The Kaleidoscope (34 page)

He couldn’t believe this lovely creature had become a part of his life, and dared not say anything to spook her off. Her elegant beauty, her inquisitive spirit flamed every cell and fiber in his body. Unlike anyone had ever been able to, she made his mornings brighter and his steps lighter. “Did you ever wonder what it would be like to be born in a totally different time, place, and body?” It was a thought that used to shame him, but he knew she wouldn’t judge him for expressing it out loud.

“I guess everyone thinks about that from time to time, Harry.” They strolled slowly now, skaters and joggers brushing past. Harold grabbed her hand to keep them from being jostled apart. Pepper glanced down. She’d always been the one to make first contact. Until now. “Why do you ask? Are you wishing you were someone else?”

“Today is the first time I haven’t wondered why I am me.”

“Very existential for a scientist.”

He pulled gently to stop her, turning her to face him. “Did you really mean what you said about letting people be who they really are?”

She cocked her head, measuring him with the deep brown pools she used to regard the world. To look upon him. And in that instant, he knew. Glenda circled, winding her leash around their legs until they were trapped in full frontal contact. “With some caveats. Why?”

Harold had only to move his mouth down a fraction. He hesitated, then met her lips that rose to find his. The heat kindled by her nearness filled him until his body melded to hers. In the middle of the park, underneath the oak tree, where it had all started, Harold declared his commitment to this woman who believed in him. She challenged him, she frightened him.

Eventually he drew back, opening his eyes just as hers did the same.

“Is that what I think it is, Harry?” she teased.

For a moment his brain worked to process what she meant, then he laughed and reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the Kaleidoscope. “Maybe.”

He twirled her around, and they laughed together, and for a few moments of complete abandon, they danced.

****

Harold groped the bed stand for his glasses and slid them on to check the caller ID.

“Who is it?” Pepper came out of the bathroom in his robe, pulling a comb through her wet hair.

He squinted, unable to read without his glasses. “I don’t know. Hello?” Pepper found the glasses on the dresser and tossed them to him.

It was his dad. “Sorry to bother you so late, but I wondered if I could stop by with a friend. I’d like you to meet him.”

The digital numbers on the alarm clock read 10:30. “Can it wait until morning?” Harold paused when tapping on the door set Glenda to a low woof. “You’re already here, aren’t you?” He hung up and found some shorts, stepping into the living room as Pepper opened the door.

“It’ll just take a minute.” Walter came in. Behind him a bearded man, his clothes worn and dirty to the point of being held together by grunge, stood huddled in his own aura of shyness.

“This is my friend, Luke.” Walter introduced the man as if he was Prince Charles just stepped from the Queen’s Bentley. “We met at the shelter before I left town, and I’ve been searching for him ever since I got back.”

“Can we get you something to eat or drink?” Pepper tugged Glenda away from loudly snuffling the man’s torn trousers.

“Naw, Gus, er, Walter already got me a burger.”

“We met at St. Mark’s,” Walter said. “Luke told me about the cabin. Harold, I want him to tell you something you should hear for yourself.”

Pepper gestured, and they sat. Harold chose the chair across the room from Walter, and his friend sat on the couch. Pepper perched on the arm next to Harold.

“What is it?” Harold wanted to get the man out of the apartment as soon as possible. Febreze time.

“Go on, Luke. Tell him,” Walter urged.

“The day the winder got busted.” Luke scruffed a hand through his beard. “There weren’t no storm.”

“No storm?” All of this seemed very important to Walter. Harold decided he had no choice but to play along for a few minutes. “Is that so?”

“Don’t you see, Harold? There was no storm, no hail. The stained glass window just broke.” Walter flicked his fingers wide. “Pow!”

“It’s true. I was waitin’ in line for the kitchen to open.” Luke scooted forward on the cushion. “We all heard a crack, looked up, and then the glass around Jesus’ face just give way.” He circled his own face with a grimy finger.

“Maybe someone threw a pebble, or a bird flew into it,” Harold suggested.

“Or a tiny earthquake and there was already a hairline crack, or the building just moved enough to bust it open.” Pepper spit out the possibilities like lemon seeds. “Why must you insist on a scientific explanation?” She thumped Harold’s shoulder. “You still can’t deny that whatever caused the window to break, the pieces that came from the window are magical.”

“Why can’t I demand logic?” Why did she insist on pushing his hot button?

“Because not everything is black and white?” She stood, wrapping his robe tighter around her. “Because sometimes we have to believe in miracles and the unexplainable, Harry. Because sometimes that’s all we have to go on.” Tears suddenly appeared, and Pepper dashed from the room, slamming the bedroom door.

Harold made some excuses for her, blaming the chemo, or her monthly visitor, which made him blush in front of his dad, and showed Walter and Luke to the door.

“I just thought you’d like to know about the mystery of the broken window.” Walter stopped, hand on the knob. “I’m not sure what I think about it, either. But you have to admit it’s odd. And if you want, you can even search the news and weather for that day and see if there was a tremor or pop-up hail storm.”

Harold found Pepper under the covers; Glenda snuggled next to her on the bed. She was still and quiet except for ragged breaths muffling up through the spread.

“Can we talk about it?” Harold knew he should tread lightly. Experience had taught him the best approach in these cases was with severe caution, and a clear path to the exit.

Pepper snuffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to explode at you.”

He dared to touch her, caressing her smooth cheek, damp from tears. “It’s okay. I can be stubborn.”

A brown arm appeared from under the spread, and Pepper drew herself closer to him so that her head nestled in his lap. “I had a follow up appointment, Harold. The oncologist thinks the…he thinks it’s back. I’m so tired, Harry. I need a miracle. It’s time to believe in miracles, Harry, and you need to believe in them with me.”

He lifted her to enfold in his embrace. The precious woman who got him, who cared for him above all others, needed him. She needed him in a way he wasn’t entirely sure he could deliver. But he would surely try.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Hey, mon!” Rhashan handed over the morning mail. “This be my last delivery, you best be enjoying it.”

Harold tried to smile, but the effort didn’t convince Rhashan. “What’s the matter?” Without looking left or right, Rhashan pulled the cart out of the aisle and moved in to perch on Harold’s desk. “You look terrible, my friend.”

Harold told him what Pepper had shared minus the part about how he couldn’t believe in miracles. “I can’t stand the thought of losing her, Rhashan.”

Silent for a moment, Rhashan’s words were soft yet deliberate. “When I was a young boy in Jamaica, my grandma she take me to da beach with her. She gather shells to make pretty t’ings to sell to da tourists. I say, Grandma, where do all these peoples come from and she point and she say, dey live on the other side of the ocean. It take dem days to get here on da boats and hours to get here on de planes. Someday, she say to me, you will go to their country and see how big they are.” He thumbed at his own chest.

Harold didn’t know how this story about a little boy and his shell-collecting grandma was supposed to help. But he sat still, comforted by his friend’s presence.

“So I say, no, grandma, you are wrong. There is only our island, and dese peoples, they are de same ones who circle our island again and again and land to eat our food and drink our water and then leave again to come back.”

Harold shot a sideways glance at the man. “Is that some kind of racist joke? All white people look alike to you?”

Rhashan threw his head back and chortled. “I never, ho…I never thought of it dat way, but I suppose in my little head.” He wiped the corner of an eye on a sleeve. “The point was, Harold, I had never seen where dese people came from, and my grandma, she was asking me to have faith in what I could not see.”

His computer dinged, and Harold stared at it without focusing.

“Where do all those emails come from, Harry?”

“Many of them are junk sent by servers that are programmed to send them out, others are from actual people.” He realized Rhashan was interested in making a point, not finding out the avenues of server deliveries. “Why?”

“Maybe someday the faith that we have,” Rhashan pointed up, “will be as explainable as the workings inside dese machines. But dat does not mean that it is wrong to open up to the possibilities.” He stood and placed his hands on the mail cart. “Just because you cannot see the server does not mean you don’t believe it’s there, because you keep getting proof.”

“I wish you well on your promotion, sir.” Harold pondered how deep Rhashan’s philosophies really went. “Congratulations.”

“Why, t’ank you, friend.” He paused. “And thank you for correcting the misinformation about my work et’ics.”

“Sorry.” Harold’s face warmed. “I’m glad I was able to explain those emails should never have been sent.”

“Apology accepted.” The whistling followed Rhashan and wafted across the cubicle walls. Harold smiled, tapping his pencil until he could hear the melodious tune no longer. He was going to miss Rhashan’s daily cover of “Moondance.” Which reminded him once again of Pepper.

He picked up his phone and dialed, connecting to her voicemail. “I’m going to meet you at your doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Text me the address and time. I’ll meet you there. I have a stop to make first.”

****

“Come in, Harold.” Father Tucker ushered Harold into his office, and chose a seat behind his expansive desk. Leather bound classics lined up alongside Greek mythology, theologies of the world, as well as some fantasy novels. “It’s good to see you. How’s your dad, and Pepper?”

“He’s fine, thanks. I wanted to ask you about something, but you have to promise you won’t laugh.”

“I’ll do my best.” He smiled, but sobered when he saw Harold’s worried frown. “I promise.”

“All the talk about supernatural mysteries and crystals and miracles…”

“Go on.”

“I have to admit I was kind of angry with you.”

“At me? What did I do?”

“You’re an educated man. And yet, you buy into the whole possibility of…of…”

“Mysteries are actually a part of the business here.” The priest leveled a reassuring smile. “If it was all explainable, I wouldn’t find it nearly as interesting, would you, Harold? Isn’t that what you do? You track down mysteries in your coding? You find a trail, follow it to the source? That’s precisely what we’re doing here.”

“Yes, but my searches lead to concrete results. You don’t have the same kind of answers.”

“Maybe not in this dimension.”

Harold didn’t expect him to agree, but that admission rattled him. “So you admit you can’t answer all my questions.”

“I do admit that. That’s why it’s called faith.”

Harold tried a different tack. “What exactly is the point of pursuing something you’ll never know the answer to?”

“Who says I’ll never know?”

“You just did.”

“I said I
may
never know in this dimension. Do you know what dimensions are, Harold? I assumed you did.”

“Of course I know what dimensions are. But you people talk about heaven and hell and earth. Not in terms of dimensions.”

“Would you rather I talked in those terms?”

As if he was on a psychoanalyst’s couch, Harold’s head spun from the questions answering questions. Circles. He moved to get up. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”

“It’s just that I sense you want everyone to come over to your side, Harold. It’s not always about who is right and who is wrong. Healthy disagreement, vigorous debates often lead to more discovery than black and white answers.”

This guy was really getting on his nerves. “All right. Answer this. Why does God, if he does exist, allow bad things to happen to good people?”

The pastor nodded as if he had expected this all along. “Why shouldn’t he?
If
he does exist?”

“I thought he was a god of love.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in him.”

“Do I have to believe in him to wonder why he allows disease and heartache?”

Father Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “The first step is not about
having
to do anything. It’s about wanting to. No one is forcing you to believe anything, Harold. Faith is a choice. It’s not a crutch. If it was, then it would make life easier, but it doesn’t really.”

“Because bad things still happen to the faithful?”

“Precisely.”

A quell of panic rose. “I have to catch a bus. Pepper has an MRI. I want to be there for her.”

“You’re a good man, Harold.” Father arose and scooted around the desk. “Please tell her I will pray for her.”

Instead of infuriating him, the comment made Harold feel better. “Thanks.”

They moved together down the tiled hallway. “Would you like to see where your father lived while he was working here? It’s out the back, and you’ll be even closer to the bus stop.”

Father Tucker led Harold down narrow stairs to a level he didn’t know existed underneath the office and kitchen. Cooking smells filled the cramped room. A metal cot, a workbench made up of rough boards, and a tiny bathroom barely large enough for a pedestal sink, toilet and shower comprised the apartment. “This is it, Harold.”

The way he was studying him, Harold sensed he was waiting for some kind of response. “This is…cozy.”

“He lived here for over ten years, Harold. Before that, he managed to live on the street. I don’t know how long he was like that. He was very grateful to have this when I cleared it out for him to use while he was our custodian.”