“Keep watching as his background unfolds, BJ,” Dad said. “There’s a reason McVeigh believed he was entitled to blow up that building. There’s always a reason. It may take a few more weeks to discover, but someone will figure it out.”
Later, we discovered he was the product of bullying, and as he grew up he considered authority—particularly the government—to be the ultimate bully.
Psychologists held round-table discussions about him, and everyone tried to blame his childhood. The more I watched, the less I bought into the explanation. Didn’t he realize that in killing all those people, he had become the bully?
Once, he stared into the TV camera, and I caught my breath at the coldness in his eyes.
The same coldness I saw moments ago in the eyes of the man with the gun. The iceberg I’ve felt in my heart since the night I decided to sleep with a married man. Sin is so cold …
I think about the tiny baby inside me losing its life as I lose mine. I would cry if I could. I’d lay my palm over my flat stomach and sing a lullaby—comforting her as her tiny, barely beating heart slows and stops.
Like McVeigh, I was born in sin in an evil world. Did the evil penetrate my soul the way it had his? Maybe I never had a chance to be anything but a liar, adulterer, and now because of my sins, a killer of my own flesh and blood. Am I really any better than the most wicked of men? Who decides?
Claudia
Claudia grunted as she picked up the box and shoved it against the wall. “Ma, why are you cleaning out the attic all of a sudden?”
“All of a sudden?” Her mother laughed. “Look at this place. It’s a pigsty.”
“You know what I mean. Why now? It’s needed it forever.” Claudia didn’t really need to ask. She knew her mother was always overseeing a project or two—or six.
Her mother lifted her slim shoulders. “It’s high time, don’t you think?”
“I do. But I think you should hire someone to do it. It’s going to take weeks.” Claudia wiped a glaze of perspiration from her forehead. Of course there wasn’t a drop on Mother. She wouldn’t have stood for it.
Her mother frowned, staring as though Claudia had spoken in tongues. “Hire someone to go through our personal things? I couldn’t stand to think about that.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Well, don’t think I am going to let you out of it. Many of the things up here are mementoes from your childhood. You can either keep them or throw them out. I couldn’t care less.”
“Or sell them?”
Mother shrugged. “I doubt you’ll find much value in those things. Other than sentimental value.” She said it pointedly. Passive-aggression in its finest form. Her words said it would be okay to sell the things. But her message was, “If you don’t cherish your childhood and the family in which you were raised, then fine, go ahead and sell these things and break my heart.”
Her mother drew in her lip and frowned as she stared at the boxes around her. She picked up an old Bible from one of the boxes. “Do you want this?” she asked, holding it out toward Claudia.
Claudia stared, feeling the blankness in her own expression.
Her mother dropped it back into the box. “Oh, never mind. It was only the Bible your father preached from during the first ten years we were here.”
“What do you plan to do with all of these old things?” Claudia lifted another box and set it with the other, the dust lifted into the air, burning her nose. “If you’re not going to sell them, there’s no point in trying to clean.”
“We’re giving them to charity, of course.”
“Let me get this straight. We can’t sell the old furniture and stereos and baby bed because of sentimental reasons, but it’s okay to shove nostalgia aside for charity?”
“Yes. It’s always more blessed to give than receive.”
And what if she needed the money herself? That thought would never occur to her mother. After all, Claudia was married to the ADA, they drove nice cars, and they lived in a nice home. Never mind that the house had been in dire need of updating when they’d bought it. Claudia had done much of the work on their first house herself, though she’d still spent more than they could afford. And yet her mother hadn’t complimented any of it.
Vic had been working long, arduous hours in those early years just to make it to where he was now. Guilt plunged into Claudia at the thought of the bill collectors she had been avoiding recently. Just the thought of speaking to them filled her with dread. This week, two checks had been returned insufficient, and the bank had refused to pay them. She had no idea how she would tell Vic. She would have to soon enough. The checks would end up in his office sooner or later if she didn’t get them paid quickly, and he would be humiliated.
“Are you okay, Claudia?”
Her mother’s voice pulled Claudia from her musing. “I’m fine. Where do you want to start?”
Two hours later, Claudia had gone through boxes of old cards, letters, and books, clearly from church members and former members who had moved away but still loved the church and her parents. Claudia’s mother asked her to go through them but fought her over tossing any of them out. Finally, when Claudia could no longer hold in her irritation, her mother grudgingly agreed. “Fine, you’ll throw it all out when I die anyway. We should get a head start in case I live another thirty years. Then just think how much you’ll have to throw out.”
Claudia shuddered at the thought, and if her mother honestly believed that argument would guilt her into keeping the papers and junk, she was sadly mistaken. She had ten bags of garbage and had barely made a dent in anything.
“You may not enjoy doing this, Claudia Elizabeth, but just think how I feel. Thirty-five years of marriage and ministry are packed away up here, and you’re acting like it doesn’t mean anything.” Mother stood up suddenly and walked toward the attic steps. “I’m going down for some tea.”
Claudia stared after her, shocked to silence by the quiver of emotion in her mother’s tone. She looked at the baby bed and bassinet and baby swing. Her gaze slid across the old pulpit her papa had built when they first came to town and preached so hard he’d broken the original one at the church. Claudia smiled. She hadn’t been born yet when that happened, but every time her mother or daddy told the story, their laughter grew and they relived the funny moment. Daddy preaching up a storm, his hand coming down hard, and the old pulpit splintering before the eyes of the entire congregation. It hit her that these things meant something to her parents. This clutter reflected their life, and each item held a memory that defined a brick in the structure of their life together.
She looked at the next box, opening the lid with more care than earlier. She reached inside, ready to savor the cards and letters from parishioners who loved and admired her mother and her dad, but it looked to be her mother’s more private things. Not more handmade cards and school crafts from Claudia’s childhood either. More like diaries and old Bible lesson notes from teaching at ladies’ meetings and conferences.
Claudia was about to put the lid back on and set it aside for her mother’s own perusal when a lavender sheet of paper caught her eye. It had slid partway out of one of the leather books. Impulse took over and Claudia snatched it from the journal. She frowned as she recognized her mother’s handwriting. Crisp, clear strokes in a fine black ink covered the page.
Claudia’s mouth curved as she read the first words,
My darling,
Had she ever heard Mother call her dad “darling”?
It’s been two weeks since my husband discovered our plans to leave.
Claudia’s eyes skimmed over the letter that was obviously not meant for Daddy. Anger filled her chest and her hands shook with rage.
Her eyes watered and Claudia folded the letter, carefully. She had every intention of shoving it back into the box before her mother returned, but it was too late. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she tucked it into her jeans pocket instead.
“Goodness,” her mother said, breathle
ss from the climb up the steps. “I swear I’ll be glad when the weather figures out that it’s supposed to be fall. Summer should have been over two weeks ago. I am ready for some cooler weather.” She smiled, handing Claudia a drink. “Aren’t you?” Claudia stared at the sweat already gathering on the outside of the glass, but didn’t reach for it.
“Well? Take it,” her mother said. “Don’t worry. I didn’t give you the kind with sugar. Your daddy uses that pink stuff too since that heart scare we had last year.”
Claudia shoved off the floor of the attic, the letter still in her jeans pocket. “I have to pick up Emmy from school.” Without bothering to dust herself off, she headed toward the steps.
“Well, good grief, you have a whole hour. Why did you let me bring you some tea if you were getting ready to leave?”
If Claudia stayed until time to get Emmy, she would for sure say something she’d regret. She snatched her purse and keys from the table in the foyer, the realization of her mother’s betrayal close on her heels. Had she planned on leaving? And then Daddy caught her? There was a familiar ring to the situation. As though she had sort of known about it, but like an out-of-focus shot, she couldn’t make her mind clarify the image.
“Claudia, hold on a minute.”
With a deep breath, Claudia whipped around. “What?”
“What on earth is the matter with you, hon? You just up and leave without speaking to me? Not even to say good-bye?”
“Mother,” she said, barely able to keep her eyes on her overly made-up, beauty-pageant–beautiful mother, “I have to go.”
Claudia left her mother standing at the door, a frown creasing her brow and her hands planted firmly on her hips in a huff.
When Claudia’s phone buzzed, she ignored it. She couldn’t deal with her mother now, if ever. It was too impossible. But when it buzzed again, she answered.
“Vic. Thank goodness it’s you. You will never believe the letter I found in one of my mother’s boxes.”
“Was it from a bill collector?” The angry bite in his words formed an instant knot in Claudia’s gut. Vic never, ever used that tone with her.
“No,” she said, reminding herself to speak with extra caution.
“Well, after the day I’ve had fielding calls and making arrangements to pay four thousand dollars in bills, I can almost believe anything.”
Tears blurred her vision as she braked at a stoplight. “I’m sorry. Where did you get the money to pay for it?”
“Where do you think, Claudia?”
Her stomach sank. There was exactly sixty-four hundred dollars in their Europe fund that had been growing steadily for the past seven years. When they got to ten grand, Vic said they were going on vacation. England, Germany, France. He had worked hard to save and keep up with that savings account. It was the only part of their finances he really wanted to be a part of. The last thing she wanted to do was force him to use it to pay off the debts she had foolishly racked up.
“I’m sorry, Vic.” She wanted to lay it all out in front of him. Confess, and ask him to please, oh please, help her find a way out of their mess, but she couldn’t bear the thought of his disappointment.
A frustrated breath pushed through his lungs. “We’ll have to talk about it later. I’m just shocked, Claudia. You’ve always paid the bills and budgeted to keep us on track. Even when I was barely making enough to pay the mortgage and the car payment and buy groceries. What’s happened? Why haven’t you told me about this?”
“I don’t know what happened. Truly. I don’t.”
Vic didn’t answer for a long moment. “We’ll discuss it later. I need to get back to work.” His tone still had an edge, but had mellowed considerably since that first couple of minutes of the conversation.
He hung up, and she realized she still hadn’t told him about her mother’s letter.
Betrayed. That’s how she was feeling about her mom. And now Vic was feeling that about Claudia. Maybe she was no better than her mother, after all.
Harper
Each day that passed, Harper grew more hopeful that Casio had given up. He’d stopped calling, and she had attended classes today believing he might actually allow her to live the rest of her life in peace.
The professor dismissed for the day, and the class of thirty-five grad students began to stir. No one seemed to be in any more of a hurry to leave than she was. That was the sign of a successful lecture. Psychology of Violence was a disturbing, fascinating class. For her, in particular, it held dual value. Yes, she wanted to complete her degree so she could begin to practice psychology eventually. But even more so, she wanted to help Casio. If she could get him the help he needed, maybe there could still be some sort of future for them.
She slid her three-inch-thick book inside her frayed, six-year-old book bag. The book itself had cost her three hundred dollars and was more precious than gold. Campus was nearly deserted when she stepped out into the twilight. The only problem with registering so late was that only night classes remained open. To get to her car, she had to either take an underground tunnel walkway or cross an impossibly busy street. In daylight hours, there were enough students coming and going that taking the tunnel wasn’t dangerous. But this time of night it would be foolish, though she’d seen plenty of young women who didn’t take proper precaution. She pressed the button on the traffic light, hoping to get across to her car before twilight slid into darkness.
Her boots clicked on the parking lot as her heartbeat kept time with her quick steps. Her car came into view and she stopped short, her breath coming in short bursts.
“Casio,” she whispered. He leaned against the driver’s door, arms folded across his chest.
“Hey, baby,” he said as though he had all the time in the world. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”
“Black and blue are my colors,” she shot back, then regretted her hasty choice of words as his gaze narrowed and eyes darkened. “What are you doing here?” Her voice shook. She squeezed her hands into fists and forced herself to breathe slowly in through the nose, out through the mouth. If he’d become this bold, how long would it be before he grew bolder, before he became angry and raised his hand to her? Her legs trembled.
“I miss you. I wanted to see your beautiful face.”
“I told you I never wanted to see you again.”
“Well,” he said, “you could always call 911.” He smiled again. “There’s a lot of white knights down there just waiting to rescue a damsel in distress.”
“Do I need a knight to protect me from you, Casio?” Oh, Lord, she prayed her voice sounded nonchalant.
She stepped forward, toward her car.
“I want to be your Prince Charming, baby. You know that.” His voice, smooth, like warm air, floated over her. If only he truly meant that. “Why don’t you come home with me? I miss you.” His eyes moved over her curves.
She shuddered. “I can’t. Not right now.” She knew to tread lightly. It wasn’t very likely he would harm her in a public place, but there was always a first time. But then she’d never thought he’d do more than slap her. They were above ground, and the parking lot was well lit. The occasional student showed up either to class or from class.
Reaching up, she placed her palm across his shadowed cheek. “Casio, I miss you too. I miss the long talks we used to have. The way you used to bring me Chunky Monkey ice cream while I was studying for finals. I miss lying in bed with you and hearing the sound of your heartbeat in my ear.”
“Baby …” He stepped away from the door, opening his arms. Harper took advantage of the movement, dropped her hand, and quickly opened and stepped behind the heavy car door. Her hands shook, her insides tight and knotted.
He frowned and grabbed her wrist. “You’re playing me?” Tears burned her eyes as she thought about the good times, and then the bad. “No, Casio, I’m not playing you. God help me, I love you. But you have to let me go.”
His eyes glistened in the light overhead, and Harper gli
mpsed the gentle Casio she had fallen in love with in the first place. The tenderness in his expression gave her the window she needed to get away.
Pulling her wrist from his grip, she slid into the car. He stood like a statue and didn’t try to stop her. She trembled as she slid the car into gear, grateful to hear the door lock engage. She drove away, knowing she had angered him and praying that he wasn’t so unstable that he would come after her.
Six
Claudia is still on the bus with me—and I think Casio is still on the floor somewhere, but I don’t know if he’s alive. Someone tells me Georgie is checking on the bus driver who, thankfully, is still breathing. He was a new assistant coach. I never even took time to learn his name. I hear Claudia speaking to her dad. Pastor King is on the bus? Where did he come from?
Someone must have used a cell phone to call him. He must have been at home and not at the church, because the church is on the other side of the train. The train that seems to be going on forever.
Forever. I’m about to embark on eternity. I guess it’s natural that I think about Jesus at a time like this. Inwardly, I tremble at the thought of our first face-to-face meeting. Will His eyes look on me with love and welcome, or shame and disappointment? Will He open His arms or turn His back?
I’ve always been fascinated by the gospel of grace. Jesus came willingly, died willingly, and rose victoriously. I am grateful that although His standards are high, He isn’t without mercy. But how much have I trampled over His grace? Is He finished with me?
I feel the tender touch of Pastor’s hand as he takes mine. He’s praying softly. “Lord, nothing is too hard for you.” Instinctively, I know he’s refraining from saying how bad off I am, even to God, because he knows I’ll hear him. Or Claudia will. Either way, I wish I could say to him that I already know my breath is almost gone.
This is what happens when someone leads a secret life. One day, someone has enough of the duplicity and storms a bus of innocents to punish the guilty.
The Crossing Page 6