by Tim LaHaye
“Not funny.”
“Seriously, Steve, I can’t believe she complained about this . . . especially to you. We’re buddies, she and I. We always got along great, I thought.”
When Buck reached the Chicago bureau, he bribed the receptionist to let him sneak to Lucinda Washington’s office unannounced. She had stepped out, so he leaped into her chair and turned his back toward the door. That put him face-to-face with her gaudy religious knickknacks. He was studying a fake gold-leafed one when he heard her enter.
She hesitated, obviously wondering if she herself had turned her chair around, and when she swung it back to sit down, she jumped and squealed to find it full of Cameron.
“You gonna shoot me?” he said. “Can I still work here?”
“Only if you get on your knees and beg my forgiveness,” she said.
He slid onto the floor, but she reached and yanked him up. “Quit that now,” she said. Buck settled into a side chair, and Lucinda planted herself where she belonged.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You are not. You don’t even know what I’m mad about.”
“ ’Course I do. Bears Hall of Famer finally gets the money together to buy a football franchise, and I sniff it out, track him down, and run with the story.”
“I admire you, Cameron. I always have, as irritating as you can be. But the very least you should have done was let me know.”
“And let you assign somebody who should have been on top of this anyway?”
“Sports isn’t even your gig, Cameron. After writing that Newsmaker of the Year thing and covering the defeat of Russia by Israel—or I should say by God Himself—how can you even get interested in penny-ante stuff like this? You Ivy League types aren’t supposed to like anything but lacrosse and rugby, are you?”
“This was bigger than a sports story, Lucy, and—”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, Lucinda. And wasn’t that just a bit of stereotyping? Lacrosse and rugby?”
They shared a laugh.
“I’m not even saying you should have told me you were in town,” she said. “All I’m saying is, at least let me know before the piece runs in the Weekly. My people and I were embarrassed enough to get beat like that, especially by the legendary Cameron Williams, but for it to be a . . . well . . . total surprise—”
“That’s why you squealed on me?”
Lucinda laughed. “That’s why I told Plank it would take a face-to-face to get you back in my good graces.”
“And what made you think I’d care about that?”
“Because you love me. You can’t help yourself. But, Cameron, if I catch you in my town again on my beat without my knowledge, I’m gonna whip your tail.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Lucinda. Let me give you a lead I don’t have time to follow up on. I happen to know that the NFL franchise purchase is not going to go through after all. The money was shaky and the league’s gonna reject the offer. Your local legend is going to be embarrassed.”
Lucinda was scribbling furiously. “You’re not serious,” she said, reaching for her phone.
“No, I’m not, but it was sure fun to see you swing into action.”
“You creep,” she said. “Anybody else I’d be throwing out of here on his can.”
“But you love me. You can’t help yourself.”
“That wasn’t even Christian.”
“Don’t start with that again,” he said.
“Come on, Cameron. You know you got your mind right when you saw what God did for Israel.”
“Granted, but don’t start calling me a Christian. Deist is as much as I’ll cop to.”
“Hey, how long you in town for?”
“Until tomorrow.”
“Tonight with my hubby and me for barbecue then, right? He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“You sure he wants me interfering with your date?”
“We’ve been married more’n thirty years, Cameron. That’s right. We started early. Having a young white boy eat with us won’t get in our way. You’re just afraid to be in the minority; is that it?”
“Hardly.”
For the first time since he’d been married, Rayford Steele lied to his wife about where he was going, just so he could see another woman. “Running some errands,” he said. “Sports store, then the hardware store. Need anything?”
“Don’t think so, hon. But why don’t you wait until Raymie gets home and let him go with you? You’re going to be gone the rest of this week, and—”
“Nah, just let me get this done, and I’ll spend some time with him tonight.”
Rayford would have to remember to buy something at both the stores he had mentioned on the way home to cover that he drove straight past them and into Des Plaines.
He picked up Hattie outside her apartment. “What’s up?” he said. “You needed to see me?”
“Yup,” she said, grinning mischievously. “That’s all. I just needed to see you.”
He didn’t know what to say or do. Had they already been engaged in a full-fledged affair, which seemed not so far off now, he guessed he might have simply asked if he could head back into her apartment with her. But in broad daylight? This was risky enough. He was flattered, but he didn’t want to be stupid.
“What do you want to do?” he said, feeling like a thirteen-year-old.
“What do you want to do?” she said.
“Don’t ask me. This was your idea. I’m running errands. Sports store. Hardware store.”
“Ooh, you’re good,” she said.
“I’m new at this.”
“Not for long. Hey, I’m hungry. You?”
“Not really, but I’d love to get you something to eat.”
“Let’s order Chinese and pick it up. I’ll eat it in the car.”
That was a relief to Rayford. He wasn’t ready to be seen having a meal date with Hattie in the middle of the afternoon. He always figured he could cover if someone he knew saw them dining at night, when they were both in uniform and it should be obvious it was just business. But now both were dressed casually, and it would simply make no sense to anyone.
He called in an order and they drove off to pick it up.
“You sure you don’t want some?” Hattie said, trying to feed him rice with chopsticks as they sat in the parking lot next to the place.
He shook his head but had to laugh when she spilled rice in his lap. She broke open a fortune cookie and read, “ ‘A new friend will make you happy.’ ”
“That yours or mine?” he said, and she leaned over and rested her head against his shoulder.
Charles Washington proved to be a rangy, bony man with thinning hair and a wise look. He greeted Lucinda first, slipping his long arm around her ample waist and pulling her close.
“Charles!” she said.
“Lu-cinda!” he said, drawing out the first syllable as if savoring it. “Still the best-lookin’ gal in Chicago.”
“Stop it and be polite,” she said, and Buck was amused at how she beamed. “Meet the friend I told you about.”
“Pleasure,” Charles said, offering a big calloused hand. “Trust me, you’ve never had ribs like these.”
“I’ve had some good ones.”
“They’ll be bad memories in about half an hour, young man. Call me racist, but your people don’t even start to know how to barbecue. Know how you can tell? You see white people in our establishments. You don’t see us in theirs, not that we don’t feel welcome. We do. We just go where the food is best, and that’s right here.”
Charles and Lucinda sat close and giggled like schoolkids until the food came. Then it was time to get down to serious eating. “I’ll show you how to do it best,” Charles said, “but let me pray first, all right?”
“Sure.”Right here in public? Buck had never felt so conspicuous.
Charles took his wife’s hand and reached for Buck’s. “Lord,” he began, “we’re grateful for everything but most of all for these pr
ovisions. Thank You and thanks for our friend. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Buck said amen too, almost before he realized it, and after he tasted the ribs, he felt like praying himself.
“I won’t put you on the spot this evening, Cameron,” Lucinda said, “but one of these times we’re going to have to get into why the press—yes, us, the Weekly—seems so afraid of God.”
“Afraid of God?”
“C’mon, we run articles about Him as if He’s some sort of strange phenomenon that has to be examined from every angle. Polls show that more than half the population believes in God. But you could never tell that from our pages or those of our competition.”
“Can’t argue that.”
“We’ll solve it another time,” she said, smiling. “You look like you need to sleep off some calories.”
SIXTEEN
“I’M NOT that hungry,” Rayford told Irene.
“It’s nothing heavy. I just thought we could sit down together before you’re off to England.”
Rayford shrugged, and as he and Raymie sat at the table, Irene stepped into the garage to toss some trash. She noticed the light on inside Rayford’s car. As she reached in to turn it off, she smelled Chinese food and saw an empty soy-sauce packet on the passenger floor mat. She smelled something else too. Perfume? Maybe, but the food smell overpowered it.
In the ashtray lay a receipt from The Happy Lucky in Des Plaines. Well, at least it was for only one meal.
“No wonder you aren’t hungry,” Irene said, returning to the kitchen.
“Hmm?”
“Your car smells of Chinese food.”
“What? Still? Uh, that’s from the other day.”
“What were you doing in Des Plaines?”
Rayford looked puzzled. “Oh, I was dropping off that flight attendant. Then I was just famished, so . . .”
Why did he seem so nervous? Irene doubted the smell would linger that long. And hadn’t Irene been in his car since then? This was new. This was today. And even if he had been alone, what had taken him to Des Plaines?
Irene didn’t want to think about it.
The next morning, Irene attended her weekly women’s Bible study at Jackie’s house. She didn’t know why, but attendance was growing there too. Jackie’s little home looked even smaller as women crowded in, having to employ the piano bench and even children’s chairs. Irene was impressed by a new face, a woman about her age with salt-and-pepper hair, done up right and clearly expensively, and wearing very fashionable clothes. She carried a briefcase and a purse, so Irene assumed she was a businesswoman. Besides her appearance, the woman had a confident air, as if, though in a new and strange setting, she still knew how to conduct herself.
Irene introduced herself and welcomed the woman. She said her name was Amanda White and that she was a local executive who had been to New Hope Village Church once, after her husband had been invited to a men’s outing and wanted to check out the services.
During the Bible study, each time Irene caught Amanda’s eye, Amanda nodded and smiled. And when Irene contributed to the discussion, she sensed the woman really paying attention.
When the study was over, Mrs. White made a beeline for Irene, thrust out her hand, and said, “Well, aren’t you the most precious thing? So vibrant and pleasant.”
“Thank you. I hope you enjoyed this.”
“Oh, just processing it, you know. My family and I have been churchgoers all our lives, but something’s really caught my husband’s fancy here. This might all be a little too religious for me, if you know what I mean. It’s interesting and all, don’t get me wrong, and you ladies seem so into it. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to expect.” She leaned close. “Frankly, I was afraid it was going to be a little hokey. But you’re like normal people.”
“Oh, believe me, we are,” Irene said. “In fact, with my church background, I’m sort of your mirror image. My family—except my son, Raymie—is more comfortable in the typical, less overt church. But my son and I have genuinely encountered God here. We’ve received Christ.”
“Have you?”
Irene nodded. “We believe He is the way to God.” And suddenly she teared up.
“Oh, you poor thing! What is it?”
“I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.”
“Not at all. This is clearly important to you.”
“I just pray I’ll be able to reach my husband and my daughter before it’s too late. That’s my greatest fear. I want to know they’re going to heaven.”
“Well, isn’t that something? Isn’t that sweet? You know, my own family is saying the same thing to me lately. Got to be saved, they say. Saved by grace.”
“You know all you have to do is admit to God that you’re a sinner and that you need Christ to forgive your sins and change your life.”
“I know. I’m not ready yet, but I do appreciate your concern. I really do.”
“May I tell you one more thing, Amanda? I don’t mean to be pushy.”
“Sure.”
“Just let me encourage you not to put off your decision too long. With all that’s going on in the world right now, you just never know what’s going to happen, how much time you’ll have.”
But Irene had pushed too far. She could see it in Mrs. White’s eyes. She just hoped she hadn’t turned the woman completely away.
That afternoon, as Raymie was getting home from school, Rayford was on his way out the door for his London flight.
“My, you smell good,” Irene said. “You seem excited about this trip.”
“Always love these—you know that.”
“But it’s not like this is anything new,” she said.
“I know.”
“Fresh uniform. Wow, you’re ready. Almost like you’re headed for a date.”
He laughed a little too loudly, Irene thought. “Your Des Plaines honey on this flight?” she said lightly.
“Hmm? Who?”
“You know who.”
“The young one? Miss Durham? I have no idea.”
“You have no idea.”
“I haven’t checked lately; that’s all. So what if she is?”
“Nothing. Just wondering.”
“Hey, Raymie! Take care of your mom for me till I get back, eh?”
“Sure, Dad. Have a safe trip and wish me luck.”
“Luck?”
“For tonight.”
“Tonight?”
The boy’s shoulders drooped. “My program, Dad!”
“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot! I’ll be thinking of you. You be a good leaf or whatever it is, and—”
“Tree.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m the whole tree, Dad. There are four of us.”
“Well, see, that’s even better. My son the big tree. Break a leg. Or break a branch, or whatever.”
“And don’t forget your promise, Dad. Sunday?”
“Right. Got it. See you in a few days.”
On the way to the airport, Hattie Durham seemed to have lost any trace of inhibition or restraint. As soon as Rayford had put her bag in the backseat and slid behind the wheel, she loosened her seatbelt and leaned against him. She barely moved, pressed against him for the entire drive. He was in heaven. And already debating whether he was going to take this relationship further, once they were on foreign soil. Every few minutes he talked himself out of it, but he knew deep down that the distance from home alone would embolden him.
His number-two man in the cockpit would be Christopher Smith, a pleasant-enough guy he’d flown with before. The closer they got to O’Hare, the more positive he was feeling about the night. Not to mention the weather, which was perfect. His job, once they were in the air and settled into the flight path, should be largely routine until the descent into London.
Dinner at home was rushed as Raymie talked about how embarrassed he was to have to climb inside a cylindrical painted-cardboard tree trunk with his face sticking out. “I have to hold the leaves out and drop them whe
n the north wind comes blowing through. It’s such a play for babies. I can’t believe they’re making us do it.”
“But you know your part, and you’ll do well. This is probably your last year for stuff like this.”
“But, Mom, have you heard my lines?”
“No.”
“Just wait.”
“Tell me now.”
“No chance. It’ll be bad enough there.”
He was right. When Raymie’s big scene came, he was the only tree to forget to drop his leaves. Everybody in the place could hear the stage whispers from the wings: “Drop your leaves! Raymie, drop your leaves!”
Finally he paled and let them go, and the crowed twittered. Then a bird pranced through, asking each tree if she could build a nest in its branches to keep her chicks warm. All, of course, were to sternly turn her down except for the last tree, an evergreen.
When it was Raymie’s turn he said, “No! I cannot be bothered with you! I have not yet recovered from the confusion and noise the squirrels made when they tried to gather my acorns for winter!”
This elicited a roar of laughter from the crowd, which warmed Irene but clearly humiliated Raymie. Never had she seen him so eager to be finished with something.
When she met him afterward, she was smiling broadly. He was still blushing.
Irene hugged him and noticed he stiffened a little, looking around. So it was happening already. “I thought you did fine!” she said.
“I was awful. Forgot to drop my leaves. Then I didn’t think I sounded like a tree at all. I don’t think any of us did.”
Irene laughed loudly. “And what do trees sound like?”
“I don’t know, but not us.”
The more she laughed, the more Raymie lost his scowl. “Well, you’ve made yourself a memory, anyway, haven’t you?”
“That’s for sure,” he said. “No matter how hard I try to forget this . . .”
By the time they got to the drive–through for milk shakes, Raymie was mimicking his own monotone performance and cackling about how silly it all was. Irene was grateful that he was so good about it. At his age she had been so awkward and shy that a goof like his would have haunted her for days.