The Breaking Point (12 page)

The tears trickling down her face made her smile less than convincing. He swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. “S … sorry …”

She shook her head. “Oh, honey, I’m just so glad you’re awake. That you’ll be all right. You could have been—” She halted, shook her head again, then the smile was back. “Gabe, how do you feel?”

He gave a weak, hoarse laugh. “Like I went over a cliff.”

Her lips twitched and she smoothed the hair from his eyes. “Yes, well, and a fine job you did of it.”

He regretted his chuckle the second it escaped him. Sharp pain stabbed through him, and he gritted his teeth against a groan. “Mom, is Danny okay? And Ray?” Shifting in the bed, Gabe started to put his hands down, to push himself into a sitting position, when he realized one arm was immobilized. He glanced at it, studying the wrapping and sling that kept it bent at the elbow, secured across the front of him.

He must be on some heavy-duty drugs not to have even noticed that!

“Danny and Ray were lucky. Very lucky.” He turned back to his mother as she went on. “They both have some nasty bruises, and Ray has a broken arm—”

“That’s all?” Gabe didn’t even try to hold back his relief. “I thought for sure I’d busted his back when I landed on him.”

His mother reached out to pat his hand. “No, dear, though God only knows how any of you escaped without something like that. You had the most serious injury, Gabe. They have you on painkillers—”

“Which explains why I can’t think straight.”

“—because you’ve got a broken collarbone.”

He nodded. “Which explains the mummy tape-up job.”

“But it’s a miracle that that’s the worst of your injuries, son.” Her lips trembled and he could see how she struggled to keep a rein on her emotions. “It could have been so much worse …” The words trailed off on a soft, broken sob.

“Oh, Mom.” He was such an idiot! How could he have done this? Worried her like this? Didn’t she have enough to deal with? And God only knew the price she would pay for his foolishness. The price she always paid when Gabe or one of his siblings did something stupid.

He looked away, staring at the wall, and slowly grew aware that he wasn’t at home. He frowned, looking around the room. A hospital. He was in a hospital. He closed his eyes. Something else for Dad to blow up about. No way they could afford a hospital stay

“Gabe? Are you okay?”

He turned back to his mother. “How long have I been here?”

“They brought you in last night.”

“Get my clothes, Mom. I’m going home.” Her hand on his arm was as firm as her tone. “No, you are not!”

Their wills collided, clashed. She understood; he could see it in her eyes. But she still shook her head. “Gabriel Vincent Roman, you are going to stay right where you are.”

He leaned back against the pillows, surprised at the force in her tone. “Mom …” He hated that his voice quavered, but he couldn’t help it. “We can’t afford this.”

She looked down for a moment, then raised her gaze to his. “We’ll be fine. We have insurance. The doctor wants to keep you under supervision for a few days, and if he says you need to be here, then here you’ll stay. Until he says it’s safe for you to come home.”

He wanted to argue with her, to insist, but he just didn’t have the energy. He closed his eyes. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll tell Dad.” That was the least he could do. Be the one to take
the first wave of reaction. Maybe he’d run out of steam before he got to her. “Dad’s gone.”

Gabe’s eyes flew open and he stared at his mother. “Gone?”

She nodded. “He came home from work early today Said his boss was sending him to some training school up near Madison. He’ll be gone a month. He left just after dinner.”

Gone? He was gone? Gabe’s mind seized on the word, on the escape it promised, but he was afraid to trust his ears.

His mother stroked his arm. “He said he’d told me about it last week. That I should have remembered …”

At the tremor in her tone, Gabe caught her hand in his. “You know as well as I do that he probably didn’t say a thing about it.” The uncertainty in her eyes infuriated him. “He’s the one who forgot, Mom, not you.”

“Gabe …”

“No, come on. That man was boozed up every night last week.” He gave a snort. “He probably had a hard enough time remembering where he lived, let alone that he was supposed to go out of town the next week.”

His mother pulled her hand free. “Gabriel, I don’t like it when you talk that way. He is your father, after all.”

Gabe held back the hot retort that shot to his lips. It wouldn’t do any good. She always ended up taking Dad’s side, always made excuses. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was that his dad was gone. For a month. By the time he got back, Gabe would be well on his way to being healed. He’d never have to know

“Honey, why don’t you try to get some sleep? You need to rest.”

He turned to his mother, saw the familiar expression in her eyes, the plea that always came into any conflict: I
don’t want to fight …

He nodded and patted her hand. “Okay, Mom, whatever you say.”

She squeezed his hand as he closed his eyes, relaxed. But before sleep took over, he had a deal to live up to. He still couldn’t quite believe it. God had given him his very own miracle.
God, You made it so Dad won’t find out what happened. Well, You don’t have to worry. A promise is a promise. You lived up to Your part of the deal, and so will I.

L
ATE
A
UGUST
1973

Gabe stood, hands behind his back, peeking from behind the curtain to study the sea of faces as people filled in the pews. He recognized most of the faces, just as he recognized the expression so many wore: expectation. As though they were certain Gabe had something worth hearing.

For a moment total panic threatened to overtake him, but he straightened, forcing his focus away from the fear. Good thing he had a little time before he stepped out to the pulpit. He needed it to get himself ready.

Not that he hadn’t done this plenty of times before. Most of the year, in fact. Ever since Jake, his youth group leader, had first asked him to do some kind of sermon for their youth Sunday service. It was a once-a-year deal that the youth group did for the church, and Jake really wanted to make this year’s service an event that the folks at First Evangelical United Brethren would never forget.

Gabe had started attending First Evangelical shortly after his free fall over the edge of the cliff. He’d been in the hospital for a few days, but as soon as he got out he made his way to the small church a few blocks from his home. He didn’t know a lot about God, but a deal was a deal. God gave Gabe a flat-out miracle, so now it was his turn to ante up. He figured the place to find out about God, to find out what He expected of Gabe now, was in a church.

It hadn’t been easy. His dad had let him have it when he started going to church. Told him religion was a crutch for weak minds. And every Sunday when Gabe returned home, his dad gave him a sneer and asked if he’d gotten his dose of holiness for the week.

Gabe didn’t care. A deal was a deal.

Besides, the folks at the church were nice enough, and before long one of the kids Gabe’s age invited him to youth group. He’d stayed in the background for the first few months, until they found out about his acting ability. Suddenly everyone wanted him in their skits. He shrugged and did as they asked, amazed at the way everyone reacted when he played a part.

“You should be a professional actor,” one of the young girls told him one night after youth group. “You’re so … so
real
when you act.”

The irony of the remark hadn’t escaped him. It was true. He was never more real than when he was pretending to be someone else.

Then, at the end of a youth group meeting a few weeks ago, Jake came up to give Gabe a playful slap on the shoulder as he told him what he wanted Gabe to do. “You’re a natural, kid! You do a great job in our skits. I mean, it’s like you really
become
the people you’re pretending to be.”

Gabe had soaked in Jake’s approval, and before he could stop himself, he’d agreed to do it. Of course, Gabe didn’t bother telling Jake that doing skits came naturally. Put on a fake face. Make believe you feel something other than what you really feel. Say things other than what you really want to say. He’d been doing that most of his life. But giving a sermon? That was different. And the idea had petrified him.

Even so, he couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Jake. The man had done so much for him. When Gabe first started going to youth group, he hadn’t been sure Jake would like him. The guy never wore anything but jeans and tennies,
not even on Sundays. Sure, he added a dress shirt and a tie, but the jeans never gave way. It hadn’t taken Gabe long to learn that was just a part of Jake’s laid-back approach.

He explained it one night at a youth group meeting. “I like being comfortable. In my clothes. And in my faith.” He looked around the room as he spoke. “I don’t mean complacent, mind you. You shouldn’t ever let yourself get complacent in your walk with God. It’s just that I want to wear my faith as easily as I wear my jeans. To be as at home in my faith as I am—” he hooked his thumbs through the belt loops—“in these old faithfuls.”

Gabe had been intrigued by the thought, and he’d stuck around afterward, talking with Jake. For the first time in his life, Gabe clicked with someone. Not because he was playing a part, but just because they clicked. Jake seemed interested in what he had to say. More than that, he seemed impressed with Gabe’s questions, with the way he thought things through.

Since that night, Gabe found himself spending more and more time with Jake. He’d stop by the church, just to say hi, and they’d end up talking for hours. Jake always managed to encourage Gabe, even told him over and over that he believed in him. Gabe still had trouble believing that. Mostly because he knew that Jake would take everything back in a New York minute if he knew what Gabe—what his family and life—was really like. So he made sure Jake didn’t know. Didn’t have a clue.

Because while he might not believe Jake’s words, he liked hearing them.

So when Jake asked him to do him this favor, to do the sermon for the youth Sunday service, he gave in to a moment of madness and agreed. He didn’t tell anyone in his family. Why give them something to make fun of? But every night for weeks, after he finished all his chores and homework, after everyone else was asleep, Gabe sat at his desk, working on what Jake called his sermon. He knew it was risky to stay up
past their usual bedtime, but he was careful. He shoved clothes at the base of the door to keep any light from sneaking out and used a small flashlight rather than his lamp, squinting in the dim light as he wrote. And rewrote. When it was finally done, he practiced night after night in front of the mirror. But for all of his preparation, the quivering sensation in his gut never quite went away.

Finally the big day had come, and Gabe had walked on trembling knees up to the pulpit, gripped it with fingers that felt stiff and awkward, looked out into what seemed like a thousand pairs of eyes—all fixed on him—and froze.

It was sheer willpower that kept him from throwing up right there on Pastor Paul’s pulpit. But it was blind panic that saved the day, because it catapulted him to safe ground. In one frantic, frozen moment, when Gabe’s mind seized and he couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought or word, he did the only thing left to him: He acted.

As though some ephemeral drama coach came to stand beside him, Gabe heard the familiar directions:
Focus. Breathe. Keep your voice steady confident. Think about Pastor Paul—his mannerisms, his inflections, even his posture … draw on those things … make them a part of you.

Drawing a deep breath, he opened his mouth and played the part. To the hilt.

It was easy. As natural as breathing. There, standing in front of all those people, Gabe
became
Pastor Paul. Of course, the people watching him didn’t know that was what he did. They thought he was just being himself. And they ate it up. They laughed in all the right places. And when they saw Gabe’s perfectly timed tears—just one or two, so as not to overdo—trickle down his face, some of the women completely broke down. Even a few of the men sniffled into handkerchiefs.

It was heaven. Or the closest thing to it Gabe had ever known.

When it was all over, Pastor Paul, who’d never seemed able to remember Gabe’s name before, actually threw his arm around Gabe’s shoulders.
“Well
now!” He beamed at the people in the pews. “Was that amazing, or what?”

Even as Gabe thought to himself that the man had no idea just how amazing, the congregation surged to their feet and burst into applause.

Gabe stood there, drinking in the adulation like a parched young man just come in from Death Valley. His head swam, his heart pounded, and he felt ten feet tall. As the people came in droves to shake his hand and tell him how wonderful he’d been, sudden understanding filled his mind.

This was why men became preachers. This ability to move people, to make them listen, make them laugh or cry … make them love you.

“You’re a natural born preacher, son! That’s what you are,” one white-haired lady crooned as she patted his cheek.

Jake stood there, looking at him as though seeing him for the first time. “I’m telling you, Gabe, I’ve never heard such powerful speaking.” He shook his head. “I knew you were good, but this was …”

“This was God, my boy!” said Pastor Paul, who looked about to burst his buttons. “I think we have a star in our midst, folks. Yes sir, this boy obviously has the call on his life. And we’re gonna help him answer it!”

Gabe had no idea what the man meant, but he didn’t care. They loved him; that was all that mattered. And they loved listening to him, as evidenced by the fact that they kept asking him to do things during the year: read the Scripture, give the announcements, lead prayers. Each time someone came to Gabe, Jake would watch as he agreed to take on yet another task. And he watched as Gabe performed the task to perfection. Which made Gabe happy, because he wanted Jake to be proud of him.