Part 20 (1/2)

I glanced over my shoulder. Vern was walking toward me, and I knew a sermon was coming. ”Uh, can I catch a ride?”

”Travis!” Vern hissed, grabbing my arm. ”Did you call the ambulance?” I was only starting to say yes when he opened up on me. ”Do you have any idea what you just did? She could have been delivered tonight! She could have been free!”

”She could have been dead!” Blue Dress retorted.

”She was trusting G.o.d! It was her decision and you interfered!”

”Sharon's my friend and I saved her life.”

Vern just rolled his eyes and shook his head. ”You just-” He fumbled, shook his head again, threw his hands around in frustration. ”You're a tool of the enemy, did you know that? You're playing right into his hands.”

”And I see you're wearing your gla.s.ses again,” I said.

That seemed to stun him. He quickly grabbed them off his face.

Blue Dress tapped my arm. ”I can give you a ride.”

I gave Vern a little wave to indicate our conversation-and the whole evening, for that matter-was over, and followed her out to the parking lot.

SHARON IVERSON was nineteen but still financially dependent on her parents. They used that fact to force her to move back home where they could keep an eye on her and, as parents will do, lay down some law. She'd been attending Christian Chapel's Bible Training Center, but that ended abruptly, as did her regular attendance at the services. I found out later that Shrill Voice, Crew Cut, and Rotund Ruffly-I'll call them Susan, Pete, and Monica- actually planned to kidnap her so they could finish her healing and deliverance. Fortunately, a lawyer friend talked them out of it and it never happened. Sharon went back on her insulin, remained under a doctor's care, and survived in spite of herself.

Most of this I learned from Vern after we got our own differences ironed out, which didn't take long. We'd been mad at each other plenty of times before this. It came with the friends.h.i.+p.

As for the girl in the blue dress, her name was Marian Chiardelli. She was eighteen, and turned out to be a deeply devoted Christian from a Baptist background. We spent several hours in the hospital waiting room, talking and comparing notes on religion, upbringing, and zealous friends like Sharon and Vern just to depressurize. She was just finis.h.i.+ng high school and unsure of what she wanted to do. I told her I was a musician but I didn't say where or how.

She believed G.o.d could heal in answer to prayer and she wanted me to know that, but she was firmly convinced that tonight's prayer vigil crossed the line of good sense. I desperately needed to hear someone else say that, and I easily agreed with her, although it would have been too difficult to elaborate. I was still haunted by the sameness of it, troubled by the bizarre reenactment of my painful memories.

Around midnight, a physician told us Sharon was out of danger. Sharon's parents, Marian, and I went in to see her for a few minutes, restricting our conversation to safe topics.

By twelve-thirty in the morning, the crisis was over, and we were all tired. It was time to go home.

I shook Marian's hand. ”It was nice to meet you,” I said. ”I enjoyed our talk very much.”

”Same here,” she said. ”Thank you for all your help.”

We would go our separate ways in a matter of seconds and suddenly that concerned me. ”I . . . I'd like to talk again sometime.”

She was picking up her handbag, slinging the strap over her shoulder. ”I'm sure we will.”

Sharon's parents were waiting to give me a ride to the ferry. They were standing by the front door, looking back at me. I could feel the gravitational pull of their bodies. If I didn't ask now, I may never get the chance again. ”Say, uh, may I ask if it would be appropriate to ask if you might like to have dinner with me sometime?”

She smiled pleasantly. ”I don't think I would recommend it. But I am flattered. Thank you.”

I retreated quickly, backing away, rescued from total humiliation by the presence of Sharon's parents. ”Hey, no problem. It was nice meeting you.”

Well, it wasn't a rejection because I didn't really ask, so I took it well, sort of. Her warmth and graciousness made the letdown easy.

Sharon's parents gave me a lift to the ferry dock that night, and we had a nice visit on the way. They were thankful for what I had done and wanted to be sure I knew that. It made me feel a little better.

I was feeling better, anyway. As I sat in the ferry terminal waiting for the 2 A.M. ferry, I had time to reflect on matters Marian and I had been too busy talking for me to reflect on. It was encouraging to meet a girl so mature in the Lord already. After that whole thing with Amber, my thinking had been a little skewed regarding that possibility. I replayed our conversation in my mind, hoping I'd made it clear enough that I was saved, and worrying that perhaps I didn't look saved enough. I also reflected on that long brown hair held in place by a silver barrette, those sparkling blue eyes, and the freckles on her nose. Imagine. All that wisdom, all that sweetness, that inner glow-and she was beautiful besides.

No, I wasn't in love. After Amber, I'd learned my lesson. No more silly infatuations or crushes. No woman would have my heart again unless I really knew what I was getting into. I was going to go slowly and carefully into the next relations.h.i.+p, if there ever was one.

But boy, was I happy I'd met her!

WHEN I RESURFACED from the memory, I was seething, incredulous. The audacity! The calloused impudence!

Get a grip, Trav, I told myself. Nichols has his reasons for saying what he does. Remember that.

Yes. His reasons. What might they be?

I asked G.o.d why Brandon Nichols was doing this to me. He gave me only part of the answer in a small demonstration. When I hung up the phone with Nichols's words still turning my insides, I almost started brooding about it. Almost. I could have resorted to my old behavior. I could have sunk into the couch with my chin on my hand or gone for an agitated walk or just paced around the house, but suddenly it hit me: I'd been sinking into the couch and going for walks and pacing the house and brooding about virtually everything for months. Did I really want to do that again?

No. Seeing a future with more brooding in it, I put the brakes on. Having come to a full stop, I suddenly realized that the Messiah of Antioch liked me when I was broody. It made me a perfect pincus.h.i.+on for his little stabs. While he was finding just the right places to poke me, I was lying there like a lump and taking it-and then brooding about it.

Okay. That was part of the answer. As for the rest, that could be the key to the whole problem. I thought I should call Kyle.

The telephone rang again.

”h.e.l.lo?”

”Travis, this is Linda Sherman. I'm sorry to bother you.” She sounded very bothered herself.

”Is Kyle all right?” I asked.

She was on the edge of crying. ”I don't know. He's up at the ranch.”

”You don't mean the Macon ranch.”

”Yes, the Macon ranch. He went up there to pray.” She quickly added, ”He said he wasn't going to go on the property. He just wanted to stand on the road. I couldn't talk him out of it.” She must have heard my mournful sigh. Her voice took on a defensive tone. ”Travis, I'd be up there with him except I have to watch the kids. But he hasn't come home and I'm worried about him.”

”You want me to check on him?”

”And talk to him. He needs you, Travis. He respects you.”

That was news, considering how well we'd been getting along.

”He respects me?”

”Travis, every time we walk into that church and see all those people and how grounded they are in the Word and how much they love the Lord-and how much they love you-yes, we respect you. We can tell every place you've been.”

Words wouldn't come. I didn't know what to do with what she'd just said.

”Travis, please go talk to him.”

Linda wasn't the only one telling me to go. ”Okay. I'll go right now.”