Beyond the Farthest Star

by Bodie Thoene

  “I understand, Maurene, that if we fail in Leonard, there will be no other offers to pastor. So sorry if I don’t get excited about the poem’s Poe-esque use of imagery and its fierce sense of—”

  “Honest! It’s honest! It’s how she feels, Adam!”

  “It’s only the same old mess starting over again.”

  “You really don’t understand, do you? How could you not?”

  The jarring sound of the chair scraping back was a reflection of his emotion. “I understand, Maurene! I found her, remember? And since, I’ve tried to connect … to make her feel …”

  “Like your daughter?”

  “But our lives have to go on, and I will not be respectfully asked to step down from a third pastorate in five years over another one of her tantrums. Not this time. Not now!”

  “Now that CNN is sending satellite trucks to Leonard, you mean?”

  Adam fell silent, waiting.

  Maurene pleaded. “We’d still have each other, Adam.”

  The sound of his footsteps retreated, then halted.

  She continued. “Even if you were a floor greeter at Bigmart, we’d still—”

  “My father didn’t raise me to be a floor greeter. Sorry if you don’t, and never have, understood that.”

  Anne slipped out of the house and onto the porch. From the shadows she watched her parents through the floral curtains. Adam grabbed his briefcase and charged off toward his study while Maurene collapsed onto a chair.

  So much for the Norman Rockwell happy-family moment.

  Anne turned away and walked slowly down the driveway just as Stephen’s pickup rolled to a stop under the giant inflatable Santa.

  “Hey!” Stephen hollered.

  Anne slipped into the pickup, then spotted a silver Porsche parked under a streetlight ahead of them. The man inside stepped out and stared after her as Stephen pulled from the curb.

  “So what’s up?”

  Chapter Ten

  MYRA WAS HOME FROM DALLAS. She was particularly gray and gaunt. Though she had been back for only a few hours, Kyle knew that Jackson had already been hurling abuse at her.

  Kyle felt her pitying eyes follow him as he silently made his way down the dark hallway of the trailer to the cubicle he called his room.

  “Why does she keep coming back?” Kyle wondered. “Why do I stay?” Maybe because neither of them had any place to go. But someday … someday … Kyle vowed that he and Stephen were gonna make it big. Bullriders—palm prints on the wall at Billy Bob’s like all the other country-western stars.

  He stood amid the squalor of his room. His eyes fell on a thing of beauty. There, hanging face out in the tiny closet, was a rhinestone-studded duster!

  Myra appeared in the doorway behind him. She leaned against the frame. Her leathery face cracked with a slight smile. “Got a call today. On the machine when I got home. They want the Bullriders to play Homecomin’ this year. I thought that might be helpful.”

  Kyle nodded once. He did not want her to see the emotion in his eyes. “Bullriders,” he whispered, running his fingers over the duster. “Yeah. Homecomin’. I just gotta solve one little problem.” He turned slightly. “Thanks, Myra.”

  “No problem,” she answered.

  From the kitchen Jackson Tucker roared, “YOU AIN’T HIS MOTHER!”

  How had they come to this? Adam tore through the packing boxes until he found a file marked PRESS. He sat slowly on his desk chair and flipped open the file that held the memories of such promise and hope. He flipped through the clippings. PINT-SIZED PREACHER PRAYS WITH PREZ. And another: MIRACLE PREACHER BOY HOLDS BIG TENT REVIVAL.

  And his face as a ten-year-old on the cover of Time magazine: AMERICA’S NEXT BILLY GRAHAM?

  Adam relived each headline, smiling softly, finding his focus in what had been … and what had been planned for his life.

  Maurene’s voice broke his reverie. “She’s not afraid of you, Adam, like you were afraid of your father.”

  He did not look up. “I revered my father. But … maybe not enough.”

  Bitterly, Maurene pulled out Adam’s “Sarah Laughed” speech. “So I suggest you consider a different approach if you really want poems about blue skies and sunny days.” Maurene placed the speech onto the heap of Adam’s press clippings. “And I don’t ever want to hear the story of Sarah again. Do you understand me?” She left the room.

  His eyes brimmed as he stuffed the speech into his file and then pulled out a child’s finger painting. Anne’s finger painting. His throat constricted with longing for the child who had once loved him.

  At the top of the painting was the primitive lettering MY FAMILY. There was a mom and a dad and a little girl holding hands. And above them were the stars … the stars Anne had asked Adam to draw for her.

  How had they come to this terrible night? Adam shook his head and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand.

  He had been so young when his father had groomed him to be some sort of a preaching prodigy. Verbal and physical whippings had kept him in line. Made him practice when he really wanted to be outside playing first base on the neighborhood stickball team.

  It was a mercy that the howling wind had stopped. Somehow the still night calmed Anne. She sat beside Stephen on the tailgate of his pickup and looked up at the dilapidated screen of the abandoned drive-in movie theater. Stars glinted through torn holes in the screen.

  Stephen’s voice was wistful with memory. “I kinda remember how my father used to bring me here when I was little. I didn’t really know what was goin’ on … but I remember he was always impressed by the electricity between the actors.”

  Anne stared at the shredded screen. “Chemistry, you mean.”

  “Huh? Oh, right. No. Not for my old man. He worked fer the power company, so he liked to speak more in terms of ampere and ohm, and, well …” He turned to her. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that I think you and I have—”

  “Time to go.” Anne hopped off the tailgate.

  “Wait, Annie! I was tryin’ to tell you—”

  “That you think you and I have all this ohm between us. I know. I get it.”

  “Yes. I mean, don’t you?”

  “Then you were gonna try and put your mouth on me.”

  He laughed. “Right. I mean, wrong! I would never try and do that, Annie. Never. I mean … why would I … try?”

  “So I won’t have to hurt you, you mean?”

  He laughed nervously. “Yeah, right.”

  She stared at Stephen, then looked up at the sky. “Ever think about the stars, Sticks-boy?”

  “Gwyneth. I think about Gwyneth Paltrow sometimes, but not since—”

  She explained. “No. The star—stars.” Anne’s gaze was fixed on something very far away.

  “Oh, yeah, right. Sure. The stars.”

  “Like, what’s beyond the farthest one.”

  He frowned. “Pretty sure they don’t have a telescope that’ll even git ya as far as the farthest star, Annie. Let alone beyond.”

  “I used to know.” His skeptical expression sparked a surge of anger in her. “But not now. Now all I know is what you know. What everybody else knows.”

  “That being?”

  Anne shook her head slightly. “That we all live under this terrifyingly unsolvable mystery that no one ever talks about. Ever.”

  Stephen stared at Anne for a long moment. She knew he did not comprehend what she was saying. He asked, “So you don’t let anyone kiss you? Ever?”

  Anne turned away and climbed into the pickup. What was the use of trying to explain to him? Or to anyone? She longed for the days when she had known what … or who … was beyond the farthest star. She did not remember exactly how, or when, she had lost her faith.

  Kyle heard the reality TV show blaring from the living room as he made his way quietly toward the front door. A quick glance across the trashed room showed Myra curled up on the couch while Kyle’s dad snored in his recliner. An empty whiskey bottle lay be
neath Jackson’s fingertips.

  Kyle slipped out the door and hurried up the dirt driveway to his father’s pickup. Pushing the speed dial for Stephen’s cell, he glanced over his shoulder like an escaping prisoner.

  Stephen’s voice mail answered: “Hey. This is Stephen. Leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to ya.”

  Kyle whispered hoarsely, “Hey, man. Got great news ‘bout the Bullriders that can’t wait till mornin’ to tell. Be by.”

  Signing off, he set the phone on the hood of the pickup and pulled the latch on the driver’s side door. It was unlocked. With a smile, he crawled into the cab. Looking for the keys, he swiped under the floor mat and whipped his hand across the dashboard. Opening the glove compartment, he hesitated as his hand closed around something heavy and L shaped, wrapped in a worn red mechanic’s rag. He pulled it out and unwrapped it: a 45 caliber Glock handgun.

  He whispered, “Inger’s surprise.”

  Suddenly an angry banging on the roof of the pickup interrupted his thoughts. The beam of a flashlight filled the interior. Kyle turned to see the set of keys dangling in the beam of the Maglite.

  The alcohol-slurred voice of his father snarled, “You lookin’ fer these? I said, you lookin’ fer these, boy?”

  Kyle rewrapped the handgun while turning his body to block his father’s view. “Lunch money. Fer school.”

  “I’ll leave a fiver on the table in the mornin’. Now get out of my vehicle and back in the house to bed.”

  The flashlight drifted away from the driver’s side door as Kyle returned the Glock to the glove box.

  Chapter Eleven

  ADAM AND MAURENE, sitting on the sofa, listened politely to an eighties’ soft-rock song on a portable CD player. Their unexpected visitor, Calvin Clayman, dressed like an ad in an American Express travel magazine, beamed at them across the cluttered coffee table. Adam unwrapped a gift from Calvin. Adam’s smile was strained as he held up a tacky religious necktie sporting the print of a planetary-size white dove perched on a dwarf-size earth.

  “Thanks, Calvin.” Adam could not think when he would ever wear it or even who he could re-gift it to. “I … I’m sorry, Calvin, but what brings you to Leonard again?”

  Calvin stared coldly at Adam, then, smiling wildly, said, “What’s with this ‘Calvin’ business, Ad-man? Call me Callie, like when we hung out in high school, dude.” He dug around under the chair’s seat cushion and pulled out Maurene’s romance novel.

  Adam asked, “We did?”

  “Heck, yeah.” Calvin held the novel out to Adam, who refused it. “And, well, I’m here because you were missed, bro.” Calvin passed it to Maurene. “Both of you. Radically. At your high school reunion last month? Everybody totally missed you guys, and as president of the Fighting Wolverines’ student body … aroo! And since I had business in Dallas, I thought I’d stop by and catch up. So I could e-mail some answers to your classmates’ many inquiries.” He paused and looked from face to face. “You did get my e-mail this morning, right? It was all in my e-mail.”

  Maurene replied, “Didn’t check e-mail today. Unless, did you, Adam?”

  Adam knew Maurene had checked e-mail. Why was she lying?

  Calvin changed the subject, picking up a copy of the Dallas Morning News. “Is this all about you, Ad-man?”

  Adam, uncomfortable, did not reply as Calvin read aloud, “ ‘ ”By his bold act of sixties-style civil disobedience, Senator Cutter has clearly demonstrated his commitment to resolving the church/state boundary debate,” said Holden Bittner of the ACLU, “even if it means taking his fight from the jail cell in Leonard, Texas, to the United States Supreme Court.” ’ ”

  “This is a busy time for us,” Adam began.

  Calvin looked up sharply from the newspaper. “Dang, dude. You just might save the world after all. And obviously I couldn’t have picked a more …”

  “Inconvenient time. I’m afraid so, Calvin.”

  “Call me Callie. Reney …” he interrupted.

  Adam resented Calvin’s use of a nickname for Maurene. Why doesn’t this guy get the hint?

  Adam stood abruptly. “My wife is right, Callie. It has been an eventful day and now really is …”

  Calvin stood. “Inconvenient, I understand. Though I would’ve liked to’ve made it to the family photos. Not an official visit with old school buds till someone breaks out the Kodak moments from the Grand Canyon, en route to Wally World.”

  Maurene gestured to the moving boxes. “Wouldn’t know where to begin to find our photo albums.”

  Calvin searched her face. “But they exist. That’s what matters. Right, Ad-man?”

  Adam’s smile was strained. “Family’s important.”

  Calvin followed Adam and Maurene to the front door and out onto the porch. “I mean, I’ve got a Porsche out there in the street. A villa in Barbados. And a drawer full of silk boxers. Totally maximizing my life experience. But I am ever grounded by the fact that the photo cube on my desk at work is still filled with stock photos of the models that came in the cube.”

  “Thank you, Calvin, for stopping by.”

  Calvin peered across the street. “Is that a Maytag and a giant Santa Claus in your neighbor’s yard, dude?”

  Adam turned to see that, yes indeed, a washing machine now stood alongside the giant illuminated Santa. “Well, yes …”

  Maurene shook Calvin’s hand. “Calvin. Say hello to all our friends.” She opened the door and stepped in. “Don’t be long, Adam.”

  Calvin’s smile faded as Maurene closed the door behind her. He lingered too long on the porch.

  Adam asked, “We played on the basketball team together? That’s how you know my wife and me?”

  Contempt for Adam flashed in Calvin’s eyes. “Actually, only one of us played. But hey, you’re about to save the world. Even got you a save-the-world-tie now.”

  Calvin turned on his heel and hurried to his Porsche. Adam remained on the step, watching as Calvin Clayman sped away.

  Maurene watched through a slit in the curtain as Calvin’s Porsche rounded the corner. Adam, face grim, stared thoughtfully at the front door but did not come in.

  What was he thinking? Maurene wondered. This old high school acquaintance showing up on their doorstep out of the blue … wanting to see their family photo album.

  Turning from the window, Maurene gasped as Anne stepped from the shadows.

  “Anne?”

  The girl’s dark eyes fixed on her mother. “Who is he?”

  “I … I thought you were still out, Anne.”

  Anne demanded, “The guy who was just here. Who is he?”

  “No one, sweetie. Some boy I knew in high school.”

  Anne gazed coldly at Maurene, then headed for her room.

  “Anne?”

  Maurene followed Anne, then grasped her arms, one at a time. Pushing up her sleeves, she caressed Anne’s forearms, inspecting the blotches and scars of self-inflicted wounds that were still healing.

  “What?” Anne pulled away.

  “Your poem, Anne. I just hope you know how much having you means to me.”

  “What about Adam?”

  “Your father loves you very—”

  “Did Adam know that man in high school?”

  “They played varsity basketball together.”

  Anne started as the kitchen door opened and closed. Adam called, “Maurene?”

  Anne’s expression closed down. “‘Night, Mom.” She went into her room and closed the door.

  Maurene returned to the living room as Adam sank onto the sofa. “I’d forgotten how much that bugged me in high school. You cheering. Me sitting on the bench ‘cause I spent my summers on mission trips in Mexico instead of basketball camp fixing a wayward jump shot.”

  Maurene joined him. Reaching far back into memories of grade school. “Do you remember Miss Moore’s Tom Thumb wedding, Adam?” She smiled and turned to him. “We were … second grade. How Miss Moore picked you and me to be husband and
wife. And how while everybody else was giggling and gagging, you and I were so serious. Just like grown-ups. Even when the other boys teased you, Adam, you never stopped acting the part.”

  She spoke in a quiet voice as other memories flooded in. “That was the year my father left my mother, and I remember thinking … I mean, it didn’t matter to me that you were this ‘Miracle Preacher Boy.’ Just that if my own father would’ve acted a little more like this boy in my class …”

  She squeezed his hand. “And that’s when I knew I wanted to be married to you.”

  “In second grade?”

  She smiled gently and continued with the revelation. “Couldn’t multiply or divide, but there I was in Mom’s garden after school, up to my nose in her ‘teacups of sunshine,’ informing her that we played a game in school and I already knew the boy I was gonna marry.”

  Her smile faded. “But I was wrong, Adam—and selfish—to think just ‘cause it didn’t matter to me that you were this ‘Miracle Preacher Boy’ didn’t mean it didn’t matter.”

  Adam tossed the religious tie onto the table. “We’ll need to talk with Anne, Maurene. She’ll have to be told the truth.”

  Maurene nodded and put her hand to her head. “Oh, Adam.”

  He pursed his lips, then said thoughtfully, “It would have to have been dropped … his e-mail. The e-mail Calvin insists he sent. I know you were online this morning, and there wouldn’t be any reason for you to …”

  Maurene could not look at him. “Yes. It would have to have been dropped. Don’t be up late.”

  She felt Adam’s suspicious gaze hot upon her back as she retreated to the bedroom.

  Anne sat on her bed in the dark, absently flicking her lighter over and over. She heard her mother approach and stopped as the shadow of Maurene’s feet appeared and then lingered in the light under the door.

  She had heard every word they said. It had drifted down the hallway and lodged in her throat. So, what was the truth they would have to tell her?