Unlikely Praise
Page 12
“Yeah?”
“Who told you I said your tattoos were demonic?”
He rubbed his other hand across his forehead as though a migraine had just slammed into him. “Listen, Candi, I shouldn’t have said that. I made it sound harsher than it was.”
“Who said it?”
“Kevin implied it.”
“Kevin?” She would wring his scrawny little neck. “What do you mean he implied it?”
“It was nothing. Just guy talk. They were admiring my ink and there was a passing comment that you most likely didn’t approve.”
She scrolled though all the tattoo-related conversations she’d had. Yes, she’d talked to Pastor Charles. She’d never talked to Kevin. Had he overheard? Or had her obvious distaste for his choice in body art been too transparent? The thought turned her stomach.
“Don’t ever take Kevin too seriously, Shade. We can’t exchange Secret Santa with him because he snoops around and blabs everything. I promise I never said such a thing to him.”
“But you did say it to someone.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw your face when I said it. It’s what you’ve been thinking.”
“I’m not gonna lie. I’ve had some problems with those tattoos. I struggle with whether those images are appropriate for worship. And let’s be real, you couldn’t work in a restaurant with those things. They’d make you cover them up. I have a hard time figuring out how much mercy to extend to protect your feelings and at the same time not inhibit someone’s ability to worship with us.”
“I respect that. I’ll keep them covered. You should have just told me.”
“It’s not that simple. I have to be sure what God wants. Maybe He wants us all to learn to be tolerant and not focus on what’s on the outside. Maybe we have to learn to look past some thi—”
“Now who needs to let something go?”
“Excuse me?”
“Let it go, Candi. Even I realize it’s a flaming skull and a lizard with an evil smirk. How ‘bout I keep them covered on Sunday, but we won’t worry about it at the youth service?”
“Deal,” she said and held out her hand before snapping it back. “Sorry. A handshake would hurt.”
“Deal,” he agreed. “And I promise not to tell anyone your bark is a lot worse than your bite.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that anyone who agonizes about whose feelings they might hurt is not really the tough-guy she makes herself out to be.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said and shivered.
“It’s getting late. Let me drive you back to your car.”
He turned the key and nothing happened.
“That’s not good.”
“Nah, that was just the first try. It always takes at least three. Especially when it’s wet.”
She glanced through the windshield toward the sky. “Doesn’t seem to be letting up, either.”
After seven persistent tries and no less than three words of prayer, the Del Rio Destroyer came to life. Shade backed out of the space and traveled the short distance to her car.
She pulled up her hood and clutched the door handle. “We’ll talk more about this soon, all right?”
He nodded.
“Thanks again for telling me,” she continued, “and I’m sorry about all that earlier. I feel—”
“Yeah, I know. Me, too. Forget it.” He pushed open his door.
“No, don’t get out. You’ll get wet. I’m fine.”
He ignored the request and followed her to her door. His truck rumbled and spat beside them. Smoke billowed from the tailpipe and curled into the streaming overhead light.
“As long as you’re here,” she said, “I do have one question for you.”
“What’s that?”
Her bottom lip quivered from the cold. “Do you have any more big secrets?”
It was meant to be an easy question. A clever way to end the evening and find out if there were more great revelations to come. His panicked look and sudden discomfort alarmed her. She’d inadvertently opened a whole new can of worms when she hadn’t expected anything.
His expression softened. He looked relieved, as though he’d solved a problem. “I do,” he admitted and smiled. “But it’s a good secret.”
Oh, she was the clever one. So brilliant that now she would lie awake all night and contemplate his next big disclosure. Way to go.
He leaned in to open her door for her. “Be careful.”
“You, too.” She paused to meet his gaze. The way he looked at her launched her stomach’s resident butterflies into an abnormal flight pattern. She understood anxiety, fear, and uncertainty, but it was something different that had their tiny wings beating mercilessly inside her.
She was drawn to Shade. Drawn to his steady faith, drawn to his strength, drawn to his brokenness.
And she and her thundering herd of butterflies had no idea how to resist the magnetic force.
She moved closer, intending to give him a quick hug. “I’m proud of you, Shade,” she said and wrapped her arms around him. “You’ve come a long way.”
She would have stepped back except she hadn’t counted on him hugging her back. She settled her cheek against his warm chest in the spot below his chin where she fit perfectly and all fluttering creatures came to rest.
“What about you?” he whispered.
“What about me?”
“Do you have any secrets?”
Yes, yes, yes... I have a thousand things to share...
“No,” she lied, and oh, how those wings did flap.
8
From: Pastor Charles Littleton
[mailto:pastorcharles@crnrstone-chrch.org]
Sent: Tuesday, April 28 1:06 PM
To: Candi Canaberry
CC: Shade Blackledge
Subject: Music Festival at the College
Candi:
I just got an e-mail blast reminder about the Sounds of Texas Music Festival next month at the college. I’m assuming the band will go. Can you get us on the program or does Ms. Mattie have to fill out all this paperwork and submit it? Let me know. I’ll have the guy who makes our banners make some new ones about the youth service. This is a great opportunity for promotion.
Charles
Candi blew through the sanctuary before practice and dropped her music in a pew. She headed for the church office in hopes she could catch Pastor Charles before he left.
She spotted him through the glass doors of the main office. When he saw her, he made a comical “frightened” face and pretended to run away like some sort of spastic mime.
She pulled open the door and let it fall against her shoulder. “Very funny. Is your clown car running out back so you can just jump in and let the bear in a tutu drive you home?”
“No, but that would be cool.”
“I only need a minute.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” he said and extended his arm toward his office, “but c’mon in.”
She went in first and waited for him to enter to close the door.
He paused before he sat down. “Looks serious,” he said and motioned toward her usual chair. “What’s on your mind?”
His tender question was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. “My father’s getting out of jail.”
Pastor Charles wilted into his seat.
“When?”
“Not sure.” She leaned forward to take a tissue off his desk. “His lawyer sent a courtesy letter-bomb via snail mail saying a release was in the works and my dad is selling the house. I don’t know what all the procedures are, but this means he and his lawyer know where I am. I guess he could walk right up to my front door at any time.”
“And you’ve had no contact with him since he went to prison.”
“Humph. I’ve had no contact with him since he first came under suspicion for felony fraud.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve said in the past you’d never seen someone more grief-stricken and distraught than he was when she died.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m wondering. I realize your dad committed a crime, but I think it’s odd you bailed on him as soon as trouble came knocking.”
“What do you mean?”
“By your own admission, you left home as soon as there was a suspicion of criminal wrongdoing. There hadn’t been an arrest yet, and you’d already decided he was guilty.”
“He was guilty.”
“But you didn’t know that then. You severed a relationship with the only person you had left in this world based only on accusations. What if he’d been innocent?”
“He wasn’t.”
“He could have been.”
“But he wasn’t.” She squeezed the tissue into a tiny ball. “Look, Pastor, I know he was guilty. I may have been young, but I knew things didn’t add up. He had money, but he didn’t have regular successful clients. He spent a lot of time haunting clubs for talent, but none of those bands ever achieved what I heard him promise them in our living room. He lied to first one hopeful musician then another. They never had a chance. He used his clients against each other in competition for work and recording contracts. One time he bought studio time for one band and sold it to another at twice the price. What kind of person does that? It’s like stealing from the food bank or a toy drive or something. There are no depths to his money-grubbing cruelty.”
Pastor Charles leaned forward. “I know you can’t change the past, but my point is, you’re holding in a lot of anger over something you never discussed with him. Perhaps he could have made some things right with you.”
She left her chair, grabbed another tissue, and headed for the window. “In what universe could he have ever made any of what he did right? There’s nothing he could say that could explain away his crimes.”
“Of course not, but you’ve put yourself through a lot of misery trying to deny he even exists. That man is the only father you’ve got, and your relationship wasn’t all bad. You owe it to yourself to at least find a peaceful coexistence.”
“All I know is the minute my mother was in the ground, the truth about his business practices started to come to light. I didn’t care to stick around and cheer him on in some courtroom. My whole life with my parents was about music. Everything good and beautiful I know about it is because of my mother. And everything he had to do with it turned to garbage. I don’t want to coexist with that.”
Pastor Charles picked up a blue and green ball from his desk and gave it a squeeze. “What if prison changed him? What if he’s, as they say, a new man?”
“Leopards don’t change their spots.”
He continued to work the ball in his hands. “That’s the theory you’re going to stick with?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“How so?”
“Candi, our entire faith journey is based on the principal that God sent His only Son to die for our sins. The ultimate price was paid so our spots could not only change, but be completely obliterated by the blood of Christ and so we could be reborn without spot or blemish and live a redeemed life. Are you saying God did not extend that courtesy to your father and that you are not obligated to offer forgiveness as Christ did for you?”
She narrowed her gaze. “Are you sure there’s not a tiny red car full of firefighting clowns out back waiting for you?”
He tossed the ball back onto his desk. “I know your father let you down. I know he shattered the dreams of many people. I know he committed crimes. But because of your Christian walk and the strength of your faith, you rose above all that. So when your father comes looking for you—as I’m sure he will—try to find a way to make peace, because I’ll tell you something, God can’t fully use you when you’re carrying around a grudge that big.”
He stood and pushed his chair under his desk. “We can talk about this some more, but you better scram. You’ll be late for practice, and my clown car awaits.”
When he was right, he was right. She hated it when he was so right.
“I’m going,” she said. “By the way, got your e-mail, and we’ll discuss the music festival tonight.”
He flipped off his desk lamp and followed her to the door. “How’s it going with Shade?”
Hmm...she could tell him about the heated click track discussion, or maybe the fishing hole. Perhaps he’d like to hear about the parking lot rumble.
“He’s doing well,” she said and dropped her gaze to the floor.
“I saw that,” he said and grinned.
“Saw what?”
“You almost smiled. I believe that scruffy rocker is growing on you,” he teased.
She ignored him and headed for the sanctuary. “‘Bye, Pastor.”
“Hey, how does that work, anyway?”
She knew she would regret it, but she stopped and turned. “How does what work?”
“Under the Leopard Spot Thesis in the Gospel According to Candi, how does that work for Shade? He appears to have made some changes for the better. Is it your belief those aren’t real? Are his true spots lurking just below the surface?”
This game was getting old. Especially since it was clear the pastor had always known a whole lot more about Shade than she did.
“On the contrary,” she began. “I believe the Shade I’ve been getting to know is the original. The spots I see are the true ones.”
“Aaahhh...” He rocked on his heels and shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Nicely played.”
“I learned from the best. Can I go now? Or do you want to do this some more?”
“Aw, go on.”
She walked away with a satisfied grin. She never totally got the best of Pastor Charles in one of their debates, but that was pretty close.
Her celebration came to an abrupt halt when she entered the sanctuary. While the rest of the band readied themselves for practice, Kevin stood at her keyboard with his laptop perched precariously on his right forearm. He was wildly punching buttons with his left hand.
“Kevin!” She rushed toward the front. It had taken her months to set her keyboard exactly the way she wanted. There were soft effects for communion music, bright tones for the big openers, and an assortment of pre-programmed intros for various songs. She even kept a back-up disc.
“Chillax, Candi,” he said as he unhooked his computer. “I only downloaded a bundle of clips to one of your open spots. See?” He pointed to the selector and scrolled until he came to a digital number ten. “This was empty. Now it’s called Classic Clips. They’re about thirty seconds to a minute each and are assigned to the bass notes when you want to use them.”
“The suspense is killing me. What exactly do you consider a classic clip?”
“I know,” Max interjected, “the SpongeBob Squarepants theme song?”
The others, all who had all stopped what they were doing to listen to their conversation, started laughing.
She glanced over her shoulder and caught Shade watching her. As he smiled and nodded, the butterfly wrecking ball that had pounded her insides last night picked up where it left off.
Kevin put his laptop on a chair and came back to explain further. “You know how Pastor Charles says he’d sometimes like to add some drama to his sermons?”
“Yeah, I think it will take more than a classic clip,” Kelly grumped and they all laughed again.
“Anyway,” Kevin continued, “let’s say he’s preaching about Daniel in the lion’s den. You could play him this.”
Kevin touched the low F and the familiar strains of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” filled the air.
“Or this for a Jonah and the whale, or a Noah’s ark sermon.”
This time when
he pressed the C, the rousing Gilligan’s Island theme song came out.
Candi stepped back. “Tell you what, Kevin. You tell the pastor all about it. And if he wants to use them, you can put it together for him, OK?”
“Sure.”
“But, in the future, please don’t add anything to the keyboard without asking first. And make sure I’m at my original settings to start practice.”
“Sure thing, Candi. There’s also the Miami Vice song and a couple that sounded western...uh...Bonanza and Gunsmoke or something like that.”
“Tell him about those,” Rocky insisted. “I know he likes those.”
“Is the theme from the Olympics on there?” Carol Ann wanted to know. “Or that song they play at the beginning of an NFL game?”
Max snickered. “You mean the National Anthem?”
Carol Ann playfully slapped him upside the head. “No, I don’t mean the National Anthem, ya goof. I’m just saying he loves sports metaphors almost as much as he loves westerns.”
Bill came in the side door with a wave and headed for the sound booth.
“Hey, Bill,” Candi said. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“Thought I’d better come by and check some levels. When I was here this morning for the men’s prayer breakfast I noticed some of our settings had been moved. Kids must’ve messed with them.”
That happened all the time.
“No worries, Bill, and guess what? In the new building your sound booth has a door. And it locks.”
“I know.” He rested his hand across his big belly as he laughed. “I designed it myself.”
“Since you’re here, c’mon up and pray with us.”
“Be right there.”
Candi turned her attention back to the group to find the conversation had deteriorated into their weekly round of needling jokes.
“Hey, Max,” Kevin said. “What do you call someone who hangs out with musicians?”
Rocky snorted. “I know this one. A drummer, right?”
Kevin howled like a howler monkey and tossed out another one. “How do you make a bass player’s eyes light up?”
“Oh, let me guess,” Carol Ann said with no interest whatsoever. “Shine a light in his ear?”