Faith Wish (12 page)

“We will, with the Lord's help.”

“Sister Abigail will be there though?”

“She will be there. You couldn't be in better hands.”

Hadn't he said that once already? Without further hesitation, though, Anne-Marie picked up her bag. She followed Brother Jackson as he led the way to his car, an old Chrysler with plenty of body rust and a crumpled front fender. He told her to put the bag in the backseat. As soon as she tossed it in, he said, “This takes courage, Sister.”

Her spirits rose again. This new plan of action seemed to fill her with growing confidence. It was freedom from her parents in any case, and from the humiliating lockdown of the contract. “It either takes courage or faith,” she replied. “Maybe when my faith is strong enough, I won't need to worry about things like courage. That's what I pray for.”

“Praise God for your trust and submission, Sister. Hop in, then. It won't take me but a few minutes to get my things together. I travel light, too.”

Brother Jackson drove fast in the old Chrysler. Not as fast as Richard had driven the Beamer, of course, that wouldn't be possible. The car windows were open, so it wasn't easy to carry on a conversation. She didn't mind; she was free. She watched as the green exit signs flew by, one by one, until, physically and mentally exhausted, she fell asleep.

She didn't awake until they reached the urban bypass that skirted the city of Springfield, Illinois. Traffic was practically nonexistent, but the streetlights were bright. Brother Jackson had found a country/Christian radio station which came in clearly, although most of his earlier attempts had been undermined by fading and static. A lovely song was on: Someone had combined the old James Taylor song “You've Got a Friend” with the Christian hymn “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” Anne-Marie found herself humming along.

Once past Springfield, she fell asleep again. The next time she awoke, Brother Jackson was pulling into a rest stop. “We're just south of a town called Litchfield,” he told her. “I'm afraid I'm exhausted, Sister Anne-Marie. We're going to have to bed down for the night.” Saying this, he pulled the car to the remote end of the parking area. Anne-Marie knew when he said
bed down
he didn't mean they'd be sleeping together.

There were only two or three other cars in view, and the parking lot lights didn't cast far in this direction. Brother Jackson got out to rummage in the trunk until he found the sleeping bag he was looking for, and a pillow. “You can sleep in the car,” he told her. “I'll just stretch out on one of those picnic tables over there in that shelter.”

“But that won't be comfortable at all,” said Anne-Marie.

“Don't you worry about that. This old sleeping bag and I have made do in a hundred worse places than this. Much worse. I'll see you in the morning, Sister. God bless.”

“God bless,” she returned.

When he was gone, she found she was grateful. If they had stayed in a motel, she would have been tempted again. It was so odd how she knew him intimately but really didn't know him much at all. She knew his body and a few of his favorite sermon themes.

Other than the time they had made love, she had only spoken to him briefly once or twice. Besides listening to him preach, of course. But listening to a person giving a sermon wasn't the same thing as personal sharing.

She curled up in the backseat of the car. She might have been sleepier if she hadn't taken those long naps earlier along the way.

She couldn't help thinking back to the time she'd spent the night with Richard at the lake in the backseat of the old Chevy. This situation was much different, but there were similarities, too.

By the time they'd gotten to the lake, they'd finished off two six-packs of wine coolers and were drunk as lords. Richard took the curved spillway at about seventy miles an hour, just to see how the Chevy performed. When they'd started skidding a little bit, he let up. They found a private parking space off the shoulder of a small access road.

Richard had lit up two of his “tailor-made joints,” as he called them, and given one to her. “How do you make these things?” she'd asked him.

“Simple. You take about half of the tobacco out of the end of a Marlboro, then fill the empty space with reefer. That way none of the grass gets wasted.”

The explanation had made her giddy. She began to giggle uncontrollably.

“What's so funny?” he'd asked, taking a long drag and holding it.

Her answer had come between her bouts of the giggles. “It doesn't sound simple at all. I'm just like trying to picture you bent over like some watchmaker using tweezers to move tobacco and marijuana back and forth.” She laughed out loud.

“You're drunk,” he said.

“Yeah, so? What about you?”

“It's not a procedure like using an eyeglass at a workbench. Most of these I fixed during play practice this afternoon.”

“How did you have the time?” she'd asked.

“They were rehearsing their lines for this one-act that Chris Weems wrote. I'm in the other two, but not that one. I had plenty of time.” He had lifted her skirt to her waist by this time.

“What play did Chris Weems write?”

Richard had laughed. “It's called
Changing of the Guard
. I can't tell you how lame it is.”

She was already drunk, and by now she'd finished her doctored cigarette and was high and disoriented, like she was flying. She'd wanted Richard to take her, but she was curious about Chris's play at the same time. In her mind-altered state, she couldn't seem to separate the one activity from the other. She went into gales of laughter before she managed to ask, “What is his play like?”

“Who cares?”

“I'm just curious.”

By this time he had begun tugging at her underwear but seemed annoyed. “Are you ready for this or what?” he wanted to know.

She was still giggling. “I'm ready. I'm almost ready. Just tell me about the play and then I'll be totally ready. Have you got a condom?”

“Yeah, I've got a condom. And okay, if you have to know, here's how it goes. There's this guy who finds out he's gay.”

“In the play, you mean?”

“No, on
Judge Judy
. Of course I mean the play.”

“And like how old is he?”

“What difference does it make?”

“How old is he?”

“He's out of school, so I guess he's an adult. A young one. Let's say he's twenty-three, okay?”

“Okay,” she had laughed. “Twenty-three, then. So he finds out he's gay, what's the problem?”

“The problem is he wants to change. He figures the best way is to take out all the beautiful women he can find, hoping he'll get hooked by one. Then the problem is, none of the women he asks will go out with him. It's supposed to be funny. There. Are you satisfied?”

She'd still been giggling, even while he worked the condom into place. After they'd made love, he was still irritable. “You weren't even into that. You just went through the motions, like sleepwalking through a play.”

“I'm sorry,” she'd said. “You're right. But with all that wine cooler and then the grass, I feel like I'm just tripping.”

“Whatever happened to passion?” he asked. “The whole world doesn't have any passion anymore.”

“I don't know. I guess it's just gone with the wine.” And she began to laugh again.

They'd fallen asleep in the backseat and didn't recover until after sunrise.

When she finally got back home she was grounded for two weeks. And her father had had a few choice words for Richard, too: “I want you to stay away from Anne-Marie,” he said. “You're a resourceful, slick guy, you shouldn't have too much trouble finding another girl.”

“But Dad—”

“But nothing. You've got plenty of problems to deal with without adding a risky lifestyle into the mix. That's it. Case closed.”

Richard had apologized several times before he left.

It was about three weeks later that her mother had shown her the
Tribune
articles on the problems of the overpopulation of Canada geese in the northwest suburbs.

June 10

By the time she awoke, the sky was bright and birds were singing, though it was still early morning. She might have slept longer but for the fact she had to pee so bad. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she felt refreshed.

Anne-Marie approached the picnic table where Brother Jackson had spent the night. She discovered him reading from the Bible and talking with a middle-aged woman. It wasn't the time to interrupt. He took his ministry so naturally into every nook and cranny of the world. He was always about the Lord's work.

So instead, she fetched her backpack from the car and headed for the convenience center, which was a modern limestone building with clean rest rooms and an information counter with maps and pamphlets for tourists. In the bathroom, she scrubbed with soap, using paper towels from the dispenser to dry herself.

She changed her T-shirt after applying underarm deodorant. She had stubble, which reminded her that she hadn't thought to pack a razor. Her bra was dirty, so she took it off. She didn't have another one, but there would be laundry facilities at Camp Shaddai. Since she didn't want to appear provocative, she chose her Chicago Bulls shirt, which was double extra large and long enough to reach her hips.

Anne-Marie felt a sudden wave of guilt while brushing her teeth. Her parents would be worried sick. She didn't want them to suffer; they weren't really bad parents, they just couldn't understand what it meant to have the Lord as the true center of your life.

She wanted to be free, but didn't want them to suffer. If there was a way to reassure them, she wanted to find it. She could call Eleanor. Her purse was inside the backpack, with the library card and Eleanor's new number in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Near the counter in the welcome center were several pay phones against the wall. Anne-Marie had plenty of change. She decided to use one of the phones instead of her cell. It wasn't yet eight
A
.
M
. even on the East Coast, but Eleanor was awake. As succinctly as she could, Anne-Marie summarized yesterday's decision and her current flight with Brother Jackson.

“Oh Anne-Marie, you can't be serious.”

“I am, though. And I'm perfectly safe. That's the first thing I want you to know, that I'm not at any risk.”
Except as a student
, she thought;
I've always been an at-risk student
.

“Where are you going?”

“We're on our way to a spiritual retreat center. It's a place where I can get away from everything and pray about my problems and what to do.”

“Where is this retreat center?”

Anne-Marie felt a little foolish when she had to admit, “All I know for sure is, it's someplace in southern Illinois.”

“Where are you now?” Eleanor demanded.

“We're at a rest stop somewhere on the interstate. I'm not exactly sure where. The point I'm trying to make is that I'm safe.”

“You're safe with your evangelist, is that what you're telling me?”

“Brother Jackson. Yes, I'm safe with him.”

“You're breaking your contract then, aren't you?”

“Don't even go there, Eleanor. That's not why I called you. I can get that from Mom and Dad or any counselor at the high school.”

“I'm sorry,” said Eleanor, after a brief pause. “What can I do for you?”

“You can call Mom and Dad. Just call them and tell them I'm okay.”

“How do I know you're okay?”

“Because I'm telling you the truth. Just trust me. I called, didn't I? All I want is just the one favor, okay?”

“I don't like it, but I'll probably do it,” her big sister admitted. “I don't want Mom and Dad worried sick.”

“Neither do I. Thanks, Eleanor. Thanks a lot.”

“I'm not finished yet, Anne-Marie. I don't want me worried sick, either. When you get to this retreat center, I want you to call me again. Reverse the charges if you have to, but call me.”

“Okay.”

“You have to promise.”

“I promise.”

“And while I've got you on the line,” Eleanor continued, “what about Nurse Howard? What about the counseling center and your options?”

“I haven't forgotten about it,” said Anne-Marie quickly. Although after the visit she'd received from Jacob and Gloria, she'd forgotten about it in any way that mattered. “I'm only going to a place where I can be free to meditate and pray. I have to know the Lord's will.”

“You'd better be telling me the truth. It's a big favor you're asking me to do. I don't even know where you'll be.”

“I'd like to tell you the name of the place, but Mom and Dad would pull it out of you. Then they'd come get me and bring me back. I'm not eighteen yet—I don't have any rights. You don't know what it's like to be under everybody else's rules all the time.”

“You think I was never seventeen?”

“You were never on academic probation or receiving progress reports in the mail or under a performance contract. You want to argue with that?”

“No, I'm not going to argue that point. All I can say is, I'll keep my promise and I expect you to keep yours.”

“I will, Eleanor, you can trust me. And thanks. Thanks a lot.”

“You're welcome. I guess. Stay well and keep safe.”

“Okay, bye.”

Anne-Marie felt relieved. She stowed her gear in the trunk of the car just as Brother Jackson announced that he was ready for the road. “I called Sister Abigail at Camp Shaddai before you were awake,” he told her. “She'll be ready for us this afternoon, so everything seems to be falling into place.”

Anne-Marie decided not to say anything about her own phone call. “That's the way it works when you put your trust in the Lord, huh?”