough sun out to reveal the cars lined up side by side in the garage.
“That there is my infamous Camaro that I’m trying to sell. The '69 Charger, the '57 Chevrolet Bel Air, and my favorite—the '49 Ford Shoe Box.”
"These all run?" she asked in awe as her jaw dropped and she walked inside the garage. She let one of her hands slide along the curvature of the hood of the Ford as she went over to the driver side door.
“They sure do.” I stepped into the garage myself, the familiar smell of a hard day’s work and oil permeating my senses. "You want to take that one for a drive?"
She shook her head and looked down through the window. "I couldn't."
She grabbed the handle of the door and opened it, climbing inside.
Coming over to her, I said, "That one had all new seats put in."
"I can smell that," she replied, glancing up at me from the driver seat. She rested her hands on the steering wheel and a smile broke across her face. She glanced over at me. "You enjoy your work a lot, don’t you?"
"I do. I love finding a car that has been neglected, abandoned, or just plain forgotten and then bringing it back to my shop and breathing new life into it. In a lot of ways, I feel like it's how God finds us. Broken down and not running properly, then he takes us and makes us into something beautiful." I glanced over at the door leading to the shop. "Let me show you the Chevy truck I'm working on right now. She’s a beaut."
"Okay!"
She got out of the Ford, and we went over to the door leading into the shop. Opening it, I flipped on the light and Teresa’s eyes widened as she stepped into the shop.
“Ronald . . .” she said, and her steps slowed as she looked across the entirety of my work area. My heart swelled with pride. I could tell it impressed her, all of it. She looked back at me and asked, “You collect all this stuff on the walls?”
I nodded.
Her eyes finally fell and stayed with the Chevy truck I had been toiling away on. Her delicate fingers slid along the truck’s gate. “I love how it looks like an old artifact you found in the ground and then . . .” She stopped and looked back at the door leading into the garage. “They become that.”
“I have something you might like to see inside.”
After finishing her look around the shop, we went back inside. I showed her the photo album. We spent close to an hour poring over each photo and vehicle. As we finished, I closed the photo album.
CHAPTER TEN
AFTER TERESA LEFT THAT EVENING, I thought of my dad more. Crossing through the living room on my way to the kitchen, I noticed the photo album still out on the coffee table. I missed him a lot. My eyes glided over to his coat hanging up on the hook near the front door, and for a second, I thought about visiting him. I hadn’t been in a while. Knowing it was a bit of a drive to get there, I decided to wait until morning.
I went to bed that night but didn't get much sleep. I had too much on my mind. By six am, I was up and lacing my boots to pay a visit to my dad down in the Valley. Before I left, I stopped by the front door and put on his coat. The brown leather jacket was worn with age, the edges cracking and the inside warped. It was old, no doubt about that. When I slipped it on over my shoulders, it felt like Dad. For a moment, I could even smell his familiar scent. A tear escaped one of my eyes, and I wiped it away and headed out the door to my truck.
The truck I drove was my first love, Lizzy. She was a 1950 Chevy 3100 I had restored with my father back in high school at the age of seventeen. It was his and my mother’s graduation gift to me, a beautiful deep forest green with a perfect original interior throughout. They had the help of my grandfather’s inheritance to buy it for me, and they got a good deal, too, for all the work that needed to be done on it. I’ll never forget that summer of ’89 when my dad and I worked on it. We’d spend hours listening to AM talk radio as we sipped on colas and wiped sweat from our brows as we worked. It was the best summer of my life.
Arriving at the cemetery, I got out of my car with a small bouquet of flowers I had bought from a gas station on my way. An early morning breeze was in the air and the sun was just coming up over the horizon. The view was impeccable from the vantage point of his grave. It was for that reason I had put him right there. He always loved a good view. With rolling green hills, a train that came by twice a day, and trees that birds loved to visit nearby, it was a good spot for Dad.
Bending a knee at his tombstone, I brushed off the freshly trimmed grass and set the flowers down as my eyes welled with tears. He was a good man and raised a good family. His sudden death seven years ago had rocked our family rougher than a boat caught in a storm out in the Bering Sea. My mother took it the worst. She began drinking heavily and died six months later.
Biting my lip as I stared at his grooved name in the stone, I felt a hurt well up in me that twisted about violently. He wasn't just my father who raised me, but later in life, he was my best friend too.
“I’m sorry I don’t get out here more, Dad. That’s going to change.”
The train zipped by and pulled my attention. Wiping my eyes, I smiled and stood, turning around. The sun was now further up in the sky, shining down those rays that would soon become the warmth of the summer day. The verses in Proverbs 4 I had read yesterday before Teresa came over replayed through my mind, through my soul. Listen, my son, accept what I say, And the years of your life will be many. I instruct you in the way of wisdom And lead you along straight paths. Bowing my head, I prayed.
"It's You, God, who leads me, guides me, and makes my ways straight. Help my soul cling to You always, Lord."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I SPENT THE BETTER PART of the morning with my dad. I read Scriptures aloud, told him about Teresa, and then finally told him about my concerns over Emily and Lighthouse. He didn't have much of a response, but the breeze did pick up, bringing in a chill with the air at about ten o’clock that morning. I had made my mind up after prayer that morning that I needed to go down to the firm she was working at and talk to her. Just stop in and see how she was doing. I stood up and peered down once more at my father's tombstone.
"I promise I’ll visit more, Dad.” I left the gravesite and headed from the graveyard in the Spokane Valley down to Lincoln Street and Riverside, just a block up from River Park Square.
Emily told me to stop by if I were ever in the neighborhood. She said that, but with a laugh following the statement. I don't think she figured she'd see her old dad in downtown Spokane anytime soon after saying it, but here I was. Looking up at the towering building that held the law firm she worked for, I took a deep breath and went through the revolving doors. I found the firm's suite number and went up to the eleventh floor. I was in the elevator with a graying yet kind-eyed man who looked to be in sixties, maybe early seventies. Whenever I saw people older than me, I tried to envision what I'd look like in that amoun
t of time, at that age—I've never been right so far in life.
Ding.
My floor.
Tipping a friendly nod to the man, I stepped forward and out of the elevator. The doors shut behind me and I began my journey down the hall to the law firm. The hallway smelled of fresh carpet glue and was a bit irritating to my nose. Finally finding the law offices, I noticed a water fountain in the corner. It provided a soothing soft sound of water gently flowing as I approached the receptionist. The chair was turned away as she seemed to be searching for something in the cabinet behind her.
"I'm here for Ms. Emily Fields."
When the chair turned around, I was surprised to see Emily smiling. "Dad! What are you doing here?"
"You said if I were ever in the neighborhood," I replied, smiling as I held out my hands. "I'm in the neighborhood."
She smiled. "Okay." Turning, she caught the eyes of another woman nearby. "I'll be back in twenty. Could you manage?"
The other woman nodded, and Emily exited through the side door to join me. As we walked out of the law firm, I turned to her. "I'm proud of how far you've come since being that little girl who cried over spilling her chocolate milk as a kid."
She laughed, a blush crossing her cheeks as she roped her arm around mine. Her head fell into my shoulder as she said, "Oh, Dad."
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE SUN BEAT DOWN ON top of our heads as we journeyed up the sidewalk of Lincoln Street and came to River Park Square on Main. The large shopping mall had been built close to fifteen years ago now, yet I hadn’t set foot in it once. Coming to the front of it, I couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment as the entire front of the building was made from glass. The architectural design wasn't like any mall I had ever seen before, and being married to Maria and doing a fair bit of traveling, I had seen my fair share of malls.
"It's neat, huh?" Emily asked, standing beside me as I shadowed my eyes from the sun with a cupped hand. Glancing over at her, I nodded.
"It's gorgeous, Ems."
"I knew you'd like it." Turning to me fully, she said, "What's going on, Dad? Why are you down here?"
I shrugged. "Just thinking a lot about you lately, kiddo. I went and saw Pops this morning."
"Ahh . . . explains why you're wearing the jacket even though it's nearing seventy this morning."
I flashed a confirming nod, then looked back up the street toward the big building she worked in. "He'd be thrilled to know you graduated and now work at a law firm. He’d be proud."
Taking a step toward me, she grabbed both my arms gently. Tilting her head, she said, "Dad. He's at peace now, but you’ve gotta stop talking like he is only in the past. It's not healthy. I learned just the other day at Lighthouse the most amazing thing in the big green book. The leader, Henry, says that it's through our hearts that we are connected forever. So that means we are still connected to Pops."
I was speechless. I didn't understand how such a successful and well put-together young woman like my Emily could be led astray. It hurt. It felt like I’d screwed up somewhere in life when I was raising her. I did something wrong to allow for such trash to be able enter her mind and not be thrown out.
"Sorry." Her tone was sharp, distant. Coming in close, I touched her shoulder, directing us to start walking back toward her law offices and my parked truck.
"Look, honey. I'm not going to lie. I don't like this Lighthouse thing. It's not Jesus, and according to all I know, it's not right. You've gotta understand where I'm coming from. Your mother doesn't like this either. She's concerned about you—we both are. It’s not just about the doctrine. We’re worried about you, that it’s changing you."
Emily stopped and looked at me. "When did you talk to Mom?"
"She called me the other night."
"Oh.” She crossed her arms. “That’s weird. Why are you two talking?”
“Like I already said, we are concerned about you, Emily.”
“Well don’t be.” Her tone was edged, dismissive of diving more into the topic. We turned and kept walking. It wasn't long, and our silent remainder of a walk brought us back to the front of her building.
"We still on for lunch today?" I asked, unsure of where we stood.
She nodded. "Sure, Dad. Where?"
"Clinkerdagger?"
She raised her eyebrows. "Really? That’s a lot of money, Dad. Totally unlike you, and totally out of my price range."
I nodded. "I know, I know. My treat. I’m feeling generous and I know you love it."
"All right. I'll meet you there at one!" She closed in for a hug, and when I was holding her in an embrace, I thought back to that day I lost her. She took off without so much as a note and didn't reach out to us at all for four months. It was a long four months. When Emily finally came back into our lives, she told us that the church was to blame. They made her feel so bad for wanting certain things in her life—like tattoos and pot. She claimed she couldn't deal with the persecution of the church anymore and that’s why she ran. Though I disagreed with her opinions, I didn't speak my mind much to her anymore after that. I was scared to lose her again. Maria drew further away from God after that and ultimately stopped going to church altogether.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEING ONLY A FEW BLOCKS away from Maria's shop downtown, I decided to stop in and pay her a visit. I wanted to let her know I was trying to talk some sense into our daughter.
Arriving at the curb on the opposite side of the road as Maria's gift shop, I could see through the glass windows that she was speaking with a man. I didn't get out of the truck. Instead, I leaned over and tried to get a closer look to see if it was the slime ball she left me for, Jim.
It was him.
My heart rippled with a long-forgotten anger. Back years ago, when everything had happened between Maria and me, she didn’t want to see me so sent Jim to the house. I remember walking past the window as he was loading her stuff from the garage to his car. I recall the deep urge to go out there and confront him, but instead, I just froze. That was the only time I saw him before now. Even though Maria and I were done emotionally long before he came along, it still wasn’t right for the man to step in and take another man’s wife. To this day, I wished I would have at least said something to him. Pulling out of my memory, I looked over and saw Jim leaving the store.
Opening my truck door without even a thought, I shouted. "Hey, Jim!"
His eyes jumped over to me and his eyebrows went up as he smiled. "Why hello, Ronald."
Glancing down the road each direction, I crossed over and walked right up to him. With what seemed like a reflex, I raised my fist and swung. I slugged him so hard in the jaw that my hand immediately felt a crack in one of the knuckles. Ouch! I thought. I caught him off guard, and he took the blow hard, crashing to the ground. Maria came sprinting outside and dropped to her knees to comfort Jim.
Looking at my hand as it throbbed in pain, I glanced up and made eye contact with Maria. I was just as shocked as she was.
"Not very Christian of you, Ron!" Her eyes were like a snake, her mouth spitting venom. She let out a terrifying shrill of a cry and pulled her hand back from his head. It was covered in a deep red blood and he was unconscious. My heart flinched.
What have I done? I thought to myself, knowing I hadn’t ever hit a person in my life. Turning, I sprinted back over to my truck and got in. My hands trembled and I tried to steady them as I put the keys in the ignition. Stealing a glance over to the sidewalk across the street, I saw onlookers flocking around Maria and Jim, and my heart dipped. If he dies, I'm guilty of murder. The thought did nothing to ease the trembling I felt all over. Managing to get the truck started, I headed down the road.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MAKING MY WAY DOWN TO the Spokane River, I parked my car in the lot at Riverfront Park and then walked down a path and on the Centennial Trail. The Centennial Trail was a long stretch of walkway that hugged the river's edge and provided natural beauty that hid itself away in the middle
of the busy city. Passing by the Red Wagon, I thought of Emily, thought of when she was just a child. Her mother and I would take her there to play. A few times, we even brought a lunch to enjoy on a blanket in the grass not far from the wagon. Those were simpler times.
Continuing down the path, I stopped just after the Arts Center when the gorgeous flora across the river caught my attention, distracting me for a moment from what I had done to Jim outside Maria’s shop.
Admiring the beautiful bright red flowers across the water, I could see hints of purple and green mingling together. Thank you, God, for always being the same and not making mistakes like I’ve done. Peering down into the water, I could see the scenes across the river reflecting up. Just then, a few ducks quacked as they were floating down the way and I turned my head to see them. There were three. Possibly a family. It made me think of the family I used to have years ago, the life I had with Maria and Emily down on Quinby Avenue. What have I done? I thought fearfully. I had punched a man, and for what reason? His wrongdoing to me from years ago?
"Ron?" A woman's voice jolted me out of my own spiraling thoughts. Turning, I saw it was Teresa. I was pleasantly surprised but a bit unnerved.
"What are you doing here?"
"My sister, Gail, is staying at the Double Tree Hotel right up there." She pointed a finger further up the path. Letting her hand fall to her side, she shook her head. "What about you? Are you okay?”
"Um." I hid my hand I had used on Jim. The truth wasn't easy, so I settled on a half-truth. "I'm meeting my daughter for lunch over at the Clinkerdagger soon."
"Oh, that sounds lovely." She smiled and patted her plastic sack. "I’d better get going. The food I picked up won't stay hot for long. It was nice seeing you again, Ron. I'm looking forward to Sunday."
We hugged lightly and she was off. Finding my way over to a bench, I sat down and brought my hands together as I felt the weight of the world resting on my shoulders.