"That's big of you, but you don't want to lead her on." Ray chuckled. "She's not going to worry about my letting her down. There's plenty of fish in her sea. Listen, you're not offended, are you? That I want to cut out early, I mean."
She smiled. "Of course not. I don't like to stay to the end of these things anyway. And it's not like it's a date.
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We're just showing up together. I mean, I wasn't going to dance with only you."
Ray studied her. If she was only covering, she was good at it. He was convinced she meant every word.
i Impressive, wholesome woman. Nice.
Ray did not even pick up Irene for the dance. He didn't ". know where she lived, didn't ask, and she didn't offer.
had merely agreed to meet at the event. She was waiting for him, and they greeted awkwardly. It wasn't a date, but it had the trappings, and he attributed his discomfort to the fact that they didn't know each other
enough to know how to act.
They hung around together for about ninety minutes, though Irene had said she was not going to limit dances to Ray, that's exactly what she did. Maybe he was so physically imposing and they
appeared to be together, none of the other guys dared or try to cut in.
. Ray was not much of a dancer, especially on the slow
There was no sense of connection with Irene they embraced, and that seemed as much his fault as hers. This was an arrangement of convenience, so was not looking for sparks. And she may have been worrying, or at least wondering, about his s. They touched each other the way Ray had his ugly old aunt to hug him. And after each dance, their conversation was more awkward and
Ray delayed the begging off as long as he could, and to his relief, Irene brought it up. She looked at her watch and said, "You'd better get going, huh?"
"Yeah, I should. You want me to walk you home or are you going to stay or what?" "I'm okay," she said. "You go." "Well, thanks." "No, thank you."
He hurried off, but when he got to the other side of the quad he had second thoughts and actually considered going back, standing up Kitty and her silly social cookout. Ray was intrigued that Irene was still at the dance, and despite how fractured the evening had seemed, he found it disconcerting that she might be dancing with others right now.
He turned to head back, only to see Irene leaving alone. Ray snorted with the realization that she had been there only with him and for him. He turned toward Kitty's sorority house.
The cookout was unlike any he had ever attended. To Ray a cookout was an amateur like his dad or uncle or he himself throwing a bunch of meat on a too-hot or too-cool fire and trying to guess when it was done. People drank too much and frolicked in the pool and didn't care if the burgers and dogs were over- or underdone. It was about being together and having fun and gorging on carbs.
Not so this night.
Ray l'iated situations like this. Besides going against his better judgment, he had to enter a gathering where he knew only one person, and if he couldn't find Kitty immediately, he would have to ask for her.., ask a person who probably doubted he had really been invited. Everyone at this bash would know one another, except him.
He heard music coming from the backyard of the huge mansion, but to get there he had to go through the house. No one answered his ring or his knock, so he carefully ventured in. He passed rooms occupied by couples in stages of physical activity, from making out to i.more. Any one of them could have heard him knocking, but apparently such houses were always open and people
expected to just walk in.
He passed through the kitchen and was greeted by couple of girls rummaging through the refrigerator.
said hello as if they were pleased and surprised to him. They each thrust out a hand and introduced
"Ray," he said.
!:They tried to guess what fiat house he represented, he kept shaking his head. "Just looking for Kitty," said.
The girls looked at each other and smiled. "Who
Ray was largely ignored in the backyard but hadn't
Felt so conspicuous in years. It was obvious this was no
cookout. For one thing, it was catered. White- chefs in tall hats huddled around top-ofthe-line and there wasn't a dog, a brat, or a burger in No paper plates either.
:Lights were strung about a large patio, illuminating
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linen-clothed tables laden with silver and china. Though no one was dressed up, those who were not dancing to the raucous music--with the requisite D J--sat enjoying shish kebabs of beef, shrimp, pork, and fruit. There were also steaks and chops. And waiters everywhere.
Finally Kitty spied Ray and came squealing. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, thanking him for coming.
"Wouldn't have missed it," he said.
She introduced him to a dozen people, always mentioning that he was from Illinois, studying to be a pilot, and not a fraternity brother. That usually ended the conversations. Kitty had been right, he decided, to leave out the ROTC mention. He might have been bounced over that.
When the blaring music finally changed to a slow love song, Kitty pulled him to a makeshift dance floor and snuggled against him. Her embrace felt entirely different from Irene's. He gathered her in gently, and they seemed to fit. She was warm and soft. She laid her head on his shoulder and hummed with the music as they moved together, and she was on key.
When he pulled her closer, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was as if they had been made for this. And in spite of everything-- every red flag, every warning bell--Ray breathed in her essence and fell in love.
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TWENTY-ONE
THE YEAR Ray Steele spent in love with Katherine Wyley proved the worst of his life, even worse than the early high school years when he had lost his coordination and his looks. He learned what addiction was.
Everything about the woman clouded his judgment, but the puzzle of it was always with him. He loved the idea of being in love. He enjoyed being seen in the company of one of the most dramatic lookers on campus. And when he was away from her, she made it clear he was her one and only lifetime choice.
That should have felt good, except that when they were together he couldn't shake the idea that he didn't even like her. How could that be? What did he see in her? His grades suffered. His other relationships, with guys in his dorm and the men and women in ROTC, faded to nothingness. The only other person he really talked with was Irene. "Dowdy Irene," as Kitty referred
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to her. "A nice girl with no sense of fashion," Kitty decided. "Bet she winds up with one of the ag students. She'll make a nice farmwife."
That was a rotten thing to say, Ray thought. He knew several ag students, and some of them had gorgeous girlfriends.
Every day he spent with Kitty, Ray felt he was losing the core of himself. Was she that strong a personality? He hated her values, the things she said, the issues that seemed important to her. He asked himself over and over why he continued with her, why he didn't simply confront her and end this. He practiced speeches before the mirror, wrote long treatises with it's-not-you-it's-me themes.
Was the entire relationship physical? They had quickly fallen into that routine, and there was no denying she was fun to sleep with. Could he have become as shallow as she, putting up with values and attitudes that violated every scsibility he had been raised with, all because he enjoyed the sex?
He had taken her to Belvidere, introduced her to his parents. There Ray and Kitty slept in separate bedrooms and pretended to have a chaste relationship. Ray's mother doted on Kitty, seeming to love everything about her. His father was formal and distant, perhaps because Kitty hadn't hidden her boredom with the tour of the tool and die, and because he didn't have the right answers when she asked what clubs he belonged to and how he spent his leisure time.
"Not sure I know what leisure time is," Mr. Steele had said. "Sounds like wasted
time, if you ask me."
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All the way back to Indiana, Kitty had made fun of Ray's parents. He laughed and took it, and to his own disgust, added stories to make it worse.
Then, of course, came the visit to her parents in northern Indiana. Her father and mother were divorced and both remarried, remaining in much the same social circles as when they had been together. So there were two formal dinners, two visits to the country club, a round of golf each with the real dad and the stepdad.., and for all Ray's size and strength and athleticism, he was spectacularly bad at the game.
Everything about the milieu disgusted him. He was not and would not be a club kind of a guy. The casual wear that cost more than a tuxedo; the inside jokes and the banter; the camaraderie that seemed so easy and friendly but always managed to work in how guys' businesses were going, how their new luxury cars were working out, and how they were manipulating their handicaps to score better in the next tournament.
Ray and Kitty spent two nights each at her respective parents' homes, and both put them up in one bedroom without question or mention that it should be any different. In spite of himself, Ray was embarrassed. It was an adult thing, he tried to tell himself. Good. Mature. iWhy pretend things were other than they were? These i sophisticated, worldly-wise people wouldn't have even considered that a modern college couple who had been while would save sex for marriage. And why that surprise him? They were right.
The drive back to campus was different than the one from Illinois. There was no making fun, no criticizing of her parents or stepparents. Kitty was proud of how both her mom and dad had remained major influences in her life and had not let their personal acrimony spill onto her. "Sure, they had unkind things to say about each other for a while, but they eventually came to a truce so my sisters and I wouldn't suffer." She giggled. "And of course we learned to play them off each other and trade on their guilt over what they had put us through. We've all always had everything we wanted whether we need it or not. And it's nice they both remarried well, because we get double everything. Imagine our wedding, Ray."
He could imagine it, all right. He had not formally proposed, but after six months of dating they talked about the future as a foregone conclusion. They discussed his career, the fastest route to becoming a commercial pilot, where they would live, whether she would work--Kitty had no illusions about needing to. "Me-time can be a full-time job. I want to stay gorgeous for you, Ray. That takes a lot of time and a lot of money."
It was meant as a compliment, and he pretended to take it that way. He felt as if he were sliding down a mountain on his rear end with nothing to stop him but jagged rocks. What was it about Kitty's personality that had such a hold on him? Part of it, he knew, was that he also wanted many of the trappings required to keep a woman like her happy. He wanted a trophy house and trophy cars. And while perhaps he would never be a country clubber, who knew? Maybe he would someday. And didn't houses and cars like that come with trophy
Tim LaHaye & Jerry B. Jenkins
wives? He could sure do worse than a beautiful woman like Kitty.
They hardly ever fought, but it wasn't because he didn't want to. There were days when everything about Kitty and her lifestyle and her opinions and priorities offended him to his soul. And they always did what she wanted to do, fulfilled her priorities, went where she wanted to go. She whined and cajoled and begged and played to him, acting as if he was the sweetest thing she ,had ever known because he treated her so well. Ray felt
if he had disappeared. He was her arm candy, and while she had more resources than he did, that would ichange. They discussed this often. He was on a path to comfortable life, and she was excited to be along for the ride.
One afternoon at the ROTC center, Ray and Irene sat in their usual spot in a corner on an overstuffed couch, up. That day's activities had been exhausting but with a training film, and now plebes were milling
heading back to dorms, or playing games and talking in the lounge.
Irene, it seemed, had become Ray's only friend besides of course friend was not the right term for almost fiancee. In some ways, the provincial Irene
reminded Ray of his own mother. For one thing, because he was always called by his real first name in ROTC
Irene called him Rayford. And lately she had been shortening that to Rafe. He liked her. She had th. Because she had lived in so many different places, had learned about people and knew how to interact.
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And because of the loss of her father, a soberness deep within her seemed to give her earthy values.
"You don't even like the girl you love, Rafe," she said. He had to smile. That hit the nail on the head. "Let's face it," he said. "I'm not going to do better than Kitty Wyley. I don't even know what she sees in me."
"Maybe she's smarter than you think. She's got all those frat boys mooning over her, but you're better looking, have more potential. You're more of a self-made man."
"Not yet," Ray said. "Potentially, maybe, but not yet." "C'mon, Rafe. You flew solo at sixteen and got your private license before you got out of high school. You worked an actual job. You were a great student and active in extracurriculars. Don't sell yourself short."
"I must brag a lot too."
"Well, someone had to tell me. Might as well have been you."
"You want to hear something funny, Irene? I actually pray about Kitty."
That seemed to get her attention. "For her or about her ?"
"I don't pray for anybody but me. Don't believe in it." "So what're you praying about?" "Whether I should marry her."
"You're asking God? What's He telling you?"
Ray laughed. "I'm getting nothin'! Shouldn't be surprised. Last time I was in church was when Kitty and I were at my parents'. They just assumed we would go. First time in almost two years for me. Kitty said it
296 was her first time since junior high, when some Holy Roller girlfriend talked her into going." He affected a high-pitched voice and mimicked Kitty: "'Never again, I swear!'"
Irene fell silent for a moment. "I don't pray anymore," she said. "I miss it."
"You used to go to church?"
She nodded. "Raised that way. Never seemed to work for me though. I prayed and prayed for stuff that never happened. I don't know. Maybe they were selfish prayers.
My little brother was born with spina bifida cystica. The bad kind. Myelomeningocele. That wasn't fair. What'd he ever do to deserve that? I prayed--and I mean prayed he would be healed. Some victims live to adulthood. He died before he was ten." "I'm sorry, Irene."
She shrugged. "Guess I should have prayed harder for dad too. When he went into combat it seemed we
all the time. At the base church they prayed for people who were over there, but nobody seemed to mention that it worked for some and not for others.
When moms and dads and sons and daughters came
Back people would say their prayers were answered. when soldiers came back in boxes, nobody said their
Prayers weren't answered. That's how I felt. My mom
drag me back to church after my dad's funeral. I haven't prayed since." "But you miss it?"
She nodded. "Don't know why. I never got any
answers, but I have to say it seemed like when I prayed
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I was sort of communicating with God. I couldn't hear Him, and nothing ever worked out the way I asked, but sometimes it felt like He was there and listening."
"That's how I feel!" Ray said. "I mean, as I said, it's not like I'm getting any answers, but when I ask whether I should marry Kitty, it seems I should at least be getting
some feeling one way or the other."
"And are you?"
"I just feel rotten, like it's the wrong thing to do and I know better."
"So God's telling you what I've been trying to tell you. And what your conscience has been telling you. Maybe that's what God is. Our c
onscience."
"You're probably right," Ray said. "I do know better about Kitty. I shouldn't have to ask."
Irene asked if Ray wanted a cookie. Somehow it seemed like the best idea he'd heardin a long time. What was the matter with him? Irene moved to the snack table and returned with not only his favorite---chocolate chip with a big chocolate kiss baked in--but also a Styrofoam cup with coffee just the way he liked it.
He thanked her. "You're not having anything?"
She shook her head. "Not hungry. Just thought you might be."
Ray was struck not only by Irene's thoughtfulness and selflessness but also by the realization that this was something Kitty had never done andthe believed--never would. She baby-talked him, manipulated him to get what she wanted--always rewarding him with squeals of delight. But cater to him and his needs, show sensitivity
298 or even awareness of his preferences? Simply not part of the equation.
"Whatcha thinking about, Rare?" Irene said.
He cocked his head. "So you don't believe in God anymore, or what?"
She seemed to think a long time. "I still believe in Him, I think. Of course I do. I'm just not sure I like Him much. I sure don't trust Him."
That was all Ray could think of that night when he and Kitty went out for pizza. Both were still too young to drink, but he was never carded, and she had a phony ID. As they chased their slices with mugs of beer, Ray leaned in and shouted over the din, "Kitty, do you believe in God?"
"What? Sure. I guess. Supreme being. Made the world.
Bails me out now and then."
"You talk to Him?"
"Him? Not sure God's a Him, but yeah, occasionally." "Like for what?"
She looked at him strangely, as if she had already lost
interest in this subject and wondered what was on his mind.
"Uh... for stuff. You know. Like if I really, really want
something. Or if i've screwed up, like I didn't study for a test." "And He comes through?"
"She, you mean?" she said, smiling. "Or it? Nah. Just