Had I been too rash in coming? Was I only here for Rachel? I had no idea how my father would respond to the meeting. I wasn’t even sure how I’d respond. Elyse had said that he wanted to see me, but why? Was he regretful and trying to make amends? Or was this one of those cliché cases where the parent returns after their child makes it big? What if he asked me for money? Or a kidney? You can see why I didn’t want to think about it.
Peculiarly, Rachel didn’t bring it up either, though I think she might have sensed my reticence and was waiting for me to broach the subject. After a while she went for a swim, first dipping her feet into the water, then sliding in off the edge. The pool was about four feet deep, shallow enough for her to stand and talk to me.
“This is perfect. Come in.”
I smiled at her. “I’m good.”
“I know you’re good. Come in.”
“I can’t. I just ate. You shouldn’t swim for at least a half hour after you eat.”
“That’s a myth. If you cramp up, I’ll save you. I promise.”
I grinned. “All right. I’ve run out of excuses. But don’t look as I take off my shirt. The glare might blind you.”
“I have been warned,” she said.
I took off my shirt and got in the pool. She was right, the water did feel great. Rachel leaned back against the side of the pool, resting her arms on the cement ledge. “Do you remember what we were talking about this morning, at breakfast?”
“You mean . . .” I hesitated bringing it up. “How you were acting last night.”
She frowned. “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”
“I didn’t. I thought you were.”
“I won’t ever bring that up.”
“All right, so what were we talking about?”
“We were talking about that ‘Boy Named Sue’ song. And I asked ‘Why do we always take the hard way?’ ”
“I remember.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. And I think I figured out why. It’s because we don’t believe that we’re worthy of happiness. Or love.” She looked me in the eyes, then said, “At least, that’s what I was thinking.”
“I understand that,” I said. “I’ve always believed that we don’t choose the life we want. We choose the life we think we deserve. We self-sabotage as a way to punish ourselves.”
“Why would we punish ourselves?” Rachel asked. “Doesn’t the world punish us enough?”
I frowned. “Why wouldn’t we? We live in a world that’s always making us work for love. It’s cause and effect. That’s the story of my childhood. If I can be good enough, maybe my mother will love me.
“The problem is, somewhere along the way you figure out that you can’t ever be good enough. It finally just got to be too much for me. You hit this point where you just want to scream, ‘Love me for who I am or get out of my life.’
“I think that’s why I was never interested in religion. Everyone I talked to about religion basically said I’d have to work really hard to earn God’s love. I spent half my life working just to get my mother’s love and it didn’t work.
“Some would give me this explanation that we were really just finding our way back to God. The way I see it, it’s like this: Would you take a kid, drop him off in the middle of China, then say, ‘I’m going to disappear now. It’s your job to find your way back to me. There will be thousands of people giving you different directions and different maps and you’ll never really know if the one you choose is right. But if you screw up, you can’t come back home.’ I know what it is to be kicked out of your home by the ones you love and not know why. If that’s God, an omnipotent version of my mother, I want no part of him.”
Rachel looked at me thoughtfully. “I told you that my parents were really strict. They’re highly legalistic in their approach to God. In their minds, God is like a cosmic traffic cop. For every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. If you make a mistake, you must be punished. Which is why they’ve always been highly punitive. I can’t tell you how many times they beat me. What made it worse is they would express their love to me as they did it. It was pretty messed up.”
“Your parents beat you?”
“Frequently. And with holy intent, sometimes even quoting the Bible as they did. Proverbs thirteen twenty-four: ‘He who withholds his rod hates his son.’ Proverbs twenty-three fourteen: ‘Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from Sheol.’ They got it all in writing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too. But the thing is, I think Proverbs was just King Solomon’s parenting style. And wise or not, his son, Rehoboam, who took his place, was a vicious, cruel leader whom everyone hated and was almost killed by his own people. So what Solomon indirectly was saying was, ‘My parenting advice stinks, and if you want a kid like mine, raise him the way I did.’ ”
I laughed. “How do you know so much about the Bible?”
“My family studied the Bible every day before school.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “They made me. So at first I just accepted their twist on everything. Then, as I got older, I realized that they were adding their own interpretations and personalities to their teachings, so I started studying not to please them but to figure out the truth of what was written in the Bible. I started asking questions.”
“How did that go?”
“They saw it as rebellion. Like most people, they were more interested in protecting their beliefs than learning the truth. I kept seeing these contradictions in what I read and what they believed. When I was sixteen I asked them what grace meant, and my father said, ‘Grace means that after you do everything you can possibly do, then, and only then, is God’s grace sufficient to save you.’ I walked away despairing. I thought, That’s impossible. No one can do all they can do. Because you can always pray for one more second or give one more dollar to the poor or read one more word in the Bible. You can always do more. And everyone screws up sometime and that alone means you haven’t done all you could have done.”
She breathed out in exasperation. “I’ve seen people spend their entire lives chasing their spiritual tails and end up nothing but exhausted. People who believe in a traffic-cop God end up either full of shame or full of delusional self-righteousness. I think that sums up my parents. Both of those things. If you were to ask them if they were good, they would say no. But if you were to ask them if they were sinners, they would be offended.
“The hard part is that even though you know it’s not right, once that mind-set is programmed into you, good luck getting it out. Because it feels like you are constantly rebelling against what’s right even if you know it’s not right.” She squinted at me. “Am I making any sense?”
I nodded. “More than I’ve heard in a long time,” I said. “And you’re making an absentee father sound better and better.”
“It’s not better. It’s just different. It’s like saying which is better, abuse or neglect. Like you said, they’re both forms of abuse. It’s just that one is passive.”
I thought over her comment, then looked down at my watch. “Speaking of neglect, it’s past five. We better go.”
We climbed out of the pool, dried ourselves off, and walked back to our suite. I changed back into my clothes in the bathroom while Rachel did the same in the master bedroom.
Preparing to see my father, I had one of those “first day at school” moments where I wondered what I should wear. I told myself that it didn’t matter and put on a T-shirt and khaki shorts and tennis shoes with no socks and went out to get my car. If he didn’t want to see me in a T-shirt, why would he want to see me in an Armani jacket?
The valet brought up my car and handed me the keys. “Have a good evening.”
“Thank you.”
I had already opened the door for Rachel, and she climbed in next to me.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“No. Are you?”
; “Nope. Let’s go.”
I smiled. I loved this woman’s spirit.
CHAPTER
Nineteen
July 23, 1986
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow is the 24th—that’s Pioneer Day here in Utah. We’re all going to the Salt Lake County Fair and a rodeo. I’m very excited about that. I haven’t been out much. We have rodeos up in Logan. They’re always fun to watch. My stomach just keeps growing. I have some pain down my leg. Mrs. Churcher says that it’s my sciatic nerve and is no big deal. It will go away. I’m glad for that. Having a baby is a big commitment. Not something you think about when some boy is taking your clothes off. I wonder if I’ll ever see Peter again or what I’ll say to him if I do. It will probably never happen. That’s okay—I have a boyfriend. His name is Jacob, and he loves me more than any boy has ever loved a girl. He told me so.
Noel
I programmed my father’s address into my phone and Rachel and I set off.
The drive from Scottsdale to Mesa took us only twenty-five minutes. Fortunately it was a Saturday; otherwise we would have hit rush-hour traffic. We drove south on the 101 to US 60, where we drove east to the South Gilbert Road exit, then north on Gilbert to Broadway. There we turned east, driving a short distance to Twenty-Fifth Street and then south a block to Calypso Avenue and my father’s neighborhood.
It was a simple, middle-class suburb with smallish homes. I found the address painted in black and white on the curb. Number 2412.
The home was one of the older ones—a bland, chiffon-yellow stucco rambler with a two-car garage and a terra-cotta tiled roof. The front yard was austere, landscaped all in red lava rock with a small cactus garden in the center. Near the home’s front door was a large clay pot with a small lemon tree, which looked slightly at odds with the Christmas wreath hanging on the door. I pulled the car up to the curb.
“That’s the place,” I said.
“It looks nice,” Rachel said. “Simple.”
I glanced over at her. “What do you think? Ready to meet this guy?”
“I don’t think I should go with you. I will if you want me to, but it’s a big moment. Me being there might just confuse things.”
I thought for a moment, then said, “You’re probably right. If things go well, I’ll come get you.”
“Good luck,” she said. “I’ll say a prayer for you.”
I got out of the car and walked up to the door, looking for any sign of life. There was a folded copy of the Arizona Republic newspaper on the front porch near the door.
I rang the doorbell and a dog inside the house started barking. A small dog with a yappy bark.
I heard footsteps and the door opened. A woman, tall and thin with slightly graying hair, opened the door. She had kind eyes.
“May I help you?” she asked gently.
“I’m here to see Scott Churcher.”
“Scott’s not here right now. May I help you?”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
She looked at me for a moment, then said, “You’re Jacob.”
I looked at her quizzically. “How did you know?”
“You look like Scott. Will you come in?”
“Thank you, but I have someone in the car. When do you expect him?”
“He’s in Tucson today, but he’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“I’ll let him know that you came by. What time should I tell him you’ll be here?”
“What time do you expect him back?”
“Three. But if he knows you’re here, he’ll be back earlier.”
“Three is fine,” I said. “I’ll come back then.”
“Would you like to leave your phone number?”
“No.”
“All right,” she said kindly. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I started to turn, she said, “Jacob.”
I turned back. “Yes?”
“Thank you for coming by. He’ll be very happy to see you.”
I nodded slightly, then went back to the car.
CHAPTER
Twenty
July 30, 1986
Dear Diary,
I didn’t get to go to the rodeo. It wasn’t the Churchers’ fault. My father called and asked if they were going anywhere for the 24th. When Scott told him we were going to the rodeo, my dad said I must not go, since they knew a lot of people were going there from Logan. I don’t think my parents really care about me. All they care about is how they look to the neighbors they go to church with. I once read this in the Bible—something like, they are like sepulchres, white and shiny on the outside but filled with dead men’s bones. That’s my parents, all right. Their life is a lie. I would rather live an honest life than an admired lie. Besides, no one ever is really happy for people who are having only good things happen. They resent them because behind their own masks they are hurting too.
I spend a lot of time snuggling with little Jacob. He’s my buddy. I love Charles too, but he’s not close to me the way Jacob is. He used to like it when I read to him, but now he just reads to himself. I think he resents me because he wants his mother, and since I came she hasn’t given the boys much attention. I think maybe she was tired before and is now enjoying her freedom. My mother sent me a letter. I haven’t opened it.
Noel
I climbed back into the car. Rachel looked at me with anticipation. “Was he there?”
“No. He’s in Tucson. He gets back tomorrow afternoon.”
“Are we coming back?”
I started the car. “Yes.” I pulled away from the curb, eager to leave the house. I didn’t speak, and about five minutes later Rachel asked, “Are you okay?”
I just looked ahead. “I don’t know.”
“Are we going back to the hotel?”
I glanced over at her. “Yes. Unless there’s someplace else you’d like to go.”
“No. Would you like to go for a walk when we get back?”
I didn’t answer immediately. “We’ll see.”
Twenty minutes later we pulled into the resort. The valet opened the door for Rachel as I got out. I handed him the keys.
“It’s such a nice night,” Rachel said. “How about that walk?”
“Are you trying to keep me busy?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I turned to the valet, who was just about to get in my car. “Where’s a good place to hike?”
“There’s a good trail to Camelback, but you’re a little too late for that for tonight. This trail right here leads around the property and past the cactus garden. It’s a nice walk.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“If you do Camelback, be sure to take a lot of water with you.”
“Thank you.”
We walked up on the trail, which led us down to the main resort. The path was beautiful and along it were myriad species of cacti and large magenta hedges of bougainvillea. The foliage was pretty but most of it was prickly, which reminded me of many of the women I had dated recently.
Rachel was a little quiet, no doubt because I was. We walked about fifty yards in silence before she asked again, “Are you okay?”
I looked down. “I’m not sure what I am. I’m sorry, I guess I’m spinning out a little.”
“It’s okay. I can’t imagine how hard this must be.”
We kept walking. We were near the golf course when Rachel’s phone rang. “I’m sorry, I forgot to turn it off.” She looked at the screen, then answered it. “Hi.”
A male voice began shouting. I couldn’t make out the words, just the angry, nasal tone of the assault.
“I’m sorry, I . . .” Shouting. “I forgot . . . I’m sorry . . .” Shouting. “I’m really sorry.” More shouting. Her eyes began to well up. “I know. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Another burst. “I—I—” Gasp. “I’m sorry, he wasn’t there. I’m sorry.” The voice settled some. “Okay. I’ll try. Call me later. I love you too. By
e.”
She hung up the phone, then turned away from me. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m sorry . . .”
“You don’t need to say you’re sorry to me.”
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. It was like she had been so conditioned to apologize for herself that she couldn’t do otherwise.
“Do you know how many times you just told him you were sorry?”
She suddenly looked angry. “Why? Were you counting?”
I just looked at her. “I wasn’t insulting you. I just wanted to point out . . .” I sighed. “Is that how he always talks to you?”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s not respectful. It’s not a healthy way to have a relationship.”
“You’re giving me relationship advice now? How’s all that wisdom working for you?”
Her words stung. I just looked at her, momentarily dumbstruck. Then I breathed out. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.” I turned to walk away.
I had taken a dozen steps when she called after me. “Jacob.”
I turned back. She walked up to me.
There were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She put her arms around me. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean that. I’m just upset.”
After a moment I said, “All right. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
She wiped her eyes. “I need some time alone.”
I looked at her, then nodded. “I’ll be back in the room.” I reached in my pocket and brought out a plastic keycard. “Here’s the key. Be safe.” I leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. Then I turned and walked back down the path toward the hotel.
I was still hurting when I got back to the suite. What she said had pierced. The truth always hurts, right? But my pain wasn’t just from her attack. I was angry at Rachel’s fiancé. And I was angry at her for allowing herself to be treated so poorly.
As I thought it over, I realized I was also angry at myself. I was angry because I was falling for her. I was falling for a woman who was engaged to another man. No, I wasn’t falling. I had fallen. I had already hit the water. I was drenched.
The Noel Diary Page 11