And the Shofar Blew (36 page)

“Samuel’s a straight guy.”

“None better. Everyone misses you at the Bible study.”

His gaze held hers. “You can tell them hello for me.”

She knew then why he wasn’t attending anymore. “I’m sorry, Stephen.”

“Eunice, you’re the best thing Paul has going for him.”

She felt safer in the sunshine, less out of her depth. “He has the Lord.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Stephen watched Eunice drive away. One glimpse of her and the attraction was resurrected. With a vengeance. He’d sensed an open door, a small opportunity to step through it. And what if he had? What ramifications? What consequences? What repercussions? He didn’t even want to imagine what it would have done to Eunice if he’d given in to his impulse to take her into his arms and kiss her. What if she’d responded?

“So what’s her deal, anyway?”

Startled, he turned and saw Brittany lounging on the bench Jack Bodene used to inhabit. Had she been sitting there the whole time? “She’s an old friend.”

She stood and came toward him, head cocked, eyes searching. “Did you two have a thing going or what?”

“No.” He stared her down. “Never. Get that straight in your head.”

She paled, but tilted her chin. “Why so defensive?”

“Because Eunice is a pastor’s wife, and the mere hint of scandal could do her a lot of harm.”

“So, why did she come here to see you?”

“For the reasons she said.”
And others she didn’t mention.
He could see Eunice was deeply troubled. Why
had
she come? Would she have explained if Brittany hadn’t been here? He stopped his thoughts from going down that path.

“I’m a big girl, Daddy. I have two eyes in my head. You love her, don’t you? More than you ever loved Mom.”

“If you’re asking if I’ve ever had or would ever want an affair with her, the answer is no. I admire Eunice Hudson. I care deeply about her. How can you not love someone who consistently puts other people’s needs ahead of her own wants? Her son is a prime example of the sacrifices she’s willing to make.”

“Why did he really leave?”

“Because he couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations.”

“You mean his father is like Mom? Well, no wonder.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You lived with her. You know what she’s like. No matter what you do, it’s never enough to please her. And anything that goes wrong is your fault. That’s why you left us, isn’t it? Because all she ever did was scream at you for being a drunk. Like she screams at me for not getting straight A’s, or having the right kind of friends, or a hundred other reasons she can think of. ‘You could stand to lose a few pounds, Brittany.’ ‘When’re you going to stop chewing your nails, Brittany?’ ‘You’re just like your father. . . .’ You have to be drunk or high to live with her. You have to be so out of it you can’t hear her anymore.”

He tried to calm her. “Easy, honey.” He put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Your mother isn’t the only one with a problem, Brit.”

She shook him off. “So now you’re going to get down on me, too. Right? You’re going to tell me what’s wrong with my life. You’re gonna lay down the law.”

She was coming down off something. Pills, grass, speed—he didn’t know what, but he could read the signs. “I was talking about myself, Brittany. I’m an alcoholic. I made a habit of casting blame on your mother and rationalizing my behavior. But the truth is, I don’t have to go any further than my own mirror to see who was responsible.”

“But you’re not drinking anymore, Daddy. You haven’t got so much as a bottle of wine in your house. I looked. And she still blames you for everything.”

“I’m still an alcoholic. Just because I don’t drink, it doesn’t mean I’m cured of that. Thank God, Jesus has taken away my thirst for it. But I’m still living one day at a time. I’m not taking anything for granted.” Watching Eunice drive out of sight had made him thirst for a bottle of scotch. The first drink was the killer. “Why don’t we go back upstairs? I may not have wine, but I have plenty of soda.”

Brittany followed him and slumped onto a chair near the window. “What’d the private eye cost you?”

“I would have paid more if it would’ve gotten you home sooner.” He made baloney sandwiches while she stared out the front window, silent, troubled. He wasn’t about to start an interrogation.

“I’ll have to go grocery shopping later.” He set her sandwich on the table. “I’m low on everything.”

“I don’t want to put you out anymore or cost you anything. I don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I’d like it if you lived with me.”

“You would? For real?”

Why should it surprise her? “I’ve missed you, Brittany. From the time your mother took you away. You didn’t have any way of knowing that or understanding how much I loved you then. You’re my flesh and blood.” He could see her struggling harder with each word he said. “You’re my daughter. I’ve always loved you. I always will. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“You say so now, but you don’t know anything about me or what I’ve done.” Her mouth trembled. Her eyes welled, hot and bright. “You haven’t got a clue!”

“I can imagine.” It was what he had imagined happening to her that had driven him mad at times—and made him thirst for scotch and oblivion.

She drew her legs up into the chair. Covering her head with her hands, she sobbed.

Stephen squelched the urge to tell her everything was all right. It wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be. Not right away. Some wounds took longer to heal. And trust didn’t come overnight. He went to her. Crouching, he took her hands from her head. “Look at me, honey.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of what you’re going to see in my eyes, Brittany. I’m not going to throw stones at you, or look down at you. God knows how many times I’ve sinned. Or how many times I still fall short of what I should be. I wake up each morning and thank God for another day, and I ask Him for the strength to make it a clean and sober one. And then at night, I thank Jesus again for getting me through.”

She looked at him then. “Is every day that hard?”

“Some days are harder than others. But I’ve got tools now, and good friends. More important, I have a relationship with Jesus Christ.” He recognized the look that came into her eyes, but didn’t let it stop him from saying what needed to be said. “I know I can go to Him whenever I’m in trouble, and He’ll show me the way to walk away from it.” As He had with Eunice. “God shows me what I can change, and what I can’t change, and He gives me the wisdom to know the difference.”

“That’s a prayer, isn’t it? I saw something like it written on a wall in the Tenderloin.”

He didn’t want to think about what she was doing in that area of San Francisco. “Yep. Anytime you talk to God, you’re praying. The hard part is learning to listen.” He had been practicing for a long time. But he still had a long way to go. He thumbed a tear from his daughter’s cheek.

“You’re so different, Daddy. I hardly know you.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

CHAPTER 16

S
AMUEL OPENED his apartment door and faced a tall young man wearing a blue shirt, black leather jacket, and Levi’s. “Timothy Hudson! It’s good to see you.” He embraced him. Choked up, Samuel drew back and gestured for Tim to come in. He fought tears. The doctor said the tears came so easily because of a mild stroke.

“Man, it’s good to see you, Samuel. I’ve missed you.”

“You look good, Tim.” The disheveled, hard-eyed rebel who had left Centerville had come back much taller, filled out in the shoulders, and exuding an air of confidence. The only remaining touch of nonconformity was the shoulder-length sandy blond hair.

“I missed you at church, Samuel.”

“I stopped driving after my stroke. I’ve missed services for some time now.” He didn’t tell Timothy he’d never set foot in Valley New Life Center. It wouldn’t do to tell Tim that the only member of CCC who came to call was his mother. When Samuel had left the church, no one had bothered to ask why, not that he would have felt free to explain. Those who knew just didn’t care. It had hurt and troubled him that he was so little missed after so many years of service. “I meet with a group here in the rec room. We have our own service. We study the Bible together, sing hymns, and pray.”

When Samuel had moved in, he’d been surprised to find there were no Sunday services conducted at Vine Hill, and only a few clergymen bothered to come by. The only regular visitor was Father James O’Malley, a Catholic priest almost as old as his parishioners at the residential-care facility.

“I don’t mind ye teaching members of my congregation,” James had said in his Irish brogue the first time Samuel met him. “You’re teaching them from God’s Word, and I’ve nothing against that. Just so ye don’t go filling their heads with any rebellious ideas.”

James O’Malley dropped by every Thursday for a long visit. Though they didn’t always agree on theological matters, the priest loved Jesus and the people God had entrusted to him. And it was good to have friends.

“Do you like it here, Samuel?” Timothy looked dubious.

Was the boy feeling sorry for him? Samuel would have none of that. “I couldn’t keep up with the house. And the yard work was too much for me. Here, I can relax and enjoy life. There’s someone to cook for me, wash my sheets, take care of my laundry.” He had plenty of time to pray and teach those whose hearts were open to Jesus. “Sit and make yourself at home.”

Timothy sat in the old wing chair facing the windows, the one James often sat in. Vine Hill was built so that all the apartments looked out into the courtyard. It gave the old folks a pleasant view of a marble statue of a young peasant woman pouring water from a pitcher tipped into a lily-covered fishpond. Samuel slid the window open so that Timothy would hear the birds that gathered at the feeders in the courtyard garden. “I can enjoy the gardens without a care in the world. Tomas Gomez keeps everything tidy and plants new flowers every season.”

“You have a nice place here, Samuel.”

A temporary home until he joined Abby. “I saw your mother last week. She didn’t tell me you were coming home.”

“She didn’t know. It was a surprise. Grandma and I thought a trip to Centerville was in order.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I guess you could say I just wanted to see how everything was shaping up at Dad’s church.”

A guarded answer. “And?”

“It’s a beautiful facility.”

“Yes. It is.” Samuel settled into his easy chair and put his cane aside. “I should’ve offered you something. Would you like a soda? some cookies? Make yourself at home.” The kitchenette had a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a few cabinets.

Timothy fixed two glasses of iced tea. Smiling, Samuel took the glass, stirred the tea, and sipped. Tim had even remembered to add lemon. “Perfect. Just the way I like it. Now, you were saying?”

“Do you get Dad’s tapes?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And?”

“Your father is a powerful speaker.”

“Yeah, I know that,
but . .
” Tim’s expression was watchful, waiting, testing.

Samuel had no intention of gossiping about Timothy’s father, or sharing his thoughts on the matter of Paul Hudson’s preaching. He’d talked about all that with the Lord. Many times. “Now that you’re through high school, what do you intend to do?”

Timothy rested his head against the back of the chair. “I’m not sure yet. It was good to take a year off to work and think about my options. I’ve received four college acceptances.”

“That’s good. Which ones?”

“UCLA, UC Berkeley, California State in Sacramento, and Mom and Dad’s alma mater, Midwest Christian.”

Samuel smiled. “I guess you’ve changed your mind about being a cow-boy.”

Timothy gave him a lopsided grin. “Might be easier if I went back to that idea. Move up to Montana. Live somewhere far away from everyone who wants a say in my life. I’m not certain what God wants yet, Samuel. I’ve been asking Him for the last two years. You could say I’m covering as many bases as I can.”

Timothy spoke of the Lord like a young man who now knew Him intimately. “Any idea of what you want to major in?”

“I’m not even certain I’m going, Samuel.”

“Is money a problem?”

“Not one that’ll keep me away. Mom and Dad set aside savings for me from the day I was born. Not enough, but I’m not against working my way through school. Dad’s been pushing for Midwest. Third-generation legacy, he says, as though it’s a done deal.” The young man’s sardonic smile reminded Samuel of Paul Hudson. “First time I can remember doing anything that made my father proud of me.” He shook his head and looked away. “The problem is, I’m pretty sure Midwest is
not
where God wants me.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t have any peace about it. I applied to please Dad. Now I wish I hadn’t.” He stood and leaned against the window frame, looking out at the courtyard. “It’s complicated.”

“You’ll know where God wants you when the time comes.”

“I hope so. If I go anywhere other than Midwest now, Dad will be disappointed. I’m not sure what I should do.”

“Depends on whom you want to please.”

Tim looked at him with complete understanding. “What about the command to honor your father and mother?”

“The greatest commandment is that you love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, Timothy. The second is to love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the prophets of the Old Testament, and both were lived out in Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. We are to follow Jesus, not others, no matter how much we love them.”

“That’s clear and simple in theory, Samuel. It’s just not that easy to do in life.”

“No one ever said it would be easy. That’s where the battle has been from the beginning. Even Jesus faced it in the garden. Remember? ‘Thy will, not mine, be done.’ Life is ever thus. The mind and heart are Satan’s battle-ground. Jesus and God’s Word are your strength and shield.”

Timothy took his seat again. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. “I’m worried about Mom.” He cocked his head. “Has she ever talked to you about anything?”

“She talks to me about all kinds of things.”

“Anything I should know about?”

“Not unless she wants to tell you.” Abby had always been Eunice’s confidante. Eunice had come to him a few times, deeply troubled, but never said what was bothering her. Her mere reticence told him her worries centered on Paul, but Samuel had never felt the right to ask or press her for more information.

Tim shrugged. “Mom and Dad are different with each other. I don’t know what it is. He’s edgy, secretive. They talk like they’re strangers. Surface stuff.”

“Marriage is hard work, Timothy.”

“So I’ve heard, but shouldn’t they be getting better at it? I don’t see either one of them working on anything but church stuff. Mom seems tense. She’s never been like that.” Timothy shrugged and looked out the window. “She seems intent on keeping busy. Keeping up appearances. She insists everything is fine, but I get the feeling nothing is. I don’t know if she believes it or is just hoping it’s true. Maybe all the pretense is more for herself than others. I don’t know, Samuel. I can’t get a fix on what’s wrong. She goes through all the motions, but . . . something’s missing.”

“By getting a fix, you mean you’d like to fix things, don’t you?”

“Sure. If I can.”

Samuel thought about the sacrifices Eunice Hudson had made, and wondered if her son was up to it. “Why did your mother take you down to Los Angeles, Timothy?”

His expression became guarded. “Things weren’t going well between me and my dad.”

“Why did she leave you there?”

“She told me she knew I needed the space to find out who I am other than Paul Hudson’s son.”

“Do you think that was easy for her?”

“I know it wasn’t.” He grimaced. “It still isn’t. She cries every time before she leaves.”

“You want my advice?”

“Yeah. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

“Okay. Listen up. Follow your mother’s example. Let go. Step back. Pray. And see what the Lord does.”

“I thought maybe if I talked to Dad . . . ”

Samuel saw Paul Hudson in the boy. “Oh.” He smiled gently. “You know how to make things better. Is that it? You figure you can tell your father how to live his life and make your mother happy.” Samuel shook his head. “Ah. Impetuous, prideful youth.”

Timothy blushed crimson. “I’ve got a gut feeling their marriage is disintegrating, and I don’t want to stand around and watch it happen without saying something.”

“Is either one of them asking for your advice?”

“No.”

“Then don’t give it. Let God do the molding and shaping—and the breaking, if necessary. Keep your focus, Timothy. What we believe about God determines how we serve Him. Often, that means keeping our noses out of God’s business.” He couldn’t say it any clearer than that.

“Wait on the Lord, you mean.”

“That’s about it.”

“I have a hard time with waiting.”

Samuel chuckled. “Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger.” People created their own little gods when the Lord didn’t work according to their timetable. A program. A plan. A schedule. All with the illusion of control. Until disaster hit.

As Samuel had hoped, Timothy changed the subject. He asked about Samuel’s health. Samuel told him about the stroke. Minor though it was, it’d caused definite changes in his life. “I miss driving, but I don’t want to take a chance on wiping someone out on the highway. It’s one thing to kill yourself, quite another to take someone out with you.” He still had his license and his DeSoto, though neither was in use these days.

Samuel invited Timothy to join him for lunch in the dining room down-stairs. He called the desk and informed the manager, Gladys Townsend, that he would have a guest. “Almost everyone comes down for meals,” he told Timothy. For some, meals were the only social activity they had, unless they joined in the myriad of recreational activities planned for them each week—everything from putting puzzles together to tai chi. Samuel attended oil-painting classes once a week, not that he cared to show anything he’d painted to anyone with good eyesight.

Samuel introduced Timothy to his table-mates: Bessie Enright, Tom Orion, Foley Huddleston, Loraine Cramer, and Charlotte Witcomb. As soon as introductions were made, all but one tried to make Timothy feel welcome.

“Another long-haired hippie.” Tom Orion leaned forward, chin jutting. “At least it isn’t dyed blue like my grandson’s. You have any tattoos?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I do.”

Charlotte looked horrified. “Nobody wants to see it, Tom.”

Bessie patted Timothy’s hand. “He’s too young to be a hippie.”

“He’s got long hair, hasn’t he?”

“Long hair is the style, Tom,” Loraine said. “My favorite actor on
Days
and Years
has long hair.”

“Soap-opera drivel! No wonder your brain is mush.”

Loraine pulled her glasses down and glared at Tom over the top of the rims. “Better soap operas than hanging around in the front lobby and railing at the staff.”

“I don’t rail.”

“You bleat like an old goat,” Charlotte said, joining Loraine in the attack.

“Orion,” Timothy said. “There was a Coach Orion at Centerville High School.”

“My son.”

“The football team started winning when he took over.”

Apparently, Timothy had inherited his mother’s winsome ways. Tom Orion was diverted from his complaining. Charlotte, Loraine, and Bessie were more impressed with Timothy’s manners and good looks. After ten minutes of listening to football game recaps, Charlotte interrupted Tom and asked Timothy if he’d found a girlfriend yet.

“No, ma’am. Nothing serious, at least.”

“I have a nice granddaughter. She’s very pretty.”

“He’s not staying in Centerville, Charlotte,” Loraine said. “He’s just visiting.”

“What a pity. They’d make such a nice couple.”

Loraine patted Charlotte’s hand. “Your granddaughter is forty-four.”

Charlotte wasn’t willing to give up. “How old are you, Timothy?”

“I just turned nineteen.”

Samuel enjoyed his meal and the scene playing out around him. Timothy seemed perfectly at ease with everyone. Even Tom mellowed and talked about the good old days of Centerville, days when there were more almond orchards and vineyards than subdivisions. They were having such a good time, one of the staff had to ask them to vacate the dining room so the cleanup crew could finish. Timothy helped the ladies from their chairs and shook hands with Foley Huddleston and Tom Orion.

Tom turned to Samuel before leaving. “He’s all right.” High praise from the cantankerous old butcher.

Bessie Enright stayed with them all the way to the elevator. “You have such a nice grandson, Samuel.”

Samuel made no attempt to correct her about his relationship to Timothy. In ten minutes, she wouldn’t remember Timothy had even been here.

Samuel stepped into the elevator with Timothy. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

“Good food. Nice people.”

“Lonely people. Some forgotten. Bessie Enright hasn’t had a family visitor since I moved in. Her children and grandchildren live back East.” He’d mentioned that to Eunice once when she came by for a visit. The next time she came, she stopped by Bessie’s apartment as well, and brought her an African violet to add to the collection on the windowsill.