Closer Home (9 page)

“You’re pathetic.” Ariel opens her handbag to double-check her supplies.

He blinks. “Me? How am I pathetic?”

“Like you’re not a self-centered narcissist. Stop pointing at other people.”

A tinge of color rises to his cheeks. “I’m just saying—”

“Christians are humans like everybody else. Some are good people and some are assholes.”

“And this Kelvin guy?”

“Very probably an asshole. Also maybe my father. Your point would be?”

The verbal sparring threatens to destroy the last shreds of my manufactured calm. Picking up my own purse, I dig in it for the car keys.

“You might want to remove the tag,” Ariel says, giving it a sharp yank. The cardboard comes off, but the little plastic tab refuses to break.

I shrug. “It’s not like anybody will notice. We’ll be late. Let’s go.”

Without waiting to see if anybody follows, I head for the door. Ariel is right behind me. Shadow slouches behind her.

I’m the designated driver. Not that the others aren’t willing, but I’m the only one old enough to sign on the line for the rental car. Plus, I don’t trust Shadow as far as I can see him, and Ariel doesn’t have a license yet.

It’s a cool morning, but it only takes about three blocks before there’s sweat trickling down between my shoulder blades and my hands are locked on the steering wheel. It’s not that I’m a bad driver. I can navigate snow, ice, and rain, dig a vehicle out of a snowbank, and drive poorly maintained dirt roads without an issue. But I’m a small-town girl. In Colville, if there are three cars ahead of you at the stoplight, that’s traffic. Driving in cities is not a thing I do for fun.

Shadow has taken it upon himself to act as navigator. His bored-superior voice grates on my nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. He’s in the backseat, leaning forward and breathing into my right ear when he’s not telling me where to turn.

Ariel is quiet, face turned toward her window. Her hands rest in her lap, open, but she is far from relaxed. I can feel tension rolling off her in waves.

“We need some tunes.” Shadow’s long arm reaches between the seats for the radio knob. He sets the radio to scan, stopping it on dark, discordant metal. In my opinion, this is not music. It’s all noise and sharp angles that drive into my head like musical shrapnel. Shadow ups the volume. Ariel turns it down.

I hit the “Scan” button again, stopping it when we hit familiar territory.

“What is that drivel?” Shadow asks, his hand reaching for the controls.

“It’s not drivel. It’s the Eagles.” I slap his hand. Pure reflex, but the sharp contact of skin against skin feels amazing.

“I hate country,” Ariel mutters.

“It’s not country. How can you kids not know the Eagles?” I edge the volume up a little, and the car fills with the familiar, comforting harmonies I love. Despite their protests, Ariel relaxes a little. And Shadow retreats to the backseat in a sulk.

Total win, as far as I can see.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kelvin is clearly doing well for himself.

The church is big enough to get lost in. People mix and mingle in the foyer. There is a coffee bar with two baristas working at top speed. Another booth sells cookies and juice. No alcohol, as far as I can tell, but it’s still morning. Who knows what happens when the sun goes down?

Worship music wafts through high-quality speakers at just the right decibel level to soothe the senses and ease social anxiety without being overwhelming. Flat-screen monitors hang overhead, flashing messages:

Children’s ministry and licensed day care available downstairs.

Join a small group today, sign up at the computer bank, east end of the foyer.

Help stop Ebola in Africa. Have you donated?

A young woman approaches, hand outstretched, a smile as big as Texas lighting up her face. “Hi, I’m Tina. Is this your first time at Worship Central? I have coupons for a free coffee if you’d like.”

“I think we’re going to go sit down, now. Thank you, though.”

Her palm is moist and clammy. When I try to extricate myself, her fingers tighten and her other hand comes up for a double shake. I feel like I’ve encountered a needy octopus and pull away with a sharp yank that lacks any semblance of manners or finesse.

Her smile fades into a
God bless you, you poor sinner
expression, and she turns her attention to Ariel and Shadow. “How about these two lovely young people? Coffee? Would you like me to show you where the youth church is? So dynamic and awesome.”

It strikes me that Tina is in the business of sales. Not cars, but God. She wants to close the deal, which means we are about to be prayed for, out loud, in the middle of the lobby.

Ariel saves us. “We just love Pastor Kelvin,” she gushes. “We came early to get the best seats and to be sure we don’t miss a single word of the service. Thank you so much for the welcome, but we’re hardly first timers.” She grabs my elbow. “Come on, Aunt Lise. I so don’t want to end up stuck in the balcony.”

We are free and on the move, even if we have no idea where we’re going. The crowd is thicker now, but it’s moving in the same general direction we are. I catch a glimpse of tight red curls off to the right. Ariel’s still got my elbow and I keep my feet moving while I glance over my shoulder. A curly red head topping a slim, compact body vanishes into the crowd. I wrench my arm away from Ariel to turn back, but there is a press of people behind me now and I’d be fighting upstream all the way. I tell myself my swimming pool journalist could never have tracked us here, but I slide into my seat with a whole new knot of anxiety woven into my belly. My left hand thrums with electrical pulses and my heartbeat is way too fast.

The seats are a far cry from the torturous hardwood pews of my childhood. These are cushy, fold-down theater seats in blue velvet. We’re not relegated to balcony seating, but we’re still a long way from the platform. No danger of missing any part of the service, though. Flat-screen TVs hang at regular intervals offering a close-up view of the empty podium. I can see two men operating movie cameras on tripods.

We’ve only just gotten settled when the worship team takes the stage. There’s a trio of vocalists. A bass player and two guitars. A full drum kit. And a sleek, shiny concert grand played by a guy with bouffant hair and a plum-colored suit jacket.

When I was a kid I loved to sing in church, my voice blending with those around me, but that was a long time ago and a whole different kind of church. Now, Ariel stands rigid and silent on my right. The woman on my left has her hands in the air before the end of the warm-up song. When the guy behind me starts chanting a stream of nonsense syllables, my first thought is that he’s insane, but then I remember about tongues.

Where I come from, speaking in tongues and waving your hands in the air would be considered indecorous behavior. Only one person ever prays aloud at a time, and it’s generally an authoritative male from behind the pulpit. Certainly nobody speaks out of turn. We all know that the Bible talks about tongues, but then it talks about a whole lot of other weird stuff that we’re surely not expected to abide by. Stoning adulterers, for instance. Or women being consigned to a special tent at certain times of the month.

Song by song, the worship team pulls the crowd in deeper. It doesn’t take long until everybody’s on their feet—including us, trying to fit in—although my hands stay rigid at my sides. Voices all around me take up the meaningless verbalizations. One of the singers on the platform closes his eyes and raises his hands, an ecstatic look on his face. Somebody not too far away from me sobs loudly Voices all through the congregation call out, “Praise Jesus. Hallelujah.”

One more song, slow and soulful, brings everybody down enough to take their seats and listen without emoting all over everything.

And then Kelvin takes the stage, Bible in hand.

He’s wearing a three-piece suit and a perfect tie, his hair combed back in a smooth wave from his forehead. He takes his place behind a lectern and opens the Bible. On the giant screen behind him, the image of a weathered, bloodstained cross comes up. He opens his mouth as if to begin speaking, then holds up a hand as a signal for us to wait, and silently bows his head for a moment.

A soft chorus of hallelujahs and praise Jesuses echoes through the building.

Kelvin clears his throat and sweeps the congregation with his gaze, ending up directly focused on the camera. “Beloved, the Lord has commissioned me with a difficult message for you all today. Turn with me, if you would, to Romans 6:23.”

He makes a show of flipping to the passage, although I’m pretty damn sure he’s got a bookmark in there. Other pages riffle throughout the congregation, and then he intones, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Dramatic pause.

“Beloved, most men preaching from this text today would emphasize the gift of salvation. And truly, salvation is a great and wonderful gift, the most precious gift we can imagine or comprehend. But I am going to dare to talk to you today about sin.”

He comes out from behind his podium to stand at the front of the stage. “Sin is not a popular topic today. We speak instead of choice. We no longer teach right and wrong. We fool ourselves into believing that all people are good but sometimes misguided.

“Yet do not doubt for a moment that there is both good and evil in this world. Just look around you. There is evil everywhere, and yes, there is sin.

“Anybody who says otherwise is lying to you.”

My hands ache, clamped together so tightly the fingertips are turning white. I breathe a prayer again, this time to Kelvin.
Please don’t go where I think you’re going with this. Not with Ariel sitting here.
Her face is a mask, and she sits motionless, holding Shadow’s hand.

Kelvin licks his lips. “Recently, a high school friend died, suddenly and tragically. She was far too young, and her untimely death made me stop and ask myself some difficult questions. In her case, it was clear that she had made what popular culture might call ‘unwise choices.’ She had a great gift and chose to use it for her own selfish pleasure rather than in serving the Lord.”

I flick another glance at Ariel, still rigid and unmoving beside me.

Her chin is tilted up, gaze directed straight ahead. But her eyes are flooded with tears and her cheeks are wet. I want to put an arm around her, to lean over and whisper words of comfort. But I know she won’t welcome the gesture, and what words do I have to offer?

Kelvin launches into a spiel about how we are all sinners, but I lose track of where he’s headed as I’m pulled into another memory.

It’s Sunday, and Callie and I have just walked home from church. It’s well past lunchtime and my stomach is growling. My butt feels bruised from sitting on the hard wooden pew while Pastor Jantzen rambled on and on. I’m also shivering. It’s freezing outside and I chose not to wear my jacket. My choice, and maybe a stupid one, but I hate that jacket. It’s purple and bulky and the sleeves are too short. I’d rather be cold than seen wearing it in public.

The kitchen is dark. All the lights off, shades drawn, no savory post-sermon meal to make up for the pain and suffering we’ve just endured. Mom is still in her bathrobe, hair uncombed, eyes dark-circled. She’s managed coffee, of a sort. The kitchen smells burned, like she couldn’t wait for the pot to quit perking before she grabbed a cup, and now the coil is evaporating the spill. Her hands, both of them cradling the mug, shake so hard a wave of coffee slops over the rim onto the table. She doesn’t bother to wipe it up.

We know better than to comment or complain. Callie pours herself a Coke out of the bottle in the fridge while I start slicing cheese and buttering bread.
We’ll fry them,
I’m thinking.
Grilled cheese smells awesome and is warm. Add a can of tomato soup and we’re golden.

Mom makes a point of asking us about church when we get home. Even at thirteen, I’m old enough to recognize the guilt she’s feeling. She should have gone with us. She should have dragged Dad out of bed, hangover or not, and made him go. We should be a happy, smiling family unit. We’re not.

And so she grills us while I grill the sandwiches. How was Sunday school? What was the lesson? And the sermon?

“Boring,” Callie says, drawing out the
o
. “I thought he was never going to stop.”

Mom doesn’t respond to this, so I dare to throw in my two cents. “Most interesting thing was his tie. Three shades of purple with green splotches. Like amoebas.”

Callie giggles.

Mom ignores her, but turns on me.

“He is a man of God, young lady, and you do not have an opinion about his tie.” A long and blistering lecture follows, lasting until all that is left of the sandwiches and soup is the warm smell lingering in the air and the dishes in the sink. Only then am I able to escape, up to my room and away.

Unlike Pastor Jantzen, there is no going overtime for Kelvin. He arrives at a perfectly escalated conclusion, voice trembling with emotion as he invites sinners to come forward for prayer. The worship team silently walks up behind him and plays the opening chords of “Just as I Am,” then starts quietly singing.

I grab Ariel’s hand, icy cold and trembling.

“It’s time. Let’s go.”

Her eyes are wide. She looks from me to the procession of people walking up the aisle, heads bent, tears rolling down many of their faces. As they reach the front, Kelvin touches every single one—a handshake here, a clap on the shoulder there, occasionally a hand laid on a bent head in blessing. Prayer warriors draw individuals off to the side where they kneel in groups of twos and threes.

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea,” Ariel says.

“Oh no you don’t. Too late to back out now.”

Kelvin’s sermon has pissed me off. I have a few things to say to him. And I want him to see Ariel. Here. In his kingdom, in front of God and everybody, and to realize exactly what she represents. I want to watch his face when it all sinks in.

“We’re going straight to hell,” Ariel murmurs, but follows along when I start walking. Shadow skulks along behind her, looking like the perfect target for an exorcism.

Keeping my head bowed and my face composed in what I hope looks more like penitence than vengeance, I shuffle behind an elderly man. Maybe Ariel is right and I’m headed straight for hell, but I have set my hand to the plow and will not turn back. It’s too late, anyway. The press of people hems us in, and it would create a huge disruption to break away.

Kelvin touches the old man in the middle of the forehead with his right hand, the diamond on his finger flashing blue fire. I’m close enough now to see the foundation smoothing his skin, the touch of blush on his cheekbones. His eyes are tired. He doesn’t bother to look at my face as he reaches out to put a holy hand on my shoulder.

“Kelvin. It’s been a long time.”

He blinks. His eyes come into focus. The hand hovers just above my shoulder, arrested in its descent.

I smile sweetly, drawing Ariel up beside me. “This is Callie’s daughter, Ariel. We were in the neighborhood, so we thought we’d drop in for a little spiritual counseling.”