Eye of the Beholder (41 page)

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just see how it goes. It’s excitin’. Could be the start of somethin’ really big.”

“All right, Gordy, you’ve got my curiosity up. I know you wouldn’t ask unless you thought I’d get on board.”

Guy Jones sat at his desk, looking over a contract. The sound of Marsha’s voice on the intercom startled him.

“Mr. Jones, a Gordy Jameson is on line one.”

Why would Gordy be calling me?
“All right, Marsha. Thanks.” Guy picked up the receiver and pushed the blinking button on the phone. “How’s the new bridegroom? Ellen and I and a group from church were there for lunch yesterday but missed you.”

“Doin’ great, thanks. Pam and I really appreciate you and Ellen comin’ to the wedding.”

“We thoroughly enjoyed it. Hope the abrupt ending didn’t ruin it for you.”

“Nah, we didn’t let it. Listen, sorry to bug you at work, but I was wonderin’ if you could meet with Mayor Dickson and a group he’s workin’ with sometime before the weekend? They’d like to hire your legal services.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“I think it’d be better to wait and let them tell you. I offered to coordinate gettin’ everyone here. The group’s meetin’ tonight to lay out a specific plan, and then they’d like to get your legal input as soon as possible. I know you won’t be back in town until Wednesday night.”

“Would Thursday night work?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. They can’t really move forward with the idea till they get some legal help. It’s a real positive thing. I’m proud to support it.”

“Tell me the time and place, Gordy. I’ll be there.”

 41
 

O
n the following Saturday morning, Guy Jones whistled as he glided into the bedroom carrying a breakfast tray arranged with warm cinnamon rolls and coffee, and today’s issue of the
North Coast Messenger
.

Ellen was sitting in bed, pillows propped behind her, looking like a little girl on Christmas morning. “Mmm … I love the smell of cinnamon rolls.”

He placed the breakfast tray across her lap. “Your Saturday treat, Madame.”

Ellen leaned down and put her nose to the red rose in the crystal vase and closed her eyes. “Ah, my favorite.”

Guy picked up the newspaper and laid it next to her, then crawled over her to the other side of the bed.

“Why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?” Ellen said.

“Why don’t you read the newspaper?”

She gave him a curious look, then opened the newspaper. In the center of the front page was a large box he knew she couldn’t miss. Guy read the words printed inside while he waited for Ellen’s reaction:

C
ITY
W
IDE
C
ALL TO
P
EACE

In the spirit of forgiveness and in an effort to promote respect and cooperation between all people, we invite every citizen of Seaport to join us on the front lawn of city
hall for an important peace rally and announcement following the Veteran’s Day Parade on Saturday, November 11, beginning at 2:00
P.M
.

Mayor Jefferson Dickson
Police Chief Will Seevers
Mr. and Mrs. Simin Fassih
Dr. and Mrs. David Kohler
Dr. and Mrs. Ali Tehrani
Professor Stephen Hardy
Mr. and Mrs. Richard Pearson
Rabbi and Mrs. Jacob Goldman
Pastor and Mrs. Peter Crawford
Imam Abdullah Bakir

Ellen looked over at him, her mouth hanging open. “
This
is what you’ve been working on?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who in the world managed to get the Fassihs and the Kohlers to agree to appear with Professor Hardy and the Pearsons?”

He smiled. “Wait and see. But Ali is paying to have this ad run in every issue until Veteran’s Day.”

Ellen mused. “Have you changed your opinion of him?”

“It’d be hard to be around Ali for long and not see what a caring man he is.”

“Was that a yes?”

“It was if you promise not to say ‘I told you so.’ ”

Ellen leaned her head back and slipped her hand into Guy’s. “It’s amazing how wrong any of us can be about another person if we rely on only our own perceptions and prejudices.”

“I never thought of myself as being prejudiced. But I was. I let the media form my opinion of Muslims instead of looking at each as an individual. I’m not proud of the way I’ve acted.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m proud of you for admitting it and for doing something about it.”

The doorbell rang.

“Let me get rid of whoever it is.”

Guy got out of bed, slipped into his bathrobe, and went to the front door. Through the peephole he saw Hailey and Owen standing on the front porch. He opened the door.

“Hi, you two. What brings you out this early on a Saturday?”

“Could we talk to you and Mom for a minute?” Owen said.

“Uh, sure. You want some coffee and cinnamon rolls? I made plenty.”

“No, we just ate, thanks.”

Guy held open the door and they stepped inside.

“Come down here,” Ellen hollered.

Guy followed the kids down the hall and into the bedroom. Owen sat in the chair, Hailey on his lap, but he didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?” Ellen said. “You look so solemn.”

“Hailey and I thought you should see this.” Owen took a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to them.

Ellen breathed in without exhaling. “Is this what I think it is?”

The glow on Owen’s face could have melted an iceberg. “That’s the ultrasound of your first grandchild!”

Guy turned to Ellen and in the next second four pairs of arms were intertwined, making it hard to tell who was hugging whom.

“Oh, my word!” Ellen wiped a tear off her cheek. “When’s the baby due?”

“April twelfth,” Hailey said.

“I ought to break your neck for scaring us to death!” Guy punched Owen on the arm and then pulled him close. “When did you kids find out?”

“Just last week. Hailey’s been all messed up with the stress of
relocating. Never even occurred to us she might be pregnant till she started throwing up. We decided not to say anything until we had ultrasound pictures to show you.”

“Thank heavens, you’re not in Raleigh,” Ellen said. “I’d be going out of my mind.”

Guy looked again at the picture. “Is it a girl or a boy?”

“Definitely.”

“Come on,” Ellen coaxed, “you have to tell us.”

Owen laughed and put his arm around Hailey. “Actually we don’t know. There are so few mysteries left in life, we decided to just ride this one out.”

 42
 

V
eteran’s Day fell on a Saturday, and Guy and Ellen met Hailey and Owen downtown for the annual parade and then arrived at city hall at twenty minutes until two. A sizable crowd had already gathered on the front lawn, where rows of folding chairs had been set facing an elevated stage skirted in red, white, and blue.

“This place is half full already,” Ellen said. “That’s a good sign.”

“The way the mayor and police chief have been touting this thing, I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a good turnout.” Guy took her by the hand, and they found their seats on the front row with a good view of the stage and listened to the Seaport High School band play patriotic songs.

At 1:59, the group whose names had appeared on the announcement in the newspaper filed up on the stage and took their seats, and the crowd noise died down to a whisper.

Mayor Jefferson Dickson stood at the podium and looked out at the crowd. “My fellow citizens, thank you for coming here today. A number of people have worked hard so this event could take place, but they’ve asked not to be named at this time so nothing will draw attention away from what is about to happen here.

“This momentous occasion might well impact our community for generations to come, and though I’m proud to be a part of it, the idea was born in the heart of Dr. Ali Tehrani, respected oncologist and fellow patriot. I turn this program over to him and pray that you will listen with your hearts.”

The crowd applauded politely as Ali got up and stood at the podium, looking very statesmen-like in his black suit and red tie.

“Mayor Dickson, Chief Seevers, distinguished guests, fellow citizens, I doubt there is anyone in Seaport who has not felt anger and revulsion at the events of the past few weeks. Everything from the Coast Guard’s discovery of explosives to the murders of two of our young people to the recent car bombings have produced fear and uncertainty … and deep resentment toward those who have vowed to destroy us.

“As a Muslim American, I am appalled and grieved at the actions of radical Muslims who twist the meaning of jihad and use it as a license to dominate and destroy innocent people. For much too long I have been silent on the issue, afraid that speaking out would be perceived as an attack on Islam rather than a rebuke of my misguided brothers. But the escalating violence of the past few weeks has torn at my conscience. You are my neighbors, and I can no longer remain unresponsive. This is
my
country and
my
community—a kaleidoscope of races, religions, and cultures. I do not want harm to befall any person, least of all those with whom I live and work and play and worship.

“Yet, two of our teenagers were brutally murdered by two who were even younger. And though it was not with
our
hands these acts were committed, as a society we bear some responsibility for having failed to communicate to this generation the value of every human being. Diversity should not divide us. America has long been a melting pot of immigrants from every corner of the globe seeking freedom and opportunity. Have we forgotten that none of us has more right to be here than another?

“My friends, if we do not as individuals, as families, as communities, and as a nation work to find common ground, suspicion and misunderstanding will continue to foster hate and erupt into civil violence—and America will become a battleground of diversity instead of a haven for its expression.

“I came to this country too late in life to serve in the military
as did these great heroes we honor today. But I love America, and I am determined to defend her honor by fighting against the prejudice, fear, and violence that have raped her soul. But I am just one man. I need your help.