The Abstinence Teacher (36 page)

“I know this is awkward,” Mitchell began, “but we have a problem.”

“What is it now?” Tim smiled wearily, as if he and Mitchell had been down this road numerous times, though in actual fact, nothing like this had ever happened before.

Mitchell’s face remained serious, even a bit pained. “One of the soccer parents called last night and said there’s been some religious stuff going on at the games.”

Tim smiled wanly, trying not to betray any surprise or concern. He’d expected complaints, but hadn’t figured they’d make their way so quickly to Allison, who never came to games, and wasn’t on the team e-mail or phone list.

“Just a little prayer,” he said. “Totally nondenominational.”

Mitchell nodded slowly, absorbing this information with an air of judicial impartiality.

“And you think that’s a good idea?”

“People have been praying since the beginning of time,” Tim pointed out. “If it was a bad idea, we probably would’ve stopped a long time ago.”

“Thanks for the anthropology lesson,” Mitchell told him. “But I wasn’t asking what the human race as a whole thinks about prayer. I was asking about you as an individual.”

Tim felt himself getting irritated. It wasn’t the interrogation itself, which was gentle enough, and even mildly diverting; it was the whole situation—just being
here
, in Mitchell’s palatial house, sitting on his wonderful sofa, not far from his amazing guitar, and having to account for himself and his child-rearing decisions to a man who was neither friend nor family, and who, on top of everything else, was wearing a T-shirt with Billy Joel’s face on the front. It didn’t help that his own gaze kept straying to a framed photograph on the wall behind the desk, an enlarged candid shot of Allison wearing a garland of flowers over a sundress, sipping a drink out of a coconut shell, and looking mighty pleased with the way things had turned out.

“It’s not about what I think,” he said. “It’s about what God thinks.”

“Come on, Tim. Don’t make this difficult. Allison’s pretty upset.”

“I figured. Why else would she sic her lawyer on me?”

Mitchell looked hurt. “That’s a cheap shot.”

“Sorry, but that’s what it feels like.”

“I’m not your enemy,” Mitchell informed him. “It may be tempting for you to think so, but if that’s the case you’re misreading the situation. I like you. I think you’re a good father to Abby.”

“Thanks,” Tim muttered, pleased in spite of himself. “I appreciate it.”

“But you know what the custody agreement says, and you know how Allison feels about that church of yours.”

On some level, Tim understood that this would be a good moment to say something conciliatory, but his self-respect wouldn’t allow it.

“If Allison’s got something to say to me about our kid, tell her to at least have the courtesy to say it to my face.”

“Believe me,” Mitchell said, “you don’t want to go there. If it was up to her, this would already be a legal matter.”

“With all due respect,” Tim told him, “this is none of your business.”

Mitchell squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his forehead.

“Don’t let this end up in court,” he said. “You don’t want to do that to Abby.”

TIM COULD’VE
used a cup of coffee, but Ruth hadn’t offered, and he didn’t feel comfortable asking. It didn’t seem like that kind of visit, judging by the way she was staring at him from across the table.

“So.” She smiled frostily, interlacing her hands in the manner of an attentive schoolgirl. “You wanted to say something?”

“Where are the girls?” he asked, trying to buy himself a little time. “Still with Frank?”

“They went to church with a nice Korean family. Something called the Living Waters Fellowship?”

“It’s in Gifford,” he told her. “Supposed to be pretty loose and touchy-feely.”

“All I know is they serve donuts.”

“We do that, too. Gives people one less excuse to stay home.”

“It’s funny,” Ruth said, not sounding the least bit amused. “My older daughter had been planning to go all week, and then, out of the blue, Maggie decided to join her at the last minute. Apparently, she had some kind of religious experience at the game yesterday.”

“Listen, Ruth, I know you’re not gonna—” Tim was about to say
believe me
, but he stopped himself when he realized what she’d just said. “What do you mean?”

“She says she wants to know Jesus.”

“Really?”

“You think I’d make that up?”

A strange sound came out of Tim’s mouth, a kind of puzzled grunt.

“That is funny,” he said.

“Hilarious,” Ruth replied grimly. “So I guess you should give yourself a big pat on the back. You sure made a fool of me.”

Tim didn’t know what to say. Some part of him was pleased to think of Maggie in church, reaching out for something that would make her stronger than she already was. And Jesus Himself had said that He’d come to turn a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother. But this wasn’t what Tim would’ve chosen to happen—not to Ruth, and not on his account.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I tried to stop her.”

HE TOLD
her how it unfolded, how he’d followed John Roper onto the field in that blinding rainstorm and stood by silently as the assistant coach sunk to his knees in the gigantic mud puddle in which the players of both teams were joyously splashing around, and called for the Stars to make a circle. A number of the Gifford girls retreated in confusion as John announced his intention of praising the Lord, but a handful remained behind, intrigued by the call to prayer. John had told them they were more than welcome to stay.

“Did you intervene?” Ruth said.

“No,” Tim admitted. “I didn’t think I had the right.”

It took a while for the prayer to begin, mainly because some of the Stars refused to kneel. They were just standing there, hovering at the edge of the circle, trying to figure out what to do. Tim could see the pain and uncertainty in their eyes, the desire to merge with the group colliding with an equally powerful urge to turn their backs on something from which they felt excluded.

“There were five holdouts,” he said. “Louisa, Hannah, Nadima, your daughter, and my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Ruth said. “She wouldn’t pray?”

“Abby’s being raised by her mother and stepfather. They’re not interested in God.”

The girls on the ground linked hands, smiling shyly at one another, all of them soaking wet and splattered with mud. John was staring up at Tim, not with anger, but with kindness and understanding.

Coach
, he said.
We need you down here
.

Tim couldn’t say he didn’t feel a tug. John was his friend, a man he’d brought to Jesus. And the girls who were kneeling so patiently in the mud and rain—they were
his
girls, even the ones he didn’t know. He took his own daughter gently by the wrist.

Come on
, he told her.
It’s okay
.

Mom won’t like it
, Abby told him.
She’ll be really mad
.

You ’re not a child
, he reminded her.
You can make your own decisions
.

Abby yanked her arm from her father’s grasp.

Leave me alone!
she said.
This is stupid!

It’s not stupid
, Tim insisted.

By this point, John had already begun praying, talking about how beautiful it was to have players from both teams kneeling on the field, giving thanks and praise to the Almighty, because Jesus doesn’t divide the world into teams or nations or anything else that separates one person from another.

We’re all one
, John declared.
And He loves us all
.

While he was pleading with Abby, Tim noticed Maggie drifting hesitantly forward, kneeling down between Candace and a girl from Gifford.

“I tapped her on the shoulder,” Tim told Ruth. “I said,
Maggie, you shouldn’t be doing this. Your mother doesn’t allow it
.”

My mother’s not here
, Maggie replied.

This really isn’t a good idea
, he said.

It’s fine
, she insisted, clasping hands with the other girls, closing the circle she had opened.
I want to do this
.

Not knowing what else he could do, Tim turned back to Abby, but
she was already walking away with Hannah, Nadima, and Louisa, the four of them trudging off the field with their heads down, as if they’d just suffered a heartbreaking loss.

“I was alone out there,” Tim said. “I was the only one standing.”

“So what did you do?”

“I got down on my knees,” he told her.

RUTH WASN’T
as impressed by this story as Tim had hoped.

“That’s it? You tapped her on the shoulder and said I didn’t approve? That’s your big heroic act?”

“What’d you want me to do? Put her in a headlock? I mean, there I am, begging my own daughter to join the prayer, and in the next breath I’m telling yours she shouldn’t. I felt like a total hypocrite.”

“Maybe we should switch kids,” Ruth suggested. “Make things a lot simpler for both of us.”

Tim tried to smile, but it didn’t feel too convincing. Ruth could joke about giving up her daughter, but he knew what that felt like for real. And he could already feel Abby slipping away from him again, regardless of whether Allison tried to limit his visitation rights. Even if everything stayed the same, it was all too easy to imagine a future where she barely acknowledged him and didn’t need him for anything important.

“I’m just curious,” he said. “What are you so afraid of? It’s just a prayer. It’s not gonna kill her.”

“I’m not afraid. I just don’t want strangers filling my kid’s head with all this religious crap.”

“I’m not a stranger, Ruth.”

“You were. Back when this started, I didn’t know you from Adam.”

“Maggie’s one of my favorite kids,” he told her. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, sounding a bit calmer. “And I know she likes you, too. But that just makes it worse.”

“How?”

“She trusts you, and you took advantage of that. You used your position to proselytize my kid against my wishes.”

“I didn’t proselytize,” he said. “It’s possible that John crossed the line yesterday, but you can’t blame me for that.”

“Don’t hide behind John. You were the one who started it. And believe me, you were very effective. What’d it take to convert her? Not even two weeks. That’s pretty fast work.”

“I understand you’re upset, but maybe this is what Maggie needs right now.”

“Don’t tell me what my daughter needs,” Ruth snapped. “I’m not giving you any parenting advice.”

“I wish you would,” he told her. “I’m not doing so great on my own.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said, her expression softening a little. “You seem like a good father.”

“I try,” he said. “It’s just really hard. I only see Abby one night a week. Half the time I can barely get a word out of her.”

“It’s just the age. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

“It’s hard not to, when she stares at me like I’m the stupidest guy on the planet.”

“It can’t be easy for her,” she reminded him. “All that back and forth. I mean, Frank and I had a rotten marriage, but sometimes I wonder if we should’ve just stuck it out for the girls.”

“It’s not just Abby’s fault,” Tim conceded. “Part of it’s my wife. The whole stepmother thing’s kinda tense for everybody.”

“Are you and your wife planning on having kids of your own?” she asked, after a brief hesitation.

Tim grimaced. “That’s kind of a touchy subject.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay. We’re just having some problems lately.”

“Getting pregnant?”

“No.” Tim chuckled grimly. “Being married.”

Ruth averted her eyes, as though she were embarrassed on his behalf. He was a little surprised to notice that she was wearing lipstick so early on Sunday morning. She didn’t really seem the type.

“We got off track,” she said. “I think you were telling me why church is a good thing for Maggie.”

“I really can’t speak for anyone else,” he said, not quite sure if she was teasing him or taking pity on him. “But I know I could’ve used some guidance when I was her age. Say what you want about the Bible, at least it takes a clear position on right and wrong.”

“See,” Ruth told him. “This is what bugs me. The way you people talk, it’s like you’re the only ones who know how to distinguish right from wrong. Just because my moral system’s different from yours, that doesn’t mean I don’t have one. And by the way, just because something’s written down in a book that’s a couple of thousand years old, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right.”

“It does if it’s the Word of God.”

“The last I heard, the Bible wasn’t written by God. It was written by human beings. And you gotta admit, some of it’s a little nutty.”

Tim felt a familiar sensation of uneasiness, the guilty discomfort that often afflicted him when the Bible came up in conversation. As a Christian, he felt an obligation to defend the Scripture, but he was painfully aware of how ill prepared he was to do so, given how much of it he’d managed not to read (he was conscientious enough to believe that skimming didn’t count). He’d done okay with the Gospels and Psalms, but a lot of the rest of it just didn’t seem as fascinating or illuminating as he might have expected, given its divine origin. Maybe that was the Lord’s way of saying that nothing good was easy, but it didn’t make Tim feel like any less of a fraud.

“I’m no scholar,” he admitted. “I just feel like, you know, with all the moral relativism in the world, it’s good to have some absolute standards.”

“Like what?” she asked. “Like Thou Shalt Not Kill, except by lethal injection?”

“The Old Testament says an eye for an eye.”

“And Jesus says turn the other cheek.”

Tim shrugged. “Look, Ruth, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t struggle with this stuff. But that doesn’t mean it’s all B.S.”

“I’ll tell you what cracks me up.” She looked like she was enjoying herself. “All this heaven and hell nonsense. I mean, do you really believe that when we die we’re going to sit on a cloud with the people we love while angels play harps and Jesus drops by for coffee?”