The Pages of Her Life

by James L. Rubart

  “At that moment the fingers of a man’s hand appeared and began writing on the plaster of the king’s palace wall next to the lampstand. As the king watched the hand that was writing, his face turned pale, and his thoughts so terrified him that his hip joints shook and his knees knocked together. The king called out to bring in the mediums, Chaldeans, and astrologers. He said to these wise men of Babylon, ‘Whoever reads this inscription and gives me its interpretation will be clothed in purple, have a gold chain around his neck, and have the third highest position in the kingdom.’ So all the king’s wise men came in, but none could read the inscription or make its interpretation known to him. Then King Belshazzar became even more terrified, his face turned pale, and his nobles were bewildered.

  “Because of the outcry of the king and his nobles, the queen came to the banquet hall. ‘May the king live forever,’ she said. ‘Don’t let your thoughts terrify you or your face be pale. There is a man in your kingdom who has the spirit of the holy gods in him. In the days of your predecessor he was found to have insight, intelligence, and wisdom like the wisdom of the gods. Your predecessor, King Nebuchadnezzar, appointed him chief of the diviners, mediums, Chaldeans, and astrologers. Your own predecessor, the king, did this because Daniel, the one the king named Belteshazzar, was found to have an extraordinary spirit, knowledge and perception, and the ability to interpret dreams, explain riddles, and solve problems. Therefore, summon Daniel, and he will give the interpretation.’

  “Then Daniel was brought before the king. The king said to him, ‘Are you Daniel, one of the Judean exiles that my predecessor the king brought from Judah? I’ve heard that you have the spirit of the gods in you, and that you have insight, intelligence, and extraordinary wisdom. Now the wise men and mediums were brought before me to read this inscription and make its interpretation known to me, but they could not give its interpretation. However, I have heard about you that you can give interpretations and solve problems. Therefore, if you can read this inscription and give me its interpretation, you will be clothed in purple, have a gold chain around your neck, and have the third highest position in the kingdom.’

  “Then Daniel answered the king, ‘You may keep your gifts, and give your rewards to someone else; however, I will read the inscription for the king and make the interpretation known to him. Your Majesty, the Most High God gave sovereignty, greatness, glory, and majesty to your predecessor Nebuchadnezzar. Because of the greatness He gave him, all peoples, nations, and languages were terrified and fearful of him. He killed anyone he wanted and kept alive anyone he wanted; he exalted anyone he wanted and humbled anyone he wanted. But when his heart was exalted and his spirit became arrogant, he was deposed from his royal throne and his glory was taken from him. He was driven away from people, his mind was like an animal’s, he lived with the wild donkeys, he was fed grass like cattle, and his body was drenched with dew from the sky until he acknowledged that the Most High God is ruler over the kingdom of men and sets anyone He wants over it.

  “‘But you his successor, Belshazzar, have not humbled your heart, even though you knew all this. Instead, you have exalted yourself against the Lord of heaven. The vessels from His house were brought to you, and as you and your nobles, wives, and concubines drank wine from them, you praised the gods made of silver and gold, bronze, iron, wood, and stone, which do not see or hear or understand. But you have not glorified the God who holds your life-breath in His hand and who controls the whole course of your life. Therefore, He sent the hand, and this writing was inscribed.

  “‘This is the writing that was inscribed:

  “‘MENE, MENE, TEKEL, PARSIN.

  “‘This is the interpretation of the message:

  “‘MENE means that God has numbered the days of your kingdom and brought it to an end.

  “‘TEKEL means that you have been weighed in the balance and found deficient.

  “‘PERES means that your kingdom has been divided and given to the Medes and Persians.’

  “Then Belshazzar gave an order, and they clothed Daniel in purple, placed a gold chain around his neck, and issued a proclamation concerning him that he should be the third ruler in the kingdom.

  “That very night Belshazzar the king of the Chaldeans was killed.”

  Allison’s mom set her phone down and gave a satisfied nod. Allison shook her head. “Are you saying God wrote in that journal? That he wrote the poem? That he’s trying to tell me something? Like I’m going to die?”

  Her heart rate spiked.

  “No, not that part, just the writing part.”

  “So the writing in that journal came from God.”

  “Do you have a better explanation?”

  “Sure. There’re a million things that could explain it.” Her mind scrambled for ideas and didn’t land on any inspired enlightenment. Highly unlikely someone sneaked into the house and erased Alister’s information, then sneaked in again and wrote down her name and address. The invisible ink theory was laughable, and unless some angel— Oh boy, she’d returned to God in two quick steps.

  “God writing in there? That’s crazy. God doesn’t do things like that anymore.”

  “God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. If he did it thousands of years ago, why couldn’t he do it today?”

  “I’m not sure I believe he did it thousands of years ago.”

  “Maybe not.” Her mom patted Allison’s leg. “But is there a better answer?”

  Her mom’s words made a memory pop into Allison’s mind. A philosophy class from college where the professor had lectured on Occam’s razor.

  “For each accepted explanation of a phenomenon, there may be an extremely large, perhaps even incomprehensible, number of possible and more complex alternatives. However, the simplest answer tends to be the correct one,” the professor had said.

  Allison stared at her mom. “If you’re right, what do I do now?”

  “If that really is God’s hand, then apparently it’s your journal now. So I think you should do what you always do with journals. I think you should write in it.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “I don’t think you have to know at this point. Just think about it. Pray about it. Then decide. For now, just be open to the idea.”

  Her mom had always been able to make things simple.

  Allison extended her arm and mouthed the word Okay.

  Her mom set the journal in Allison’s palm as if it were a butterfly’s wing and gave a little smile. Allison opened it and looked at her name and address, then read the poem again.

  Who we are, and truly are,

  A matter of perception.

  Choose the truth, and find yourself,

  Step through the veiled deception.

  Know it from the inside out,

  Not from the outside in.

  Though fear and trepidation wait,

  It’s time that you begin.

  Allison peered at the writing. From a black pen. A strange style, with the edges of each letter bleeding onto the page as if the paper had soaked up too much ink.

  The words were written in a thin, flowing script. An artist’s penmanship. The words intrigued her. Even more, she was captured by the feelings they stirred inside her. Scared. Excited. And more than those, a sense the poem was written for her.

  “My journal, huh?”

  “For now apparently.”

  “But why me?” She closed it and rubbed the supple leather. Stared at the Tree of Life tooled into the cover. Imagined herself taking a pen to the journal’s thick, creamy pages.

  “Why not you, sweetie?”

  “I don’t know, Mom.”

  “Do what you do with journals. Get it out. Whatever’s inside you.”

  She turned the first page and ran her finger down the blank paper. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.

  fourteen

  ALLISON WOKE THE NEXT MORNING long before the sun would crest the horizon, with an image of the journal filling her mind. She gritted
her teeth. Couldn’t she get a few moments to wake up first without thoughts of the journal crowding her brain? Her mom would say it was God trying to talk to her. She wasn’t so sure. Allison shuffled past the den and glanced at the journal, which sat in the middle of her desk. She shouldn’t have glanced. Her mom’s words about writing in it flooded back in, and she had to make a conscious choice to push on toward the kitchen.

  What was wrong with her? Why was the idea of writing in the journal so hard for her? Because it was someone else’s. Not a compelling argument, because apparently it was hers now, decreed by the very hand of God. How about because she liked her old journal better, and she always finished filling out an old journal before she started writing in a new one?

  Lame. If God really was part of this journal, how could she turn down his invitation? The real reason came from the little voice inside. The one that told her if she went down this path, there was no coming back. That if she took pen to paper she would have to face things about herself she didn’t want to face. Truths a little voice said she’d be crushed under. Truths she couldn’t handle. And that, of course, was where the little voice inside made a mistake. Because as much as the idea frightened her, the part of her that refused to back down from a challenge was a fraction more persuasive.

  After fixing herself coffee, toast, and two scrambled eggs, she went to the den, got the journal, then moved into the family room, where she snuggled up in an ultrasoft throw with a snowflake pattern she’d bought for herself last Christmas. She glanced at her watch. Almost five thirty. Had to get in the shower and get ready for work. Had to beat everyone in. Had to keep building her case for getting the partnership finalized soon. There was no time to write in the journal now. Tonight, however, she might, probably would, but certainly not until she took one more shot at finding Alister. But how? A Google search hadn’t shown her anything useful.

  Allison arrived at the office at six sixteen—she even beat Linda in—and had made it through a complex set of drawings and was about to start another when Derrek knocked on her office door. Allison glanced at her watch. A few minutes past nine.

  “Good morning, Allison.”

  “Hi, Derrek.”

  “I trust your weekend was refreshing.”

  “It was all right, thanks.” She gave him a smile she hoped looked sincere. “Yours?”

  “Fine, fine.” Derrek chuckled as if he’d just recalled a joke.

  “Good.”

  “Do you have a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wanted to commiserate with you in regard to the Thompson project. I think it wise to set a target date for completing the first set of drawings.”

  “I finished them a minute and a half before you walked in here.”

  “Really.” Derrek glanced up as if counting the days in his mind. “That was extremely rapid.”

  Allison pushed back from her desk as the scent of cinnamon rolls floated through her door. She glanced around Derrek and spotted Ellie scooting around her reception desk with a box of Cinnabons in her hands.

  “Thanks. It came together well, I think.”

  She had worked on the project over the weekend and put far more hours into it than she’d meant to, but it was a way to solidify her position and show Derrek her worth.

  Derrek stepped inside her office, shut the door halfway, and lowered his voice.

  “Have you called him yet, Mr. Thompson, told him the drawings have been completed?”

  “No, not yet.” Allison pointed to her laptop. “Like I said, I just finished them. He did send an email about ten minutes ago asking how they’re coming along, and I just started a reply. Do you think I should call him instead to let him know we’re finished?”

  Derrek reached over and eased her door closed.

  “That course of action might not hold the maximum long-term benefit for us.”

  “What are you saying? I should call, or I should email?”

  “Neither. I’m saying do not call and don’t email. Not yet. At least not to tell him we’re finished.”

  “Why would I put it off?”

  “Let’s think through this, shall we?” Derrek stepped up to her desk and leaned against it.

  “If you provide him the drawings this quickly, it will train him to expect this level of response every time. That is not to our advantage. This time we finished early. What happens next time when it takes longer, due to unforeseen impediments?”

  Allison frowned. “If we give him a timeline and something out of our control happens, we call and explain it. He’s a reasonable man. He wouldn’t be upset.”

  “Possibly.” Derrek glanced behind him. “But unfortunately, after the initial conversation, he would only remember that we didn’t deliver as efficiently as the time before, which could cause him to doubt our acumen. We have an opportunity to build in a cushion here for a time in the future when we might perhaps need it.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell him you’re working on it but have hit a number of complications that will take time to work through. But they are only minor delays, and we don’t see anything on the horizon that would prevent us from being finished in three or four days.”

  Allison stared at Derrek and gave a tiny shake of her head.

  “In other words, you want me to lie to him?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Derrek chuckled and glanced at the closed door of Allison’s office again. “That’s not what I’m suggesting in the least.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “We tell the truth, of course. We say we’ve been working diligently on the project, that we are confident the drawings are going to be to his liking. That we are going through our five-phase process to make sure we have met all of his requirements. And that we will deliver them at the end of the week at the latest. None of that is a lie. It is all truth, and yet at the same time we take advantage of the opportunity to—”

  “It’s still a lie, Derrek.”

  “Let me ask you a critical question.” Derrek moved toward the door and placed his hand on the knob but didn’t open it. “Have you gone through the five-phase review process yet?”

  “What five-phase review process? We’ve never talked about—”

  “It’s a process we do on all projects. Apparently I haven’t gone over it with you yet.”

  “No, you haven’t, but that doesn’t change the fact I’ve finished the drawings and—”

  “If you’ve finished the drawings, then you’re through with the first part of the project. But since you haven’t gone through the five-phase review, then obviously you aren’t prepared to show them to Mr. Thompson yet. Are you?”

  “Using that logic, no.”

  “Good, good. I’m pleased that we’re in agreement.” A wide grin. “I’ll cover the review process with you in the next day or two; then, when you’ve completed it, you can send out the drawings.”

  Allison stared at him, any coherent response gone from her mind. What could she say? You’re full of air so hot it would scorch the sun. She’d never heard of a five-phase review process till this moment, yet she’d had multiple projects go out the door. But this wasn’t the time to press the issue. After the partnership was sealed? Then she’d confront the man who had spin-doctoring mastered.

  Allison made it to The Vogue by six o’clock and was thankful to find Mike and Janice, the owners, both in the shop. Marque could probably explain to them why Allison wanted to put up little flyers asking Alister to contact her, but it was better coming from her.

  She was three sentences into her request when Mike held up a hand and she stopped. “Can’t do it,” he said.

  “You have a policy against customers putting up flyers in the shop?”

  “It’s not that,” Janice said and offered her a tender smile. “It’s that you don’t need to.”

  Allison’s heart skipped. “You know who he is?”

  “Nope. Neither of us has any idea,” Mike said as he wi
ped coffee grounds off the counter. “But we do have something to give you.”

  Janice went to the shelf on the wall behind the counter and plucked up a small square envelope. She handed it to Mike.

  Mike said, “The other day he comes in and hands the journal to me. Says it’s yours.”

  Now Mike’s note made sense. Apparently this is yours.

  “And then, after I take the journal, he gives you that note,” Allison said as she pointed at the envelope in Mike’s hand.

  “Yes.”

  Mike leaned his tall frame down, elbows on the counter. “Guy says his name is Alister, describes you, says when you come in next time to give you this.” He handed the envelope to her.

  “What else?” Allison glanced back and forth between them. “Who is he? Did he give you any way I can reach him?”

  “Nope,” Mike said, stood tall, and shuffled off.

  “I did ask this Alister fellow who he was and why he’d given you the journal.” Janice patted Allison’s hand. “But he just smiled and asked if we could make sure you got the envelope. He was in and out in less than a minute.”

  Allison turned the envelope over in her hands. Nothing on either side.

  “Thanks.” She slid it into her back pocket. “If he comes in again . . .”

  “I sure will.”

  She waited till she got inside her car, then pulled the envelope from her pocket and tore it open. Before she slid the thick paper out, Allison asked God for the note to provide answers. God must not have been listening. Allison stared at the words till her eyes blurred.

  Write in the journal. It truly is yours now. Write. Not for me. For you. Just write.

  There was nothing else on the card. Fine. Tonight she would log her first entry.

  fifteen

  ALLISON TIPTOED PAST HER MOM’S bedroom, listening for the soft snoring that proved she was asleep. Yes. There it was. Now she felt free to write in the journal. This was not a moment to be interrupted, and if her mom spotted her writing in the journal, there would be a flurry of questions and suggestions.