Chance shrugged. “It’s not like I know it from cover to cover, but I try to learn as much as possible. I guess I’m just another brother who’s trying to get direction from the Word.”
“Sort of like . . . a . . . like Mr. Word, hmm? No, how’s this for a name—Brother Word?” said Travis.
“That’s a better name for him than you claiming he was calling himself Jesus Christ,” Lynn cut in.
Travis coughed again.
“I’d have to agree with Lynn on that one,” Chance said. “So, this story is going to be in Thursday’s edition of the State?” he asked.
“Y-yes.”
“Where? On the front page?”
Travis hesitated. “I-I think so.” He took a quick glance at his watch. “I should be going . . . you know, if I want to finish this and send it back to Columbia.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Everett,” Chance said, a slight gleam in his eye. “It was a pleasure speaking with you.”
As soon as Travis had left, Lynn stood from her chair and walked over to Chance. “Well, that was incredible! Brother Word, huh? I like it! Fits a man like you perfectly.”
“It was like God . . . was giving me the words to say. All I had to do was open my mouth.”
“And that’s when you know that it’s the Lord’s will—that it’s what He wants to say. Still, how can you be so sure Travis is going to include it, unedited, in his article?”
“Because it’s the Lord’s will, right? Besides, a little . . . gnat told me he would.”
“A gnat?”
Chance shrugged, shook his head, and stared out the window. “It’s a long story.”
Chapter Fifty
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Dr. Peterson released Chance from the hospital. The swollen knot atop Chance’s head would hurt for a few more days; likewise, the gunshot wounds in his shoulder and lower back would take time to heal completely, but his overall prognosis was encouraging.
“Just take it easy for a few days, then we’ll get you doing some light physical therapy for two months, and you’ll be as good as new,” the doctor announced as he signed off on Chance’s four prescriptions.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Chance replied, glancing at Lynn. She stood by the door, waiting with a wheelchair that he realized, all too late, was for him.
“Wait a minute, Doc,” he began, protesting. “I can walk. I’m walking out of here on my own two feet.”
“Not while you’re still in my care, you won’t,” Dr. Peterson replied, not even bothering to look up from his clipboard. “This hospital can’t risk a lawsuit if you were to fall down while walking out of here.”
“It won’t be so bad,” Lynn piped up. “I’ll even push you. Probably the only chance I’ll ever have to push you around, anyway.”
Dr. Peterson handed Lynn the prescriptions, then turned back to Chance. “I trust you’ll follow my instructions and take care of yourself. To have experienced what you have in the past four days and emerge as strong as you are—I consider you highly fortunate.”
“I consider him highly blessed,” Lynn spoke up, wheeling the chair to his bed. “He’s Brother Word, you know.”
Chance swallowed his pride and took a seat in the wheelchair. With a final handshake from Dr. Peterson, they wheeled out of the room and down the hallway.
“Your flight back to South Carolina is today, right?”
Lynn nodded. “Tonight, actually. I leave at seven-thirty.”
“Probably have a lot of work waiting for you at home, huh?”
“Not work—I think of it more as a labor of love. Pastor Gentry tells me the phones are ringing off the hook. And it’s not just churches calling to ask our outreach team to conduct healing services—several nursing homes and hospitals have been calling, too. We’re breaking through cultural, religious, and societal boundaries with the power of God’s love—which is exactly what we’ve been called to do.
“And you played a role in this move of God, Chance. I’d like for you to come back, when you get stronger.”
“Come back?”
“Yes, come back. Alright, so maybe your experience there wasn’t as great as it could’ve been—”
“You don’t say . . .”
Lynn playfully shoved the wheelchair in response to his remark. “But think about all that can be done, now. You seem to have gotten Travis Everett’s wild reporting antics under control, and our outreach team would be so inspired if you shared with them some experiences from your ministry. We’re having special healing services at Faith Community now every Sunday night—people are flying in from all over the country and the testimonies of God’s power are drawing people by the hundreds.”
They were at Lynn’s rental car now, and he stood and helped her first fold, then break down the wheelchair.
“Are you hungry?” Lynn asked, once she was behind the wheel. “I know that hospital food was absolutely delicious, but maybe you’d like to show me where the good Cajun restaurants are. This is my first time in Louisiana.”
“Well, the best Cajun joints are in New Orleans, but I know somewhere we can get a good meal.”
“IT’S CALLED A PO’ BOY,” Chance explained, watching Lynn’s reaction as she took a bite of the shrimp sandwich. He’d taken her to Kelly’s Po Boy, a popular restaurant on Milam Street in Shreveport. A tiny stream of mayonnaise dribbled down Lynn’s chin and she quickly wiped it away with her napkin.
“I’m making such a mess,” she said, laughing. “But this is delicious—I’ve never had one of these before. Why is it called a po’ boy?”
“It’s short for poor boy. These used to be the cheapest way to get a solid meal. But the kicker is the bread—you’ve got to have that New Orleans French bread with the crunchy crust and light center.”
“I’ll remember that.” She took another bite of the sandwich, smiling again when more mayonnaise dribbled down her chin.
Chance had been suppressing the fact that Lynn physically resembled Nina, but watching how she now politely dabbed her mouth with her napkin in the same way that Nina did was a new shock to his senses.
“Is my messy eating just too much for you?” Lynn asked, sensing his discomfort.
Chance shook his head. “No. It’s not that at all. Nina used to do the same thing . . . I didn’t realize how much you . . . how much she . . .” He fiddled with the straw in his soda. “You think you’re going to be with one person for the rest of your life. I mean, I know how the divorce rates are climbing each year, but Nina and I . . . we were gonna be together forever.”
“Chance . . .”
“Hmm?”
“I want to say this right, but forgive me if I don’t. If you and I are still keeping in contact five years from now, will anything have changed? I don’t mean to take away anything from the love you have for Nina, but . . .” She left the question dangling.
“You’re asking if I’m ever going to be able to move on?”
Lynn nodded.
“I’d like to think that I would. If it had been me instead of her . . . I’d want her to continue living her life. I’d want the rest of her life to be happy.”
“What would it take to make you happy, Chance?”
“I don’t know,” he replied after a short pause.
“Love? A family? Money? Come on, there must be something that could make you happy.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never been one to want a lot out of life. That’s why what I had was so perfect—a wife, a house, land . . .” He looked at Lynn with a rueful expression. “I sometimes think I should’ve been born in the 1800s, because that was all a man needed then—a family and a place to hang his hat.”
“Do you ever think that you could love again? Couldn’t God give you someone else to share life’s experiences with?”
“I haven’t asked Him for someone else.” He fingered his straw again, concentrating his attention on his glass to avoid Lynn’s gaze. “Love is . . . an interesting thing. I can’t imagine loving someone the way I loved Nina.�
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“Nina will always be special to you, Chance. No one will ever deny you that.” She half shrugged. “Maybe I’m not understanding because I’ve never really had a strong love like that.”
Chance saw a way to shift the conversation. “No boyfriends? No fiancés? Surely a life’s calling to the gospel ministry isn’t the same as a nun taking a vow of chastity.”
“No, it certainly is not,” she replied, laughing. “I’ve dated a few guys, but no serious suitors. The brothers I dated were all nice, but nobody was particularly interested about doing the work of ministry, even though they were Christians. I guess that was sort of a turnoff for me.”
“Well, I’m sure God has somebody out there for you.”
“Preaching to the choir, Chance. Yes, that’s right.” She finished her po’ boy and looked at her watch. “Guess we should be going, huh? I want to get you back home, and maybe get some rest myself before going to the airport.”
Chance looked at his watch, too. “I think we have time to make one quick stop before you take me home. Do you mind?”
“Absolutely not. In fact, I’m getting kind of used to this chauffeur job.”
OAK GROVE CEMETERY was located near the town of Simsboro, a few miles west of Ruston on Highway 80. Chance could sense Lynn’s hesitance as she pulled the car up to the front gate.
“I’m not going to be long,” Chance began. “I haven’t been by in two years, and—”
“I understand, Chance,” Lynn cut in, resting her hand atop his. “No explanations needed.”
“Would you mind walking with me? It would help having someone . . . having you . . . walk with me.”
“Sure.”
The weather was pleasant, in the low eighties with a slight breeze, as they navigated carefully around the headstones. Chance led the way, limping slightly as he walked.
“If you get too tired, just let me know,” Lynn offered. “You can lean on my shoulder. Remember what Dr. Peterson said about resting for a few weeks—I don’t want you hurting yourself on the same day as your hospital release.”
“I’ll let you know,” Chance answered, his mind someplace else. The day of Nina’s funeral two years ago had been bitterly cold and rainy. The inclement weather had been no match for the brewing storm between Jucinda and Chance, however. She had argued against him even showing up at the funeral, since in her mind he was squarely to blame for Nina’s death. At the gravesite, he had sat as far from Jucinda as he could in the first row, although it was impossible to avoid the dagger-like glances she frequently shot at him. One week after her funeral, his exile from Ruston had begun with him taking the Greyhound bus to Vicksburg.
“Her grave is over there,” he now said, stepping around one final tombstone and pointing to a red sandstone marble marker with an ornate flower design etched along the corners.
Nina Reneé Howard, the tombstone read. You brought joy to all who knew you. Yours is a beautiful life that will be missed.
“It’s a beautiful stone and inscription,” Lynn said.
“It was what Jucinda wanted on it. I wanted to place my own special message on it, but she was having no part of that.”
“What would you have written on it? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Chance knelt down, eye level with the marker. “An angel from heaven, now returned home,” he whispered. He knelt there for a while, not even noticing Lynn silently retreat to give him some privacy.
The memories of Nina flooded his mind. Staying up every single night in Washington, D.C., that senior year Spring Break, excitedly discovering how much they had in common. Showing up with Nina at the senior prom, experiencing the unique pride of having the most beautiful girl in the room at your side. Going to the secluded brook behind his property for sunrise picnics and romantic skinny-dips. The rhapsodic sensation of making love to a wife as attuned to his needs as he was to hers. The way her belief in divine healing had forever changed his life. She had been his best friend, his lover, his soul mate, and his life partner. Only she’d left his life much too soon . . .
“Hey, baby,” he said, gently caressing the headstone with his fingertips. “I’ve been wanting to come back here so much, but I guess you know how crazy it’s been. I’ve tried to help your mother understand how . . . but I give up. I finally realize that I can’t help her. Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about her.”
His knees were beginning to hurt from being in a kneeling position for so long, so he took a seat on the grass next to her headstone.
“I can’t believe it’s already been two years. I mean, it just feels like yesterday when we were still waking up together. I remember how sometimes, when you woke up first, you would lie across from me and just watch me sleep. I never told you this, but a couple of times, I’d actually be awake, and through the slits of my eyes I would watch you watching me. I saw how you were praying over me and whispering aloud how much you loved me. That encouraged me so much, to know that you loved me like that.
“Everyone’s telling me that I’ve had my time to grieve, and now it’s time to move on with my life. But they weren’t riding on buses and trains for the last two years, hiding and sleeping outdoors like a fugitive trapped in my own worst nightmare. I couldn’t grieve over you, because I spent half the time defending myself against people who thought it was my fault you died.
“But I kept remembering the way you were looking at me that night in Lake Charles . . . how much you believed you were going to be healed the moment I laid hands on you. If anybody had faith for divine healing, it was you. And it was your faith that stirred me to get in the Word and discover for myself what God says about divine healing.
“I know that you’re in heaven right now, with no more cancer and no more pain. And I know you’ve seen how God has healed people through my hands, just like you said. You always . . . sensed what God had in store for my life, even when I couldn’t see it myself.”
With his hand, he traced the etched outline of her name in the marble, hoping this action would cause him to feel something. But that notion was hopelessly nostalgic—he felt only cold, hard rock.
“Good-bye, Nina,” he said, standing. “Love you . . . always.”
Chapter Fifty-one
IN ADDITION TO FIVE DAUNTING PILES of paper arranged neatly on her desk, fifteen voice mails and thirty e-mails awaited Lynn when she returned to Faith Community the next day. The papers were either outreach-related expense reports she needed to sign off on or proposals needing her approval or rejection. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve been able to delegate most of the paperwork during a scheduled vacation break. However, her time in Louisiana had been both unscheduled and, due to her hospital stay, prolonged. And most of the members of her team who might’ve otherwise handled her paperwork had been so inundated with healing crusade calls that the paperwork accumulated even faster.
She quickly went through the paperwork, multitasking duties by both listening to her voice mails and periodically scanning her e-mails. By midday, the stack of papers had been cut in half, and Lynn was ready for a break. She stretched her neck, her fingers, and her back and went down the hall to Sister Arlene’s office.
“You want to grab a bite to eat?” she asked, lightly knocking on the door. Arlene was always good company for a lunch break.
Arlene nodded, still looking at her computer screen. “Just give me a minute. I’m putting the last touches on the fall choral concert.”
“Take your time, girl. I’ve been drowning in paperwork all morning—it’s been a tremendous blessing what the Lord is doing with the outreach effort, but that means double the work for us.”
“Amen. But thank God for grace and the anointing.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lynn’s eyes fell upon a folded copy of the State lying on Arlene’s desk. “Is that yesterday’s paper?” she asked.
“Yes. Sister Lynn, that article with the mystery man’s statement was nothing but God. That reporter must have had a Damascus road experience, because th
is article was written for the glory of God.”
Lynn picked up the newspaper. Not only hadn’t she told anyone that Travis really had no choice but to write Chance’s statement verbatim, but she’d also been so busy that she hadn’t had time to read the article.
Travis had chronicled how he’d traveled to Louisiana and finally met the mystery man. He included a partial sidebar on Chance’s history, not going into detail about his wife’s death but explaining that her passing had sent Chance into a life on the road. During various stops in cities dotting the Deep South, he wrote, Chance apparently discovered God had given him a gift of healing. Travis ended the article with Chance’s unedited statement, which no doubt had now been read by the 100,000-plus subscribers, since it was on the front page.
Glory to God, Lynn thought, setting down the paper. A better outreach tool couldn’t have been created for any Christian in the area who was serious about evangelism and seeing the manifested power of God in this generation.
“Arlene, I’ll meet you in ten minutes out front,” she said, setting the paper back on the desk. “There’s something I need to do.”
Back at her desk, she quickly accessed the State’s Web site and searched for the advertising contacts. She’d have to run the idea through Pastor Gentry, of course, but they both shared the same aggressive, yet practical view of evangelism. After a powerful front-page story like that, Faith Community needed to be buying advertising space to maximize this opportunity. Lynn knew that it was just as the Bible said—“he who wins souls is wise.”
Her attitude concerning evangelism had always been based on a principle she felt most churches didn’t quite grasp. The masses don’t come to the church. It was the church’s commission to go to the masses.
CHANCE’S LOWER BACK beat like a slow drum, awakening him with a jolt and causing him to grit his teeth in pain. Grimacing, he made his way to the dresser and popped in one of the pain pills Dr. Peterson had prescribed for him. He washed it down with a glass of water, pondering the dilemma of being unable to get rid of his present physical condition, despite his healing gift.
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