by Amanda Tru
Drisklay paused the video he’d been watching and glowered. “I’ll be doing a lot better once you bring me that coffee.”
“You want any cre—” Alexi stopped mid-sentence, and Drisklay clicked play.
“The good news, brothers and sisters, is that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners like you and me.” The father of the dead girl had started his sermon in a soft, even tone, but about halfway in his tempo and pitch both started to rise exponentially. Now, he was closing up the last few minutes of preaching, and even with the low-quality video recording, Drisklay could picture beads of sweat trickling down his face from all that exertion.
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and his word promises us that when we put our trust in him, he’ll cleanse us from our sins. That’s the gospel message, brothers and sisters, the fact that God demonstrated his own love for us by sending his Son to die on the cross for us. Do you know that love today? Have you experienced that great salvation? If not, I want to encourage you to come up and let me or one of the elders pray with you.”
So, there it was. This wouldn’t be one of those pleading for money sermons. Harrison was smarter than that. You reel them in first, make them terrified that their so-called sins are bad enough to warrant an eternity in hell, and then you make them pay. Drisklay still remembered with pride the internet preacher he’d help put behind bars for extortion. Apparently, the funds that the gullible herds sent him so he could build orphanages in Africa were instead being funneled into a jet and a private strip of beach near Cape Cod.
He shook his head. Why were the masses so ignorant, and why couldn’t they learn from centuries of history? At the moment, Drisklay couldn’t decide which made him angrier—listening to this fire and brimstone sermon meant to scare the gullible public into opening up their wallets and handing over their credit cards, or trying to figure out how and why he’d lost his own wife to men like Harrison in the first place.
It wasn’t as if he and Caroline were struggling for years in their marriage and her conversion was the proverbial last straw. If anything, things had gotten better between them. About five years ago, she’d broken down in tears, begging him to spend more time with her, so he used some vacation days and took her for a long weekend at Martha’s Vineyard. Things could have kept on just fine between them if Caroline hadn’t allowed herself to get brainwashed by Christian theology.
He’d thought his wife was smarter than that. It was difficult overestimating his disappointment when he realized just how wrong he’d been.
Pastor Harrison’s voice was so loud now that Drisklay had to lower the volume on his computer. “The Bible promises that if you repent today, Jesus Christ will be faithful and just and will forgive you your sins and purify you from all unrighteousness. All you have to do is ask, and the stains of your sins will be washed away, making you as white as snow. Jesus Christ died to pay the penalty for your sins, so you don’t have to experience eternal separation from God, and all you need to do to receive this great and glorious gift is receive it by faith. Say, Jesus, I know I’m a sinner. I believe that you died and rose from the dead to save me from…”
Drisklay slammed off the recording.
“Is this hot enough for you?” Alexi’s voice wavered slightly as he carried a pot of black coffee and a heating pad to Drisklay’s desk. “I hope it’s strong enough.”
Drisklay grunted in response, then told Alexi, “Go find me the file on that church. The one the dead girl’s dad is the pastor at. There’s something I want to see.”
Alexi leaned forward. “Is he a suspect? Is that why you’re watching his sermon online?”
Drisklay glowered, and Alexi scrambled away.
Drisklay swiveled in his chair and tapped his fingers on his desk. “Harrison,” he muttered to himself. Even the name sounded somehow sinister. “What exactly are you hiding?”
What Drisklay needed was an inside scoop. What he needed was a pastor he knew and trusted, a pastor familiar with other churches in the Boston area, someone he could count on to give him an insider’s perspective.
“Here’s that file you asked for.” Alexi seemed uncertain whether he should hand Drisklay the envelope or set it on his desk. Drisklay spared him the torture of uncertainty and yanked it out of his hand.
Alexi’s eyes darted nervously from the pot of coffee to Drisklay’s empty Styrofoam cup. “Is there anything else you need?”
Drisklay was about to yell that what he needed was a quiet space to think, but then an idea came to him. A better idea than yelling at his partner.
“Yeah. You know that big megachurch in Cambridge, St. Margaret’s?”
“Sounds familiar,” Alexi offered without sounding at all certain of himself.
“Find me the pastor’s phone number. Not the church office. His cell’s around here somewhere. Get that for me and come back here. And get another pot started. Stronger this time.”
“I miss you too, baby.”
Caroline did her best to ignore the tall American standing next to her in the subway car, feeling vicariously embarrassed on his behalf. Didn’t he realize how loudly he was speaking? “I sure wish you were here, too, honey. Just remember, we’re doing God’s work, and he’s promised to take care of us both. We have to trust in his perfect plans.” Caroline didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he left her no choice.
“I’ll be praying for you, too, sweetie. Give my love to the girls, okay? I’ll see you soon. Just a couple more weeks, and then we’ll be together again. It’ll be just like Jacob and Rachel in the Bible. He had to wait a full seven years, but God says it only felt like a few days.”
Caroline squirmed in her seat, wishing there were a way to put more distance between herself and this stranger, wondering if many people thought the two of them were traveling together. How long until the subway reached her stop?
The man sent another crooning sweet nothing into his cell phone, then hung up and looked at her with a somewhat sheepish grin. “My fiancé,” he explained.
She smiled back automatically, but her heart mirrored nothing of the joy that radiated from his face. “Congratulations.” She clutched her handbag, praying that she’d recognize the name of the right stop when it came through on the automated announcements. She’d been distracted listening to Mr. Loverboy and had lost track of how many stops they’d already passed.
“Where you headed?” the man asked. He was balding slightly, with a teddy-bear build.
“A meeting.” Caroline didn’t want to be rude, but she would have preferred to spend her time trying to connect her phone to the public Wi-Fi service to contact her hostess. Even with the train arriving right on time, she was pretty sure she’d end up late to Mrs. Cho’s.
He nodded and continued to grin. “I’m off to a job interview. My fiancée is a missionary here. I’m trying to find a place to work after the wedding.”
His eyes glistened when the spoke about his future, making him younger than his balding head intimated.
Caroline gave a brief nod, trying to keep her body from lurching forward as the train slowed to a stop. The stranger cleared his throat and smiled broadly. “This is where I get off. Have a nice day.”
Caroline watched him depart, wondering what it would be like to be an engaged couple in a city this far from home. What it would be like to be engaged to a Christian. A believer. Someone with a heart for God. Someone who wasn’t ashamed to talk about prayer or God or faith in a crowded Seoul subway.
A heavy sigh. These thoughts wouldn’t get her anywhere. Sandy’s voice, like it so often did, echoed through her memory to encourage and comfort her. You sure can’t change Calvin’s heart, her pastor’s wife had told her in that slight southern drawl that sounded so out of place in the Boston suburbs. Only God can do that. It’s not your job to save your husband. It’s only your job to pray for him.
Pray for him. Did Sandy realize how much Caroline had already prayed these past three years since she’d become a Chris
tian? Praying. Weeping. Fasting. Long weekend retreats when Calvin was out working a case, flat on her face before God, begging him to save her husband.
Sometimes she wondered if Pastor Carl was wrong when he preached that nobody was outside of God’s reach. No heart was too hard for him to heal.
If God wanted Calvin saved, wouldn’t he have done it by now? If her prayers made any bit of difference at all, wouldn’t her husband have accepted Christ instead of becoming even more hardened? Even more cynical? It was that biting sarcasm of his that hurt Caroline the most. How many times had he given hardened criminals that same glare of hatred and contempt, intimidating them until he got the confession he was after? But Caroline wasn’t a criminal, not unless being a Christian living with an unbelieving spouse had at some point become illegal.
Except now she wasn’t even living with him. In the end, her prayers had done nothing. They hadn’t saved her husband. They hadn’t even saved her marriage.
Calvin was gone. Even though Caroline didn’t want to admit it, even in spite of the tears and the anger and the shame and the confusion, one emotion bubbled up to the surface to rear its ugly, accusing head.
She was tired of fighting for her marriage. Tired of begging God for miracles. In her most honest moments, Caroline had to admit she was relieved he had left.
Drisklay held the phone against his ear and swiveled in his office chair. “Hello, is this Carl Lindgren?”
“Certainly is,” answered back the booming, resonant voice on the other end of the line.
“This is Detective Drisklay from the Boston Police Department. We’ve spoken before on a few occasions.”
“Of course. How are you, Detective?”
Drisklay gripped his Styrofoam cup, despising these necessary pleasantries. He’d much rather deal with suspects in the interrogation room than with a man of the cloth. Or whatever you’d call the non-Catholic equivalent. “I’m working on a case and wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
A woman began jabbering in the background, her voice so loud she might have been shouting into Carl’s ear.
“Quiet,” the pastor whispered. “No, it’s not one of the kids. It’s Detective Drisklay… Hey, wait. Give me that phone back…”
“Officer Drisklay!” Carl’s wife’s voice was high-pitched and enthusiastic, with a hint of a southern drawl. It was also one of the most unwelcome sounds Drisklay could have imagined at this precise moment. “It’s Sandy here. So good to hear from you. How’s Caroline? Is she enjoying her time in Seoul? Did she arrive safely? Is she settling in? Do you know if she remembered to take those jetlag pills I gave her? You know, they were a lifesaver for me when we flew over to pick up Woong from that orphanage. But come to think of it, I remember that I was more tired coming back. Of course, that might have been because Woong was so young when we got him. A real handful. You probably haven’t seen him in a few years, have you? We’re going to have to have you over, soon. I’m getting a meatloaf ready right now. Will you be off by five? I can’t wait to see you.”
Drisklay glowered at the phone. Alexi, who’d been walking toward him with some paper in his hand, glanced at his face and turned the other way.
“No, don’t grab it from me,” Sandy chided her husband. “That’s rude. I’m just inviting him over for dinner.”
“He’s calling on police business, woman,” answered Carl, the irritation in his voice evident but not nearly matching Drisklay’s.
“Whatever business he has,” Sandy insisted, “it’ll be better discussed on a full stomach, don’t you think? Besides, his wife is out of town on a mission trip. I’m not about to let him go hungry. You know how he gets. He probably hasn’t eaten anything but Danishes all day, have you?” Sandy pursed her lips in the momentary silence. “So, it’s settled then? We’ll see you here at five o’clock sharp. No, don’t bother trying to get out of it. What kind of friend would I be to Caroline if I let her husband starve to death while she’s serving God overseas? It’ll be no trouble at all, and it’ll be our pleasure. You still remember how to get to our house, don’t you? Well, you’ve got Carl’s number. You can just call if you need directions. I’ve got to pull some buns out of the oven now, but we’ll see you at five. Do you like apple pie? I was thinking of doing some baking this afternoon, but with Carl’s diabetes, it’s hard to justify, and Woong eats so much sugar nowadays. Did I tell you that boy’s already had four cavities? Four cavities. Can you believe it? I declare, he’s got to start taking better care of his teeth, or they’re going to fall out of his mouth one day, just like in those dreams you have. Do you ever have dreams like that, Officer? You know the ones I mean, where your mouth feels so dry and all of a sudden, your teeth start to crumble out? I declare, it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world, and I told Woong if he doesn’t start brushing better, that’s going to be what he goes through except in real life. And eating all that sugar doesn’t help either, I’m sure, but I can’t seem to stop baking, and Carl can’t have desserts anymore, poor fellow, what with his blood sugar and diabetes, but I’m sure you know all about that. Anyway, if you talk to Caroline tell her hello and that we’re going to take real good care of you, and remember to just give Carl a call if you get lost and need help getting to our house. You don’t have any allergies, do you? All right. Talk soon. Bye-bye.”
Drisklay sat staring at the phone in his hand several seconds after the call disconnected.
“Who was that?” Alexi asked, tentatively slipping some papers on top of the clutter on Drisklay’s desk.
“Crazy woman,” he muttered in response.
“Suspect?”
“I wish.”
Alexi turned to go then stopped. “Hey, you working late tonight?”
Drisklay didn’t look up from the report his partner had just delivered. “Likely.”
“Thought so.” Alexi cleared his throat. “Well, me and the guys are gonna order takeout before long. Want us to get you anything? I mean, you wouldn’t have to, but since you’ll be here anyway, I just thought maybe I’d ask, you know. See if you wanted anything.” He paused, clearly waiting.
Drisklay finished off his Danish and then threw his napkin into the trash. Why was his partner still here?
Alexi cleared his throat. “I think it’s pizza. Or maybe Chinese. I’ll find out if you want. I can just go ask…”
“I got dinner plans,” Drisklay answered gruffly.
Alexi’s eyes widened. “You don’t say.”
“Yeah. And last I checked you were a detective, not a pizza delivery guy, right?”
Alexi nodded. “Right, boss. You got that. Absolutely true. I’m getting right back to work now. Right now, right as we speak.”
Drisklay didn’t respond. He reached for his next Danish then pulled another page from the stack of papers cluttering his desk.
He had work to do.
Caroline’s heart was racing by the time she wheeled her suitcase up to the front door. There was nothing to distinguish Mrs. Cho’s orphanage from the multiple homes and apartments surrounding it. A small and tidy garden on the side of the house spilled over with fresh foliage.
Caroline wondered what her students back home would think if they realized how nervous their teacher could get. She’d ended up getting off at the wrong station, hailing a cab, and paying the equivalent of over twenty-five US dollars to get here. She didn’t know how God managed it, but even after all that she was still only fifteen minutes late. A miracle, however small and probably insignificant in the grand scheme of things. And yet a reminder that God was taking care of her, looking out for her.
So, why did she feel so anxious?
The woman who opened the door was older than Caroline had expected. Older and frailer, yet there was a radiance in her face that made her instantly appear inexplicably strong and vibrant. Mrs. Cho held a child on one hip, wiggling a small rattle in front of the baby’s face to make him laugh.
“Come in, come in.” Mrs. Cho’s smile was
generous, and the moment Caroline stepped through the threshold of her front door, peace quieted her soul. Her pulse no longer surged through her veins, and she felt strangely at home. The sensation reminded her somewhat of how she felt visiting Pastor Carl and Sandy at their house, the same hospitable, welcoming feeling, but that’s where the similarities ended.
The Lindgrens’ home in the States was compact and spilling over with crafts, baking utensils, and homemade odds and ends. The walls in every room were covered with family photos or crayon drawings from grandkids. Mrs. Cho’s home, by contrast, was immaculate. Even the baby seats and high chairs were lined up against walls and organized by model, color, and size. Aside from a small stuffed tiger on the arm of one couch, there were no toys to be seen on the premises.
No toys or children either, apart from the infant in Mrs. Cho’s arms.
“Where are the kids?” Caroline asked.
Mrs. Cho let out a sweet sigh. She smiled and maintained eye contact with the baby she was holding while she answered. “The toddlers and infants are taking their naps upstairs. The older children are at school.”
Caroline had assumed the Korean schools would be closed this time of year like back in the States. There was so much about Mrs. Cho’s life running this orphanage she wanted to ask about, but she wasn’t here simply on a cultural exchange.
“What can I do to help?” She peered around the corner, hoping to find something she could offer to clean, but the kitchen area was as spotless as the living area, the hardwood floor gleaming in the sunlight streaming in from the skylight overhead.
Mrs. Cho acted as naturally as if she and Caroline had known each other for decades. “Maybe you will hold this little one for me while I prepare his bottle. Da is the youngest one here, and I’m afraid I’ve been spoiling him. He won’t fall asleep without his bottle, even though he’s far too old to need it.”
Caroline had so many questions. How many children did Mrs. Cho care for at the moment? Throughout their correspondence, the numbers had varied from as few as eight to as many as twenty-one. How did she maintain such a peaceful, serene home with only occasional help from members of her church or people like Caroline who traveled here short-term?