Healing Waters (50 page)

Dad winced, pinching the pleats beneath his eyes. “Said he didn't know if you'd be so happy to hear from him.”

I couldn't hope for
happy
. But the thought of comfort swept over me like a wave of homesickness. I wanted Chip there to tell me a lie: that the passing hours of nothing did not mean that Bethany was lost to us forever. I would have believed him.

Dad pulled a battered receipt from his shirt pocket. “He gave me this phone number for you to call him when you're ready to start that new life.”

I stared stupidly at the pencil scratchings. “This isn't his cell phone,” I said.

“That's what he gave me.”

“All right—we have some news.” Deidre Schmacker swept into the room with Ingram behind her, spattering words like shotgun fire into his cell phone.

“We've picked up Derrick Garrison in Mount Juliet, just east of here.” She nodded at me. “He's your Pencil Whiskers.”

“Who?” Sonia said.

“Does he have Bethany?” I said.

Her eyes drooped. “No, but the good news is that there is no evidence so far that he ever did have her.”

She left unspoken what I read in the grim lines flanking her mouth. We didn't want Bethany in the hands of Derrick Garrison.

“However, the fact that he was in the area at the time Bethany was taken may indicate that he is working with the kidnapper, and that is what we've suspected in terms of the plane crash as well. We're just still stumped about a motive.”

“Lucia—what is she talking about?” Sonia said. “Who is Derrick Garrison?”

Her voice was shrill, but I stomped over it. “This doesn't bring us closer to finding Bethany, does it?”

Ingram closed his phone. “I'm going to question Garrison right now. If he knows anything, I'll find out.”

For the first time I was grateful for the edge Agent Ingram kept honed like a butcher knife.

“We may need you to identify him,” Deidre said to me. “Marnie Oakes too. Fortunately she's back in town.”

“Whatever you need,” I said. “Just bring Bethany home.”

She turned to Sonia, whose frantic hands were climbing up my arm. “The press wants a statement from you. That isn't something you are obligated to do.”

Sonia stopped her climb and searched my face.

Visions of gawking cameras chilled me, and I could see that same horror passing through her.

But she drew in a breath. “Does that ever actually help?”

Deidre grimaced. “The only time we recommend it is when we feel the perpetrator may respond to a plea from the parent. I don't know if that's the case here. If this person wants to see you hurting”— her eyes took their downward turn—“it might only make things worse. In that case, perhaps someone else should make the plea.”

All eyes turned to me.

My blood turned to ice. “Are you saying I should go on camera?” Ingram scraped his chin with his cell phone. “I don't know if it would be as effective. People respond more to the mother's situation and are more likely to keep an eye out, report anything they see. She's the one who has more at stake emotionally.”

“I know what happens when people see me,” Sonia said. “They can't think about anything but how grotesque I look.” Her voice was thick. “No one loves Bethany more than Lucia, but she can't—”

“Can't what?” Deidre said.

“She hates the spotlight. She'll freeze.”

“How about if I speak for myself?” I said.

Sonia's eyes widened.

Deidre's took on their liquid shine. “I wish you would,” she said.

I clasped my hands to keep their trembling out of sight. “If there's even a small chance that it'll help,” I said, “I have to do it. I'll do it right now.”

“It'll take a little time to set it up,” Ingram said.

“First thing in the morning would be better anyway,” Deidre said. “See if we can use the studio in Mount Juliet—that Christian station. That way Lucia won't have to go so far.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “I know you want to stay close in case we hear anything. I'll be right there with you.”

When she left, my father stood up and buried his hands in his pockets. “I know I never said it enough. Maybe I never said it, and it's probably too late now.” He looked at me and then at Sonia, eyes wet and red rimmed. “I'm proud of you both. They got to get that little girl home so she can grow up to be a woman like the two of you.”

When he turned to go, I slapped my hand on the table. “Where do you think you're going?” I said.

“I'm going to get out of your hair.” Dad ran his hand down the back of his head. “You know me. I always take off when I've screwed things up. Makes it easier on everybody.”

“Yeah, well, we're all about putting our own issues aside tonight,” I said. “The only issue that matters is Bethany.”

“I don't deserve—”

“Shut up, Mother,” Sonia said.

I jerked toward her, but her eyes had not gone wild.

“Sorry,” she said. “I don't need the Mother voice in my head right now. Dr. Ukwu told me to just shut her up however I need to.”

I filed that away for a time I hoped would come—when I could meet my sister for the first time. A time when Bethany would sit between us and we would peel away her layers of shoulds and can'ts and ought-tos—so the only voices she would hear were her own and God's.

“Dear God, please,” I said.

Sonia said nothing. But my father said, “Amen.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

T
he sky was barely light when we walked into the WTBG building the next morning, but it didn't matter. I hadn't slept anyway. Francesca had put ice cubes on my eyes and then gone at me with the foundation and the concealer in an attempt to freshen me up, though it only made me look like an insomniac wearing too much makeup.

The effort was somehow calming at the time. Now that I was there, chilled by the air-conditioning and the thought of exposing myself to millions of viewers, I was beyond comfort. Only the little cherub face in my head and the constant
Dear God, please
in my breath got me to the chair a man in headphones led me to. I was vaguely aware that this was the set Roxanne had used for her prayer show. The thought was slightly nauseating.

“This is going to be a live feed,” Deidre explained, while Headphone Man clipped a microphone to the lapel of the blue jacket Francesca had picked for me. I had no idea where she'd gotten it, but she said it was my color.

“You'll see Chelsea Bowles on the screen, so just talk to her like she's here in person, and the camera will do the rest.”

“We need to clear the set,” Headphone Man said to her.

She patted my hand and stood up. “This is brave of you, Lucia,” she said. “Very brave.”

I didn't feel brave, so I fought for numb, something I hadn't reached for in weeks. It was nowhere to be found. I was left with Headphone Man counting down on his fingers and a golf ball forming in my throat.

But this was for Bethany. And for the twisted people who had taken her from us. I swallowed it down and glued my eyes to the screen.

A stunning brunette with sympathetic eyes flickered into view and greeted me in a voice I almost believed.

“We appreciate your being with us this morning, Lucia,” she said. “I know this is a difficult time for you and your family.”

“It is,” I said woodenly.

She nodded as if she wanted me to say more.

“But I had to do this,” I said. “We have to find Bethany.”

I could feel my face coloring, feel the sweat forming on my upper lip. I sounded so desperate.

But then, I
was
desperate.

Chelsea—was that her name? Chelsea?—nodded again. “You were the first person to discover that little Bethany was missing. Can you tell us about that?”

I nodded back and began to speak and tried to forget how many people were eyeing me. I said Bethany's name as much as I could, and that kept me moving through, kept me giving details that maybe, somehow, would nudge someone, make them think,
I saw
that! I saw him!

As I talked, I heard my own voice grow warmer, less stiff, more real. “Please,” I said, “please, if anyone knows anything at all that might help us find her, please call the FBI.”

“We have that number at the bottom of the screen,” Chelsea said. “Lucia, how is your family handling this? You seem so composed, but I can see in your eyes that this is frightening. What are you doing to remain hopeful?”

I paused. Was I allowed to talk about God on national TV?

“I know Bethany's mother, Sonia Cabot, is influential in Christian circles,” she said. “I would assume that—”

“We're praying,” I said. “That's the only way we're getting through this.”

Chelsea glanced down as if she were looking at notes. “Sonia Cabot has always claimed that God blesses those who are faithful to Him. Is she still able to maintain that in the face of yet another personal crisis?”

Beyond the camera, Deidre made slashing motions at her throat with her hand. Inside I moved toward that myself. I might have given a mechanical nod and ended the interview, if I hadn't noticed someone else behind her. Several someones.

Egan. Georgia. Roxanne.

Headphone Man snapped his fingers silently for me to focus back on the screen, but I couldn't take my eyes from them. The studio morphed from Roxanne's
Power Praying
set to a faraway hospital lounge, where a row of those same people, and others like them, looked at me with dismissal in their eyes and disgust in their curled lips. Just as they were doing now, as though a woman bloated with sin could not possibly speak for God.

Except that I was no longer that woman. And Bethany was never going to be.

“Thank you so much for being here this morning, Lucia,” Chelsea Bowles said.

“I'd like to answer your question,” I said. “About our faith in this crisis.”

Her surprise was poised. “All right,” she said.

In spite of Headphone Man's frantic motions, I looked straight at the trio, who looked as if they had just been jolted from a collective nap.

“I can't speak for my sister,” I said. “But I can say for myself, and for Bethany, that we have never believed in the twisted version of God that Abundant Living Ministry propounded, and still claims, as far as I know.”

Egan pulled his hands from his pockets in slow motion. I met his eyes.

“The idea that God only shows grace to those who toe the line is toxic Christianity,” I said. “And believing that every tragedy that befalls us is either God's wrath or an opportunity for a miracle is dangerous.”

I watched Roxanne march toward Headphone Man, arms swinging. I was about to be cut off. Wesley's words swam in my head, and Sullivan's, and Grandma Brocacini's. Roxanne had Headphones by the arm before I landed on my own. Mine and God's.

“I'm still holding it together because God hears me. I don't know if Bethany will come back to us. She's obviously being held by someone who doesn't know a thing about that. I just keep crying out
Dear God
, knowing He's with her no matter what happens.” I bored my eyes into Roxanne, who grabbed for Headphone Man's shoulder. “Nobody can know anything more than that. Nobody.”

Chelsea Bowles broke in before the last syllable was out. “We can certainly appreciate your passion, Lucia, and we will all keep hoping that Bethany
will
be returned to you.”

The screen went blank, with Roxanne still tugging on Headphone Man's arm.

“Excellent job,” Deidre said. She was on me immediately. “Let's get you home.”

“How dare you?” Roxanne pushed Deidre aside and stood inches from me, nostrils flaring.

Georgia was at her heels, wielding a BlackBerry like a weapon.

“How dare you disparage Abundant Living on national television?” Roxanne said. “You have no understanding of what we do here—I have known that from the first time I met you.”

“Was that the first time when you said it was me and you and Marnie, saving the day?” I looked at Georgia. “Oh, this isn't Marnie. Sorry—you all look alike to me.”

“Roxanne, leave it alone,” Egan said. “You're not going to get anywhere with her.”

“Her?” I said. “No, my name is Lucia. Not Lucy. Not Sonia Cabot's sister. Not the convenient nurse who will say what you want me to say. I am Lucia Brocacini Coffey—and I have a very clear understanding of what you're about.”

Deidre let go of my arm and folded hers across her chest.

Roxanne breathed like a locomotive. “No,” she said, “you do not.”

“Yeah, I do,” I said. “Because unlike the rest of you, who bailed out on Sonia one by one when your little formula didn't seem to be working, I stayed to watch it fail completely.”

“If there was failure, that was Sonia's doing,” Roxanne said.

“No, ma'am,” I said. “It was yours—and yours—and yours.” I jabbed a finger at each of them in turn. Georgia gasped. Egan turned his usual cowardly shade of pale. Only Roxanne looked ready to attack—but I didn't let her.

“God didn't crash that plane—some demented person did. But everything you stand for kept Sonia from taking the medical treatment she needed, or the psychological help, or the legal aid. Now she's more disabled than she would have been. She's mentally shattered and financially ruined—and you know what the worst of it is?”

I didn't wait for an answer. “Now she can't even stand to hear the name of God, because you gave her a God who is cruel and cold and takes people's children away from them.”

I didn't realize until then, when Deidre put her hand on my shoulder and Roxanne's face distorted before me, that I was crying. Sobbing. Weeping out the truth.

“So don't talk to me about what I do and do not understand,” I said. “And you know what? I'll be praying
Dear God, Dear God
for all of you—because that's all I can think to say on your behalf.”