From The Dead

by John Herrick

As much as he had enjoyed these reconnections with individuals of his past, Jesse wasn’t ready to show his face at a church service, despite his status as an employee there. He didn’t want to get absorbed in a crowd of random people. He’d lived most of his childhood behind glass walls, feeling like a caged orangutan on display. In his mind’s eye, he pictured glaring faces and could hear the whispers.

  The preacher’s son returned. There he is: the one standing alone.

  Truth be told, it wasn’t the risk of other people’s judgment he dreaded. Rather, something in Jesse wouldn’t let him show up at the building for a worship service. Coming home marked a step in the right direction, but he no longer felt at home. He was an outsider. He no longer belonged.

  And he would be a hypocrite. After all, if anyone knew the mistakes he’d made in his life, he assumed he would be scorned. He called to mind ancient cultures, where people like Jesse were taken away and maybe even stoned. People like him were outcasts, pictures of shame.

  The gleaming church people could bask in God’s acceptance. But when he evaluated his own life, Jesse was sure he had lost God’s acceptance years ago. Watching them worship would serve as a painful reminder of his spiritual solitude.

  He didn’t need these folks to remind him of his own faults. He was well aware.

  CHAPTER 30

  When Jesse walked into Chuck’s office two days later, he found his father already at work on the computer. From a small CD player on a bookshelf, the soft praise music of an acoustic guitar ushered forth and brought a soothing ambience to the air.

  “Nowhere you’d rather be on a Monday morning, huh?” his dad jested.

  “Sorry about yesterday.”

  “What happened yesterday?”

  “I probably should’ve come to church.”

  Chuck dropped his fingers from the keyboard. “Hold on a minute,” he said. He came around and sat on top of the desk. Chuck’s eyes spoke of sincerity as he concentrated on his son. “Why are you apologizing?”

  His father appeared confused. Jesse furrowed his eyebrows. “I figured it was kind of expected for me to show up.” He paused. “Wasn’t it?”

  “No,” his father replied as though he couldn’t comprehend what Jesse had suggested. But he snapped out of it and patted Jesse’s shoulder. “Come on, I want to reintroduce you to somebody.”

  With few people at the large building this early in the morning, they walked unnoticed through a series of halls. At the opposite end of the church, they turned into a corridor and knocked on an open door labeled: “Maintenance.”

  Beneath the fluorescent lighting that stretched above, a hefty man sat hunched over, his back to the door, while he attached a bit to an electric drill. When he heard the knock, the man spun around on his wheeled stool and peered through a pair of bifocals.

  Chuck spoke first. “Your assistant showed up, the poor dude.”

  From where he sat, the maintenance man scrutinized Jesse through beady eyes before a glint appeared in them. Then a wave of surprise washed over the man’s face. “Jesse, is that you?”

  Had he not caught himself, Jesse would have done a double-take himself. “Mel?! You’re still here?”

  “Where’d you dig up this guy, Reverend?” Mel abandoned his wide view to meet Jesse and Chuck in the corridor.

  Hands on his hips, Chuck said, “Don’t ask me. The poor sap came searching for Mel, begging for the chance to work with our veteran staff member.” Chuck winked. “You know me, always aiming to please.”

  A man Jesse had known since late childhood, Mel had aged a bit over the years, but the process had treated him favorably. His forehead boasted more crinkles but nothing severe. The last time Jesse saw him, the man had dark hair, which had now retreated to a frosty white. It must shine against a summer tan, Jesse figured.

  “Look at you!” Mel let out his trademark high-pitched laugh. “I can’t believe you’re the surly little fella who hid in the bushes one day and shot me in the rear end with a paintball gun!”

  Jesse snickered as he recalled similar memories. He had caused this man more than his share of stress. But with the chunks of time Jesse had spent at this building each week, Mel had become the kid’s prank buddy.

  Mel shook his head. “Couldn’t believe the innocent little preacher’s kid could inflict such misery. I had a welt for days after that incident. Do you know how long it takes an old man to heal?”

  “Oh, buck it up, Mel!” Chuck quipped. “You were only fifty years old at the most.” On his way out the door, he added, “Can I trust this place not to implode once the two of you team up?”

  “Depends on if Mel’s figured out what he’s doing yet,” Jesse replied.

  “Come on, buddy,” said the maintenance man. He wrapped his arm around Jesse’s shoulder and handed him a pair of pewter-gray coveralls. “I feel inspired by that paintball incident. I think I know the perfect spot to start your work today.”

  * * *

  Seated on the floor in a restroom, a rubber-gloved Jesse scrubbed the fourth toilet in a row of five. Mel had disappeared to tackle repair work outside. Located in the wing where Sunday school and evening classes were held, the restroom’s vicinity was quiet during the day.

  Engaged in what might be the most disgusting job available, Jesse had to grin. The task offered no resemblance to the life he’d lived the past eleven years, and for that reason alone he found it appealing. Granted, a maintenance job wasn’t one he would circle in the want ads. Even without practical experience, he was confident he could locate a job that featured tasks less monotonous or mundane.

  But amid the tile and porcelain, Jesse sensed that, somehow, what he did right now would help somebody else. As a boy, Jesse’s dad had explained to him that, although many people described a church as a building, such a notion was inaccurate. The church, his father said, is composed of people—and those people could represent it in a positive manner or an embarrassing one. Every Christian was critical, the preacher had told him.

  His father was a kindhearted soul—which is why it frustrated Jesse not to let go of the anger he’d kindled toward the man.

  Jesse remembered the calls his dad received at home from a church member in distress, while other members pulled him aside after church to talk about an alarming doctor’s report or a recent victory. Chuck had a way with people, a unique ability to discern where you dwelt on an emotional and mental level, and could relate to you at your point of need. Rather than act like a spiritual guru, Pastor Chuck responded to each individual like a friend, leaned in to ensure every syllable would be heard. Like Eden, Jesse never saw his father judge anyone; Chuck met them where they were at in their lives. And from that point, however high or low, Chuck would try to help that person.

  Comfort. Understanding. Hope. That’s what he ministered to people.

  Maybe Chuck drew on the hurt he experienced when Jesse’s mother died more than twenty years ago.

  But Chuck didn’t take credit for the help he brought, even when the community sought to bestow it on him. Throughout Jesse’s childhood, his father had stressed the role of a minister; he’d ingrained it into Jesse’s brain as he reminded his son over and over: “When people get helped, it doesn’t boil down to me. It boils down to the person who greeted that individual at the door on their first visit; the person who vacuumed the floors earlier that week; the person who gave an extra ten bucks in the offering plate that covered the electric bill for that particular church service. Those people impacted the visitor before I ever got up to preach. That visitor decided whether they’ll come back before they ever laid eyes on me,” his father had said. “I have the privilege of serving as that person’s minister, but you can trace it to those church members’ acts of service.”

  There it was. That’s why Jesse felt content to scrub a toilet today.

  For the first time in many years, Jesse thought about someone besides himself.

  He hadn’t seen Caitlyn or Drew in three days, and now he missed them. At
the thought of his son, Jesse couldn’t help but smile. He sensed a rush in his veins. But however incredible his reunion with his son, it paled in comparison to the in-the-flesh miracle that occurred when he looked into the face of a child whose genes were half his own. Jesse felt awestruck.

  Maybe he would stop by their home that evening.

  CHAPTER 31

  After dinner that evening, Jesse decided to take his chances and show up at Caitlyn’s house unexpected. When they had dated, she’d loved surprises. True, their hearts, once knit together, had grown apart; but if Caitlyn remained the same girl deep down, she might respond well to his overture. At the same time, he realized he would need to earn her trust, to convince Caitlyn that the Jesse who hadn’t wanted a baby could make a permanent commitment to Drew’s life.

  As Jesse approached the house, he found Drew outside, where the boy shot a basketball at the hoop attached to the garage. Drew didn’t run and dribble the ball; instead, he walked around with it, bounced it a couple of times before he took his shot. Based on the kid’s lack of technique, it was clear Drew possessed limited experience.

  Because the ball deflected from the rim with a loud shudder, Drew didn’t hear Jesse approach. Jesse picked up the ball when it rolled down the driveway. Drew noticed a figure approach him, squinted in the post-dinner sunset and, at last, recognized Jesse.

  “Hey, Drew-man.” Jesse lobbed him the ball. “You’re into basketball?”

  Drew responded with a smile. “Not much. I try, but it makes me tired. So I don’t do it often.” Again he dribbled the ball, took a shot, and watched it deflect from the rim. Drew snatched the ball on rebound. “I’m not too good at it anyway.”

  “Here, let me give you a tip,” Jesse held his hands out to catch the ball, which Drew tossed his way. Then Jesse took position opposite the basket. “Plant your feet and keep your head up, equal distance between your feet.” Then he held the ball above his head. “Now, when you’re ready to take your shot, try to keep your body in a straight line: your hand, your arm, elbow, knee, and foot. See?” he said as he demonstrated the technique.

  Jesse handed the ball to his son, who then emulated the stance.

  Drew made a stiff attempt to imitate Jesse. “Like this?”

  “Good job. You’re almost there: Your hands are in good shape, but see those elbows? If they point out sideways, it’ll hurt the path of the ball. So point them toward the basket.” He nodded as Drew followed directions. “Now lean your arm back a tad, so your elbows are angled to the hoop more than your wrists are. Yeah, there you go.”

  At the sound of a familiar male voice, Caitlyn wandered out of the house and across the lawn. She stopped at the edge of the driveway unnoticed since the guys, engrossed in their activity, didn’t hear her approach. She watched but didn’t interrupt their moment of bonding. Instead, Caitlyn crossed her arms casually to enjoy this image of her son, aided by his father for the first time in his life.

  “Ready?” Drew asked.

  “Go for it,” Jesse urged.

  The swish of a basketball as it sinks through a net: a quiet event—but in this setting, it sounded forth like a trumpet. Drew’s face gleamed. Jesse let out a shout.

  “You made it, Drew-man!”

  After a congratulatory high-five, Jesse watched Drew pump his fist with wide-eyed excitement.

  Then Drew turned around and discovered another witness. “Mom, wasn’t that awesome?”

  Caitlyn giggled. She approached Drew and hugged him close to her. “No other word to describe it. You’ve tried to figure that out for so long. Did Jesse give you some tips?”

  Drew nodded. “How’d you know all that?” he asked Jesse. “Did you play?”

  Nervous at the reminder of the past, Jesse twitched when he caught Caitlyn’s gaze. Their eyes communicated, words abandoned. Jesse returned to Drew’s question. “I played a bit in high school.”

  “Jesse’s modest,” Caitlyn piped in. “He was good at it.”

  “You two knew each other back then? Did you go to school together?”

  “No …” she said. Aware they had slipped up, Jesse locked eyes with Caitlyn again. Her gaze grew pointed, as if to instruct Jesse not to give an answer while she calculated damage control that was true, yet vague.

  “Then how’d you see him play?”

  “We met at one of his games when he played at my school.” Before Drew could ask further questions, she faked a slap on her arm. “Honey, I think the mosquitoes are coming out. Why don’t you go in and finish your homework?”

  “Can I show Jesse my room?”

  Caitlyn sighed. “Fine, go ahead. Make sure he doesn’t stumble over anything on the floor.” She followed a few steps behind, which allowed Jesse and Drew more time to connect. But still she kept an eye on the nuances between the father and his son.

  Inside his bedroom, Drew led Jesse through the highlights, which included a Scouting award he had earned a few years back, some action figures arranged on a small desk, and his backpack. And a picture of Drew and his mom. Not a father in sight.

  They ended with a tour of the posters that hung on the wall. Thankful none of them depicted scenes from a movie, Jesse listened while Drew commented on what he liked about each one.

  Finally, Caitlyn cut in. “All right, finish your homework. It’s eight o’clock.”

  “Mom, not while Jesse’s here!”

  “Don’t argue with me,” Caitlyn responded with a firm tone.

  Though he lacked eagerness for his homework, Drew relented. He zipped his backpack open at the desk and muttered as he retrieved a textbook. At first Jesse felt it awkward to behold their tug-of-war; then again, he figured, Drew and Caitlyn must have their share of headaches like any other parent and child.

  Caitlyn and Jesse headed into the kitchen, where she asked, “Was I too tough on him?”

  “With the homework? Didn’t seem like it.”

  Caitlyn released a slow exhale. “Sometimes I have no idea where the balance is,” she said.

  “Are you serious? You’re a good mom to him.”

  “Yeah, well, I have my doubts. Half the time, I make my best guess and then hope I don’t regret it later.”

  Caitlyn started to rinse dishes in the sink and load them into the dishwasher. She shot Jesse a look of frustration. “I keep telling him to put these in the dishwasher when he’s finished with them, but you know boys.” She grinned.

  “Want me to help?”

  She shook her head and peered through the open window. “I started rinsing these before, but then I heard two voices in the driveway.”

  “I should have called first.”

  “I suppose I don’t mind.”

  Jesse watched her a second as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Here, let me take care of that for you,” he insisted. Jesse retrieved the plate from her and went to work while she wiped down the counter. He sneaked a glance at her again. She wore a black cable-knit top, which contrasted like salt and pepper with her fair skin and hair. A remnant of lipstick remained on her mouth. “Tired?” he asked.

  “A long day. You?”

  “Truth?”

  She stopped and crossed her arms. “Truth.”

  “I scrubbed toilets today.”

  Caitlyn burst out with a laugh, and then waved it off. “Why? Did you cause undue harm?”

  Jesse loved to see her laugh. He remembered that well. “I’m working for my dad for the time being. Maintenance at the church.”

  “I didn’t know you’re handy with tools.”

  “Do I look like Mr. Fix-it? At least I’ll figure out what those gigantic wrenches are used for.”

  Caitlyn chuckled more. As he finished the last dish, she caught a second glimpse of Jesse’s cheek, the same cheek against which she used to cuddle her head. Then she wiped around the sink and rinsed the dishrag.

  Jesse wanted to linger here, to prolong this simple moment. He sensed a mutual desire in Caitlyn as well. A piece of Jesse still missed Caitlyn�
��and that piece took pleasure in her presence tonight. This person who stood beside him wasn’t a blind date or a little-known acquaintance. They knew—or once knew—each other.

  Caitlyn studied him again, the concentration in his face.

  When he closed the dishwasher and pivoted toward her, she darted her face away.

  “What you did for Drew tonight was sweet,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jesse replied, then added, “He mentioned he gets tired when he runs with the ball.”

  “Lately he’s gotten worn out much sooner. It makes me wonder, but it doesn’t happen often enough to have it checked out.” She paused. “He’s a lot like you. He’s introspective, internalizes his emotions. Worries about his mom and won’t let me convince him not to. He’s approaching middle-school age, so the tiredness could be suppressed stress taking its toll.”

  Jesse turned and stared at Caitlyn’s face, searched, tried to find something unspoken.

  Caitlyn ran her fingers through her hair and looked away at a random point, as though she struggled with whether to speak. Then her eyes met his again. “He needs a male influence in his life. And I can’t give him that.” She wrung her hands. Her voice softened further. “I’ll let you take him out for an afternoon, maybe a Sunday, but only if Drew is comfortable with the idea.”

  Warmth spread like an afterglow across Jesse’s chest.

  Caitlyn locked eyes with his. “But I’m trusting you with him. So help me, if you get him in one inch of trouble—”

  Jesse reached out and touched her arm. “I’ll take care of him.” He leaned in. “I promise.”

  Caitlyn didn’t brush his hand away from her arm. From her reaction, or lack thereof, to his touch, Jesse supposed she hadn’t been touched by a man in years.

  And this touch, the delicate stroke of his thumb on her bicep, just above her elbow—it wasn’t sensual, but rather a hand of support. She had raised her son alone and must have forgotten how such a gesture felt. With his tranquil breathing and the calm composure in his hand, Jesse communicated compassion.