8

Oldenburg

Thomas Carey had never considered himself handy, but things around the new house needed attention. So he was up at dawn, dressed in work clothes, and unshaven. He never, ever, missed his morning Bible reading and prayer ritual—even on his days off. Today, as usual, Ravinia was at the top of his prayer list. How he agonized over her, pleading with God to draw her back to Himself.

Normally Grace was fixing breakfast by the time Thomas had finished his devotions, but he heard no stirring and decided to tackle a few small projects in the bathroom while waiting. He was under the sink with tools and caulk when hunger overtook him and he wandered out to see about Grace. He found her still in bed.

“A little punky this morning,” she slurred.

“Big day yesterday,” he said. “I’m exhausted too. Hungry? Let me bring you something.”

“Not really, but that’d be nice. Something light and easy.”

He laughed. Toast would tax Thomas’s kitchen abilities.

He put water on to boil for tea, poured a small glass of orange juice, and soon delivered both with lightly buttered toast and marmalade. But Grace was asleep again, her breathing even and deep.

Her graying hair was pulled back into a bun, and yet even without makeup she still looked like the sweet young thing he had met at Bible college. Thomas sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder, but she did not stir. He idly munched toast and sipped the juice, finally leaving the room to finish his chores.

Loud banging at the door startled Thomas, and he leaped to his feet, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He hoped he could find a cap between the bathroom and the front door. Visitors on his day off was a pet peeve, but worse was being seen out of uniform. Any other day, by now he would be shaved, showered, combed, and in at least a shirt and tie.

He splashed a little water on both hands and ran them through his hair, reminded by the sound of splashing on the floor that he had not yet resecured the drain. If only Grace were up and could save him the embarrassment of appearing at the door with stubble on his chin. . . .

The phone installer was expected that day. Thomas supposed he could abide being seen this way by a workingman or -woman. But no such luck. It was Paul and Patricia Pierce in full shrillness.

“Got a little worried about ya not being in the office this morning,” Paul said as they entered and sat. “It’ll be handier when you’ve got a phone. What’s up?”

Thomas hesitated. Did he really have to explain himself to Paul? It seemed too soon to put his foot down, stand his ground, all those things Grace had urged him to consider. “I generally like to take Monday off,” he said.

“And you did, right? Tuesday starts the church week here, as a rule.”

“Well, I was pretty busy here all day yesterday, and then last night was the—”

“You were on your own time putzing around here yesterday, and last night was hardly working, was it?”

In fact, Thomas had met a third congregation and conducted a service the night before, but Paul had been there and knew that.

“I have a lot to finish here today, so I’ll be back in the saddle tomorrow.”

“With the week half gone and five churches to worry about?” Paul said. “Well, you’re younger’n I am, so I guess you can cram it all in. Where’s the missus?”

“A little under the weather this morning actually. I’ll pass along your greetings.”

It was as if Patricia Pierce had heard the news about Grace as a signal to rise. She began tidying the room, opening curtains, adjusting this and that.

Thomas was suddenly overcome with anger and had to bite his tongue. He imagined himself demanding that these people leave and give him and his wife room to breathe.

But he would not do that. Never had. God would give him grace, he decided, and it would all seem minor once they were gone.

“Hey!” Paul said. “Here’s the phone company now.”

Within minutes a young man was drilling and wiring and installing a phone jack near the counter that separated the tiny kitchen from the living room. Both Paul and Patricia had ideas where it should go, but Grace had lightly penciled the spot on the wall.

“I wish she was up,” Patricia said, “because I believe she’d agree that here would be less conspicuous.”

The installer said, “You’ve got plenty of wire to put the phone where you want. The jack can go anywhere.”

“Sure,” Patricia said, “if you don’t care a thing about decor.”

The installer checked his paperwork. “You also wanted an extension phone in the bedroom?”

Thomas explained that his wife was still asleep and asked if that could be installed another time.

“Probably be another week, and I’d have to charge for a separate visit.”

“He won’t bother her, Tom,” Paul said. “And you don’t want to pay twice. That would have to be a personal charge. You wouldn’t expect the church to—”

“Next week will be fine,” Thomas said. “And of course I’ll cover it. Now I should see about Grace.”

“And I’ll see you at the office later?”

“No, Paul. I’m taking today off. Next week I’ll get into the routine of taking Mondays off. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a meeting with two of my sons tomorrow, Thomas.”

“Do you need to be there when I am?”

“Well, no, I guess not. But being your first week and all, and with me overseeing the other congregations for you—”

“Will you be around Thursday, Paul?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s talk about the other congregations at that time.”

“Talk about them?” Paul said.

“Thursday.”

Addison

Brady Darby had not considered how conspicuous he’d feel with a garment bag over one shoulder and carrying a guitar case onto the school bus. At least it gave him a reason to leave his books at home.

“You in a band now?” fat Agatha whined. What had he ever seen in her? Well, he guessed he knew that well enough.

“Yeah,” he said. “The Beatles are gettin’ back together and want me to play lead. Shut up.”

Oldenburg

When Thomas again checked on Grace, he noticed that while the tea had clearly been sipped, nothing else on the tray had been touched, and she was asleep again. She was rarely ill and hardly ever lost her appetite. He was just glad she had been spared the Pierces’ drop-in. They had taken down the Careys’ new number and would likely be the first callers.

Thomas knew whom Grace would call first. He could only hope Ravinia would be encouraged by their new situation. His wife would know better than to tell her all about the Pierces.

Forest View High School

Brady ducked into Mr. Nabertowitz’s office just before first bell and asked if he could stash his stuff somewhere. “It doesn’t fit in my locker, and I don’t want to lug it around all day.”

“What in the world is it?”

“You’ll see.”

“How interesting! You have props?”

“I guess.”

“What’s with the guitar?”

“Like I said, you’ll see.”

“I love that you’re coming prepared, but as I told you, we’ve cast most of the leads. We have a guy who would be perfect for the father, but he can’t carry a tune. Can you?”

“I think I can, but I’m not trying out for the father.”

“There’s nothing left, son. Just town kids, bit parts.”

“I’m auditioning for Birdie.”

Nabertowitz sighed and shook his head. “I told you I had someone for that.”

“Is it a done deal? ’Cause I don’t think I’m interested in anything else.”

“You’re going to have to thrill me, and I’m going to have a real problem if I change now.”

“Sorry.”

“Truth is, I wouldn’t mind the problem. My Birdie hardly has the bad-boy look I want. He’d be much better as the jealous boyfriend. But he wants the part, and he’s earned it. He’s going to Northwestern next year, and his parents are supportive of me and the program here and are thrilled to death he has the lead.”

“Birdie’s not the lead.”

Nabertowitz cocked his head. “I thought only I understood that.”

“Anybody who’s read the script ought to know Birdie is just the title character. The lead is the manager. Give hotshot that part. Can he sing and dance?”

“He sure can.”

“Then there you go.”

“I have an older-looking kid for that. Real promising.”

“Make him the father, hotshot the manager, me Birdie.”

Nabertowitz led Brady to the door. “You’d better get to class. And we’re way, way ahead of ourselves here. I’ll let you audition for Birdie, but you must know it’s a long shot. It’s not a terribly demanding part, as you know. The look is paramount, and you have that. But it’s also crucial you can sing and dance, and not even you know that yet.”

The rest of the day, Brady went over and over in his mind his plan for the audition. He sat in the backs of classes and assumed his bored, defiant look, so teachers didn’t bother with him. He carried no books, took no notes, just sat and thought. He’d never sung in front of anybody but Petey, but he always sang along to the radio—classic rock, oldies, and hard rock. Who knew whether he was any good? He sure didn’t.

Dancing was another matter. He had been to a few and there were those who seemed to appreciate a James Brown thing he could do. Birdie was, of course, more of an Elvis figure with a hip shake Brady would have to learn. But for today, he’d stick with what he knew.

Problem was, every time Brady really thought about the prospect of standing alone on stage, in costume, singing and dancing for Nabertowitz along with who knew how many kids, he seriously doubted whether he could go through with it. Part of him had a feeling this might be his ticket from trailer trash to respectability, something that would allow him to rescue Petey from the same horrid existence. But another part of him was certain this was a pipe dream, the ridiculous notion of a nobody from nowhere.

He sat watching the clock during his last class, weighing the prospect of just gathering up his suit and guitar and heading home.

Oldenburg

Grace had finally roused around lunchtime, complaining of fatigue and a lack of appetite. But Thomas persuaded her to try half a cheese sandwich—again testing his culinary skills—with a little more tea.

“Anything specific, hon?” he said. “You need to see a doctor?”

“I don’t think so. I’m just wiped out. We’ve been through a lot in just a few days.”

“Tell me about it.”

Thomas was stunned to learn that she had been wholly unaware the Pierces had been there. “You slept through all that? Paul’s not a quiet guy.”

She nodded. “How long were they here?”

“Long enough to try to supervise the phone installation.”

“What? You didn’t tell me! I want to call Ravinia!”

Thomas pointed her to the phone, encouraged that she suddenly seemed perkier. He cleared away the dishes as she dialed.

“Yes, thank you, just a minute,” she said, then covered the receiver. “Thomas, write this down. Rav’s suitemate says she has a new number. She’s moved.”

“Moved? What—go ahead, I’m ready.”

Grace recited the number and hung up. “She’s not in the dorm anymore. The girl says she found a roommate off campus to save money.”

“That’s prudent, but it sure happened fast.”

“She’s always been good with money,” Grace said as Thomas slid the new number to her. “But I wish she didn’t have to do this.”

Thomas sat, waiting his turn to talk to his daughter.

“No answer,” Grace whispered, then, “Oh, wait.” She squinted, then opened her mouth as if to speak before quickly hanging up. “Oh no.”

“What?”

She stood and moved toward the bedroom.

“Grace! What?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Of course I do; now what?”

“Call her yourself,” she said, shutting the bedroom door.

Thomas dialed, his fingers shaking. The number rang four times; then came his daughter’s cheerfully recorded voice: “You’ve reached Dirk and Rav. Leave a message after the beep and . . .”

Thomas found Grace curled on the bed, sobbing. “It may not be as bad as it sounds,” he said.

“Oh, Thomas, it’s one thing for us to be old-fashioned, but let’s not be naive.”