The Road to Mercy (27 page)

Josh speculated that the tree had encountered an obstacle many years before. Perhaps a fence. Or another tree. But, instead of stopping there, it had altered its path sharply to the left, and then began to grow straight toward the sun again.

Maybe the old vagrant wasn’t crazy after all.

Could it be he was just made of better stuff than the rest of us, with more faith and less discontent?
Perhaps the old man had chosen to look up through—or at least around—his problems while still smiling, knowing that a detour didn’t have to alter the destination, it merely changed the path.

Josh stared into the misty, rain-soaked distance. Weather like this had always reminded him of what it must have been like in the Garden of Eden, before God took the nothingness and created green fields and four-legged creatures. Right after he changed the darkness into light and before he gave purpose to it all by creating man.

Shame stabbed him in the chest. If God could do that, he could bring purpose to the things that had happened during the last few months of his and Bethany’s lives. If the old man could look up despite his problems, why couldn’t he?

Josh had held himself up many times, standing onstage, asking people, even his friend Danny, to do what he hadn’t been able to do: to keep the faith during the hard times. Perhaps he had encouraged others, but he still had to wrestle his own doubts to the ground.

Could he really give everything to God? Could he rely on him to get them through whatever lay ahead? Beth’s addiction. A miscarriage? Eventually learning which one of his friends had been stealing from him?

Did he have that kind of faith?

It would have helped if his father had kept his. Or if his mother were still here to encourage him.

Josh knew in his heart that there was hope, even though he had a difficult time feeling it. Not all trees grow straight toward the sun. He must somehow grow beyond the obstacles in his path. The failures in his life. And the failures of those around him.

He must grow upward again.

Toward the light.

After a brief meeting at Rally Coaches, Josh turned his Jeep south toward Brentwood. The sky cleared about the time he approached the thriving residential and business community, which was a twenty-minute drive from downtown Nashville.

Glory Records occupied part of the first floor of a medium-rise office building in the prestigious Maryland Farms office park. Glory was a small but powerful label with product wholesaled by a major distributor in the industry. They had launched half a dozen contemporary acts into successful careers. Josh hoped he would become one of their high-priority artists now that he had won a Noah Award.

Although Glory had a small promotion and production budget, their twelve-member team included some of the music industry’s finest professionals. Josh considered them almost family. They had stood by him, believed in him, and nurtured his career from the beginning.

He entered the yellow brick building through one of the giant glass doors and approached the reception desk. “Hey, Rhonda. How are you today?”

“Okay,” the pretty brunette spoke without emotion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just busy,” she said, not looking up. “You can go on into the conference room. Mr. Benton is waiting for you.”

“Okay.” He offered a parting smile and turned toward the meeting room, which had an entrance off the lobby.

Greg Benton and Matt Holliman were already seated at the conference table.

“Josh.” Greg stood and offered his hand. “Good to see you.”

“You, too, man.”

Matt stood as well. “Did Rhonda offer you a drink?”

“No. But I’m fine. Just ate lunch a couple of hours ago.” Josh settled into a plump, leather chair on the opposite side of the conference table, his usual seat when he had meetings at the label.

Greg closed the hallway door before returning to his seat. “How’s your wife doing?” he asked.

“She’s okay. We’re about two months from her due date and beginning to get excited.” It was easier to give the short answer.

The smile on Greg’s face faded, and he glanced at Matt before continuing. “This is lousy timing,” he said. “But I’ve got some bad news.”

“What?” Josh’s first thought was concern for someone’s health.

“We’re having cash flow problems. And . . . we’re going to have to release you from the label.”

“What?” Josh repeated the question, this time in disbelief, as he scanned the faces in the room, hoping he had misunderstood.

“It’s not you, Josh. Glory is going through some hard times right now. We’re releasing five artists this week. I would appreciate your confidentiality before we talk to everyone, but we’re cutting our roster to the core. We just can’t—”

“We can’t believe we’re having to do this.” Matt interrupted. “You’re a breakout artist with lots of momentum. But we can’t afford to develop anyone right now.” Holliman’s pale face blended into the ashen grey walls behind him. “It’s killing us to have to do it.”

“I’m shocked,” Josh said, deflating his lungs with a single breath. “I knew the industry was down, but . . .”

“Let me put it this way.” Greg Benton reached across the table, palms up, as if to allay any doubt of his honesty in the matter. “We’re not sure how long we’ll keep the doors open. This is better for you in the long run.”

Josh couldn’t imagine how this would be better. Nor did he want to extend this uncomfortable situation. He positioned his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself upward.

“Of course. Better for me. Right.” He walked toward the door and, after several minutes of stilted conversation about keeping in touch and tying up loose ends, opened the door and left the room.

“Take care of yourself,” Josh said to the receptionist as he walked quickly toward the outside doors.

“We’re going to miss you,” Rhonda said, her voice trailing off behind him.

Several times, Josh picked up the phone to call Beth and then put it back down. He needed to talk. To have her tell him that everything would be okay. But, right now, everything rested on his shoulders. Most of the reassurance would have to come from inside himself.

He prayed for strength where weakness now resided. If he didn’t believe things would work out, his voice would give him
away when he spoke to Beth. And he didn’t want to alarm his wife.

Then a realization struck him. Perhaps Greg Benton had somehow found out that he had been witnessing from an empty heart. That he was a vacant body. A man without a soul dressed only in stage clothes.

God, please help me find who I am again. Please help me find you
.

Josh knew he had to keep going on his own strength, if not God’s. Somehow. He had no choice. He had to walk in faith and believe he was walking in the right direction by the Lord’s leading.

One of his mother’s old sayings came to mind. “Praise God,” she would tell him, “and you will eventually understand how many ways he should be fully praised.”

As Josh prepared to cross the Cumberland River into East Nashville, he picked up the phone and dialed Beth. He would suggest they go out to dinner. They would both feel better after discussing the record label situation over a good dinner. They would make alternate plans. Together.

He had time to work it out. For the next several months, he had a good position on a strong tour.

When Beth answered the phone, reality set in again.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice sounded parched, almost unrecognizable. Another dry soul, this one consumed by drugs. He would be going home to a house where two empty people resided.

“Hi, hon. I’m on my way home. Would you like to go out to eat tonight? Maybe that Greek restaurant in Green Hills you like so much?”

“I’m not really hungry,” she said, slurring her words. “I’m sorry. Can we just eat at home?”

“Sure. It’s no problem. I’m not that hungry either,” he said. “I’ll pick up sandwiches on the way home.”

Over supper Beth admitted to taking an extra Lortab because of excessive pain. They ate most of their meal in silence. Afterward, she followed Josh into the bedroom to watch him pack. He would be leaving at midnight for several days, beginning with a show in Atlanta tomorrow night.

Beth crawled between the blue flannel sheets, heaving a long sigh and propping her head on her elbow while he tossed things into his bag.

“I had a meeting with Greg and Matt at Glory Records this afternoon, and I don’t have good news,” he said, stopping his work to assess her reaction.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned.

“They released me. They let me go.”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“I don’t either.” Josh stepped briefly into the bathroom to retrieve his shaving kit.

“But you just started working on your new CD,” Beth said when he returned to the room.

“They’re giving me the chance to buy the recordings back if I can find another label.” He stuffed the kit into his bag.

“Do you think you can do that?” Beth settled into her pillow.

“I don’t know.” He zipped his canvas duffle.

She sighed, “That was so mean of them.”

Then she dropped off to sleep.

The sun rose through Alabama pine trees as Josh walked from the bunkroom into the front lounge of the bus. It was good to be back in his home state. After three sold-out shows in Georgia and South Carolina, the tour was now heading to Mississippi.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes. Everyone else was still in their bunk—and would be for several hours. Six-thirty in the morning was early for his crew. They had no reason to rise until closer to lunchtime.

“Good morning,” Josh said, taking a seat to the right of his driver.

“Get enough sleep?” There was a grin in Danny’s voice.

“Not really, but it’s worth it to have this opportunity. Thanks for suggesting it.”

“It’s not that far out of our way, and I know how I would feel.” This time Danny spoke with a hint of sadness. “How long has it been since you visited the cemetery?”

Josh reflected on the question. “My dad has been gone for close to a year and a half. It has been almost a year since I was there.”

“Is this the exit coming up?”

“That’s it. I could find this place in my sleep,” Josh said. “And probably did several late nights coming home from college,” he chuckled. “My dad was always waiting up for me, though.”

An inexplicable emptiness of his parents being gone wrenched at his heart. Josh scanned the countryside, looking for solace in the familiar surroundings. A smattering of pines and a few wild, purple Wisterias in bloom decorated the immediate landscape.

This part of the world held many memories for him. Not the least of which involved football. Alabama was still a major contender in the SEC. The Crimson Tide had had a good run in the last few years.

Josh had chosen to attend the University of Alabama not only because of the school’s proximity to his home but also because of his father’s love for its former coach. Everyone in the state, and most football fans his father’s age, had revered Paul “Bear” Bryant. Bryant had led the Crimson Tide to more major bowl games than any coach in the school’s history. Most Alabamians shared a sense of pride in his accomplishments.

When Josh was a young boy, Samuel Harrison had often referred to Bear Bryant when he wanted to teach his son a life lesson. He had pointed out how the coach always taught his players self-discipline. “Through self-discipline you can win every game,” his dad had said. “It will help you in every aspect of life, including the spiritual.”

No doubt, that principle had stuck early. One day, when Josh was five years old, he refused to eat the green peas on his plate. Questioned by his father, he had looked up and said, “Call me Bear, Dad. I didn’t let myself eat them.”

From that point forward, the nickname stuck. Especially when Josh excelled or persevered.

Within fifteen minutes the bus pulled in front of Rock Creek Church. Danny eased the big Prevost to a stop beneath the shade of a few straggling pine trees, and Josh stepped into the cool, spring morning.

As he walked up the path toward the white clapboard church, he reflected on its steeple. Years ago, he and his father had carved the simple, wooden cross that sat on top of it.