“That is not an easy thing for a minister to do. What if one of the flock sees me buying rubbers or something?”
“Thank your lucky stars you don't have to wear a collar. Have you ever done that before? Stopped at the drugstore for a little protection?”
“Yep.”
“The sin trip?”
“Even then I was a very careful sinner.”
“That figures. Am I another sin trip?”
Beverly was apparently a little slow. “Beverly, when are you going to listen to me? I love you. I have loved you for a long time. I've wanted you forever. This is no small thing for me; this is not enough for me. Come on now, you're going to have to quit fooling around and think about this seriously for a change. I need a real commitment. I want to marry you and the boys and be with you all the time. I can't do this routine for very long. I'll give you a little time and I'll hope, but you hurry up. I need you.”
It wasn't as though she hadn't already been thinking about it. She couldn't seem to think about anything else. When she prepared to marry Bob, there was no question in her mind. After a few years had passed she saw that much of what they had together was luck. Their love had been very committed; they managed to stick together long enough to solve their more serious problems. Who could predict a thing like stamina? In less fortunate unions the love had waned and faded. There was no great wealth of wisdom on her part that made her choice right. It just happened that they were well matched.
Thinking back realistically, even in their good marriage there had been some blistering quarrels. They suffered through petty squabbles about money and chores and other things. Even sex. After Bob's death Bev realized how much she depended on him, and his memory became more perfect with every passing day. Theirs had been one of the better marriages on record, even with all its flaws.
In church that morning she took an aisle seat so she could get a good view of the preacher. She watched him with love and longing in her eyes. She noted the bright smile, the commanding manner. His flock loved him, needed him. He led them gently, sincerely. This was his calling. She never doubted his faith, but it wasn't faith alone that put him on a pulpit, or moved God to put him there, if you believed all that stuff. He was a magnificent speaker. He had imagination, a creative ability to make his message moving, believable, interesting, and fun. And he was so terrific with people, large groups or individuals with secret problems or despairs. The perfect preacher. She figured he was about one in a million.
Joe didn't seem to lean toward ambition, except maybe within himself, but she could see that he could have great success in the ministry. Beliefs aside, he had that national television charisma, that perfect mixture of innocence and mastery.
She looked around the congregation. They needed him. They depended on his words, his faith, his judgment, and his knowledge. He would leave Maple Hills and move to another church. A church of his own. There would be a trusting congregation, a modest parsonage—and a faithful wife? Oh, she loved him, loved him desperately. But if they married, what would his flock think of a wife who wasn't even sure she believed in God? Joe didn't seem to be very distressed about that now, but that could change. Would she have to pretend? Would his followers question his sincerity if he were to marry someone like her?
Beverly didn't always sense disaster when she looked ahead. Once she had been optimistic and self-assured. But now she was simply scared silly. What if her marriage to Joe would hurt his career? What if his career hurt their marriage? And worse, she thought as she looked lovingly, longingly, at the man in the pulpit, what if he died? How could she collect the insurance money, give away his clothes, and explain to the boys that they had to make it without a father... again?
Oh, God, could I live through any more grief? Dear Lord, it would hurt to see him go. Would it hurt more to need him, build a life with him, and then lose him?
Or God, what if he suffered because of me? Could I watch the disappointment in his eyes as he tried to live faithfully with his mistake? Dear God, if you can't save me, please save him. He is too valuable to waste. Oh, God, is anything forever? Is anything for sure?
Just about one thing, Bev. Just about one thing is forever, for sure. Think about it.
I didn't hear that. I hang around this place too much. It's making me punchy.
“I wonder, Reverend, are you free to come to Sunday dinner?”
“In a flash.”
“Joe, we need to talk.”
That was all he needed to hear to know that something very heavy lay ahead. He rushed to her door, half afraid of what she had on her mind. When he walked in, he was all set to have it out with her. “What's the matter?”
“I'm happy, Joe. Thanks.”
“Great. What's wrong?”
“I feel guilty. About last night.”
“I don't. I love you too much to feel bad about loving you.”
“You're good, Joe. Too good to be led into a bad—”
“Bev, stop,” he said, reaching for her. “I was not led. I did what I did of my own free will. No one is responsible for my actions but me.”
“Will you wait for me, Joe? For a little while? I'll be faithful to you. I have so many doubts and fears. I have to settle them first and you can't really help me. I'm not stalling; I'm really scared. Before I marry you, I want to be sure I can be a good wife to you. For your sake, let me be sure.”
“I have given you everything I have to give, Beverly. I don't have anything more. And I'm starting to have needs too. I don't know what you're waiting for.”
“Aside from all my other doubts, I don't know how I could be a preacher's wife if I don't even believe in God. That's the big one. You must understand that?”
“I understand a lot more than you give me credit for. I'd like you to find faith in God, not for me, not for Him. For yourself. I know that's a tough one to resolve.” He hung his head and could not look at her, as if he had trouble with the words. Joe and words were almost synonymous. He never struggled for the right thing to say. “I think we could make it fine, though, if you had a little faith in me.”
“Oh, Joe...”
“Just love me. For right now, while you're thinking, just love me.”
Chapter Twelve
Bev was letting the time roll by. She took on the added obligation of teaching a summer charm course to thirteen- year-old girls. Mothers panicked when their daughters reached that age. They were usually one extreme or the other: clumsy and gawky or real little sexpots. Bev suspected the girls would be fine without charm, but their mothers might not, so she tried to help mold them into young women.
There was still extra time. She spent it looking for an apartment for Steve and Terry. She decided they were spending too much money to be near the campus and thought they would do better on the other side of town, on a bus route. Beverly was keeping busy.
She had looked at the calendar on that very important day in May. She wasn't very pleased with what she saw. After a short lecture to herself on lousing things up, she vowed not to think about it until it was necessary. She was the all-time worrywart too. Worry could make you two or three weeks late.
Joe took a look at the calendar too. It hung on the inside of the kitchen cupboard door so it wasn't too hard to peek without Beverly knowing. Women had to keep track of things so they could be prepared. Beverly didn't know Joe looked. She expected him to pray while she kept busy to keep from worrying.
Now, Beverly was subtle, but if you knew what you were looking for, it wasn't very hard to break the code. There was a little pencil line through the date on the calendar every four weeks. Every fourth Friday exactly since January on that calendar. Joe suspected that if he could get his hands on some old calendars, he would see years of those subtle little pencil lines. She ticked like a regular clock.
There should have been a big red star on the Saturday just two weeks after the last pencil line.
For once Beverly kept her mouth shut and, as usual, Joe didn't say anything. He stop
ped at the drugstore. Every time he went into the kitchen he checked to see if a pencil line had appeared on the calendar.
Maple Hills and Beverly were separated by a few miles, so it wasn't very likely that a parishioner would see Joe's car at Beverly's house in the late, late night. And the approach of summer would mean getting to know the neighbors, which Joe and Bev did, neglecting to mention Joe's profession.
Summertime also meant T-ball for Mark. Joe practiced with him and took Chuck and Bev to the games. He was growing more like a father to them all the time. They were close to Joe and trusted him. There were problems that arose when kids started getting popular with peers. Things had to be gone over and discussed. With little boys, sometimes it had to be with a man. And Joe was very good at that too.
Joe spent so much time at Beverly's house that it had become an established courtship as far as the rest of the world was concerned. This Saturday was no exception. Mark wanted to go swimming. It was the first week in June and the community pool had opened.
“I don't know, Mark. It's still a little cool. Maybe Joe and I will take you next weekend.”
“Maaaa, jeeez, all the other kids are going.”
“Sorry. Anyway, you were supposed to clean your room. Is it done?”
“I ain't gonna do it! Chuck always messes it up anyway. You don't never make him do nothin'!”
“Mark!” The voice of Joe, low and firm. Joe was fixing the screen door like a good weekend husband and father.
“Awwww, get off my back!”
Beverly didn't think she had ever seen a man move that fast. Not even when trying to make a home run out of a two-base hit. Joe could really move. Mark couldn't move nearly fast enough because he got it, right on the seat on his pants. It made a very loud thwack, followed by an unhappy and surprised yelp. There was momentary silence as the twosome entered the bedroom in question. A few minutes later Joe came out alone.
“I don't know if I should let you do that,” she said.
“Let? Was I supposed to ask? I didn't have time.”
“What did you say to him?”
“We had a very short discussion. We'll talk later when he's had time to calm down. He's mad now.”
“Well, tell me, Joe. He's my son.”
“He said, 'You can't spank me, you ain't my dad,' and I said, 'I know who I am; now, clean up this room,' and he said, 'Why should I?' and I said, 'Because if you don't, you're going to get another spanking,' and he pouted and I said, 'We'll talk about your mouth when the room is clean,' and he said, 'Okay.'“
“Well, I don't know, Joe. They like you so much. It might be a bad idea to have you start disciplining them. Maybe you ought to just leave that to me.”
“Mmm.”
“Mmm?”
“Well, Beverly, I just did it because I don't want Mark to talk like that, to you or to anyone else. When I'm not here and he talks to you that way, you handle it your way. But I'm here a lot, and when he talks to me that way, he's going to deal with it on my terms. My terms are these—first I get your attention, then later we have a civilized discussion. Next time, you run it through your brain once before you send it out your mouth. Or else.”
“Well—”
“Why don't you just wait and see?”
The room got cleaned. Best job ever. Not only that, but Mark was sorry and polite and sweet. Joe had this habit of making himself seem irresistible. Mark needed a father. He needed Joe. Beverly's reluctance was starting to mess things up for the boys.
Joe was a regular on Saturday nights. There was seldom any church business and he had a standing invitation to dinner. So they finished dinner and the dishes and settled into what looked like an all-American family setting. The boys were in front of the TV, Bev was on the couch paging through a magazine, and Joe was working on a bank statement at the dining room table. That's when the phone rang. Bev picked it up innocently.
“Hey, beautiful. How're you?”
“John? Is that you?”
“It's me, beautiful. How's my big sister?”
“John, are you drunk?”
“Very, very drunky. Very. Is your lover boy there?”
“Joe? Yes, Joe is here.”
“Well, then let me talk to him, sweetheart. I've got a good deal for him. Now, hurry up, angel, I have to pee.
Bev didn't have to call Joe to the phone. The worried and surprised look on her face said it all.
“John? Hey, buddy, what's up?”
“Your big opportunity, pal,” John said, adding a sniff and a gurgle. “Your big chance to get some points with the Chief. I'm at Tarran's Tavern on Seventieth and Cash. If you hurry up, you can save my life.”
“Need a ride home, John?”
“Hey, Joe, I'm giving you the big chance here, pal. If you can give me one reason to go on with this farce, I won't throw my ass over the Cash Street Bridge. Okay?”
“Okay. Sit tight. I'm on my way.”
Joe was a little surprised that Bev didn't slow him down by questions as he shot out the door. He said quickly that he had to get to John before he tried to drive himself anywhere. He was also amazed that she believed him when he said he probably wouldn't be back after driving John home because it would take him so long. He told her he would see her in the morning.
Joe had a pain that told him that if this was real trouble and he was too late, he would be a long time getting over it. He pulled into Tarran's, one of the sleaziest bars he'd seen in a long time. He relaxed when he saw John, far to the rear of the bar, with his head down on the table. Joe hoped he had passed out, but no such luck.
Joe wanted to take him right out of there and find a nice place to sober up and talk, but the minute he pulled on John's arm he said, “Not so fast, Preacher.” It was like calling “Fire!” The place started to thin.
Joe didn't ask why John was on a binge, but John was more than ready to spill. Joe wasn't going to be able to do John any good in this place, in this condition, but he was sort of getting the story. It apparently hadn't happened all at once, which it almost never does, but it had come to the boiling point early that morning. John didn't want to handle life anymore.
First, the nurse dumped him. Well, that was no big deal except that John loved her. Really loved her and wanted to marry her. But she wanted to marry a specialist. She'd been fooling around with a specialist, for God's sake, the whole time.
And the hospital couldn't share him with the clinic in which he was moonlighting. He needed the money so badly, sometimes he took something to stay awake and keep him going. Nothing really illegal, but a little something. Then he received a warning: quit the extra job, or out you go. Just like that, after about eight years of work.
Then, a few months ago, one of John's closest friends was suspended because a young male patient—a boy of twelve—brought charges against him for sexual assault. It was nonsense. But it mushroomed, made the papers, criminal charges were filed, it was going to court. John stood by him; he didn't even think the guy was gay, and even if he was gay, he'd never hurt a kid. He just knew the guy wasn't a sex offender. Wouldn't John know a thing like that after eight years of working with him?
No, he didn't. His friend had broken under the pressure and admitted his guilt. His lifetime career dreams were over, so he shot himself. In the head. They had found him this morning. And he left a note. He was sorry.
John had had it. He didn't want to live in a crazy, screwed-up world like this. But John was too drunk to throw himself over anything, especially a bridge. He couldn't do anything but go with Joe. Joe thought his own apartment would be the best place to exorcise the demons from a bad drunk. It wasn't going to be fun.
John cried and puked and shook. Joe held his head like he would a sick child and mopped up a lot. It was a long time before John slept, and even then it was troubled, exhausted sleep. It wasn't as if Joe hadn't seen this before. Once this was Joe. But when it happened to him there was no one to hold his head, mop up, and love him like a brother.
; Joe waited until the sun came up to call Charles Sullivan, the chief reverend.
“Charles? Did I wake you? I know it's early.”
“No, I was up. What can I do for you?”
“Well, if you've got a spare sermon laying around, you can do the early service for me. I have an urgent pastoral duty sleeping off a bad drunk in my bed.”
“One of the flock?”
“Yep.”
“Can I help?”
“I can handle it, Charles. He came to me, so I think he'll be all right. But he was doing some pretty wild talking last night and I don't want to leave him alone until I'm sure.”
“Sure. Call me later and let me know.”
“Will do. Oh, and Charles. Bev will be there and she may ask you where I am. Tell her I called you, okay, and tell her I was called out this morning. I really don't want her to come over here, but if you tell her I turned my apartment into a drunk tank, she'll come. Don't give her the details, okay?”
“Sure.” Charles would know after the early service who was in trouble. Steve and Terry would probably be in church. And Charles, like many people, knew Beverly the nosy.
It was noon before John began to come out of it. The first sounds from the bed sent Joe for the pail again. The next sounds were a multitude of apologies and excuses. Sober, John was going to pretend it wasn't all that bad. Just the booze. Joe wasn't buying.
“I'm sure it was the booze, which is one of many things we'll have to discuss. But I'll take the sober version anyway.”
The sober version was no different. John didn't want to tell it because telling it, hearing it come out of his own mouth, made it too real. It made him cry some more.
“Where do you think you had the first problem?” Joe asked.
“I don't know. They stacked up pretty fast.”
“Janet? Your friend's suicide? The extra job? The pills? The liquor?”
“Maybe Janet.”
“Did you take pills while you were with Janet?”
John looked at Joe directly. His eyes were red-rimmed, blank, exhausted, naked. “Yes.” Then he slumped, visibly, into utter disappointment. “And that guy, my friend, the closet sex offender, he let me help him. He swore he was innocent and lied to me, laying my own credibility on the line. And I'm about to lose my license before I get it.”