Both Ways
Edward Goble
Copyright 2007 by Edward Goble
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 978-1-4660-6935-0
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Bluegrass Creative | www.bluegrasscreative.com
Photo by vasiliki
Chapter 1
What he hadn’t prepared himself for was her striking physical beauty. Oddly, as if in spite of herself, this hurting woman was sexually arresting. The briefest handshake and greeting had so knocked Madison off balance that he momentarily struggled with his role. Not being a man who normally succumbed to impure thoughts, he was both surprised and ashamed by his initial reaction.
Mrs. Thompson and Ms. Neilson sat in the two leather side chairs while Madison took a deep breath and willed his legs to return to his post behind his desk. Ms. Neilson slowly removed her glasses to reveal a severely swollen eye and cheek. She looked at the Pastor with glassy, tear-filled eyes. Compassion temporarily displaced other thoughts that were clawing their way to the front of Pastor Madison Enright’s mind.
The name on his calendar was Dawn Neilson, an occasional attendee, whom Madison had never met (he would have remembered). An electronic note from Mrs. Thompson informed him that Ms. Neilson was fleeing an abusive relationship and needed some temporary help. It was a familiar story. So many homes were in turmoil - fighting spouses, neglected children, abuse, infidelity, and addiction. It was an epidemic, a runaway train.
Madison’s own parents’ marriage didn’t survive his childhood. His old man had been unfaithful more than once, growing more and more angry and bitter before walking out on his wife and son. With no family in the area, Mrs. Enright pulled herself together and bravely sought the help of a little church near their home. The old minister and church family took her in and helped them get through. Madison had never forgotten that. He remembered his mother’s courage and vulnerability, and he remembered the love and acceptance they both felt from the church. And she made it. They made it. It was probably harder than he remembered. His mother shielded him from the worst of it, he was certain. But the ordeal, especially the church’s mercy, had a positive effect on the young man, as well. It built in him a heart for the family and affected his preaching and teaching profoundly, to the extent that Community Chapel was becoming known as the place you came to get your marriage and family fixed.
Feeling exposed and awkward, Ms. Neilson could hardly maintain eye contact, her eyes resting, instead, on a spot on the wall over Madison’s right shoulder. She felt guilty and out of place. She wasn’t used to asking for help and didn’t relish the idea of sharing her personal problems with a complete stranger, especially a man. Her track record with them wasn’t all that good. Mrs. Thompson’s presence brought a little comfort.
“We’re glad you’re here,” Madison said in an authentic, sensitive tone. “It takes a lot of courage to follow through with an appointment like this. It’s not an easy thing to do.”
“I sat in the parking lot for quite a while. I... I’m not a regular church person,” she stammered.
“That’s okay,” he said. “Church person or not, this is a safe place for you to be. You are among people who understand and who care.”
After an eternity of silence, she took a deep breath and compelled her eyes to look at the Pastor. “I didn’t know what to do, but my friend, Terry Page, told me this church would help. So I, I called... I don’t even know what I need, really. It’s just, I couldn’t take it. I had to get out of there.”
“What happened?”
“Well, he’s doing drugs, and,” she hesitated. “And he hits me... obviously,” she said, and started to cry again. “Just when he’s high, but, you know, I... I’m just not the kind of girl that’s going to take that.” She looked seriously at Madison, glanced at Mrs. Thompson, then shook her head and studied the ceiling, attempting a half-hearted smile as if she couldn’t believe she were sitting here admitting these things about herself. “I mean, I’ve seen the movies, the Hallmark channel and Lifetime. I’ve seen the stories about the girls that are abused and just keep going back to idiots just like Brad Spires. And everyone watching the show wonders how anyone could possibly be that stupid. And I’m like, I’m becoming that girl, and I’m tired of it. I’m not going to take that any more.” She looked again at Mrs. Thompson who nodded sympathetically.
“You did the right thing, Dawn. Nobody has the right to hit you or push you around. Your boyfriend needs help, but it’s not help you can give. You were right to get away from there. Do you have a place to stay?”
“With Terry and Greg for now.”
“Okay. You can’t go back to this Brad. You realize that, right? Not until he gets the help he needs.”
“I’m not going back with him. There’s no way.”
“Have you been to the police?” Madison asked, knowing in his gut that she wouldn’t want to draw that line in the sand. She shook her head. “Yeah, I figured not. Well, you need to talk to them, just to make a report so they have it on record. It’s for your own safety. We can have an officer come out here and talk to you if you’re okay with that.”
“But I don’t want him arrested or anything, I just... I just want to get away from him,” she said.
“I understand. All they’ll do is write down your story and keep it on file. You don’t have to press charges or anything. That way, if anything ever happens, you are already on record,” Madison explained.
“Okay, I guess. Sure.” Except for the bruises and throbbing cheek, she was feeling a little better already.
Madison picked up the receiver and dialed intercom 13, “Dan, yeah, can you and Julie come down here for a minute? Thanks. Dawn, we have a Pastor and his wife on staff who take care of needs just like yours; they’ll help with everything. I’m going to introduce you to them.” Madison stood as Mrs. Thompson stepped back into the outer office to meet staff counselors, Pastor Dan Williams, and his wife, Julie. After introductions and a group prayer, Dan and Julie escorted Ms. Neilson to their office, where they would provide counsel and resources to meet her immediate needs. Madison stood in the doorway in front of Mrs. Thompson’s desk, watching the trio until they disappeared down the west corridor.
“Poor lady,” he said, which was not all he was thinking.
“I don’t know what this world is coming to, Pastor,” Mrs. Thompson said, pursing her lips as she resumed her regular post. “I’ll never get used to seeing people hurt like that. What kind of monster hits a lady? That’s what I’d like to know. She’s such a precious young woman. My first thought is how pleased I am that my sons are good, respectful young men who would never do such a thing. Pretty selfish, I guess, comparing her terrible situation to my own family.”
“I know how you feel, and it’s not selfish - it’s honest. Personally, my thought was that I’d like to drive over there and see if her boyfriend would like to pick on someone his own size.”
“That’s very Pastoral of you,” Mrs. Thompson said, and they shared a laugh.
“Just being honest,” he admitted. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to head out the back.”
“Nothing else on my desk, Pastor. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter 2
Madison arrived back at the office early the next morning, started the coffee maker and hit the books. He tried to have his weekly sermon finished by Thursday morning so it could percolate for a few days before the weekend. It was already Wednesday, and the heart of his chosen passage was proving elusive.
He twisted the kinks out of his neck and rubbed circles around closed eyes, elbows propped on the desk in front of his iBook, as he searched for inspiration. Outside the closed door, he could hear the buzz of the church office as people began arriving, and the place spun to life. Madison had been gradually discovering that success provided insulation. The larger he became in the eyes of the congregation, the more privacy he seemed to be afforded. He enjoyed what his job had become - not that you would ever hear anyone refer to what he did as a job. No, The Ministry was bigger and higher than a mere job. This was a Calling. A storybook tale of how God reached out to a lost and hurting young man. God said, “Follow Me,” and he did, taking up his cross to follow the Master, adopting as his own the paradoxical life of a minister. This undefined “Higher Call,” the intangible that separates ministers from everyone else, was Madison Enright’s secret advantage and greatest adversary.
He glanced at the computer clock. Time was getting away. He arched his back and stretched his arms high and wide, attempting to refocus on the challenge at hand. Being
in the Wrong Place at the Right Time.
In the spring of the year, when kings normally go out to war, David sent Joab and the Israelite army to fight the Ammonites. They destroyed the Ammonite army and laid siege to the city of Rabbah. However, David stayed behind in Jerusalem. (2 Samuel 11:1)
Madison focused his attention, his fingers beginning their assault on the little computer keyboard. We are familiar with the story of David, the little shepherd boy who guarded the flocks and wrote praise songs to God. God picked David to lead His people, the children of Israel, and, as a young man, David became King. King David was a powerful, fearsome man. He had proved the victor in countless battles. David had a reputation as a warrior without equal. He went where he wanted and answered to no one.
But in the springtime of this particular year, when, as the text says, Kings normally led their troops in battle, David chose to send his troops out alone while he stayed behind at the palace.
King David wasn’t leading the troops. David wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Now, the old saying goes that when the “cat’s away, the mice will play,” which might suggest, in this context, that a leaderless army would be a vulnerable force. But in this case, it was the King, the Top Cat, in the vulnerable position. Because the army was in the right place, they were doing what they were called and commissioned to do - they were in the right place at the right time. But David, the King and Commander in Chief, wasn’t with them. He wasn’t leading them as he had been appointed and anointed to do. He was out of place. He was back at his own place - in the wrong place - at exactly the right time.
“Out of place, back at his own place, in the wrong place,” he recited and refocused on the text.
Late one afternoon, after his midday rest, David got out of bed and was walking on the roof of the palace. As he looked out over the city, he noticed a woman of unusual beauty taking a bath. He sent someone to find out who she was, and he was told, “She is Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam and the wife of Uriah the Hittite.” Then David sent messengers to get her; and when she came to the palace, he slept with her. (2Samuel 11:2-4)
When you are in the Wrong Place at the Right Time you are Right in Line for Temptation. David should have been leading his men into battle. They were armed and on the field, as he should have been. But, instead of being on the field of battle, he was on the roof of the palace. Instead of being armed for war, he was disarmed by lust. And he committed adultery, sleeping with the wife of one of his men.
Madison pressed Apple-S on his iBook and pushed back a bit from the desk. “...Instead of being armed for war, he was disarmed by lust,” he practiced to himself. The sun was lighting up his office now. Shadows from the old oak beside the building played across the shelves and chairs as the spring breeze teased the leaves and smaller branches. He sat back with a satisfied sigh. Just then came the familiar tap on the door, followed, a few seconds later, by the customary, narrow opening by the petite figure of Mrs. Thompson.
“Excuse me, Pastor, your one o’clock is here,” she said in a courteous voice just above a whisper.
“Thanks, okay, I’ll be out in a minute.” He saved his work and put the computer into sleep mode. “The wrong place at the right time,” he said out loud again as he stood and walked toward the door.
“Green Bean! It’s been too long!” Madison said. His guest, who had finished flirting with sixty-six year old Mrs. Thompson and was now mindlessly looking out the window over the sanctuary courtyard and fountain, turned and smiled. The two buddies embraced.
Chapter 3
Dave Bean was Madison’s alter ego, having spent a year and a half as roomies at RLU. They had grown nearly inseparable until Dave, a pre-law student with an independent streak a mile wide, had a disagreement with the administration and dropped out. The administration wanted Dave to sign a Statement of Faith contract “for his file.” Something, according to them, as a religious college, they needed each student to sign in order to demonstrate to the board and constituents that Rogers Lewis University continued to faithfully train like-minded young people in every field of endeavor. Dave had successfully avoided signing the contract, which he objected to “on principle,” for nearly two years. “It’s still a free country and, as long as I pay my bill and do my work, it shouldn’t matter if I believe in Chuck E. Cheese.” With that line drawn, The Bean quit school and moved out of the dorms, paying rent by delivering pizzas and doing ad layout for the Thrifty Nickel. He would have been a great lawyer. He eventually landed a job selling computers, (the next Big Thing, as he saw it in 1986, and never finished college.) With a knack for staying a few steps ahead, Dave made a small fortune in the software business after he went in with a customer of his on an idea to create a database management program for retail stores. By age twenty-five, while most of the “Class of ‘89” were still admiring their college degree, Dave was on his way to becoming a millionaire several times over.
“So, since when does a guy have to make an appointment to see his best friend?” Dave said in mock annoyance. “Give a man a corner office and all of a sudden he’s bigger than God.”
“Yeah, I’m a pretty big deal, huh. I’m huge in Almond Grove.” Madison motioned toward a chair.
“I’m not kidding, man,” Dave said as he sat down. “I call the other day and I get this sweet old lady and she says,” doing his best Lilly Tomlin, ‘Pastor Enright has an opening Wednesday at 1:00 pm. Would you like me to schedule that for you, sir?’ I mean, give me a break. I should have said, ‘No, I’ll be there at ten and I’ll stay as long as I want! And while you’re at it, block out the rest of the afternoon because we’re going to catch a movie after lunch!” David had a good heart, but, when it came to authority or protocol, he could get a little worked up.
Madison just shook his head and smiled, “So how you been, man? It’s been like two years; we thought you moved to Bali - up and went native.”
“Something like that. No, just thought I’d make an overdue trip up to see you and Jill.”
“Bored?”
“Ah, I don’t know, just ready to grow up maybe. We’re pushing forty, brother.”
“Why mess with a good thing? You’ve got the life everyone dreams about. Big time computer guru, chick magnet. You’re like James Bond without all the explosions.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it all - and exactly two friends in the world.”
“...Who haven’t seen you for nearly two years.”
“My point exactly. Time to ease back on the throttle.”
“Life in the fast lane.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not worth it.”
“So what are you thinking about?”
“Right now I’m thinking about lunch, I haven’t eaten for like three hours. Can we get out of this funeral home and get some food?”
“Absolutely.” Madison grabbed the phone receiver and punched a button on the keypad. “Mrs. Thompson, my old friend here thinks he’s starving to death so we’re going to step out the back for some lunch. Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”
“This way,” Madison said, motioning toward a side door. One of his favorite design features of the new office complex was the private stairway that led from his office down to the first floor where there were two doors - one which led to a small “Ready Room” off the main stage, from which he could enter the sanctuary and also retreat after services without having to go through the main doors with the throng - and an exit door with a crash-bar on the inside and a keyed entry on the outside to which there were only two keys, the one on his ring and another on the custodian’s master set. The exit door led to a back parking lot, which had been added for overflow parking and was an easy walk to the sanctuary entrance for latecomers. This lot was also where staff parked, and rare was the morning that the “Reserved for Pastor” spot wasn’t occupied with his black Range Rover before any other place was taken.
The lunch rush was ending by the time they made it downtown, and the lot wasn’t overly crowded at Olive Garden, so Madison wheeled the big SUV into a spot, and the two left the rig in search of a couple never-ending pasta bowls. Madison recognized a few people from church and made the obligatory stop by their table to say hello. The assistant manager, Tom Smyth, who attended the chapel on Saturday nights stopped by their table to say hello, as did one of the servers, Shani Andrews, a single mom who volunteered in the Children’s department.
“Pastor Enright. Nice to see you,” Shani said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted to say hi,” she smiled at the Pastor and glanced briefly at his guest.
“Not at all, Shani, it’s great to see you. Let me introduce you to one of my oldest friends, Dave Bean.” Madison said. Dave immediately stood and extended his hand, a gentlemanly act which didn’t go un-noticed by Miss. Andrews. His kind, grey eyes were an unexpected pleasure to meet with her own.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Well, I’m working another section, and I can feel them all watching me,” she smiled, rolling her eyes, “better get back over there.” Dave sat down and the men waved good bye as she disappeared into the kitchen.
“You’re a regular celebrity around here, Mad. Are you thinking about running for mayor after you retire from Jesus-land, or what?”
“Naw, I just picked this place to impress you. I’m just a humble preacher with a nice car.” Madison laughed as he downplayed his local fame. The fact was that with nearly a thousand people attending Community Chapel, and more joining each week, he really was becoming known in the community, and it was kind of nice. After all, if people were going to follow someone, it might as well be someone with his head screwed on straight, who could provide a moral compass for the community. So, yeah, he did like the attention and the status that came along with it.
They had just pushed away from their 2nd pasta bowl when Shani came back to the table - this time without her green apron on. “Hi again. I just wanted to say ‘bye. They’re letting me leave a little early since it’s slowing down.”
“Okay, Shani. By the way, how’s that little angel of yours?” Madison said.
“She’s good. Thanks for asking. She’s a handful, that’s for sure, but she’s real good. Well,” she said, awkwardly as if she wanted to stay but knew she shouldn’t, “I should go. It was nice meeting you, Dave. I hope you enjoy your visit,” she said.
Dave, always the charmer, dabbed his mouth with his napkin and stood again, “The pleasure was all mine, Shani Andrews. Maybe I’ll see you in church.”
“Okay, yeah, that would be great.” She smiled and glanced at Pastor Enright, turned and left.
Madison shook his head and took a final sip of water as Dave sat down. “What?” Dave smiled. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman?”
“You? What a hound dog. ‘The pleasure was all mine?’ Now that’s rich.”
“Hey, I saw you over at that table with the church people. You can lay it on pretty thick when the need arises. Am I wrong?” Dave challenged as he put a twenty and a ten on top of the bill as they rose to leave.
“Touche’, buddy.”
Chapter 4
The only daughter of Pastor Billy and Eerlene Boyles of Ponca City, Oklahoma, Jill Boyles Enright, had literally grown up in Abundant Word Fellowship, the church Billy and Eerlene pioneered as an Assembly Mission in 1973 when she was six years old. Jill Boyles had her momma’s dark brown hair and green eyes and her daddy’s natural charm, which helped her win the Miss Ponca City and Miss Kay County titles while in senior high, and nearly made it to the finals of the Miss Oklahoma pageant. She and Madison met as freshmen in college and were married exactly one year after graduation at Abundant Word, with Pastor Billy officiating and Dave Bean standing up for the groom. They received the call to California in October of the same year to serve the struggling Community Chapel in Almond Grove. In the beginning, the newlyweds sacrificed physically and emotionally, surrendering the formative years of their relationship on the altar of the ministry. The tall handsome blond with aspirations of changing the world and the green eyed belle with the Okie drawl might have been the all-American couple, if not for the mistress with the steeple on the roof. But, like most marriages, the Enrights settled into a workable pattern of life - Madison, the increasingly busy Pastor, and Jill, the strong, godly, faithful Christian woman that her parents had raised her to be.
Jill pushed number two on her cell phone speed dial. On the second ring she heard the familiar, “Hey, J.”
“Hi, Mad. You and the drop-out staying out of trouble?”
“Green? Yeah, he’s already gone. Hey, he’s actually thinking about moving up here. Can you believe that?”
“What’s the deal? He disappears for two years and then shows up to let us know he’s moving here?”
“Well, he didn’t say it was a done deal. I’m not sure he knows what he wants. Just looking for the next adventure, probably.”
“God love him... When we gonna see ya?”
“Pretty soon. Got a little more work on the sermon - maybe five-ish?”
“Billy’s got karate, so we’re just gonna do Taco Bell or something. Oop, there’s the bell, gotta go, love you.” Jill snapped the pink phone shut and slid it into her bag as elementary students burst from every door of the Mary J. Singleton school, running to awaiting cars, vans, buses, and crossing guards. William Madison Enright looked just like his daddy - tall and thin for his age with thick blond hair and blue eyes. Sure to be a lady killer like the old man, Jill thought to herself. Billy spotted the yellow Xterra and made a beeline across the grass, Spiderman backpack in tow.
“Mom, Jenny said I stink and I have cooties and I said ‘uh-uhh,’ and she said I do, too,” Billy announced as he hurled his gear into the car and buckled into the back seat. The energy level always ramped up when her oblivious little energy bar was around.
“Well, don’t mind Jenny, she just likes you.”
“Gross. She’s the one who has cooties, not me, that’s what I think.”
“Homework today, little man?” Jill said as she pulled into traffic.
The question didn’t register, and they made it most of the way home in silence - the little guy’s mind trying to get a handle on something just outside his grasp, when finally he asked, “Mom?”
“Yes, Billy.”
“What are cooties, anyway?”
“Well,” Jill thought as she turned onto their street, “Your daddy used to have them, I know that.”
“Dad?”
“M-hmm... I guess,” she added as she pulled to a stop in their driveway. “Cooties are something that people you like sometimes have.”
“Gross,” he offered, flying from the car, open door in his wake.
Chapter 5
After spending part of the afternoon with his old buddy, Dave Bean caught a flight out of Oakland back to San Diego, retrieved his black CTS-V at the short-term lot and picked his way through evening traffic back up I-5 to his condo in La Jolla. Although he could have afforded almost anything in the county, the furnished 2nd floor ocean view unit at Crow’s Nest Villas had everything he thought he needed at the time. Both decks overlooked the white sand at La Jolla Cove Beach, where the waves of the Pacific crashed to shore just a few hundred yards from his back gate, offering surfing, jogging, or chasing whatever might draw his attention - blond, brunette or redhead.
Dave stood on the deck watching the sun set into the Pacific Ocean, an experience he never tired of and one that had helped keep him sane over the past decade as he gave body and soul to a business that could never love him back. It had been a year since the sale closed, the FTC finally approving terms drawn up by a room full of lawyers. All he had to do was sign his name a couple of hundred times, including a non-compete form that forbade him from reentering the market for a minimum of six years, which he laughed as he signed. The cash and stock from the sale had left him embarrassingly rich and, after hand-signing healthy bonuses to his senior team from his own checking account, the fast-paced, sexy life of Mr. David Bean, software mogul, ended even more quickly than it started. He walked away. With investment counsel, he was able to set up healthy foundation trust accounts for a few charity works he admired, moved from Phoenix to La Jolla, and tried to figure out what might still be out there for him. Twelve months of waiting, surfing, thinking and jogging had brought him to this place, a spur-of-the-moment visit with Madison and the idea that maybe the next chapter of his life might need to include people. Real people.
The doorbell rang signaling the arrival of dinner, which Dave ate in silence while clicking mindlessly through the endless channel selection on the satellite receiver and plasma monitor. The kung-pao chicken and steamed rice seemed to help Dave piece together a myriad of disjointed thoughts. “You’re lonely, Dave, you need relationships, stable people. Maybe a girlfriend.” He nodded to himself, not talking out loud, but fully engrossed in dialogue nonetheless. “Actually, buddy, you need more than a girl. You don’t realize it, but you need God.”
“Oooh.” This time he did speak out loud. “That hurt.” He took another bite of the spicy chicken and pointed his chopsticks at Chris Berman, as if the accusation had been made on Sports Center. “I’ve been down that road, remember? Didn’t work out too good, if you recall. You were there.” Dave’s conscience had been there. It didn’t agree with his hardheaded decisions at that juncture either.
“And, while we’re at it,” Dave’s conscience put forth, “after you find God, you need a job, a mission, something to occupy your time and passion. This free and easy stuff is nice in theory, but, gimme a break, are you really going to sit around eating Chinese food talking to yourself the rest of your life?”
With that, Dave tossed his chopsticks into a mostly devoured take-out box and sat back with a slight huff. To nobody in particular he said, “Mad’s got it made. Simple as that. Great wife, job he loves, he helps people, and he’s doing God’s work...” Dave looked up at the ceiling, wondering if he was too far gone to send that flag up the pole one more time.
After a long while, he tried to compose his thoughts out loud. “God,” he said, “I’ve been a jerk. I know it - you know it. I haven’t thanked you for anything; I’m just a selfish ass. I’ve always thought that, if we ever crossed paths again, you’d just take everything away. I’m an idiot.” “Humph,” he grunted. “You could take all this away in a second if you wanted. Why haven’t you? I certainly don’t deserve it. I’ve done nothing to merit having all this sh--. Excuse me, all this stuff.” He paused, gathering his senses after nearly cussing in a prayer, “I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t want to be like Madison. He’s doing his thing, and it’s not me, we both know that. But, if there is something I can do, something real, something that can make my life count for more than just a few software programs, I want to do it. And, I don’t know, I’m lonely. I guess, with the business, I never thought about it, but God, Lord, I sure would like to find someone, not like before, but someone... special. I don’t even know what I’m asking, I know you’re not a genie and the perfect woman isn’t going to just appear, but Lord, I don’t want just any girl, she needs to be...” he thought through a meaningless list of criteria and then just said, “I don’t know... you pick... uh... Amen.”
He hadn’t said much, in fact, there was a truckload of choices and decisions parked behind every sentence of his prayer, but somehow it seemed like enough. And, as he sat there on his couch, just him, Chris Berman and a couple of boxes of take-out Chinese, the weight from nearly twenty years of running from God seemed to slip from his shoulders, and he felt like he had finally done something right. “It’s a start,” he said, yawning in the direction of the ESPN Baseball Update.
When he opened his eyes he realized sunlight was coming into the room through the etched glass panels of the east-facing front door. At some point, he had gone to sleep and fallen over on the couch, spending the rest of the night using the paper plate of steamed rice as a pillow. He sat up with a cake of rice stuck to the right side of his face, little white grains embedded in the cracks and crevices of his ear like seeds in a pomegranate. If he had a dog, his sticky, rice-covered face would have been irresistible fare. Kenny Maine had replaced Chris Berman at the Sports Center desk and, other than the kung-pao mess he’d made on the beige leather sofa, all seemed right with the world.
After a shower, Dave called his real estate agent and made an appointment to put his condo on the market.
Chapter 6
Jill Enright sometimes said her husband was “eternally driven,” speaking of the fact that he was up and gone by 5:30 am every day and on the go, non-stop, till he came to bed sometime around 11:00 pm. What she referred to as eternally driven, he saw as “driven by eternity,” never wanting to slow down in the quest to grow the biggest church on the West Coast. If he had a visible flaw, it was that he was good at almost everything and didn’t mind being pushed to the front of any meeting to lead or expound upon the issue at hand. In the past decade, the name Madison Enright had become synonymous with successful, motivated, upstanding Bay Area living. He was the Chaplain of the City Council and Sheriff’s department, a regular speaker at the Oakland Raiders Chapel services, on the board of the Chamber of Commerce and president of the Ministerial Association. From the top of his youthful blond head to the tips of his Steve Madden loafers, Madison Enright was in a ministerial league of his own.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said to Jill as they met for a quick bite at Hershel’s Deli Friday at noon. “I got a call today from Dr. Cross at RLU.”
“Holy Cross?” Jill smiled. Dr. Leon Cross (Holy Cross to the upperclassmen when he wasn’t in the room) was an associate professor back in the late 80’s and had been promoted to Dean of the Bible department in 1993. A scholar of the first order, Dr. Cross was instrumental in landing the extended exhibit of the Dead Sea Scrolls collection at the RLU Library. Over the course of the exhibition, more than 20,000 people visited the Dallas campus to view the collection, making Dr. Cross something of a hero among the administration of the college as fundraising increased exponentially during the next year.
“He’s putting together a national conference in Dallas next February, and he wants me to be the keynote speaker. Is that too much?” he exclaimed. Madison was a regular attendee of national conferences and always had his eye on the platform, but he never thought they would reach out to him. “I mean, they’ll have all the biggies there - and me! It’s unreal.”
“Wow, sweetie, that’s great. You deserve it you know,” Jill said. “Recognition long deserved.”
“I don’t know about that, but...” He pushed the salt and pepper and little banner announcing double-chocolate brownies out of the way and took her hand. Fiddling with her platinum wedding band, he said, “Jill, I feel like it’s all been worth it. I know I haven’t been the easiest guy to live with, and I’ll never be half the Pastor your dad was, but,” he smiled and shook his head slightly, “it’s working,” he nodded. “It really is. My ministry is becoming what we always wanted.”
“Aw, honey,” she said, putting her other hand over his, “you’ve never had to prove anything to me. No, you’re not my dad - thank God you’re not!” She laughed. “But he isn’t you, either.” Jill cocked her head slightly, looking deeply into her husbands eyes. “You’ve got something special, Mad. You’re God’s man. You’re going to make a difference in this world. I just know it. I’m really, really proud of you.” A quiet moment passed between them.
“And you know what else,” she said as she pulled her hands free and reached for a menu, “I’m as hungry as a five-belly heifer.”
“I love it when you speak Okie,” he said as he picked up his own menu. “Turns me on.”
Still distracted by the invitation to Dallas, Madison got an idea while Jill still had her eyes on the menu. “Hey, J, let’s celebrate tonight. Just you and me.”
“What?”
“Yeah, we’ll celebrate my step into the Big Time. We’ll go over to the city and the whole thing, I’ll make reservations. What do you think?”
“I might could get someone to stay with Billy. It is a school night, though,” Jill said, thinking out loud. “Yeah, it could work.”
Chapter 7
Madison called their favorite restaurant and spent the rest of the afternoon awash in his own importance, mentioning his role at the upcoming conference to no less than five people in various meetings.
Back in the sanctity of his own office, he opened his iBook and blocked out the time in his calendar, sent a few quick emails to the church board and some friends letting them know about the invite, and then had to consciously reign himself in. “Okay, okay, enough, ” he thought. “What am I going to do, take out a full-page in the Chronicle? Geez.” He scolded himself and then allowed his mind to wander forward again to the scene at the Dallas Convention Center as he stood in the wings and listened to Dr. Cross at the podium microphone. “We are honored this evening to welcome one of our own to the podium. A Pastor, speaker and expert on family ministry who, fifteen years ago, took a struggling church of 27 people and turned it into one of the fastest growing, active ministries on the West Coast. Many of our speakers this week need no introduction, and, from what I’ve seen and heard, our keynote speaker will be counted among that group sooner rather than later.” Madison pictured the room, a basketball arena, floor draped and filled with folding chairs, all occupied, the stands on three sides packed with people, a 200-voice conference choir on the risers behind the pulpit, and, when his name was announced, the applause nearly lifted him out onto the stage. “And, it is my pleasure to introduce him to you first. Please welcome, Pastor Madison Enright!”
“I’ve got to pray,” he said to himself, awakening from the daydream. He shut the lid to his computer and bowed his head, sliding from his chair to his knees he interlocked his fingers and closed his eyes tight. “I have a chance here to really do something great,” he said out loud. “It’s what I’ve been hoping for, what I’ve been praying for my whole life. Not this exactly, but what this could lead to - a national ministry, a writing contract, becoming a leader of, of leaders!” The words sounded more like a person talking to himself than a man pouring his heart out to God, because, in Madison’s current self-absorbed condition, that’s all it was. He was just mailing it in, and he knew it. “Man, what am I doing? That’s weak.” He got back into his chair and absentmindedly picked up a pen from the desk. Twiddling the pen in his fingers, his mind wandered away from the conference and back again. Slowly he got a glimpse of something, a word, vague at first, then, slowly it began to crystallize in his mind, whether it was from the Lord, or just something deep in his head that was vying for attention amidst the commotion, he wasn’t sure. But gradually it became clear as he doodled on a pad of sticky notes a series of circles and squares and the letters, R-E-P-E-N-T.
“M-hmm,” he murmured to himself and sat quietly for a few minutes. The sun was fading into the west on a beautiful northern California day, and he was alone with his thoughts and this one-word ultimatum. Repentance wasn’t beneath Madison Enright - it just wasn’t something he took very personally any more. Sure, as a kid, he repented from every cuss word and vile thought. Even now, he preached it every week, but that gun was aimed at the congregation, not the one person in the room that had set his life apart for God’s work. He was no saint. Once in a while he might visit websites on Friday that he preached were taboo on Sunday, and his mind would sometimes take him places Jesus suggested they shouldn’t go, but to Madison, vice was a curiosity that he easily justified as victimless distraction for a stress-filled position like his. These things weren’t healthy for most men, he knew that on many levels, he just had the unique ability to control it - keep it in perspective. Nobody would be able to understand that. After a brief personal inventory, Madison decided to put repentance back on the shelf.
Chapter 8
The reservation was for 8:00 pm, and Jill left herself plenty of time to get ready. Puccini & Pinetti was the Enright’s special place, reserved only for extra special occasions. She spent a little extra time getting her hair and make up just right, and, since it was going to be a warm evening, decided on the green Shelli Segal cocktail dress Madison insisted she buy on their last vacation, but that she hadn’t yet had an opportunity to wear. He said, at the time, it brought the color out in her eyes, and she just had to have it.
When her unsuspecting husband stepped in the door at 6:15 pm, Jill was standing in the kitchen, turned toward the stove, stirring the mac and cheese she’d made for Billy and the sitter. She hadn’t seen him come in. Seeing her there, with the apron tied around her narrow waist, long, beautiful legs spread just slightly apart, calf muscles casting a small shadow, curled like a smile on the back of her legs from the high-heeled pumps she was wearing. He just stopped in his tracks. All the self-congratulatory daydreams of the family conference fled his mind, replaced with this stunning image of his amazing wife. He quietly stepped up behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Ooh! You scared me!” She tensed and then relaxed. “Mmmm.”
He leaned down, gently touching her hair and the nape of her neck with his nose and lips, and, inhaling deeply, he whispered, “You’re a goddess.”
“That’s me, Venus in an apron,” she drawled, sabotaging the moment.
“Love the heels.”
“Good thing. You almost caught one between the legs a minute ago - sneaking up on a girl like that,” she said, wielding the gooey mac and cheese spoon like a weapon.
The ride to the city was quiet. The sun was setting over the Bay, leaving an explosion of color in the evening sky. The lights of the city were gradually assuming the night shift, reflecting the famous San Francisco skyline in the waters of Oakland Bay. The dim dining room was enhanced by candles at each table, providing a soft auburn glow to Jill’s deep brown hair. The earrings Madison had given her for their third anniversary complimented her mother’s strand of heirloom pearls that lay gently on her neck.
“J, that dress... you... you look amazing tonight,” Madison said as Jill smiled through the candlelight.
“Even without the apron?”
“Well, that was nice, too. But really, you’re reminding me of that Eric Clapton song, ‘My darling, you look wonderful tonight,’” Madison sang, causing Jill to glance around self-consciously.
“Honey, this isn’t a karaoke bar - get a grip,” she whispered, smiling. “You clean up pretty good yourself, sir. Tall, blond and handsome. My my,” Jill teased. Which always sounded to Madison like ‘Maa maa.’ Dinner was magical. They ate course after course of the house favorites, shared a bottle and a half of fine merlot, solved all of the world’s problems and talked about Madison’s blossoming career.
“What I’ve got to do is get my messages ready early, see, and preach them here, see how they flow, see how people respond. That way I’ll be able to tweak them, spice them up before Dallas.” He was Sunday morning animated, gesturing with his hands, his eyes lit up, his mind spinning.
“After Dallas, if it goes well, maybe I’ll go national. There’ll be people there from all over the country, you know, probably from around the world.”
“Do I get to come with you? Are they bringing both of us?” Jill had always secretly wished that if Madison ever achieved what he was striving for that maybe she would finally get more of what she had always longed for. Him. “Maybe this is it,” she thought, “maybe this is where we turn the corner and become Madison and Jill again.” It was the hope of blind love.
“Oh, absolutely. The invitation is for both of us. They’re putting us up at the Hyatt downtown and providing airfare and the whole nine. Are you kidding,” he said reaching across the table and taking her hand. “I wouldn’t have said yes unless my best girl was part of the package.”
“That’s sweet,” she smiled. “I know it’s a lie, but it’s nice to hear anyway.”
“Hey, I’m serious.”
“Well, okay... I can’t wait! Maybe mom and dad can drive down and have dinner, sit in on your session. I’m calling mama tomorrow.” She was nearly giddy.
Madison pushed back a bit from the table. Looking around, he was suddenly conscious of the fact that there were other people in the restaurant, even though it had felt like their own private party. He laughed at his tunnel vision and said, “Jill, don’t look now, but everyone in the room is watching every move you make, and I just realized that we’re getting the best service in the house from the waiters.” He leaned in a little further and smiled, “They must think you’re a celebrity or a movie star - who’s that actress Green used to say you looked like?”
Jill glanced around, as well. She, too, had been in a sort of dreamland through the meal and conversation and hadn’t really noticed the other diners. “I think it was Kathy Bates,” she deadpanned. “Paul Shelton,” she mimicked, “I’m your number one fan.”
“No. That wasn’t it, and you know it.”
She just shook her head. Madison had been right about the color of the dress, her eyes fairly blazed in emerald grandeur. Jill had strong, high cheek bones and smooth skin that may have hinted at some Indian blood in the Oklahoma Boyles’ ancestry. And the way her ruby lips presided over a perfect, beauty pageant smile, she was truly a sight to behold. Tonight she would have not only made the finals, she would have won the whole pageant. “Well them fellers can look, but this little Okie’s done taken,” she said, exaggerating her drawl for effect - her smile lighting up the room.
“I’m happy, Mad,” she said, ignoring the word play. “I’m happy for us, and I’m happy for you. You know, momma just wanted me to find a man I could be with forever. She said that might happen at high school, like it did for her. But it didn’t happen for me there. Them boys was just fools, probably never grew up. Then she said I might find him at college, but I didn’t think so. When I met you, I asked the Lord, ‘Is he the one?’ And I thought, No, not Madison, he’s - number one, he’s too dad-gummed full of himself to ever notice anybody else, especially me.” Which brought a shrug of agreement from across the table. “And number two, he’s too perfect, he probably wants something I could never be. And then you said, ‘Jill Boyles, are you interested in changing the world?’ And, you know, I thought about that for days before I could honestly say yes. Yes. I want to change the world. I’d never thought about it. All I wanted to do was win the next contest, or find a man, or get good grades. Changing the world never crossed my mind. But that’s how you think. It’s the way you’re wired. And, I’ll tell you, son, it’s made me have to grow up, and I love it. I’m just so grateful to God...” She stopped and sat back in her chair, “Oh, look at me, just a rattling on, must be the wine.” She smiled and excused herself to powder her nose. And he was right. Every available eye in the place followed her to the ladies room.
It had been the perfect evening. They didn’t get home till after midnight, but neither was overly tired, still caught up in the magic of the date. Madison paid the sitter and locked up for the night and met Jill in the master bedroom where they fell into each other’s arms and made love like they hadn’t done in years.
Chapter 9
To Dawn Neilson, a girl who had grown up in the central California town of Bakersfield and migrated north to the Bay area like a farm worker in search of the next crop, working at Starbucks beat the cheese out of other jobs she’d held or living off the likes of that jackass, Brad Spires. She left Bakersfield at seventeen, dropping out of her senior year three months before graduation, running away from a step-dad that came on to her, more than once, and a mother that was more resentful than protective. She was cursed with looks that brought out the worst in men and an unwarranted jealous hatred from women. “I should have been a nun,” she would say to herself in her loneliness, “at least they have other nuns to talk to... I guess.”
She met Terry and Greg at the apartments where the cokehead had his place. Terry, a pediatric nurse, was eight years older than Dawn and, although they were raised in the same state, their lives couldn’t have been more different. Terry married the only boyfriend she’d ever had, her childhood sweetheart, Greg Page, who had actually sat down with her father and formally asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. They had been married six years now and were finally looking to buy their first house and have some babies “as soon as humanly possible.” Terry and Greg were different from the people Dawn normally associated with. They were strong and funny and secure with each other, which was something completely new to Dawn. After a few months, it seemed like she might actually be able to have some married friends and not worry about becoming the unwitting cause of tension or worse. Terry and Greg knew the kind of low-life Dawn lived with and felt it was their Christian duty to provide a safe haven across the courtyard whenever it was needed. She liked being with the Pages and even visited church with them a couple of times.
The Page’s moved out of the apartments about six months ago and into their first house, a small ranch-style three-bedroom in Madras, about twenty miles from Almond Grove, on the outskirts of suburbia where the commute times were doubled but the houses were still relatively affordable. Dawn helped them pack the U-Haul and cried as they drove away. For the next few months, she tried to meet them for Saturday night church and go for coffee afterwards as often as possible.
Terry and Greg had been there for her when Brad kicked her out, putting her up for the night in their spare room. The next day Brad called her cell phone a dozen times begging forgiveness. She went back, against the advice of her friends, and it had been better for awhile. But then, last week, right after she completed barista training, she got home late, and Brad went ballistic. He was high and started pushing her around. She was scared but stood up to him. His eyes were glazed and beady, kicking at the air, throwing half-empty cans of beer and threatening to beat the hell out of her if he found out she was going out on him. He kicked her in the stomach with his knee, and, as she bent forward and gasped, he caught her with a wicked hook in the face that sent her sprawling across the room where she lay doubled over, pain coursing through her body. He slumped into a chair and sat glaring at her convulsing heap. The only sounds were muffled sobbing and Brad’s heavy, labored breathing as he regained his senses. Slowly, anger and resolve providing strength, she gathered herself to her feet and staggered out the door. She sat in her car for twenty minutes, watching as her eye swelled shut, trying to decide whether to drive herself to the hospital or go back in the house and kick his ass.
Terry got a call from the hospital where Dawn had driven herself and drove over immediately from her office at the Children’s Clinic. She pulled back the curtain to find Dawn sitting on the edge of an emergency room gurney, one of her beautiful brown eyes swollen shut, her left cheek bruised a dark purple and twice the size of the other one. Terry held Dawn for a long time before insisting she come back to Madras and stay with them. “Greg can get your car and all your things tomorrow,” she’d said. The next day Greg recruited a few thugs from the trucking company he ran and went to Brad’s apartment to explain that he was no longer welcome within ten miles of Dawn Neilson. Without the blow, Brad was as compliant as a whipped spaniel. Greg gathered Dawn’s things in a suitcase and a few boxes and encouraged Brad to get help with his addiction. He added that his friends would be less than charitable with Spires if they ever saw him again.
Dawn made it to her next shift at work, her first day as an official barista, but wanted to talk to the boss first since her appearance had been temporarily, what, “altered” was a word that came to mind. The doctor said there had been no permanent damage, and the bruises would clear up completely in a few weeks. He had given her a prescription for Vicadin, which she filled, although she switched to Motrin after discovering how Vicadin knocked her out, which she hated worse than the pain. She stepped inside the door of the Springfield Starbucks before her shift, wearing sunglasses, her green visor pulled down low over her forehead. “Hey Dan. Could you ask Sherry to meet me out here for a minute? I need to talk to her.”
“Is that you, Dawn? Hi, uh sure,” said big Dan Baxter, one of Dawn’s newest suitors.
“What happened to your eye?” the Starbucks manager said as she approached the outdoor table where Dawn was waiting.
“I know it looks bad. It’s nothing, really. I just wanted you to, uh, you know, to tell you I’d gotten in an accident, but I still want to work.” Dawn said.
“Dawn, I can’t let you wait on customers like that,” Sherry said, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“It’s fine. It’s not as bad as it looks. I really need this job, Sherry. I can’t blow this.”
“Oh, Dawn,” she said, leaning forward, sympathetically. “Look. Your job is not at risk, okay? I don’t know what happened, but listen, take a few days and heal up. I’ll hold your job, okay? You have my word on that,” she smiled. “We’re kind of like family around here. You’re new, but, you know, we like to take care of our own. So, no, you take the rest of the week and then let me know how you’re doing.”
Dawn’s eyes were damp with tears, “Thank you, Sherry. Thanks a lot.”
“Okay. Want some coffee before you go?”
“No, I’m just going to go get some rest, I guess.”
They both stood and Sherry stepped forward to give Dawn a gentle hug and said softly, “Dawn, you’ve got to get away from this guy, whoever he is.” She pulled back and looked Dawn in the eyes, maternally, hands gently grasping both shoulders.
“I did. I already did.”
“Okay then.” Sherry went back into the store and dispatched Dan from staring out the window. The big guy wanted to know what was happening and if it required the services of the Valley College football team. Sherry assured him that Dawn had some kind of accident, and she would be back in a couple of days.
Chapter 10
Madison’s Sunday morning ritual had been honed to a fine edge. He was up without the need of an alarm clock at 5:00 am, out the door by 5:45 am and sitting at Starbucks, usually the first customer in the place, by 6:05 am, where he read through his sermon notes while he sipped a hot coffee and nibbled on a bagel. By 6:45 am, he was out the door, and, by 7:00 am sharp, he was locking up the Range Rover and walking into the Chapel.
Pre-service hysteria usually started about ninety minutes before “show time,” which was the best way to describe the three, finely tuned, seventy-minute worship services held each weekend at Community Chapel. Every second was choreographed. For each of the dozen or so people that were actually scripted and cued for the stage, there were ten others behind the scenes helping deliver each dramatic moment and every seamless segue. There were hundreds of others working as ushers, greeters, nursery workers, children’s teachers, parking attendants and hospitality coordinators.
The genius behind the technological minefield of Community Chapel was Terry Fields, an audiophile with a degree in computer science from Cal Berkley. Under Terry’s watchful eye, the sound, video, lights and production of the Chapel services were as flawless as anything Hollywood might produce. To be in the congregation at Community Chapel was like being in the audience at the Tonight Show. Madison and Terry wanted the experience to be just as slick, just as professional and every bit as flawless as someone might enjoy at a Broadway show or Hollywood set. And they were getting closer to perfection every week.
“Morning, Pastor. Here’s the run sheet. Bass player’s late again, but we’re starting without him. I’ve called back up. If he’s not here in five, we’ll go with the alternate,” Terry started in as Madison approached the production booth. “Video feed is in place, we’ve got the extra camera online, trying out the remote track and dolly this week, I’ve got it rigged out of sight lines so it should be non-obtrusive,” he continued.
“Sounds like you’ve had plenty of coffee this morning, Terr’,” Madison injected.
“Maybe. So here’s your mic, batteries good, sound checked positive, good to go,” Terry said handing Madison his Invisi-line headset microphone. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go light a fire under these guys.” And he was off, jogging down the center aisle toward the stage.
Madison paused long enough to put on the microphone. Looking out over the Chapel sanctuary, the band was tuning up. Harvey, former bass player for Paul McCartney, made his entrance - a brilliant musician - but a perpetual thorn in the side of the anal production manager. “I wonder if that’s why he got booted from Wings or whatever iteration of McCartney’s band he played for,” Madison thought. Madison wasn’t even completely sure that his production buzz saw, Terry Fields, was saved. They’d never really talked about it, but, man, was he great with gadgets. He made Pastor Madison Enright look like a million bucks every week.
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