by Alana Terry
His complexion had paled several degrees by the time he hung up. “Sandy’s run into some problems at the pregnancy center. We need to stop and make sure everything’s all right.”
Kennedy saw the way the vein in his neck twitched and didn’t ask for any more information. His knuckles were almost white against the steering wheel. She sensed it wasn’t the appropriate time to joke about him missing his afternoon football game.
Carl sped the entire time and broke several other traffic laws as he weaved his way through the lazy weekend traffic. When he finally turned onto Elm Street, the whole sidewalk was littered with people. Some waved picket signs. Others shouted. Kennedy couldn’t distinguish the words but felt the vibrations of their angry yells like a low, violent rumble. Down the road a ways were two parked police cars, their red and blue siren lights spinning in the midday sun.
Carl snaked his way into a parallel parking spot next to some yellow police tape. “Stay here.” He slammed the door shut behind him and jostled his way down the sidewalk with fists clenched. Kennedy jumped out and followed him.
“What’s going on?” he demanded as a policewoman walked up.
“Sir, this is a zoned area. Please stay behind the tape.”
“My wife is in that building.” Carl had to yell to be heard. Kennedy didn’t notice until then the broken glass glistening on the pavement. Two other police officers were holding back crowds while picketers waved around signs with sayings like, Keep Your Regulations Off My Uterus, and Pro-Choice or No Choice. Kennedy stayed close by Carl’s shoulder.
“Your wife’s in there, you say?” the police officer repeated.
“She just called me a few minutes ago.”
A young man hollered, “Hey, aren’t you the pastor at that mega-church?”
Carl glared but said nothing.
The guy waved his hand in the air and pointed. “This is the pastor. The one who opened up the clinic.”
A few people started shouting, and even though nobody made their way closer to the yellow tape, the policewoman grabbed Carl by the elbow. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
Kennedy stepped as gingerly as she could around the broken glass while trying to keep up with them. “Sandy!” Carl shouted as soon as they got into the center, but all Kennedy noticed were the walls splashed with crass pictures, angry slogans, and an obscene statement or two. It felt as if someone hit her in the gut and then left his fist there to fester.
“Sandy!” Carl repeated.
“I’ll be back to ask you some questions later.” Kennedy doubted Carl heard the police officer before she went out the front door.
“Oh, thank God they let you through!” At the sound of Sandy’s voice, Kennedy pried her eyes away from the grotesque graffiti. Sandy rushed to Carl, the extra fabric of her floral dress fluttering around her ankles, and they embraced. Kennedy thought she saw Carl’s broad shoulders tremble, but when they pulled apart, his voice was clear and resolute.
“Baby, tell me exactly what happened.”
“I came straight from church. The protestors were already here, at least some of them. At first, I didn’t even notice the broken windows. I thought they were just doing their picketing thing. You know, they’ve got as much a right to these sidewalks as the rest of us. I was going to walk my way in here and not let them bother me. Well, by the time I was out of the car, that’s when I saw the glass. And some guy starts following me real close, asking me what I’m doing around the center, making rude comments. Then another woman, one of the protestors, started shouting at him, telling him he shouldn’t intimidate me no matter who I am. Then she asks me what I’m doing here, and I tell her my husband and I opened this clinic, and she apologizes for the broken glass. Says it was like that when she got here, and if she had seen who did it she would have reported it to the police. Then she asks if I want to go in, and she just marches up with me, and tells me that we’re women and we have to …” Sandy’s voice caught, and Kennedy stared at her shoes while Sandy continued. “Says we have to stick together, no matter if we have our political differences. And once she sees me safe in here, she tells me again she’s sorry for the mess. And then she takes her Hands Off My Uterus sign and goes back out with the rest of them.”
Carl and Kennedy were both quiet. Carl was running his hand through his wife’s light brown hair, but Kennedy couldn’t take her eyes off the walls.
“I just can’t believe how insensitive people can be.” Sandy shook her head. “They’ve got their right to picket. They’ve got their right to be heard. But they don’t care about our rights, and now look at this mess.”
Kennedy had been trying to figure out a particular image spray painted on the wall. “What’s up with the hanger? What does that have to do with …” It felt like someone grabbed the inside of her stomach and twisted a full three-hundred-sixty degrees. “Oh.”
“There’s more.” Sandy glanced over at her husband. “You want to see the worst now or later?”
“May as well get it over with.” Carl followed Sandy to the back office. She was a tall woman but looked half a foot shorter by the time they arrived there.
Kennedy’s nervous chuckle sounded out of place as it echoed against the walls. “What’s so intimidating about a cookie?”
“I’m sorry, babe,” Sandy whispered.
Kennedy glanced at Carl.
“Oreo,” he explained in a lifeless monotone. “Black on the outside. White on the inside.”
Sandy shut the door and pointed at the wall. “If it makes you feel any better, I got my own message, too.” The room suddenly felt twice as small. Sandy had moved the wall calendar to cover some of the letters, but Kennedy could still see the huge red N and the bottom half of the word lover underneath.
Carl and Sandy held each other for several minutes in silence. Kennedy didn’t know where to look or what to say. Indignation welled up in her chest like pressure building up in a sealed flask. These were her friends. From her earliest memories, the Lindgrens had been helping people, loving people, taking people into their homes. They didn’t deserve any of this. She wondered what her dad would say. Would he have the words to make sense of this type of hatred and emotional violence? Kennedy wrapped her arms around herself again, but that did nothing to stop her trembling.
“Father God …” Carl’s words were loud and sounded completely out of place in the face of such darkness and shame. “I thank you for protecting my Sandy when she was here alone. And I thank you for the kind lady who helped her reach the center safely. And even though it tears me up inside God, I thank you for the jerk who insulted my wife on the sidewalk. I thank you for the stupid, blind, ignoramuses who desecrated our new center. Because somehow, I know you have a plan for them. And somehow, I know you love them. And if I have to be totally honest with you, Father, I have to admit that I would be just as lost and just as angry and just as hateful if you hadn’t poured out your grace on me. So forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for the anger I feel. Forgive me for hating them for hurting my wife, making her feel unsafe.”
Carl’s voice caught, and Kennedy glanced up to see the tears splashing down his cheeks onto his wife’s arms as they leaned their foreheads against each other.
“Forgive me, Lord, because I can’t love these idiots like you do.” Carl was crying softly now. Kennedy bit her lip, but that did nothing to contain her emotion.
“Lord, you’re the King. You reign bigger than all this. You reign bigger than this center. You reign bigger than politics. You reign bigger than abortion or racism or intolerance or injustice. You reign bigger than the ignorance that has kept this country in darkness for so long. And now we’re asking you to come into our little, humble, violated center today and show yourself bigger. Bigger than fear. Bigger than revenge. Bigger than any of their slurs or any of their hate speech or any of their rage. And be bigger than us, too. Bigger than our unforgiveness. Bigger than our hurt. Because, Father, you know we’re hurting something awful right now.”
; There was no amen. Only a small, almost indistinguishable rushing in Kennedy’s spirit. She opened her eyes. Carl and Sandy had already pulled apart and were laughing quietly at each other’s tear-stained faces. Kennedy wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, but she recalled how insecure she had felt at St. Margaret’s earlier. She thought about how small she had felt living with Secret Seminary students who risked North Korean death camps for the sake of the gospel. She thought about how envious she had felt when everyone around her was getting touched by God and she was left sitting in the bleachers to watch.
So maybe she hadn’t lifted her hands in complete and utter abandon. Maybe she hadn’t sung out her heart in ecstasy or faced a North Korean prison cell for her bold faith. But she had witnessed something more real than anything she had experienced since she returned to the States. She couldn’t put a name to it and probably never could, but Kennedy knew she was somehow better for it, and she knew it was something she would carry in a sacred part of her heart for the rest of her life.
CHAPTER 7
Sandy made a list of paints for Carl to pick up from the store. Kennedy found a broom to sweep up the glass, but Carl didn’t want her by the broken windows. “If you want to help, we still need to get these postcards ready to mail out. They’re the invitations for the dinner on Thursday.” He showed her how the post office needed them grouped by zip code, and Kennedy set to work, grateful for something constructive to put her hands to. She would be late meeting Reuben at the library, but she wasn’t about to leave Carl and Sandy right now.
“Is everyone all right back here?” The voice was too good-humored, and Kennedy looked up to see the politician who had prayed at the service that morning.
“Wayne!” Sandy rushed to him with a hug. Carl stretched out his hand.
“I came as soon as I heard the report on Christian radio.” Wayne shook his head. “It’s just horrible what they’ve done.”
“Nothing a little paint and some new glass won’t fix.” Carl’s voice was still tight.
“How in the world did you get through the picket lines?” Sandy asked.
“Well, I think I made a record. I was only asked for three autographs.” Wayne flashed another dizzying grin.
“Autographs?” Carl asked. He leaned out of the office and let out a low whistle. “Well, what do you make of that? You had it easy, brother. Those weren’t the picketers we had to walk through. It was all pro-choicers when we came.”
“They’re on the other side of the sidewalk now,” Wayne told them. He locked eyes with Sandy. “You really should go take a look.”
Kennedy followed Carl and Sandy into the waiting room. The police tape was gone. Half a dozen police lined either side of the road. All the protestors from earlier were on the opposite sidewalk, but those closest to the broken window had pickets with statistics about fetal development, Bible verses about God knitting children together in the womb, and slogans about protecting children.
“That’s quite a different view than when we arrived earlier,” Carl admitted.
“I’ll say.” Wayne flashed a grin.
“You and your campaign didn’t have anything to do with this new turn of events, did they?” Sandy asked with a smile in her voice.
Wayne flashed his white-toothed grin. “I don’t speak for my managers. All I know is these picketers were here when I pulled up.”
“Uh-huh.” Sandy’s voice was playful, and she smiled for the first time that afternoon.
Wayne smoothed out his hair and straightened his necktie. “Anyway, we’re making a statement from here for the press in about half an hour.”
“From here?” Sandy repeated. “They can’t bring the cameras into this mess.” Her eyes fluttered nervously to the walls.
Wayne frowned at the graffiti. “I guess we can do it up front by the window. I told my manager we should work in a little announcement about the fundraising dinner Thursday. Couldn’t hurt to get you guys some more publicity.”
“Unless the picketers scare off all the donors,” Sandy mumbled under her breath, but Kennedy doubted the others heard.
“Well, then.” Wayne clasped his hands together. “That’s settled. What do we do while we wait for the cameramen?”
Carl caught Kennedy’s eye and gave her a wink. “How would the soon-to-be governor of Massachusetts feel about stamping postcards?”
The mood in the center lifted minute by minute as they set to work. Once Kennedy finished the pile she was sorting, she figured it was time to head back to campus. If she got lucky and caught the T as it was pulling up, she might find Reuben still in the library. Before she could slip out, Wayne’s phone rang.
He slipped his hand smoothly into his pocket. “I bet that’s about the statement.” The conversation was short. “They’re ready for me out front.” Wayne was beaming, and Kennedy wondered if Carl and Sandy noticed how fake he looked. Maybe it was a politician thing. Or maybe all the support and publicity he brought to their center helped them overlook his apparent insincerity. Whatever it was, Kennedy was glad for an excuse to leave before she had to watch him preen in front of a dozen cameras.
“I need to go, too.” she announced. Sandy cast a worried glance to her husband.
“Maybe you better wait,” Carl said. “After Wayne’s speech, I’ll drive you back myself. Your father would kill me if I let you walk out of here with hundreds of angry protestors looking on.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Kennedy insisted, but she looked at the Lindgrens’ expressions and didn’t want to burden them further. “I’m supposed to meet my friend,” she explained, “but I guess a few more minutes won’t kill anyone.”
“Do you want to use the phone to let her know you’re late?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t have his number with me. It’s in my phone, and that’s somewhere in my dorm room.”
“He?” Carl asked but stopped smirking when his wife nudged him in the ribs.
“Carl will drive you back as soon as Wayne’s done posing for cameras.” Sandy gave Kennedy a gentle back rub. “And don’t worry — he won’t take more than a few minutes I’m sure. The last thing he wants to do is bore his audience.”
Carl chuckled under his breath. Sandy was right. The speech was over in less than five minutes. Kennedy had expected the Lindgrens to both stop their work to listen, but they seemed content to keep on sorting postcards side by side.
“Did you wow them?” Sandy asked when Wayne pranced back into the center to a loud roar of both applause and angry shouts. He looked even taller than he had before he left.
“All I have to say is I hope something I said got through to the fools who vandalized your center.” He shook his head, replacing his smile for an instant pout that became him just as well.
Sandy patted his shoulder. “Well, you keep focused on winning your election and don’t worry about us. We’ve seen worse, you know.”
Kennedy wasn’t sure if she had seen worse or not and was sad to think that Carl and Sandy had.
“You heading out now?” Carl asked when Wayne started to button up his coat.
“Sure am. I wish I could stay to help more, but …” He stumbled over his words for the first time, but neither of the Lindgrens seemed to notice.
Sandy put down her pile of invites and gave him a hug. “It’s always good to see you. Thanks for taking time out of your campaign to check on us commoners.” Everyone chuckled, and Kennedy was left guessing if Sandy meant to be sarcastic or not.
“Well, if you’re heading out …” Carl inserted, and Kennedy wished she could stop him with telepathy. “Would you mind taking Kennedy here back to her dorm at Harvard?”
“Harvard, huh?” Wayne’s face brightened, and he spared Kennedy his first glance since showing up. “Sure thing. My car’s out back.”
Kennedy glanced at the Lindgrens, who were only a quarter of the way through the postcards they had to sort. Maybe it was just as well they both stayed here. Besides, she hadn’t thought about it
before, but now that Carl was marked as the director of the center, it might still be dangerous for him to walk out right now. Wayne was way too-high profile for someone to seriously bother. She said good-bye to Carl and Sandy and followed him out the center. The sound of the protestors increased, but Wayne put his arm around her, and whispered before she could shrug him off, “Don’t listen to anything they say. Their words can’t hurt you. All right?”
Kennedy nodded and tried to recreate the calm she had felt when Carl prayed in the center. Many of the pro-lifers extended their hands to Wayne, and others offered encouraging words about the election next week. He kept his arm around her like a shield as a photographer flashed a light at them and a reporter shoved a microphone in his face.
“Mr. Abernathy, is this one of the young women you would deny contraceptives and access to safe abortions?”
Wayne didn’t slow down his pace but waved the microphone away.
They got to his car, which he circled once and studied with a frown. Looking for dents? Then he turned on his shiny smile and opened the passenger door. “After you,” he stated regally.
The upholstery had that sort of new lacquer smell, and when Kennedy sat down, she found it hard to get comfortable because her pants kept sticking to the seat. Even the seatbelt buckle glistened. Kennedy wondered how many semesters at Harvard Wayne’s car would pay for.
“You ready?” he asked when he got into the driver’s seat.
Kennedy smiled in response, and he rolled out of the lot. They hadn’t passed the outlying protestors when his phone rang. “Hey. I’m on the road. What’s up?”
Kennedy let out her breath when they finally turned off Elm Street. She wondered how all the other shop and business owners felt about having their sidewalks turned into an ideological war zone.