Kicking Eternity

by Ann Lee Miller

  He should pray for Rainey. Maybe she was having that spiritual conversation with Cal she wanted to have. Please let that be the case. Okay, so that wasn’t the kind of prayer he should be praying. He was sitting smack dab in the middle of limbo—not in a relationship and not free to be interested in Rainey or any other girl—where he’d been for years. Before it hadn’t mattered. Did it matter now?

  Rainey thought enough about his music to order him to write it down. Had Samantha believed in him like that? Sam had been his world for a semester, yet he couldn’t remember ever singing in front of her. How did something that was such a huge part of his life not get woven into their relationship? Maybe after all this time he didn’t remember.

  The point was, Rainey’s compliment had drummed on his heart all week. There wasn’t much else in his life, except God, that was more important to him than music. And Rainey had chosen that one thing to encourage.

  Time had washed so much of Sam away. He remembered dumb stuff, like how the inside of her purse looked like a landfill; how her long, thin fingers laced with his like they were created for each other; that she liked Ranch on her fries and how she could beat him on the ropes course at Daytona State.

  What did he know about Rainey? She was flat out for God and had a whacked brother.

  #

  Cal stared at Raine across her classroom. She stood in shadow, beyond the russet sunset flooding through the windows. Why did she shut him down whenever he went looking for her?

  He’d been attracted to her the first night at the opening staff meeting, or he wouldn’t have spoken to her. But there was so much more to Raine than a pretty face with ‘Bible teacher’ stamped across her forehead. She was all about crawling under his skin.

  “I can’t let myself care about you, Cal. We don’t believe the same things.” The words sounded like they’d been drug through gravel.

  “You’re worried about the missionary-and-the-heathen thing.” He stood up and flipped his chair under the table. He could see her tense as he came closer.

  He stopped eye to eye with her. “I’m talking about friendship.”

  He watched her cheeks pink. She looked away and back at him. “As long as you understand that’s all it will be.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips and back to her eyes. “Perfectly.” Her rejection felt like a slap across his face. He put one shoulder through the doorway where Raine stood. Enough of this.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.” Her breath warmed his cheek.

  He stopped and turned toward her.

  “You’re entitled to your beliefs. It’s just that—” She looked down at her fingers clenched on the straps of her bag. “—I’ve always wanted to be a missionary. You wouldn’t be happy with my goals.”

  “You’re digging yourself in deeper. I’m not good enough for you. Leave it at that.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “I flunked out of college.”

  Raine’s pupils nearly eclipsed the jade of her eyes.

  “Yeah, I have twelve whole credits—all in art. I have no significant job history, an artist’s temperament. And I’m not spiritual enough for you.”

  “You’re plenty spiritual. You read Phil Jackson’s Sacred Hoops that brings Zen Buddhism and native American religion to bear on basketball. You know Daoism—”

  “Wait! You read Sacred Hoops?”

  A hint of a smile curved her lips. “It goes fast when you leave out all the references to basketball.”

  He shook his head. She read Sacred Hoops because he mentioned it in conversation.

  “This week I’m studying Zen Buddhism. Next week, Islam. By the way, enlightenment through reading the Bible is a lot easier than doing zazen.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?” Now he was the one uncomfortable standing inches apart in the doorway. But he didn’t move.

  “You were right. I need an education on the religions my students will be coming from.”

  “Buddhism and Native American religions?”

  “Those are to understand you.” The words came out fast, like she spoke before she thought.

  “Going to a lot of trouble for someone you don’t want a relationship with.”

  Raine’s breath caught. She looked away from him, over his shoulder toward the lodge door.

  Even after waving his failures in her face, she was interested. All of a sudden he was caught by the burnt orange light dousing the tables and chairs, the deep shadows in the aisles, and how the light bathed Raine with color and shadow. He wanted to paint her here like this. He wanted to capture this moment when he discovered she cared about him—even when she didn’t want to.

  “Raine.” He waited till she brought her eyes back to his. “Let me help you with the rest of the paper crèches. You weren’t finished with them, were you?”

  She smiled guiltily. “Just started.”

  Chapter 7

  Raine pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes swept across the Canteen porch to the pines lining the dirt road. She warily studied her father, sitting next to her on the bench. His last dye job—an exercise in the ridiculous Mom insisted on—had grown out a couple of inches, the familiar white stripe making him look like a skunk.

  She was tired of fending off all his questions about Eddie. “Thanks for stopping by, Dad.” Maybe he would get the hint and leave.

  “That reminds me. I brought your mail.” He pulled envelopes out of his back pocket and handed them to her. “You’ve got one there from the Passport Office. You didn’t tell me you were applying for a passport.”

  She could hear him exhale. Funny how you could hear displeasure in the way a person breathed.

  She ripped off the end of the offending envelope. The dark blue booklet slid into her hand. She flipped it open to her grainy image, ran a finger over the United States seal, and breathed in the newness. She’d never been out of the state of Florida.

  “When I was a little girl, Mom used to read me story after story about missionaries. When I was in second grade, I decided I wanted to be a missionary. In third grade, I decided to go to Africa. It’s not like you haven’t had time to adjust to the idea.”

  “You don’t take a eight-year-old’s decision as gospel.”

  “But my desire to go to Africa has only gotten stronger over the years. You watched The Invisible Children documentary. How could you not be moved?”

  “Raine, it’s not safe for an unmarried woman to go to Uganda. You could get raped or killed.”

  “That could happen here.”

  “Uganda is at war.” His voice was tight.

  “Somebody has to take care of the children.” She saw Drew look up from buying a soda at the snack bar window.

  Her father shook his head, disappointment radiating from him like the wintergreen scent of his breath mint.

  She dropped her feet down to the floor. “Don’t you want me to do what God is telling me in my heart to do?”

  Her father’s jaw clenched the way she’d seen it clench a thousand times. “God put me in authority over you. That didn’t end when you turned twenty-one. It ends when you marry.”

  Honor your father flashed through her mind, and she bit down on the words she wanted to say. Great. She’d ask every guy she knew if he wanted to go to Africa, then marry the first one who said ‘yes.’ She was sick to death of her father dictating her life. Africa wasn’t far enough away. She counted to ten, backwards. Then went into negative numbers.

  Her father stood. “Keep that in mind.”

  She bit on the inside of her cheek to keep from stomping her foot and yelling at him like she was twelve.

  Dad walked across the Canteen porch. He stopped and turned back toward her. “See you on Sunday.” It was a command, not an invitation.

  Raine stared at him, stone-faced until he turned and went down the steps. She watched his shoulders move along the side of the porch and out into the parking lot thinking all the words she wanted to scream at him.


  Drew dropped onto the bench where her father had been sitting, and she ignored him. He scooted a few inches away. “You look like you’re ready to blow.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Will you marry me and move to Africa?”

  Drew’s eyes popped open wide, his brows arching. “I’ve gotten some whopping hints dropped on me, but nobody’s actually proposed!” He grinned at her, entirely too pleased at her outburst.

  Her shoulders sagged. “Forget it. My dad makes me so mad. Just once, I wish I could tell him exactly what I think.”

  Drew slouched against the back of the bench and popped the tab on his grape soda. “I think you’d regret it like Meg Ryan did in You’ve Got Mail.”

  She stared into his eyes as if she could discover the truth in them. “Maybe you’re right.” And then the play by play of her conversation with her father tumbled out.

  Drew tilted his head back and shook out the last of his bag of Cheez-its into his mouth. He brushed the crumbs off his fingers.

  “I’m getting my shots, applying for a Ugandan visa, and writing to the mission agency to see when my contract is coming.” She slapped her passport into Drew’s palm. “I’m going to Africa, Drew, no matter what my dad says.”

  He thumbed through her passport. “Nice picture.”

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  Drew handed her the passport. “Nope.” He took a long drink of his soda, crushed the can and fired it into the waste can across the porch. “Nice shot,” he congratulated himself.

  “Some friend you are. You won’t sympathize, give me advice.” She threw her hands up in the air.

  “Five minutes ago I was almost your fiancé.”

  “Are you ever serious?”

  Drew stood. “I have my moments.”

  She looked at him, incredulous. She’d dumped her heart out on the Canteen floor, and Drew was going to walk away. Something in her chest hurt.

  Drew’s face sobered. “You’re still too mad to listen to advice. I don’t know what I’d say, anyway. I’m going to go pray about this. Maybe I’ll have something to say by the time you cool off. As for sympathy—” He pulled his pockets inside out, and dropped a misshapen piece of Double Bubble into her hand.

  She watched Drew lope across the athletic field. The sugary flavor of the gum filled her senses.

  #

  Early evening sun and humidity wrapped around Raine like a sweater. She wiped the moisture from her neck with her hand. Around the gazebo, birds twittered in the oleanders. She filled in another box in her lesson plan.

  Her head popped up like it had for the past half hour at regular intervals. Even to herself, she hated to admit she was looking for Cal. He usually surfed after supper. He should be headed back to camp anytime now.

  The orange and green tip of his board came around the bend in the road first. Then, she saw Cal. Golden sun sparkled on droplets of water caught in his hair. He carried his surfboard under one arm, his biceps bulging under the weight. His T-shirt was wet in splotches like he’d put it on without drying off first.

  Cal looked up, shot her a wide smile—almost like he guessed she was waiting for him—and swerved toward her. Her pulse sped up another notch.

  He nestled the end of his board, fin up, in the sand and leaned it against a post in the gazebo. The leg cord dangled loose at its side, like her feelings for Cal.

  “The kids call this Suck Face Gazebo.” Cal sat on the railing and hoisted his feet over the top onto the bench beside her.

  “I’ve never seen anyone kiss in the gazebo.”

  Cal nailed her with a look. “Stick around.”

  She tugged her gaze away from him. Cal was flirting with her. Why? What changed the day he helped her cut out crèches?

  “You know, Raine, I’m not the heathen you think I am.” He leaned toward her, elbows on his knees.

  “Oh?” She eyed him steadily.

  “Seriously, I’ve still got a foot in Christianity—”

  “Like your painting.”

  Cal stared at the white oleander blooms. “Yeah.” He looked back at her. “Don’t you ever have doubts?”

  “Can’t afford doubts.” She closed her notebook and set it on the bench. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t want to tell Cal about Eddie.

  “You just sucked in everything your parents said like a blowfish filling up with air.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe.”

  “Then tell me why you don’t doubt.” Cal’s intensity funneled through his gaze like a laser into her soul.

  She could smell the scent of the sea off his skin. She looked down at his thick toes on the bench beside her. She needed an answer Cal could stand on. Lord?

  “Because God has proven Himself to me.”

  “Like how?”

  “He comforts me, tells me what to do if I ask Him,” she said.

  Cal lifted his snowy brows in question.

  “I get an impression of what He wants me to do.”

  “And everything works out peachy, as my grandma would say.”

  She flinched at his sarcasm. “Sometimes.”

  “Don’t you wonder whether you got it right—your impression?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you try to do whatever God says,” Cal said, “a slave groveling at her Master’s feet— like they’ve tried to beat into my head all my life.”

  “More like lover-beloved.”

  “Come again?”

  “Ever read Song of Solomon?” she asked.

  Cal cracked a wicked grin. “In junior high when we were supposed to be reading Matthew.” He sobered. “You’re saying the lover talk between Solomon and his wife represents God’s relationship with a person? Kinky.”

  “Lovers aren’t limited to sex. Haven’t you ever had moments out on a wave that overwhelm you? Dew on a leaf, light catching a child’s face? You feel touched somehow. Loved.”

  Cal was quiet, staring at his hands that hung limply between his knees. He looked down at her. “Score one for the missionary.”

  Something turned over inside her.

  “Why is faith easy for you when it’s been a royal battle for me?”

  “Faith is a choice I made.”

  “According to Christianity, if you don’t choose God, you’re going to hell. What’s the use of having a choice if we have to choose God?”

  “Would you want a woman to love you because she had no choice, or because she chose you?”

  Cal caught her eye, his face inches from hers. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m talking about God.”

  Cal’s blue gaze bored into her. “What do you choose?”

  “I just told you.”

  Cal stood and leaned toward her, a hand on the railing on either side of her. “What if I chose you?” His face was inches from hers; his breath fanned her cheek. “Me with one foot stuck in Christianity like a bear trap? What would you choose?”

  The shallow puffs of her breath were loud in the silence between them. His eyes bore into hers, challenging everything she believed. Her gaze dropped to his full lips, back to his eyes.

  Give me strength.

  “God.”

  Her hoarse whisper hung in the night air.

  Cal straightened. “All our conversations go in circles.” His voice was tinged with disgust and something she couldn’t name. He reached for his board and hefted it onto his shoulder. “Enjoy your choice, Raine.” He walked down the road, his sandals scuffing against the dirt road.

  Oh God. Her heart cartwheeled after Cal and she couldn’t stop it.

  Was this what Jesus felt when Satan offered him all the kingdoms of the world?

  #

  Drew walked into camp, Rainey at his side. Beads of moisture still blanketed the grass and the gazebo. The smell of bacon wafted from the dining hall. “Lord, I pray for Rainey’s conflict with her father. Show her if there is something underneath the issue that’s fueling their disagreement.” />
  “Wait!” Rainey stopped in the middle of the road. “One of Cal’s paintings popped into my head. I think God just answered your prayer. I misinterpreted something in the painting. Come see what I mean.” She motioned with her head for him to follow her into the Lodge.

  They stood in front of the painting for several minutes without saying anything. Art wasn’t his thing, but he could wait out Rainey until she told him how the painting affected her.

  “That could be Dad.” She pointed at the man. “The kid who is almost free of his shadow is Eddie. Last time I looked at the painting I saw the rest of us kids still bowed down under the weight of Dad’s shadow. For sure, I didn’t want to get out the way Eddie has.”

  “What about your father is making you hunch over?”

  “I thought he wanted to micro manage every aspect of my life. But you made me think about the underlying cause.”

  Drew rubbed his chin and felt the stubble. He needed to shave before breakfast.

  Rainey stared hard at the picture as if it would tell her the answer. “Dad and I were close before Eddie got into drugs. I remember always being grateful he was a teacher and was home more with me than other kids’ dads, even homeschooled kids. But when I became Eddie’s secret keeper, I had to shut off from Dad or he’d be able to tell something was going on.”

  She looked at Drew. “Why don’t you come with me on Sunday for lunch with the folks? Maybe if you’re there, I’ll remember to work on improving my relationship with Dad. And maybe he won’t bring up Africa and set me off.”

  “I’ve never been known to turn down a home-cooked meal!”

  “Good.” Rainey turned her attention back to the painting.

  Drew watched her study the picture. Yeah, he wanted to meet the folks—because he and Rainey were friends, as she made perfectly clear. The traditional reason was a long shot, but a mighty sweet one. Her proposal, never far from the surface, popped into his mind.

  “Dad plays the guilt card. ‘A good daughter wouldn’t ask to live on campus,’ and ‘think how it would hurt your mother and me if you went to the other side of the globe.’“