A little girl was distracting Alex’s mom by running all over the place, and more than once the woman had to retrieve her and make her sit. A few minutes later she was gone again, apparently as soon as her mother became engrossed in Alex’s performance.
And Alex was good, playing perfectly the whiny musical agent beset by an overbearing mother. Brady had to admit that Alex rose to the occasion and actually exhibited some urgent compassion for his own Conrad Birdie character. Maybe they could pull this off after all, despite all that was already between them offstage.
Brady felt good about his own performance too, though he knew Mr. N. would notice how many times he peeked out at the house. He was just trying to get a read on the family dynamic, dreading the staged meeting.
Interestingly, Mr. Nabertowitz found some errand for Alex when that time came, then made it appear he had just thought of the introduction. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. North, I want you to meet our Conrad Birdie. This is Brady Darby.”
Mr. North thrust out his hand, seeming to measure the boy with his eyes. Without a smile, he said, “Jordan North, Alex’s father. And this is my wife, Carole. Alex’s sister, Katie, is running around here somewhere.”
“She’s right behind me, actually,” Mrs. North said, turning to try to pull the girl into view.
Katie peeked at Brady and smiled. “He’s cool!”
Brady felt himself redden, and ignoring that Mrs. North had not of- fered her hand, he reached for it anyway, resulting in an awkward pause. He realized his mistake and was pulling away when she seemed to reluctantly reach for his hand. He laughed and shook her hand, but it was limp as a soggy newspaper, and Brady could see he repulsed her.
“Alex says you live in a trailer,” Katie said from behind her mother’s leg.
“Katie, hush,” Mrs. North said quickly as Brady’s smile disappeared.
“Well, do you?” Katie insisted.
“A trailer? Yeah, right! Do you?”
Mr. Nabertowitz jumped in. “I just thought you all should meet, since Alex and Brady will be working together, and—”
“We live in a mansion!” little Katie said.
“I’ll bet you do,” Brady said, somehow gathering himself. “Anyway, nice to meet you all. Alex is really good.”
“Thank you,” Mr. North said. Mrs. North was looking elsewhere.
When they moved away, Katie was still standing there smiling shyly at Brady. “I’m nine,” she said. “You date younger women?”
Not rich little wenches like you. “You kidding?”
“Of course, silly. I bet you do live in a trailer.”
“No costume tonight, Conrad?” someone trilled on the activities bus.
Brady had been furious to have to carry his sopping clothes home in a plastic bag after his audition, wearing his leather jacket over the suit. It may have been dramatic and won him the part, but it made him look like an idiot offstage.
Brady had learned not to even turn to see who needed a beating. He just kept reading his script, knowing he should be studying. He amazed himself with how much he had already memorized, and he couldn’t argue with Mr. Nabertowitz that if he applied that same skill to schoolwork, he wouldn’t have anything to worry about.
Soon, however, he found himself unable to concentrate as he ran over and over in his mind the meeting with the Norths and their bratty daughter.
Brady was surprised to see his mother home from work already. It bothered him that she was usually out at all hours of the night with her boss-slash-boyfriend, but at least that way he didn’t have to worry she’d be putting her hands on Petey when Brady wasn’t there. He sure hoped Peter would tell him if she did, but the boy knew Brady had threatened her, so who knew if he was hiding something?
She was yelling at Peter when Brady entered.
“Zip it, Ma!” Brady said.
“I’m tired of him sitting around playing video games all the time!” she said. “He ought to be doing something productive!”
“Like you?”
“Don’t start with me, Brady.”
“He’s eight, Ma. Get off his case. It’s almost his bedtime anyway—as if you’d know.”
“You’re gonna stop being smart with me, Brady.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“By the way, you must be in trouble.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Mr. Tatlock called. Wants to see you at the Laundromat right away.”
“I’m not due there till ten.”
“He said now. What’d you do?”
“Tried to burn the place down, what do you think? C’mon, would I do something wrong at the only place I get any money?”
“Just get over there.”
Oldenburg
“I’m proud of you, Thomas,” Grace said, sounding as tired as she looked. “It sounds as if the Lord gave you the words and the courage to say them.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think Paul is happy.”
“Men like Paul are used to getting their own way.”
“Yes, and when they don’t . . .”
“Let’s let tomorrow take care of tomorrow.”
“You think I should let them have the installation service?”
“Of course! You deserve it.”
“You know better than that.”
“Well, I think you do, but even if you don’t, just give the Lord the glory and let the people welcome you.”
He shrugged. “Paul may have lost his enthusiasm for the idea by now.”
“Drop one of his own brainstorms? Somehow I doubt it.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to ask about it,” Thomas said. “If it happens, it happens.”
“Like I said, let tomorrow take care of tomorrow. Now, you know what I’d like to do tonight?”
“Tell me.”
“I’d like to sing.”
Thomas had to smile, despite the tough day and his worry over Rav and his wife. Grace had the sweetest demeanor and a voice to go with it. He could carry a tune, but Grace sang like an angel. “What do you want to sing, ma’am?” he said with a twinkle.
And Grace began softly, “On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross. . . .”
The Laundromat
A short man in his midthirties with dark curls, Tatlock had spoken personally with Brady only twice since the day he hired him. He had spent half a day training Brady and had checked in on him just one other time, when customers complained that Brady was speeding through his cleaning routine and leaving the place a mess. They were right, and Brady had straightened up.
“I’ve been doing better with the dusting and sweeping, sir,” Brady said as they sat across from each other at a small table in the back room. “Hope you’ve noticed.”
“I have, and I appreciate that, son. What I don’t appreciate is that while we have clearly seen an increase in business, I’m making less profit than ever. How do you account for that?”
“Oh . . . well . . . I’m never here during the day, so you couldn’t prove it by me that we have any more or less customers than before.”
“Are you this stupid, Darby? Do you really not suspect that I inventory the wash and dry cycles I sell here every day? You think I don’t keep track of how many boxes of detergent and softener I put in the dispensers each week? This is a low-maintenance but also very low-margin, high-risk business. It’s all about volume.”
“You keep track of the washings and dryings?”
“Of course! The machines have built-in counters. And the boxed goods? That’s easy. I know exactly how many I buy and how much I make on each one. Last month I barely made a profit. There’s only one explanation.”
“You accusing me of something?”
“There’s nobody else here.”
Brady rose quickly, towering over the man.
Tatlock slowly stood. “You’re going to pay me back, Brady.”
“I’m gonna tear you up.”
The man held up a hand and spok
e softly. “Before you even try, do you recall my telling you my other business?”
“What do I care?”
“It matters. Do you need me to remind you?”
“You teach kids or something.”
“I teach, all right. I run a karate school. You think I learned that from a book? My glory days are long past, but I could kill you with one hand. Look at my hands. Go on, look.”
They looked meaty enough. Maybe he was telling the truth.
“Shake my hand, son, like you did the day I hired you and you promised to treat this place like your own. Problem is, you really did. But it’s not your own, is it? Now shake my hand.”
Brady felt like a fool, but he reached out. Tatlock’s hand seemed twice as thick as his, and it was calloused. The man gripped firmly.
“I won’t hurt you, but you can tell I could, can’t you?”
Brady shrugged and nodded. There was no future in challenging this guy. “Well, I’m innocent. I don’t know where your money is, and since you obviously don’t believe me, I quit.”
“It’s not that easy. You owe me at least two hundred dollars. It’s probably a lot more, but that’s what I’ll settle for. And that’s the only thing that’s going to keep me from calling the cops. Now give me your keys. You’ve got three days to get me the money.”
Two hundred was all Brady had left in his car fund, but he didn’t want to risk actually answering to the police. Not when the musical was in rehearsal and he had to do something about his schoolwork.
“What’d he want?” his mother said.
“He wants me to work more hours; you believe that? I can’t with schoolwork and the play and all.”
“You could use the money.”
“Forget it! I quit.”
“Tell me you didn’t!”
“I did. He’s an idiot. Thinks I can work an extra hour each night. No way.”
“You’d double your money, Brady! Don’t be a fool. Tell him you’ll do it.”
“Too late. I already quit.”
“You’re an idiot. What’re you gonna do for money?”
“I’ll find something when the play’s over.”
“And you’re gonna mooch off me till then? No way.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
Brady knew he should study, but even his script wasn’t inviting as he undressed for bed. He was jittery, and a cigarette didn’t help. He wanted to sneak over to Stevie Ray’s for a beer, but when he had returned the guitar the other night, they had wound up drinking till dawn and he’d suffered a hangover the next day. No more of that.
He dug around in the closet for his stash and found less than five dollars.
“Ma! Where’s my money?”
“Be quiet or you’ll wake up your brother!”
“I don’t care! Now where is it?”
“Don’t ask me! I didn’t even know you had money.”
“Yeah, right. You didn’t take my car fund?”
“I don’t need your money!”
“Well, somebody took it! What am I supposed to live on till I find a job?”
“That’s your problem. You’re the one who quit.”
“If I find out you took it, I swear—”
“Oh, please. Stop threatening me, Brady. It’s getting old.”
He slammed the door in her face and flopped onto the bed. Something made him grab his long, greasy hair and pull as hard as he could. He screamed into his pillow, but nothing could lessen the rage. He wanted to hurt someone. He didn’t know who, and he didn’t care. The kids who soaked his clothes? The girl who had accused him of stealing? Alex? He could take that kid’s head off without a second thought. North’s snotty family? Tatlock? Funny thing about him: he was right. Brady was ashamed, humiliated, caught.
Problem was, where was he going to get two hundred now?
12
Sunday Night | Oldenburg Rural Chapel
To Thomas’s great surprise, Paul and Patricia Pierce followed through on the installation service, and even Jimmie Johnson, the denomination’s executive director, showed up to make it official. It seemed as if every member of the five bodies had made it, and 230 filled the pews.
A makeshift kids’ choir sang, as did an adult ensemble. Two soloists performed, and an old farmer played “I’ve Got a Mansion Just Over the Hilltop” on, of all things, a handsaw.
Mr. Johnson read a couple of kind letters from parishioners in two of Thomas’s former churches, then had to excuse himself for a trip that required him in Illinois by the next morning. Thomas assumed no one else gave that more thought than he did, but it would prove portentous.
Grace gave her testimony, telling how she was led to Christ by her father—also a pastor, now in heaven—when she was a little girl. “And I’ve never looked back. I used to wish I had a dramatic story like some who were saved out of lives of sin and degradation. But I’ve learned over the years that it’s just as much a miracle of God to have been born into a wonderful family and never really stray. Oh, I was a sinner in need of God, but now I’m thankful I didn’t have to suffer through deep pain or cause my parents heartache.”
Thomas detected a strange silence at that last comment, a stillness even in the body language of the crowd. People had been attentive enough anyway—Grace was easy to admire. But perhaps many had wayward children. He couldn’t put a finger on the response. Maybe he had imagined it.
Grace finished by telling how she and Thomas had met on a blind date at Bible college and how their life of service to God had been all and more than she ever could have hoped for. “We believe being here is a divine appointment, and we look forward to worshiping with all of you.”
Thomas breathed a sigh at the applause, grateful she had changed her mind about publicly asking for prayer for their daughter. He admired Grace’s transparency and agreed that often it was good to show that pastors’ families were normal too. But when she had raised the subject that afternoon, he had counseled her to let the people get to know them a little better before revealing that their own daughter was going through a rough patch of searching.
When finally it was Thomas’s turn, he ran through Paul’s counsel on his way to the pulpit. Boorish as the man was, and wrong as he may have been about Thomas shortening his sermons, he was likely right that tonight was not the time for a message. He simply said “a few words,” as the euphemism went, thanking one and all, briefly giving a testimony remarkably similar to Grace’s, and finishing with an anecdote that people always seemed to appreciate.
“When I was in grade school,” he said, “I came down with rheumatic fever and spent three weeks in the hospital and the rest of the summer and a month or so into the fall in bed. I never felt that ill, and frankly I enjoyed the attention, but I believe something during that time made me a pastor. My mother sang with me, prayed with me, and read the Bible with me and to me. But more, she urged me to begin memorizing not just verses but also chapters and even books of the Bible. I continue that practice to this day. After first learning the entirety of John chapter 3, I memorized all four Gospels, most of Paul’s epistles, and all of the so-called postcard books of the New Testament.
“I recommend memorizing, believing that the Word will never return void. Psalm 119:11 says, ‘I have hidden Your word in my heart, that I might not sin against You.’”
Nearly everyone stayed for pie and coffee downstairs, and while Thomas enjoyed standing with Grace and shaking hands and trading pleasantries, he hoped she didn’t notice that Patricia was keeping her distance. Paul was nowhere to be seen.
“I hope it doesn’t appear rude, Thomas,” Grace said, “but I’m going to need to sit down.” He quickly found her a chair. “I haven’t seen any of the elders,” she whispered as the receiving line continued.
“I’m sure they’re around somewhere,” he said, noticing that occasionally one of the leaders of the other congregations was summoned to slip away too.
When the crowd finally thinned, Thomas looked forward to
getting Grace home. She looked pale and exhausted. But finally Patricia Pierce approached, all business. “Paul asked if you both could meet with the elders before you left.”
Touhy Trailer Park
“You’re moping around here like you lost your best friend, Brady,” his mother said. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothin’.”
Truth was, he was dreading a call. And when it came, he rushed to beat his mother to the phone. Tatlock.
“Time’s up, Brady. I’m waiting at the Laundromat.”
Brady dumped his last four dollars and thirty-eight cents into his jacket pocket. He had begged and tried to borrow and even thought of stealing, but he’d had no luck. He had interviewed at Leon Dennis Asphalt & Paving, which bordered the trailer park to the east, and was waiting for word on a job. But the Hispanic foreman had laughed when Brady asked if the job—provided he got it—could be worked around his school activities and maybe include a $200 advance.
“Weekday evening hours only, eh?” Alejandro had said. “Come back at seven on Monday and I’ll let you know. It won’t be much. Maybe just cleaning up around here.”
“I’ll take anything.”
The only source Brady hadn’t tried for the $200 was Stevie Ray, so he stopped there on his way to the Laundromat.
“What’re you, kidding me?” Stevie said. “If I had two hundred bucks I’d throw a party. We live paycheck to paycheck, and the band barely breaks even. If I had it, I’d loan it to ya, but I don’t.”
Brady trudged to the Laundromat with a tingle up his spine as if he’d been summoned to the principal’s office.
Oldenburg Rural Chapel
“I’ve asked my wife to take the minutes,” Paul said as Patricia followed Thomas and Grace into a small classroom. Paul sat behind a table, flanked by other Oldenburg elders and a representative from each of the other congregations. No one would look him in the eye but Paul, and the outside elders didn’t look happy.
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