Broken Identity (33 page)

Drake was a little shaky climbing out of bed, even with a nurse holding one arm and Andrew bracing the other. This feeling of hopeless incompetence was what babies must experience when learning to take their first steps. Now all he needed to complete the picture was someone on the other end of the room with outstretched arms telling him in a baby voice, “Come on! You can do it! That’s it! That’s it!” No, wait. Ronnie was already doing that.

Drake felt lightheaded as he gradually shifted his weight to his good foot. His body felt strangely off balance with the floor, as if the ground were sitting at a thirty-degree angle. “I’m OK. I can do it,” he kept saying, trying to stand on his own. Andrew and the nurse must have known better, because they didn’t leave his side.

Drake couldn’t believe how weak he felt, especially in the leg where he had been shot. The area was extremely tender, and when he bent over to reach for his shoes, he quickly realized he wouldn’t be putting them on his feet by himself for a while. Even a diminutive amount of pressure on his wound restrained him from doing the simplest of tasks.

“Set me back down,” Drake said quickly, reaching for the bed. “I’m feeling sick.” Andrew and the nurse lowered him to the mattress.

“Is it nausea?” the nurse said.

“No, just gravity. Give me a sec and I’ll get over it.” What was taking place inside his intestines sure felt like nausea. But Drake wanted to get up, get going. This room and its Antarctica air made him hope he never had to visit a hospital again.

The nurse held one of the crutches up to him and adjusted it according to his height. “There,” she said, snapping it into place. “When you’re up to it, see how this feels.”

Drake wrapped his fingers around the gray padding and moved the crutches under his arms. He slowly lifted himself off the bed and onto the ground. “Much better,” he said, fumbling to keep his balance. Truth was, standing up was more painful than lying down, but right now, he would tell the nurse about anything she wanted to hear if it meant staying out of that stiff bed.

Shifting his entire weight onto his good leg, Drake moved the crutches ahead of him a few inches and gently rocked his body forward. “Hey, this ain’t bad at all. I’ll be cruisin’ in no time.”

Andrew smiled, relieved. “Glad to see you up on your feet again. You don’t feel nauseous or anything, do you?”

“Not at all,” Drake lied, already having located the pink tray in case he needed to get to it fast. “I’m just ready to get outta here and see some color again.” Drake gave a nod to Ronnie and said, “What do you say, little man? Ready to go?”

Ronnie walked over to his picture and peeled the tape off the wall. “Don’t forget your picture.”

No, can’t forget that.
Drake tucked the picture under his arm and swung his legs forward as he took another step with his crutches. He wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but he was glad he had a home to go to tonight instead of the streets. A bed, good food, and especially the support of Andrew and Ronnie was what he needed most to make his recovery a speedy one.

Chapter

19

T
EARSTAINED
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AGES

After being helped out of the car, Drake Pearson shuffled slowly up to the front door, only to watch Andrew struggle to beat him to it first and open the door for him. Drake wasn’t about to get used to the idea of being treated like a patient again, but at least Andrew seemed sincere in his motives. A little too obliging perhaps, but nonetheless helpful.

“I’ll pull the covers back on your bed,” Ronnie volunteered.

“Thanks, but I don’t want to go near a bed again for a while,” Drake said kindly. He examined the flight of stairs. “As a matter of fact, I don’t figure I’ll be seeing a bed for a long time. Not the one upstairs, anyway.”

“Then I’ll make you a bed on the couch tonight,” Andrew said.

“Thanks,” Drake said.

Ronnie tugged the coffee table toward the wall so Drake wouldn’t bump into it as he walked toward the couch to sit down. “I want to sleep down here with Drake! I can make room.”

Andrew helped Ronnie lift the table over a bump in the rug. The house would feel so different in a week, if Drake still decided to go. The guest room would go back to being empty, one less chair would be filled at the kitchen table, the back door rug would be less muddy, and the sounds from the piano would sleep for a few more years. He hadn’t missed God, Andrew kept telling himself. People were responsible for their own choices. But understanding those choices was the toughest part. And saying goodbye.

“He needs someone to look after him and get him water and stuff if he needs it,” Ronnie continued. “Please, Uncle Andy? Pleeease?”

Andrew looked at Drake and shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like the decision’s already made. You know as well as I do that getting into an argument with Ronnie is useless. He always wins.”

“So that’s a yes?” Ronnie said, waiting for a response with wide eyes.

“That’s definitely a yes,” Drake said. “You can keep me company if I can’t sleep, because the way I feel now, I’ll probably be awake for days.”

“Yes!” Ronnie pumped his fist up and down before racing up the stairs. “I’ll get a piece of paper and write down all the things we can do tonight!”

“Oh…you really don’t have to do that!” Drake called up to him.

“Don’t worry!” Ronnie hollered back. “I’ll have a list ready!”

“No, seriously, Ronnie. I was just exaggerating about…”

Ronnie’s door slammed shut.

That works too,
Drake thought. He turned and faced Andrew. Why did Ronnie always have to bolt from the room and leave him and Andrew alone in such an awkward atmosphere? Drake grabbed his imaginary shield and prepared for “one of those” conversations.

Andrew shed his jacket and draped it over a chair. If he put this off now, he may never get another chance. “So, uh, you said you got some reading done?” he tried to say casually.

“Yeah.” This conversation was going to be as short as Drake could make it.

Andrew set his Bible down on the coffee table. “I noticed you read the crucifixion of Jesus.”

That made Drake look up. “How’d you know I read it?”

Andrew pursed his lips.

“Oh, I get it. The bookmark was there. Well…it was there because it fell out and I didn’t know where to put it, so I just stuck it in somewhere. Sorry.” Whew.

The pain on Andrew’s face was clear. “Drake, don’t lie. I know you read it. You don’t have to hide it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Andrew looked at him, hoping an all-out war wasn’t pending. “There were tearstains on the page, Drake.”

Drake looked away and scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not condemning you for it. I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about—”

“There’s nothing to talk about, OK? Why do you have to dissect everything? What if those were your own tears on that page? What if the pain in my leg was so bad that I happened to leak a few tears while the pages were open?”

“On the page of the crucifixion, Drake?” Andrew sighed and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He wasn’t about to let this subject slip away. Not after running ten miles to reach it. “I’m not trying to single you out; I just wanted to know.”

“Know
what?
Know that I bawled like a baby for over half an hour just because I couldn’t make Jesus’ crucifixion make sense in my mind? All right, so I cried. And I cried more after that when I realized I couldn’t have any of it because I was so messed up on the inside.”

“Drake, you’ve got it all wrong—”

“Boy, you can say that again,” Drake said, forcing a laugh. “I read the stories, the chapters, the parables, and I believe it. Surprised? I guess I’ve known all along there was a God. There has to be. But when I read about Jesus…when I understood His pain, I saw myself for the first time and I despised it. I knew what sin was because I felt it eating me up the more I read about Him. And it hurt.” He stomped his crutch on the floor and clenched his teeth, hating that the feeling was returning. “As bad as the pain in my leg hurt, knowing this hurts worse.”

“But that’s why Jesus came, Drake,” Andrew said, unable to subdue a smile. “To bridge the way back to God again. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Drake clawed his fingers into the padding beneath his hands. “How can I not be? It’s easy for you. What have you ever done in life that’s bad?”

“I’ve lied. I even stole something before.”

“There, you see? Stuff like that’s insignificant. I’m talking about big things, like taking a kind man for granted, causing an innocent kid to get kidnapped, even something as big as committing a murder.”

“Murder?”

Drake shook his head. “Just throwing that out there. You get my point.”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“That even something as terrible as kidnapping or killing someone is unforgivable by God.”

“Well…maybe not in those exact words, but my own common sense tells me that. Look, I didn’t mean to get into this with you. I shoulda just kept my mouth shut, but as always, it ends up like this.”

“Drake, don’t clam up again and refuse to talk to me. I’m trying to work things out, but it seems like every time we speak, there’s an argument.”

“Like my dad,” Drake said, a lump rising in his throat. “If we can’t get along, then maybe it’s better if we don’t talk to each other.”

“Don’t do this. I’m not against you. I want us to get along. I really do.”

“Well, obviously that’s just not gonna work out, is it? Look, you’ve been kind to me and I’m grateful that you’re letting me stay here until my leg heals, but you and me are complete opposites. Things just don’t work out between us.”

“Why do you say that? I’m not the one trying to push away. Don’t you understand that I
want
us to get along? Why do you want me to stay out of your life so badly?”

Drake moved toward the fireplace, remembering how his dad had looked in the dark shadows of his old house. His face had looked so evil, even with his eyes closed and unmoving; Drake’s knuckles had bled slightly after the hit, never slackening from the rock-solid fist he had used as his only weapon. Drake looked up at Andrew, suddenly feeling like a stranger here. “Because if you only knew the real me, you would have never opened your door to me in the first place. You may think you know who I am, but you really don’t. I’m not the kind of person you would get along with.”

“I’ve tolerated you so far. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

Drake wished he could offer a different response, but he honestly had to shake his head. “No, it doesn’t. I don’t see the value of it. Why are you trying to invest in my life when it’s done nothing but blow up in your face? I’m not a profit, Mr. Andrew; I’m a loss. If taking in a homeless person for the month was a little scheme your church devised, then sorry, but it’s failed. I’d like to think that you taking me in has changed me in some unimaginable way and my life will never be the same because of it, but I can’t.

“I showed up at your doorstep a miserable, homeless teenager, and in a week or so, I’ll be leaving out that door the very same way I came in.” He rubbed his face and longed for rest. “I really do thank you for taking me in. Thanks for feeding me and giving me a bed. I’ve never had it this good before. But I can’t accept this, just like I can’t accept what it says in that Book of yours.”

Andrew gazed at him with sad, yet compassionate eyes as he listened. “Then you’re robbing yourself of something very special,” he said softly. “I wish I could make you see that. If Jesus didn’t come for the sinners, who’d He come for? The good people, as you call them? Look around, Drake. Is there anyone in this world who’s good? Is there anyone deserving of Heaven?”

Drake lowered his eyes to the floor. Déjà vu. Hadn’t he had this same conversation with Ronnie at Ivan’s hideout? Scary how those two worked together without realizing it.

“No, not one,” Andrew said through the silence. “Jesus isn’t keeping you out of Heaven. You are. You see the sin in your life, and that’s good, but your problem is you’re struggling to hold on to something that’s killing you. Yes, you’ve sinned, Drake, and so have I. We both recognize the sin in our lives, but the difference between you and me is that I gave it to God.

“That doesn’t mean I’m free to do whatever I want to do. Thankfully, when Jesus came into my heart, I was ashamed of my sin and truly wanted to change. I still mess up, though, but I refuse to let my sin keep me from God. That’s why every day I ask Jesus for forgiveness. You can have forgiveness too, if you’ll just ask for it and accept what Jesus has already done for you.”

Impossible. Nothing Andrew could say or do would make him see differently. Forgiveness was just another crutch of Christianity. Drake could barely manage walking with two crutches, so a third would only make him trip. “I can’t,” he said plainly. “After all He already went through, why should He do anything else for me? I had my chance, and I blew it. It’d be wrong to ask Jesus into a heart that’s filled with nothing but obscene thoughts and ugly desires. Why should Jesus carry my burden? It’s not His to carry.”