Dry as Rain (16 page)

Despite wearing a nondescript T-shirt and jeans, the kid would have stood out even if he hadn't sequestered himself. He looked Hispanic, which made him the only non-Caucasian besides me among the otherwise lily-white group. No wonder he felt like an outcast.

Larry patted a couple of the boys on the back on his way over to me. Two shrieking girls ran by the doorway in hot pursuit of something, someone, or each other. I stuck my head out and called for them to stop running.

When I turned around, Larry was standing beside me. “This ain't so bad, now is it?”

I took a sip of my drink, thinking about Larry's question. Flat, lukewarm Dr Pepper slid down my throat. “No comment.”

He took off his glasses and rubbed the indent on the bridge of his nose, then slid them back on. “Admit it. You're having fun.”

I set my thin, plastic cup on the table beside me littered with empty pizza boxes and board games. “About as much fun as that time my mother maced me.”

“Your mother maced you?”

“She was trying to force one of those keychain pepper sprays onto the ring, and it went off.”

“Some would argue that there's no such thing as an accident.”

In front of one of the television sets, a boy wearing a knitted cap over shoulder-length hair started having words with another boy. As the two exchanged insults, they began to play a not-so-friendly game of tug-of-war with the remote.

Larry's gaze darted from me to them and back again. “Want to take this one?”

“You go ahead.” I nodded toward the kid on the stage. “I was just on my way to talk to Lone Ranger over there.”

He glanced at him. “His name's Angelo. He turns eighteen tomorrow.”

I made my way over and leaned against the stage beside him. The kid gave me a brief side glance as he pulled at the end of his hair as if trying to cover his face so I couldn't see him.

His awkwardness must have been contagious, because suddenly I felt self-conscious too. “Hey there,” I said. “I hear it's your birthday tomorrow.”

He didn't respond.

I cleared my throat. “Eighteen, huh? That's a big one. My son's just a year older than you.”

His dark eyes settled on me for just a second before moving back to watching the group. It hit me then that the kid might not even understand what I was saying. I'd never been very good at Spanish, though. In high school, it was the one class that kept me from making A-B honor roll. After repeating it a second time, I'd at least learned the basics.
“Me llamo Eric. Como estas?”

Angelo turned and glared at me. “Dude, I'm third-generation. You can cut the Spanglish.”

I felt warm as I tried to recover. “Sorry. You were just looking like you . . . Never mind.”

Wearing a look of disgust, he clicked his tongue. “You look like you came over from Ho Chi Minh City, but you don't see me speaking to you in Vietnamese.”

“I'm half-Japanese,” I offered, knowing he couldn't care less.

He went back to watching his peers.

I wanted to leave the kid alone with the gargantuan chip on his shoulder, but Larry watched me with an attaboy grin. It had been a long time since I'd done anything noble in his or anyone else's eyes. Although I'd never admit it to him, it actually made me feel good to win his approval again. Besides, what else did I have to do for the next—I checked my watch—six hours?

“Why don't we start over? I'm Eric.” I put my hand out.

After staring at it for an uncomfortably long time, he finally took it. He had a good grip, not overbearing, but not wimpy either. His hand was small and cold. “Angelo.”

I leaned back and pressed my palms against the polished surface of the stage. Before hoisting myself up, I asked, “Mind if I sit?”

Predictably, he shrugged.

My shoulder muscles pulled and burned as I lifted my own weight. More and more, I was starting to feel my age. I sat there beside him a minute or two in silence, hoping maybe he would start a conversation. When he didn't, I finally said, “I grew up in an all-white neighborhood.” Not wanting to see him brush me off again with a shrug or blank stare, I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead at the boys laughing and punching each other's arms. Everyone but Angelo and I seemed to be whooping it up.

Since he didn't walk away, I continued, “There were only two Asians in my school and I was one of them. I was your age before I met another person who was half-Japanese like me, and she was an old lady.” I thought about that woman, then added, “Well, she was probably younger than I am now, but back then she seemed older than Moses.” I smiled at the thought. “I'll bet that's how old I seem to you.”

“I'm not sitting here by myself because I feel some ethnic stigma.”

So, the kid had a brain. Good. “Then why are you?”

He nodded toward the group. “Bunch of hypocrites.”

“Who, them?”

The look he gave me made it clear he thought the question was a dumb one. “No, my mother.” He banged the heels of his black and red Pumas against the stage one after another in an annoying rhythm.

I had been right. He and I did have something in common. Neither of us belonged here, and not just because of our race. I understood where he was coming from better than he knew. “Believe me,” I said, “I get how Christians can come across as hypocrites. Pretending to live one way and trying to get everyone else to live another, but—”

“Who's a Christian?”

The question caught me off guard. “What?”

“Who here is a Christian?” He raised his eyebrows like he already had the answer. “Show me one.”

My tired mind was probably not working as quick as it should be, but I just couldn't grasp what the kid was getting at.

Pointing at the group to the right, he said, “You see that kid with the skateboarder hair?”

I followed his line of vision to the boy with straight black hair swooping down into his face and nodded.

“He was baptized last month and gave a testimony in front of the whole church that brought tears to my mother's eyes.”

I waited for the punch line.

“He was still dripping water when he hit on my sister. He's dating one of her friends.”

“Not everyone—” I started to say.

He cut me off. “See that kid over there with the glasses?”

I looked over at the one in the John Lennon specs, lying on the carpet, propped up on an elbow.

“He got a girl pregnant last year.”

I gave the boy another look. He couldn't be more than seventeen. “How old is he?”

Angelo ignored the question. “That one, with the hair . . .”

I turned my eyes to the boy with a mop of curls, sitting cross-legged among the group.

“He sells weed so he can buy video games.”

They're just kids,
I wanted to say, feeling as defensive as if he'd accused me personally. Instead I asked, “How do you know all this?”

“People tell my sister everything. She tells me. The worst part is that it's not just the kids. The pastor we had last year resigned because he had an affair. The
pastor
.” He shook his head. “They're not Christians.”

Dozens of verses I'd had to memorize when I joined our church swirled through my head, from the Ten Commandments, to “judge not lest ye be judged,” to “all have fallen short of the glory of God.”

“What about you?” Indignation rushed blood to my temples. “Are you so perfect that you can cast stones at them?”

He crossed his arms and huffed. “I'm not perfect, but I go to sleep with a clear conscience. I'm not stealing stuff or taking anyone's virginity or cursing my parents out on the way to Sunday school.” He turned to me with a look of defiance. “That's the difference.”

“No,” I said, “you just think you're better than them because you're justifying your sins, just like they've justified theirs. Christians are sinners like everyone else. The real difference is grace.”

He twisted his mouth but looked less certain. “People use grace as an excuse to sin.”

“And you're using the law as a way to negate grace. Are
you
a Christian?”

“Yeah,” Angelo said defensively. “Yeah, I am.”

Who is this man preaching to this kid?
I wondered. I had no idea I had this in me, but what I was saying seemed right even if it was coming from my own sorry lips. “We're all sinners. That pastor who had to resign is no better or worse than me or you. The Bible says if you're guilty of one sin, you're guilty of all. Remember when they were about to stone that woman accused of cheating on her husband?” I didn't wait for an answer. I felt driven to make this kid understand, maybe so I could too. “What did Jesus tell them?”

He shrugged, not like he didn't know, but like he didn't care. I knew better.

“Being the judge and jury over everyone, you need to read the book so you know what the rules are. Jesus said the one who was without sin should cast the first stone.”

He looked down at his dangling legs. “Did they still stone her?”

I felt the zeal start to seep back out of me. I hadn't been that worked up since, well, ever. “No, they dropped their rocks. He told the woman, go and sin no more. Just like that he forgave her, and she was given a fresh start.”

Angelo stilled his legs. “What if that woman left and just did whatever she pleased, kept on sinning and all?”

As I considered the question, I imagined Kyra giving me that kind of pardon, and I knew just how that woman must have felt. Who in their right mind would ever pick up a burden that heavy again after someone finally took it off their shoulders? “She didn't,” I said, surer of that than anything in my life. “But that wasn't the point of the story, anyway. The point was –”

“Don't throw stones if you live in a glass house?” he offered, the angry edge gone from his tone.

“Don't throw stones,” I said, more to myself than to the boy.

Twenty-One

In the distance, Larry stood on the lot with his back to me. As I made my way toward him, I looked up. The overcast sky appeared ominous—a sea of foreboding gray, but the breeze was soft and warm, which gave the day a not-unpleasant, surreal feeling. I hoped the clouds would finally give up their water. According to the
Southside Herald
, our reservoir was dangerously close to dry. I wasn't worried, though. It looked like rain. It felt like rain. And with a musty dampness in the air, it even smelled like rain.

Although I was beyond tired, having only gotten an hour, maybe two, of broken sleep on the sanctuary floor the night before, I still felt better than I had in a long time.

As I approached Larry, he jerked around, revealing too late that he'd been blocking my view of Danielle.

When she looked at me, I froze. “Hey, there,” I said. “Didn't see you behind Hoss here.”

Larry took off his glasses, puffed on each lens, and cleaned them with the end of his tie. “At the rate I'm gaining, just be glad you can still see the sun.” He slid his glasses back on. Bags hung like hammocks below his bloodshot eyes. “Of course, there's not much sun to see today anyway.” He looked up at the sky. “Hope that rain comes though. We sure need it.”

Danielle wore an uncharacteristically conservative navy suit that ended at the top of her knees. “Hello, Eric.” Her words were clipped and careful. “I hear your event went well last night.”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

Larry put a hand on my shoulder. “You should have seen this guy. He was breaking up fights, fielding life's unanswerable questions, and turning an angry misfit into the life of the party. Just goes to show you there's hope for anybody.”

“Angelo's a good kid,” I said. “He just needed a little push in the right direction.”

He squinted at me. “I was talking about you.”

He was trying to be funny, but the truth of it hit too close to home for me, so I let it blow by without comment.

Danielle looked from Larry to me with a dull expression, and I'm sure she must have been thinking about what a hypocrite I was, ministering to teenagers when I was nothing but an adulterer myself. “Well, good. Good for you,” she said without emotion.

Larry looked back and forth between us. His gaze landed on me, and I knew him well enough to understand the wide-eyed look was an implied warning. He cleared his throat and turned to Danielle. “Good luck with that interview, hotshot.”

Her smile looked as natural as one painted on a corpse. “Thank you, Larry. I appreciate that. And your advice.”

I wondered what interview she had and what advice he'd given her, but of course I couldn't ask without her thinking I cared more than I did. I watched him walk past a row of SUVs as a string of colored pendants flapped above us.

When he disappeared into the dealership, Danielle turned to me. “You don't look as tired as you ought to, considering how little sleep Larry said you got.”