When Heaven Weeps (33 page)

“So,
no one
from the ministry attended the dinner, then?” Jan asked.

“No one. It was a handful of executives from Delmont Pictures and the publisher.”

“Goodness, what a mess. I'm sure Karen's upset about that.”

Roald leaned back and picked up the coffee Ivena had placed by his chair. “Actually, she seems to care less about all that. She's directed her anger to you, my friend.”

“Me?”

“You. She seems to think there may be a problem. There are greater concerns at hand now, and I told her as much. We're on the verge of breaking new ground; you realize that, don't you? No one's ever done what we'll do with this film. It's unprecedented. Already the whole evangelical community is talking about it. I'm out there talking you two up to the world—speaking about how the ‘Jan and Karen show' will change the way Christianity is seen in the broader realms of arts and entertainment—and unbeknownst to me, the two of you are home having a world-class spat. It's embarrassing to say the least.”

“And you shouldn't be embarrassed. You're mistaken—we're not having a fight. We had a talk. Karen took it badly. That's all.” That was not all, of course, and Jan knew it well.

“Then maybe you can explain to me why she's talking about moving her things out of the office.”

“She's leaving?”

“Not yet. But she seems to think the engagement's in some sort of jeopardy, and I told her that was nonsense. There's far too much at stake.”

Jan cringed. “I didn't break off the engagement.”

Roald nodded. “I told her that you cared for her, you know. She went on about this Helen character that you've helped, and I told her there was no way on God's green earth that you—after all that you've been through and with all that lies ahead of you—would do something so foolish as fall for a hooker. The church would throw you out on your ear! I think Karen somehow got the idea that you were actually losing interest in her, Jan. You have to watch your words, my friend. Women'll take what you say farther than you intend.”

“Helen's not a hooker.” He could see a glint cross the man's eyes.

“Hooker, junkie, tramp . . . what's the difference? She's not the kind of woman you can be seen with. It would be a problem. Especially with Karen in your life. You do see that, don't you? We warned you as much.”

Jan nodded. This was not going as planned. Roald was somehow moving him along a path of reason he didn't want to travel.

“Do you know what a rare woman Karen is?” Roald asked. “Yes, of course you do. That's what I told her just an hour ago. And do you know what she told me?”

“No.”

“She told me that matters of the heart have nothing to do with what's rare or common, or right or wrong. The heart follows its own leading. And you know she's right. So I guess I have to ask you, Jan, where is your heart leading you?”

Jan swallowed. “I don't know. I mean I do know. But the direction seems to change.”

Roald blinked a few times. “It does, does it? In case you hadn't realized it, Jan, my boy, you're not some adolescent teenager; you're a full-grown man with the trust of the church. And you're engaged to be married, for heaven's sake! Don't you think sticking your nose in the air to sniff out where the winds of love are blowing on any particular day is a bit preposterous for a man of your standing?”

“Don't lecture me, Roald. Did I say that I was sticking my nose in the air? Not that I can remember. You asked about my heart, not my will. If you want me to be straight with you, then give me some respect.”

Roald took a deep breath. “Fine. I only hope that your will doesn't flip-flop like your heart. You do know if you don't find a way to reconcile with Karen, we stand to lose everything. Millions.”

Jan stared at him, angry now. “Millions? This isn't about money!”

“No, but it is about a whole lot of basic issues that seem to have escaped your reason more frequently lately. We're changing the world with this, Jan! We're moving the church forward.” He grasped his hand to a fist as he said it. “And you want to throw that all away over a woman?” Roald leaned forward. “Never! If you were to jeopardize this project by taking to this tramp of yours, the board would undoubtedly remove its endorsement of you. I can hardly imagine Bob's or Barney's reaction. Frank Malter would do backflips. I would have to consider leaving myself.”

Jan leaned back, stunned by the statement. He sat speechless.

Roald tilted his head. “I know that's not going to happen, because I know you're not that stupid. But I want to be absolutely clear here: I will tie neither my name nor my goodwill to a man who betrays the trust of the church by taking up with a freak.”

“She's not—”

“I don't care what she is, she's out!” he thundered. “You hear? She's out, or I'm out! And without Karen and me, your world'll come crashing down around your ears, my friend. I can promise you that.”

This couldn't be happening! Roald was gambling, of course, positive that Jan had no real intention of continuing any relationship with Helen.

Roald sat back and crossed his legs and let his breath out slowly. “Now, I'm not saying that you have to resolve this all by day's end. I'm not saying you have to kick her out on the street, but there are places that care for women like her. Where is she anyway?”

“She's not here.”

“Good. That's a start.” Roald paused. “Jan, I know this may sound rather harsh, but you have to understand that I'm protecting a much larger interest. An interest which has bearing on not only you and me and Karen, but on the whole church.
The Dance of the Dead
has and must continue to impact the church at large.”

“But not at the expense of its own message,” Jan said thickly.

“No, of course not.”

“And yet you are meddling with God's love.”

“God's love. What's God's love without purity? I'm rescuing you from dipping into deception, my friend.”

For a while they sat in silence—Jan because he had nothing to say; Roald probably for effect. “You agree then?” Roald said.

“I'll think on it,” Jan said.

“And you'll give Karen a call?”

Jan didn't answer that one. His head was still spinning. Spinning and aching.

Roald evidently took his silence for a positive sign. “Now, tell me how you managed to bump your head. My goodness, it looks horrible.”

He wasn't about to tell Roald the grim details now. “It was nothing. Rather embarrassing really. I was jumped by a couple of hoodlums,” he said.

“Hoodlums? You were robbed? Good night! You filed a report?”

“Yes.”

“Good. When will the bandage come off?”

“It'll be off in a few days, I guess. It happened Friday, and I ended up in the hospital. That's why I missed the New York trip.”

“You were in the hospital? I had no idea! Well that explains a lot. Karen's due back today.” He patted Jan's knee and gave him a wink. “You let me handle this, Jan. I'll call her for you. You know how women love to care for the wounded. She'll be doting on you before you know it.”

Jan wanted to slug him then. It was the first time he'd felt quite so offended by the man's audacity, and it swept over him with a vengeance.

Roald stood and set down his glass. “I'm just looking out for you, buddy.” He stretched out his hand and Jan took it. “I'll see you soon. Call me when you have things straightened out.” He started for the door and paused.

“By the way, Betty wanted me to tell you that she would call this afternoon. They are concerned, naturally. And she said she's praying. And that all bets are off—she said you'd know what that meant.” He lifted an eyebrow.

Jan nodded.

Roald left then and Jan steamed through his house, tending to his errands, which amounted to little more than getting himself another drink and finishing some cold breakfast. The visit had made a bad day impossible, he thought. Not only was he sick about Helen, he was now forced to feel sick about feeling sick. Roald was robbing him of his true purpose. He was a thief. One who pulled many strings in the evangelical church, and one who made some pretty compelling arguments, but a thief just the same.

And Helen?
Father, rescue me from this pit,
he prayed.
Lead me out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

IVENA STOOD in the greenhouse, blinking at the sight, breathing, but barely. There was a new feel in the air.

To her left Nadia's rosebush had died, but you would never know it without digging through the swarming green vines to the dried branches beneath. No fewer than fifty vines now ran from the bush along the wall, reaching at least twenty feet toward the rose beds along the adjacent wall. Bright green leaves dominated the heavy foliage, but they paled under the dozens of large flowers that flourished along each vine, each as crisp and white as the day they first bloomed.

And all of this in two weeks.

Joey hadn't finished his analysis, but Ivena hardly cared. She knew now that he'd find nothing. This was a new species.

She stepped forward and stopped. The strong, sweet scent flooded her lungs like a medicinal balm. The orchids to her right were looking soft due to her neglect. So be it; she'd lost her interest in any but these new flowers. And today there was something new in here; she just couldn't put her mind to it.

A strand of her hair tickled Ivena's cheek and she brushed it aside. She glanced at the window, expecting to see it open. But it wasn't. The door then. No. The kitchen door? No. But there was movement of air in here, wasn't there?

The flowers' aroma seemed to sweep into her nostrils. And her hair whispered ever so gently along her neck. She'd put a swamp cooler in two years ago precisely because of the room's complete lack of ventilation, but it sat quietly on the far wall.

She walked to the vines and touched some of the flowers.
What are you doing, Father? Am I going mad? Janjic knows, doesn't he? You showed him that vision
. But she wasn't sure he did.

She waited, numb in the silence. But very much alive; she always felt thoroughly awake with these flowers. A very faint sound drifted through her ears. The sound of a chime off in the distance. The neighbors, perhaps.

Ivena stood still for another twenty minutes, swimming in the impossible notion that something significant had changed in the room but unable to understand what, or even verify if anything was different. It would be her secret. Other than Joey, she had decided to share the greenhouse itself with no one until she herself fully understood what was happening here. And something was definitely happening.

HELEN CRAWLED out of bed late afternoon on Tuesday. She had been in the Palace since Thursday evening, when she'd come for the quick visit before her big date with Jan. Funny, it didn't feel like five days. And five days of her own choosing, for the most part. She would have left when Glenn had first told her about his plans with Jan. Oh yeah, she would've flown the coop then, but he'd drugged her and swore to break every finger on both hands if she didn't do precisely what he asked. And then they'd brought her out and there Jan was, crumpled on the floor, beaten to a pulp. She was still partly drugged at the time or she might have bolted then. Instead she'd done it. She had actually done it.

The moment her hand first struck his flesh, she knew she couldn't continue. She could not because she
did
love this man she'd just spit on. And although she had not attacked Jan as Glenn had insisted, she
had
technically fulfilled his demands: She'd spat on him and she'd hit him. Glenn stopped short of breaking her fingers, and she'd stayed there with him, hiding in the drugs, feeling sick of herself. She could have gone at any time, but to where? Definitely not back to Jan.

She could never go back to Jan.

Tears came to her eyes every time she thought about him. She'd never known the meaning of shame as she knew it now. The thought of Jan made her feel small and puny—he was too good for her. And not just too good, but beautiful and lovely, and she was sick and ugly in front of him, leaning forward and spitting in his face.

Helen showered slowly, washing three days of grime from her skin, letting the hot water soak deep into her bones. She pulled that dress on, the white one she'd worn for Jan when they went to dinner, the one that made her look beautiful. She cried as it came over her shoulders. She just could not stop these tears.

Helen tore the dress off, threw it in the corner and fell onto the bed, weeping. She was a fool. That much was an inescapable fact. A useless piece of flesh walking around pretending to be alive. Dead meat. Her tears wet the sheets. And that was how it was meant to be because she was a fish who belonged in water. This pool of tears was her home. Never mind that she could not manage more than a few days in the environment before disgust overtook her—it was no better on dry land. There she was only a fish
out
of water.

Thirty minutes later, she pushed herself from the bed, plodded over to the corner, and picked up the dress. She pulled it on without thinking now, afraid that if she did think, she would end up in a pool of tears again. And what if Glenn walked through those doors right now? He might break her fingers anyway, just for wearing this thing. She'd snuck it in, intending to change into it for her big date with Jan that night . . .

Stop it, Helen! Please. Just go
.

She didn't bother with the makeup. She combed her hair and left the Palace the back way, looking like an overdressed tramp, she thought. But she did not know what else to wear. Not for this.

The westbound bus lumbered up ten minutes later, and she climbed aboard, avoiding eye contact with the dozen other passengers who were undoubtedly gawking at her. Undoubtedly.