The Abstinence Teacher (41 page)

“A qualified expert?” Ruth repeated, turning to JoAnn.

The Virginity Consultant smiled sweetly, and gave a little shrug, as if to say,
You win some, you lose some
.

“JoAnn’s ABD in Public Health,” Venuti pointed out. “You just have a Master’s in Education.”

“They’ve never approved one of those waivers before,” Ruth said. “Didn’t they turn down that retired newspaper editor who wanted to teach journalism?”

“That was four years ago,” Venuti reminded her. “The board’s changed a lot in the meantime. I seriously doubt that JoAnn’s going to run into any problems.”

“I’m sure she won’t,” Ruth agreed.

“Thank you for being such a good sport,” Dr. Farmer said with obvious relief. “Do you have any questions about all this?”

Ruth shook her head and stood up, eager to get the hell out of there. She was almost through the door when she realized she’d forgotten something.

“Oh, wait,” she said. “You didn’t tell me about my reassignment.”

“We’re not a hundred percent sure right now,” Venuti replied. “But it’s starting to look like we might have an opening in the Math Department.”

“Math?” She couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t know anything about math.”

“This is remedial,” Dr. Farmer assured her. “We’re just talking about the basics here.”

“Believe me,” Venuti said. “These kids aren’t rocket scientists. If you know how to put two and two together, you’ll be way ahead of the curve.”

THE FAITH
Keepers’ contingent from the Tabernacle was nine guys in all, too many to fit in John Roper’s van. Tim had volunteered as the second driver and had been assigned Marty Materia and Jonathan Kim as passengers. The new guy, Jay, was originally supposed to make it four, but Pastor Dennis decided at the last minute that Jay should join him in the van.

True to form—he was an electrician who worked crazy hours to support his wife and five kids, and was renowned for his ability to nap whenever and wherever an opportunity presented itself, including at Sunday meeting—Marty started snoring in the backseat the moment Tim pulled onto the highway. Jonathan rode shotgun, staring dead ahead and plucking nervously at the sharp creases on his khakis. For the first half hour of the trip, he made the occasional random stab at conversation, asking Tim how many siblings he had and whether he intended to buy a wide-screen TV in the near future, but then he gave up, falling into a meditative silence punctuated every couple of minutes by a soft grunt of approval, as if he were agreeing with his own thoughts.

From a purely social standpoint, there was no denying that John’s Odyssey was the more desirable vehicle. Trailing it from a respectful distance, Tim could see the silhouettes of the men inside; there seemed to be a lot of activity in there—heads turning, snacks getting passed around, even the odd high five. There must have been praise music on the sound system—Pastor Dennis would have insisted—and a fair amount of laughter as well, given that Steve Zelchuk appeared to be holding forth from the back row. A gifted mimic with a huge repertoire
of reasonably amusing, non-dirty jokes, Steve was widely considered to be the funniest guy at the Tabernacle, not that there was a whole lot of competition for the title.

Normally, Tim would have been disappointed to find himself relegated to the dull car, but tonight he didn’t mind. It was a relief to get a little time to himself, a chance to listen to his new Mavis Staples CD and let his mind wander. Things would have been a lot more problematic if he’d been stuck inside the van with Pastor Dennis and John Roper, neither of whom could contain his excitement about tomorrow’s soccer game.

From what Tim could figure, the whole thing was shaping up to be a circus. The Pastor had devoted a fair amount of time over the past few days to alerting the media—not just the local and regional papers, but TV and radio stations as well—to what he said was going to be “a historic battle in the ongoing war for the hearts and minds of our children.” He’d also enlisted a dozen or so volunteers from the Tabernacle to stand on the sidelines holding signs with Bible verses printed on them, which he figured would be a terrific visual if any TV reporters really did show up. These volunteers could also join the prayer circle at the end of the game, which sounded like an awesome idea to John.

It didn’t sound quite so awesome to Tim, but his attempt to explain his reservations at the end of Wednesday Night Bible Study hadn’t gone over too well. Pastor Dennis couldn’t have cared less that Bill Derzarian and the Soccer Association would be pissed off, or that a lot of girls and their parents would be made uncomfortable, or that Tim and John would probably never be allowed to coach again.

“If it upsets people to hear the truth,” he said, “so be it. Jesus told us to go into the world and preach the good news to all creation, not just the people who feel comfortable about it.”

To their credit, both men were more sympathetic to Tim’s fears that, by participating in another postgame prayer, he’d be violating his custody agreement and jeopardizing his relationship with his daughter.

“This is for real,” he told them. “I’ve been put on notice.”

“That’s tough,” John agreed. “I really don’t know what I’d do in your shoes.”

Pastor Dennis placed his hands on Tim’s shoulders and stared directly into his eyes for several seconds, as if he were trying to give him a transfusion of courage.

“Be strong,” he said. “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord.”

John nodded in solemn agreement.

“You started this,” he reminded Tim. “Let’s finish it together.”

THEY PARKED
in a ten-dollar lot several blocks from the Civic Center and joined the parade of Christian men heading toward the arena. This was Tim’s second Faith Keepers’ conference, so he wasn’t caught off guard the way he’d been last year, but he was still deeply impressed by the spectacle. It was disorienting, but also strangely moving, to find yourself in a demographic fun house, to look around and see nothing but kindred spirits converging from all directions, streaming out of tour buses and school buses and church vans and taxicabs, shaking hands and hugging and calling out to one another in happy voices.

Most of the Faith Keepers were white and most were on the youngish side of middle age, but there were lots of exceptions—clean-cut Asian guys, hip college dudes with soul patches and long sideburns, imposing black men with shaved heads, father-and-son duos, packs of bikers, and even a few old codgers getting around with canes and walkers. You couldn’t assemble a crowd this size without attracting a handful of out-and-out weirdos—Tim saw a dreadlocked hippie in a floor-length dashiki, and a burly guy in a flannel shirt who stood by the main entrance, blowing repeatedly into a ram’s horn; he was also accosted by a hollow-eyed street preacher who pressed a vile, badly photocopied pamphlet into his hand, the cover of which read,
Ten Reasons Why God Hates Fags (And We Should Too)
—but what struck him was just how few of them there were. The overwhelming
majority of the conference goers were just regular guys in khakis or jeans, sweaters or leather jackets, white sneakers or brown loafers, solid citizens with steady jobs and wedding rings and maybe a little less hair and a little more belly than they’d started out with, guys who looked like they’d fit right in at the Tabernacle with Marty and Jonathan and Eddie and Jay and John and Tim and Bill and Steve and Dennis.

They picked up their official bracelets at the registration table—purple Livestrong-style rubber loops with the conference motto
(UNDAUNTED)
stamped onto the side—then browsed the merchandise displays, wandering past trade-show booths selling CDs, books, T-shirts
(JESUS IS AWESOME)
, and souvenir mugs (“got God?”), and then checking out the folding tables stacked with promotional literature for Christian colleges, charities, political causes, and businesses. Examining a brochure for a company called Calvary Homebuilders, Tim winced at the memory of the bridges he’d burned at the poker game the other night, and wondered if it would be possible to set things right with George Dykstra. On the bright side, no one seemed to have connected him with the vandalism to Billy’s Hummer; in any case, no one had accused him of anything. He understood all too clearly that a better man would have picked up the phone and owned up to the stupid thing he’d done, but Tim had enough problems on his plate and no stomach for kowtowing to a jerk like Billy.

The concession stands were open in the main corridor, and Tim got in line along with several other members of the Tabernacle group who hadn’t had time to eat dinner. The new guy, Jay, turned to him while they waited.

“You ever been to one of these?”

“Last year,” Tim told him. “I enjoyed it.”

Jay looked skeptical.

“Too many guys,” he said. “Feels like a gay bar.”

Tim laughed in spite of himself. He’d never spoken to Jay one-on-one before, but he’d been curious about him since the day he appeared
at Sunday meeting after punching Pastor Dennis in the face. He’d heard through the grapevine that the Pastor was beginning to question the strength of Jay’s commitment to the Lord and expending a lot of energy trying to keep him in the fold.

“It’s a little weird at first,” Tim agreed. “But you’ll get used to it.”

As they approached the counter, Jay cast an irritated glance at the cardboard sign taped to the wall above the beer taps:
NO ALCOHOL SALES AT THIS EVENT
.

“That sucks,” he said. “I could really use a cold one.”

RUTH DID
her best to put on a cheerful face as she entered Bombay Palace. She hadn’t told Randall—or anyone else, for that matter—what had happened that morning in the Principal’s office, and she figured the news would keep for a few more days. Right now, she just wanted to have a pleasant dinner with her friends and a drink or three to help them celebrate whatever good news it was they wanted to share with her.

Besides, now that the shock had worn off, she wasn’t quite as upset about getting the axe as she’d expected to be. As angry as she was about the shabby way she’d been treated, she was also deeply relieved not to be the abstinence teacher anymore, not to have to function as the mouthpiece for an agenda that, as JoAnn rightly pointed out, she had never believed in. Remedial math would be a drag, she wasn’t kidding herself about that, but at least it wouldn’t make her feel unclean, like she was depriving her students of information that might help them lead happier, healthier lives. And who knew? Maybe the Wise Choices program would flop, and in another year or two, Ruth would return, vindicated, to once again preach the honest truth about human sexuality to the benighted students of Stonewood Heights. In her mind it played like a Hollywood movie, Michelle Pfeiffer standing before an audience of earnest, good-looking teenagers, rolling a condom onto a cucumber as triumphant music swelled in the background.

She headed across the dining room to join Randall and Gregory, who were sitting side by side in a booth along the back wall, holding hands—something she’d never seen them do in public—and whispering to each other with the kind of rapturous expressions you only saw on the faces of new lovers, or old couples who’d just made up after a near-death experience. As soon as she sat down, Randall poured her a glass of beer and proposed a toast.

“To our good friend, Ruth, who saved our relationship.”

“Hear, hear,” said Gregory.

“Me?” Ruth laughed. “What’d I do?”

“You remember when we were talking the other night?” Randall asked. “I was complaining that Greg wouldn’t propose to me, and you asked why I didn’t just propose to him?”

“You told me it was a stupid idea.”

“He reconsidered,” Gregory informed her.

Ruth turned to Randall, a smile spreading across her face.

“You didn’t.”

Randall blushed. “I had a lot of time to think things over.”

“So how’d it happen? Did you get down on your knees and all that?”

“I did it over the phone,” Randall admitted. “It wasn’t very romantic.”

“That’s not true,” Gregory said. “It was
very
romantic. I could hear how hard it was for him to pop the question, how much courage it took. But it was the perfect solution. We’d fought so much about me not proposing to him that it had gotten to the point where I couldn’t do it if I wanted to. Partly out of pride, I guess, but also because it would just seem like I was doing it because he wanted me to and not because I wanted to myself. You know what I’m saying?”

“Kind of,” Ruth said. “I’m just really thrilled for both of you. Congratulations.”

They touched glasses again. The happy couple exchanged another glance.

“But that’s not why we asked you here,” Randall said.

“Yeah, right.”

“We’re serious,” Gregory insisted. “We asked you here tonight to see if you’re free on August nineteenth.”

“I guess.” Ruth shrugged. “Probably.”

“You better be,” Randall told her. “Because we want you to be Best Woman at our wedding.”

“Your wedding? You mean like a commitment ceremony?”

“No,” Gregory said. “Our wedding. We’ve booked this cute little inn in the Berkshires. It’ll be a legal ceremony, endorsed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.”

“But you’re not citizens. And they don’t let—”

“We won’t be out-of-state,” Randall informed her. “We’re moving to Cambridge. Or somewhere around there. Dan and Jerry said they’ll help us find a nice place to live.”

“You’re serious?”

Her friends nodded.

“When’s this gonna happen?”

“As soon as possible,” Gregory said. “There’s really no point in waiting.”

“I-I don’t understand.” Ruth was still smiling, but her voice didn’t match her face. “This is so … sudden. I didn’t even know you were thinking about moving.”

“It’s sudden for us, too,” Randall agreed. “But we know it’s the right thing.”

“Once we got engaged,” Gregory explained, “it just seemed so obvious. You get engaged so you can get married. And right now, there’s only one place where we can do that.”

“And besides,” Randall added. “We’re getting a little tired of Stonewood Heights. We need more excitement in our lives.”