Substitute for Love (27 page)

He laughed with a shrug, a gesture she remembered from her struggles with problems he had lobbed at her. “Before they published the paper they told me if I found you to let you know you had a ticket to Australia waiting. I don’t know if they still have the funds, but I’ll send an e-mail the moment I get home. Do you have an e-mail address?”

“Yes.” She wrote it out on the notepad he proffered.

“I’ll cc you. So you never went on for your master’s?”

As they walked together to the front of the school, she told him a little bit about what she had been doing, not owning up to her bad choices because it was too personal to share. They parted with a promise to keep in touch and she watched him whistle his way to his car. He was just a high school math teacher and yet had given her a large part of her future, all because he could. Teachers had a magic all their own. She felt a transformational obligation to pass the magic along, one that could shape the rest of her life.

“I missed you at church.” Her father adjusted his tie in his bathroom mirror while Reyna waited near his desk.

Reyna had expected him to tax her about it first thing Monday morning, but last-minute details for the summit had apparently kept him occupied. “I spent the day with Mom. Besides, I knew I’d be here today, in the presence of an abundance of righteous fervor. It seemed like my quota for the week.”

He ignored her sarcasm, too caught up in the entrance they would both soon make to the gathered clergy in the institute’s boardroom. Day one of the Values and Faith Summit was tightly scripted. “How’s your old man look?”

Honesty compelled her to admit, “Handsome.” The hand-tailored suit, just a little too large, gave him the physique of a young Orson Welles. The matching silk tie and shirt were exceedingly elegant. She had never had any trouble understanding how he had seduced her mother. Nevertheless, he compelled her to work for him, and she had managed to meet his exacting standards without giving one iota more than was required. So why did she volunteer information now? “But you’re not even a candidate yet. You look like a victor, not an ally.”

He glanced back in the mirror, then regarded her again. She wore an everyday plain business suit. “Thank you,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

He disappeared into the recesses of his closet, which Paul kept meticulously stocked with every possible combination of attire. Grip Putnam didn’t always have time to go home to change.

Paul bustled in and frowned at her. “The press representatives we wanted have all arrived. They understand that the photographers will have to leave before anyone sits down.”

“Good,” her father said from the closet. He emerged in different suit trousers, and with a workaday but pristinely pressed white cotton shirt half-buttoned. “Reyna has convinced me I was overdressed.”

Her father was too busy with his cufflinks to watch Paul, but Reyna saw the massive effort of will it took for Paul to stop watching her father dressing. He turned blindly away and fumbled toward the door.

She followed him, swept away with compassion. She had many reasons to hate herself, but none of them had to do with something as elemental as what made her happy sexually. She had Holly tucked away in her mind. No matter what the future brought, she had Holly and Kimberly and

Margeaux and her pride. Paul had only a lie, a lie he’d perpetuated on a wife and family. “Self-hatred will kill you,” she whispered.

He hadn’t heard her behind him. “I’m busy.” His voice was shaking.

“You only feel that way about him because you won’t let yourself feel it for an ordinary man. You’re telling yourself it’s hero worship, not love based on homosexual feelings.”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“I don’t know why I’m bothering,” Reyna said quietly. “But I’d stop to help an animal by the road in pain. Abideth faith, hope and charity, Paul. The greatest of these is charity. You have mine if you want it, but you need to find some for yourself.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. How dare you quote Corinthians to me, you of all people?”

“You’re right, St. Peter has his flaws. But what about Jesus, Paul? He gave us two commandments, and said they are more important than anything else, even more than believing in him. You know what they are, don’t you?” She’d written so many papers quoting explicit scripture that seemed to unequivocally condemn homosexuality, but she knew the simple words that balanced the scales of hatred and abuse. Christ’s commandments negated all else as the cornerstone of true Christian philosophy. She’d never wanted to speak them before, never thought her truth would help anyone but herself.

“Stop.” His breathing was ragged.

“You love God, don’t you? That’s the first. You wouldn’t be suffering like this if you weren’t trying to love God.”

“Please, don’t.”

“You know the second commandment from Christ, I know you do. But you can’t love your neighbor as yourself if you don’t love yourself first. That’s all you have to do to find the reward of heaven. Love God. Love your neighbor. But can you do either if you are consumed with hatred for yourself? Hatred for anyone?”

He walked out of the room without answering. The door closed behind him just as her father’s office door opened. “Is this better?”

She turned and realized that this was the first time he had ever taken her advice on a personal level. “Yes, that’s much better. You look like one of the people, not their king.”

“Where did Paul go?”

“I’m sure he has many things to take care of,” she hedged.

“I’m ready, then. Shall we?”

They had done this before, walked side-by-side into important meetings. She had always resented the inference that she was his heir apparent, that she supported everything he did and said. It wasn’t as sharp today, possibly because she was living in denial that he would act as he always had before when her behavior conflicted with his goals. He had acted as if he respected her, but that would change the moment he found out about Holly.

Stop thinking about her, she told herself. Put it away. You have to survive this summit before you should even be thinking about Friday. You don’t even know for sure, not for certain, that she will be there.

But Holly was there, in her mind, when they walked through the double doors into the pop of flashbulbs. She needed the memory of Holly to shake Danforth’s hand, and to find even a cool smile for other men she detested even more for their frothing vilification of gays and women, immigrants and non-Christians.

Her smile became more natural for others, particularly people she had been able to form a respect for in past meetings. Terence Hallorood from the central Methodist convention was especially welcome, as was Judith Giles, who had come all the way from her Episcopal diocese in Newark, New Jersey.

They let the photographers do their work, then a pale-looking Paul shooed them out of the room. The central table had been carefully set with working materials for every participant and two side tables provided workspace for the attending reporters. Reyna had worked out most of the choreography herself, with requisite emphasis on sound bites from her father’s opening speech.

She prepared to fade into the background, believing that the success and failure of the summit meant nothing to her. But if that was so, she asked herself, why had she cared what her father wore?

He was as well prepared with the speech as always. His voice had a magic all its own, rich and compelling. It was hard not to listen, harder still not to believe that this group of people could change the world if they let their hearts and faith guide them.

After the opening speech several reporters left, but a few remained, quietly tapping on their laptops.

As was usual practice at meetings like this, approval of the agenda, which had been worked out in advance with everyone, was a mere formality.

“Unless there is dissent, I’ll take it that we’re ready with agenda item number one,” her father said. “Let’s begin by—”

“Mr. Putnam.”

It took Reyna a moment to track down the source of the interruption. Judith Giles raised her hand to confirm that it was her.

“Yes, Judith?”

“This is the third such summit we’ve had.” She rose and alarm bells went off in Reyna’s mind. Judith had something very important to say. “I would like to be very clear that I am here to discuss universal values that can be employed to the enrichment of all families, all people. Our last two gatherings were mired in discussions about how to segregate some people, some families, from our compassion and our ministry. I cannot countenance in silence any more ridicule and denigration of some people —”

“Speak plainly, Judith.” Danforth got up to pour himself a cup of coffee, a casual counter to Judith’s intensity.

“Plainly then, Danforth, I am not interested in crafting a policy statement about core human values with footnotes that exclude homosexuals. Either we are here for everybody or I cannot take part.”

“Hear, hear.” From farther down the table, a Baptist minister, newly representing a northwest convention, leaned forward. “If my esteemed Episcopalian colleague had not brought it up, I would have. My time and budget are too short for bigotry. We have more important work to do.”

Panicked, Reyna looked at her father. Part of her rejoiced at what was said. She wanted to applaud, to dance, to thank them, but the summit was about to tear itself apart. Her father’s gaze flicked down the table, weighing options and considering damage control.

“Are your time and budget too short for the Lord’s work?” It was one of Danforth’s allies, the shrill and hateful representative from Focus on the Family.

“Peace.” Terence Hallorood rose not far from where Judith Giles still stood. “If we begin to question each other’s personal faith then we are not ready to work together. I can only say from where I sit that the issue of homosexuality and how my own church regards it is tearing the church apart. People are leaving our congregations in droves, disenchanted by ugly talk. I will do nothing here that will pour more oil on the fire. I want to find a way to put the fire out. We must come together. It is time to reconcile the bitterness.” His gaze sought Danforth, who in turn looked at her father, the glue that had held them all together in the past.

She had never seen him at a loss. She interjected, “Perhaps we could establish some ground rules about off-limit topics.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Putnam, but that’s not good enough.” Judith turned toward her. “We have been hoping to build an inter-faith statement about core human values, about what makes a strong family unit. When there are thousands of children who need stable homes, we can’t support adoptions for only those families we like. We can’t encourage fidelity within marriage if we won’t let those who wish it to marry.”

“How can you condone such things?” Danforth left his coffee, having never taken a sip, and came back to the table. He was taller than Judith by at least a foot and he looked down at her with naked contempt. “Scripture is clear —”

“I am not here to debate scripture.” Judith raised her hands. “Perhaps I have not been plain enough. I am here to help craft an understanding of a universal belief in certain values: compassion, truth, fidelity, loyalty. I will contribute to that based on both my life and my faith. I believe there is a common ground that does not by definition have to exclude homosexuals. But I will not help — in fact I will fight — anything we do that is spiteful hate-mongering. I was silent in our previous gatherings when I should have spoken. I asked God for guidance and this is how he has moved me.” She looked pointedly at Grip. “So I want clarity on the tone and scope of our discussion. I need to decide if I am staying.”

“Is that a threat?” Danforth shrugged, then also looked at Grip.

Reyna was aware of the rapid tapping on the reporters’ laptops. This was not what her father had wanted.

He waited too long to speak. Danforth sat down smugly, assuming the day was his. Judith took a deep breath and gathered her things. Terence Hallorood did the same. Then it was clear that several more people were going to leave with them.

Reyna leaned toward her father and whispered in his ear, “Do the math. If you can’t have the whole pie, keep the larger portion.”

“Judith, wait. All of you, please sit down.”

Reyna sat back in her chair, gripping her pen under the table to hide her white knuckles. Her father had always covered the bases, always seemed to be a step ahead. He would find a way to have it all his own way, because he always did.

“When I lost my wife and son I took it as a sign. I had to redefine what family was. I had to be more open.” He touched Reyna on the arm. “Looking past rigid definitions brought me more than it has ever cost me. Nothing so tragic as death has happened here today, but I feel a similar moment in the air. I went through life thinking that nothing would change, and God taught me that I was wrong. I think he is trying to teach me that lesson again today. Change happens.”

Reyna gasped; She felt the room focus on her, but she continued to stare at her father.

He blinked like a man who had just had a revelation. “I want to hear more of what Judith and the others have to say. I think she is right — it is time to find common ground, to reconcile, and to exclude no person of good faith.”

Was it genuine? Had she just watched him change? Or was he playing the moderate early, planning to woo Danforth and his ilk privately?

“What is the point of teaching your children everything you know, of sending them out into the world to learn all they can and then refusing to listen when they return to teach you?”

“Grip, you can’t mean this.” Danforth seemed frozen in place.

“I’m sorry, Dan, but I do. I do. I am amazed that in such a small passage of time God gave me a clear choice to make. I realize that you now have choices forced upon you as a result, and I am sorry for that.”

“After all the years of fighting together, trying to keep our schools free of taint, to rid television of homosexual propaganda — was that for nothing?”

“I am taking Judith’s point, I think. If we win that war we lose in the end. We can’t…” Reyna had never seen him forced to search for words. Her heart hammered so loudly that she almost didn’t hear what he said. “We can’t preach hate to foster love. It’s as simple as that.” In seeming wonder, he echoed, “It’s as simple as that.”