“Do you want to tell me why?”
She shrugged uncomfortably. “No—it’s okay. I’m doing better anyway. I see my dad every week, and we talk. It’s not all his fault.”
“It never is all one person’s fault. Thank you for coming, Gina. I really am glad you’re here.”
She picked up the photo of Tate. “That girl—Lissa—she looks so much like Tate.”
“Yes, she does.”
“She’s so pretty, but she looks really awful—like she’s scared or something. Is she going to be okay?”
Ev felt thankful that his granddaughter was growing into a thoughtful and compassionate young woman. “I think she will, eventually. She’s traveled a hard road.”
“None of my business, right?”
Ev gave her a wink.
“Can I look at your novels? You know—your
real
novels. The ones you wrote.”
“Be my guest.”
Examining the books on the shelves, Gina carefully took out each of the hardback copies of S. A. Green’s novels and lined them up on his desk, running her hands lovingly across each cover. “I can’t wait to read them all. I’m so proud of you, Granddad.”
She came beside him and threw her arms around his neck, and Ev could not stop the tears from springing into his eyes. God was a redeemer. Ev had never had the joy of a teenaged Katy Lynn spontaneously hugging him. But now he had Gina.
“Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you.”
“I guess you don’t want me to tell my friends?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, sweetie.”
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. All my friends tell me secrets, and I just file them in my brain and never say a word.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then said, “Grandmom and Aunt Janelle are going to take me to get lunch at Wendy’s. I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Have a good time, Gina.”
________
At two o’clock on Saturday afternoon, Silvano turned his car off the highway and drove toward Fort Oglethorpe. His third trip to Chattanooga in twenty-four hours was worth it—it was going to make him rich! He had loaded the car with camera, tape recorder, the papers, the books, and a notepad on which he had scribbled a dozen questions.
He actually enjoyed his trek back to Chattanooga and the home of Mr. Everett MacAllister, alias S. A. Green. He had the phone number, but he would not call.
Take the old man by surprise, catch him off guard. That would make the best story!
Bravo! Fantastico!
He was going to make a lot of money off of this deal. He could almost taste it, like creamy gelato. He fingered the rosary beads that hung from his rearview mirror.
“
Bel colpo.
I’m on my way, Mamma. All the waiting has been worth it! Soon you will all have a better life.”
The Rock City signs on the barn roofs made him think of Lissa. Yes, he had shocked her, and yes, he had used her. But honestly, was it his fault that an interesting, attractive girl had led him straight to S. A. Green? It was simply a case of being at the right place at the right time, a bizarre and timely coincidence.
When too many coincidences line up in your life, perhaps Someone big and all-powerful is orchestrating events to get your attention.
He groaned as that little jewel floated to him from
Driving Lessons
. He did not have time to listen to Essay’s platitudes.
Anyway, he’d get Lissa back. Yes, it would take more than charm and name-dropping. He grinned self-consciously, thinking of her reproach. He liked that girl. Forthright, bright, competitive … and yet fragile. He liked her a lot. But he was prepared to sacrifice the relationship—at least momentarily—for the higher cause: the story, the money, the beginning of a brighter future for his family.
He turned his car onto the road marked with the Fort Oglethorpe and Chickamauga signs, and traveled down Highway 2. Slowly he continued until he came to Sunrise Road. Perched on a hill, a rambling Victorian house with a wide porch sat far back from the road. An old blue Ford, a white Impala, and a yellow Camaro were parked in the semicircle dirt driveway out front.
Silvano did a double take. A yellow Camaro? He knew that car! He’d seen it just this morning in the Randalls’ opened garage. Was Lissa here? Had she warned Mr. MacAllister? He needed to think fast. He’d imagined ringing the bell and snapping a photo when it opened, the way the paparazzi did for movie stars. But perhaps he should take a calmer approach.
He put all the equipment in the briefcase, and the camera around his neck.
Ready or not, S. A. Green, here I come!
________
Ev shook himself awake. He must have drifted off sitting there in his office chair. The house was quiet, which meant that Annie, Janelle, and Gina were still at lunch. Katy Lynn had not returned either. Perhaps she had driven straight back to Atlanta and he’d never see her again.
From somewhere in his subconscious he heard the doorbell ringing. He pushed himself out of the chair, got up slowly, and walked out of his office, down the back hall, and across the den to the front door. His heart was dancing erratically. Would Katy Lynn feel a need to ring the doorbell? What would he read on his daughter’s face? Hate? Condemnation? Love? Forgiveness? He opened the door with a prayer in his mind.
But the young man standing on the porch was a complete stranger, a salesman, dressed in an expensive suit with a briefcase in his hand and a fake smile on his face.
“Everett MacAllister?”
“Yes. That’s right. May I help you?”
“I think so. My name is Silvano Rossi, and I work with the
Chattanooga Times
.” He stuck out his hand and shook Ev’s with a firm grasp. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. My colleague got sick, and they sprang this assignment on me late last night. We’re doing a piece on teenage drivers, and we understand you’re in the business of teaching them. I only need a moment of your time.”
The last thing Ev wanted was to answer a reporter’s questions. “Look, young man … Mr. Rossi, is it? This is not a good time. You’ll have to come back later.”
Completely ignoring Ev, the young man took the camera from around his neck and began snapping photos.
Irritated, Ev stepped closer. “Look here, Mr. Rossi, please leave. You are out of line. Call me if you want an interview.”
The man did not move. He had a know-it-all smile painted on his face, and his dark eyes were gleaming. “I think you will want to hear my questions.”
Ev did not appreciate the young man’s brash manner. “I’m afraid you are wrong. Now please be on your way.”
“I’ll leave, but first just answer this one question.” He produced a photo. “Is this your wife?”
Ev looked at the photo of Annie. She was dressed in a business suit, the only one she owned, the one she had worn three weeks ago when she went to Chicago.
His heart skipped a beat, and then he knew. This was the man who had written them, enticing Annie to Chicago for an interview, the scoundrel who had not shown up, the one who had Annie constantly looking over her shoulder.
“Leave now!” Ev bellowed in an uncharacteristically angry voice.
“All right! All right. I’ll leave. But I happen to know that this woman
is
your wife, Annie MacAllister, and that she came to Chicago—to meet me, in response to a letter I sent—in the guise of the novelist S. A. Green. I know that is just a cover-up—she is not the novelist. You are.”
“Please leave.” Ev wished Annie was here. She had a knack for getting rid of nosy reporters.
“I’ll leave. But be warned. I’m writing an article on you for a major magazine.”
“Please leave.” No other words came to mind. He could no longer ignore the pinching in his chest.
“You shouldn’t force me away so quickly. Unless of course you want me to publish things the way I see it, complete with photos and quotes.”
“That is illegal.”
“No, it isn’t. Either you can give me an interview and set the facts straight, or I’ll just write what I know and guess at the rest—about your books and your foundation and your wife.”
Ev felt the sweat on his lip, his heart begin to flutter. He needed to sit down. “What do you want?”
“Just what I said, Mr. MacAllister. I want an interview.”
“Come inside, then.” Ev’s vision blurred slightly as he led Silvano into the den. He motioned for the young man to take a seat in a chair as he sank down into the sofa. Surely the girls would be home soon.
“Perhaps you’re wondering how I know these things. I believe you have a student named Lissa Randall. She was very helpful—gave me all kinds of information.”
Lissa! Isn’t she upstairs?
Silvano Rossi produced another piece of paper. “I’ve also been in touch with your broker, Mr. Ted Draper, about that foundation.”
Ev felt trapped.
Lord, you aren’t surprised. You aren’t trapped. Give me wisdom to know what to say.
He got up a little shakily. “I’m going to get a glass of water. Can I get you anything, Mr. Rossi?”
“Water would be fine.”
His vision blurred again as he made his way into the kitchen.
Get your medication!
But the tablets were back in the bedroom. No way he could make it that far. Hands shaking, Ev took two small glasses from the cabinet and filled them with water. He jostled half of the contents onto the rug before setting one glass in front of Silvano. The young man didn’t even look up when Ev set his glass on the end table so forcefully that it made a hard thud and the water soaked his hand. He collapsed onto the couch.
Rossi had set a tape recorder on the coffee table. He switched it on and began firing questions. Where was Ev from originally? When did he and Annie meet? When did he decide to use his wife as a cover-up for his career as a novelist? Why did he start the driving school? How did Eddy Clouse discover his work? What about the foundation—why was it so secretive? Perhaps there was something illegal involved?
Why isn’t Annie here?
She knew how to answer these questions. He had never been good at stopping an aggressive reporter. The pain was increasing, shooting down his arm. He needed to get his tablets.
“Why all the secrecy, Mr. MacAllister? I just don’t get it.”
“Fame is a strange bedfellow, Mr. Rossi. Pretty soon everyone wants a piece of you, and if they can’t get it nicely, they’ll resort to all kinds of foolery to get it. You must understand that—here you want a piece of my fame too. Foolery! Shame on you!” He took another deep breath, tried to calm his racing heart. “My pen name and my wife’s participation and the foundation are merely precautions to protect those I love, nothing illegal. All we’re trying to do is to protect our privacy. Can’t you understand that we don’t want or need the attention? I’m doing what I was created to do, and that is enough.”
Silvano looked thoughtful and stopped writing. “So then, tell me, Mr. MacAllister. What do you want, if it isn’t fame and power and money?”
“For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
“Is that from the Bible?”
“Yes.”
Silvano scribbled on his notepad. “I heard you are very religious.”
“I’m not religious. I have a living faith in a living person, Jesus Christ. And I believe I’m called to touch lives one at a time, as they come to me, as He brings them to me. I do my best to help, in the fullness of the word, in all ways. And perhaps my books go out to thousands, but they are read by individuals, and they too touch lives one at a time. But ultimately, Christ is the One who convinces each of us of our need to change and who has the power to change us. I am a simple worker. I do not want notoriety. I have no use for it.”
Something in Silvano Rossi’s demeanor changed. The hungry reporter leaned forward, and for the first time there was a hint of authenticity about him. “But, sir, from what I understand of your religion, Jesus Christ uses a book to touch lives one at a time, as you put it. Isn’t the Bible called the written Word? Jesus certainly didn’t refuse notoriety. That book is about Him, and it happens to be the bestseller of all time.”
“Please don’t compare me to Almighty God, young man. You just don’t get it, do you?” Ev’s voice rose, and he winced at his constricting heart.
The dizziness returned. Ev needed to get rid of this man, needed to lie down. He leaned over and whispered, “Mr. Rossi, if the day comes when I feel it would be for the greater good for my readers to know who I am, I can assure you I will tell them. In the meantime, I would prefer to remain anonymous.” He took two shallow breaths and squeezed his eyes closed as the pain shot through him.
________
Lissa awoke, groggy and disoriented. She gazed around the bedroom and remembered that she was at the MacAllisters’ house. Had she heard a doorbell? She turned over, dozed off and on, then finally got up and splashed water on her face. The house seemed quiet, although she thought she distinguished soft voices coming from downstairs. She pulled on her jeans, deeply thankful for her nap. How long had she slept?
She came into the upstairs hallway and recognized Mr. MacAllister’s voice, though it sounded gravelly and distant … and distressed.
“I’m afraid that is no longer possible,” said another very familiar voice.
It took Lissa only a moment to place it. Silvano!
She raced down the stairs and found Silvano sitting across from Mr. MacAllister in the den. A tape recorder was on the coffee table. She marched over to Silvano and blurted out, “Why are you here?”
He gave her a syrupy smile. “For my interview, of course.”
“You creep.”
“It’s all right, Lissa,” Mr. MacAllister whispered. “Please have a seat with your friend.”
“Silvano’s not my friend! He’s a name-dropping, good-for-nothing creep!” Then she saw how Mr. MacAllister was sitting, almost sinking into the couch, his complexion ashen. He was bracing himself with one arm.
“Mr. MacAllister, what’s the matter? Something’s the matter!” To Silvano she spat, “What have you done to him? Can’t you see he’s ill?” She hurried to the older man’s side. “Help me, Silvano! Help me get him to his bed.”
Silvano got up quickly. Supporting the older man on either side, they led him into the back of the house, past his office to his bedroom.