His jaw clenched. It had been too easy to take the superior position, to let Jacky be the disappointment. Too easy to play the champion instead of teaching Jacky to defend himself. He had thrived on Jacky's weakness, his need, his admiration. Rightly seeing that neither parent was safe, Jacky had looked to him for everything. And he'd liked it that way.
Pain seized him. Dad had driven them both too hard, but it wasn't Dad's repudiation that had broken Jacky. It was his.
His mother wrung her hands. "I don't know what I'd do without you here."
She didn't know what he'd done, that this crisis was his creation. He stood in silence, knowing it would stay that way if he let it. He and Dad would deal with it man to man—if he came through. But as they wheeled him into surgery, hours before the scheduled time, he said, "I upset him."
"Oh no, honey."
"Yes. I confronted him about Jacky."
She looked up at him. "You . . ."
"I told him it was no accident. That he drove Jacky into that train."
She pressed a hand to her mouth. "What?"
"But the truth is, we all did. If any one of us had been what that hurting kid needed, he'd be here today."
"You can't mean . . ."
Matt swallowed. He hadn't meant to upset her further. But maybe lancing was the only way now. "If you hadn't denied Dad's abuse and I hadn't profited by it, if Dad hadn't thrown his weight and power around like a God-given right, Jacky might not have despaired."
"Please. Stop."
He wished he could. "You know it wasn't an accident. We knew that field, that track, even the train schedule." He shook his head. "Any one of us could have stopped it, but we didn't."
Tears filled her eyes. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you're living a lie. And you deserve the truth."
She covered her face with her hands. "I wasn't home. I didn't see—"
"You saw it all for nine years. It was just easier to look away."
She crumpled. He caught her. He was on a roll now, breaking both parents at a vulnerable time. But it wasn't vindictive. The righteous anger he'd felt, the self-satisfaction had drained away, and all he wanted now was peace. Peace had a price, and the price was truth. But truth had a price too. That price was love. He had gone there to confront. Now he needed to bind up. God help him, he needed to forgive.
He eased his mother into a chair and crouched before her. "Listen to me, Mom."
She shook her head. "No. You've said enough."
"More than you wanted to hear, I know. You'll do with it what you want." She was probably already painting it a different shade. "But there's one more thing I need to tell you."
Sofie had learned not to hold a grudge, that it made the wound grow deep. The grudge he'd borne against both parents had formed a scab over his own betrayal. He'd carried a token guilt that paled against theirs and became, in a way, a badge of honor. Maybe his responsibility was less since he'd been a kid, bullied and abandoned to his own defenses, but it was time to stop blaming and try to bring what healing he could.
He swallowed the tightness in his throat, his very physiology resisting what he had to say. "I forgive you. I forgive Dad, and with God's mercy, I may one day forgive myself."
Her mouth worked. Her eyes streamed. She gathered herself and rasped, "It would be better if you weren't here when your father wakes up."
He hadn't anticipated the blow, and so it caught him full force. He picked up his overnight bag, gave her one last look, and caught a cab back to the airport.
————
Lance stood in the driveway. Rese thought he wasn't taking seriously the situation with Star and Rico, but she had it wrong. He knew all too well how hot-headed Rico could be. He'd gotten bruises and a knife wound thanks to Rico's propensity to provoke the large and angry. He knew, too, how fragile Star was under her zany façade. But he gave them credit for being able to behave like adults in a potentially volatile situation. At least he hoped so.
He couldn't ignore the apprehension, though, when Chaz pulled the maroon van into the drive. Rico rode shotgun. Their band equipment would be in the back. Chaz emerged and they hooked hands and hugged. The greeting was a little more active and prolonged with Rico. Grinning, he stepped back and eyed them both.
Rico spread his arms. "You doing this thing, 'mano?"
Lance nodded. "I'm doing this thing."
Chaz laughed. "Did you think we would get here and he'd say never mind?"
"Thought Rese might. She's a clever
chica
. How come she hasn't figured you out?"
Lance shrugged. "You can ask her. She's inside with Star."
Rico's focus slid to the house. "I just might."
"Come on in. We'll unload later." Better to get any fireworks over with and have time for repair if necessary. He opened the door.
Star stood in a knotted blue dress, arms folded over her head. Her gaze fixed on Rico. She wrapped one ankle around the other. " 'Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords.' "
Rico stood a long moment, then answered, " 'Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee.' "
She gasped, her hands flying down and clasping beneath her chin. " 'Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.' "
He laughed softly. "I don't know any more, chica. I only learned one."
Lance ducked aside as she flew to Rico and took his hands. "I have something to show you." As she pulled him up the stairs, Rico tossed him a wry glance. Then they disappeared from sight.
"Think it's safe to leave them?" Lance asked Chaz.
Chaz spread his hands. "What is the alternative, mon?"
"Good point. Come say hi to Rese." He led Chaz to the kitchen.
Watching his good friend embrace the woman he loved, it didn't seem things could be much better. But then he caught sight of Carly, and her face told a different story. She turned and ran out the back door.
With the dèjà vu of Maria's ordeal, he rushed out after her. "Hey, Carly, hold on."
She clenched the pencil she'd been using for her homework and glared.
"What's up?" He moved closer, hoping she'd get mad and break her silence, but her face got stony as she backed into the carriage house wall and slid to the ground.
"If you don't tell me what's wrong, I can't help." Not true. If God wanted to reveal it, her silence wouldn't matter. But so far, nothing.
Sofie came up beside him. "Thanks, Lance. I'll take care of her."
"Wouldn't hurt to let me have a shot."
"It's Chaz. He was on the roof when—He was part of it."
"It doesn't all have to fall on you, Sofie."
She went past and sat down next to the girl. She might get nothing out of her, either, but as long as he stood there it was guaranteed. He went back into the house.
Chaz wore a look of concern. "Things have not improved."
"Getting worse," Lance said. "Now she won't even talk to Sofie."
"She is perhaps too close."
He had told her that. But Sofie claimed that unless Carly was able to participate in the process, there wasn't much anyone else could do. "It's taking a toll Sofie doesn't want to admit."
"I hope I will not frighten her every time we meet."
Rese leaned on the counter. "Anything that reminds her sets her off, but it isn't much better the rest of the time."
She didn't say that with annoyance, just the frustration they all felt. Himself included. "Hard to know what she needs."
"Sofie seemed to think you might heal her," Chaz said.
Lance slacked his hip. "She told you about Diego?"
Chaz nodded. "No small thing, mon. Where much is given, much is expected."
"I know." He could hardly believe he was having this conversation with a man who'd walked much more righteously. Shouldn't Chaz be the one doing amazing things? Then he thought of the financial support he sent down to his father's church and guessed some amazing things were happening through that. They all had a part to play.
"That healing seems to have been God's way of getting my attention. There hasn't been anything so dramatic since. Just little stuff."
"Like Randy's headaches?" Rese asked softly. "And Maria's rebound. And all the things you see or know."
He sighed. "Sometimes there's nothing at all, like with Carly. Yeah, I can pray. We all can. But I haven't . . . Nothing obvious happens."
Chaz cocked his head. "Sometimes it is observable?"
"To the rest of us," Rese said. "Lance is swept off somewhere oblivious."
"Like the night we prayed for Star." Chaz's expression deepened as he remembered.
"Only longer," Rese said. "The last time a couple hours."
Lance wanted Chaz to understand, but at the same time for it not to change the dynamic of their friendship. He'd always looked to Chaz for wisdom, not vice versa. "I just start to pray and God takes over the rest."
"You have been gifted, mon. What are you going to do with it?"
"Do? If God's got something else in mind, He hasn't shown me. I have my hands full, taking care of my family and those extras that seem to turn up here."
"Ah." Chaz looked around. "I feel it. A place of blessing."
Lance nodded. "He's given us this place and the house next door." He looked at Rese. "We're open to whatever plan He has."
"It's good you are listening." Chaz smiled. "Instead of running ahead."
"Yeah, well . . ." Lance ran a hand through his hair. "That running ahead doesn't work so well."
Rese crossed the space and took his hand. "The hardest part for Lance is to stand back and let someone else have a shot."
Wasn't that the truth. He turned to Chaz. "This whole thing with Sof, I can't help thinking Matt's part of it."
Chaz nodded slowly. "But does he agree?"
Rico joined them with Star in tow. "Come on. Let's get the stuff." He started for the van. "Star thought we should practice in the studio until the big day."
Lance shared a look with Chaz and Rese. Rico and Star must have either said what needed saying or found words unnecessary.
————
Matt looked at the invitation on his counter. He had not sent the RSVP because each time he started to write that one person would attend, he almost wrote zero, and each time he almost wrote zero, he started to write one. And then he wondered why Rese and Lance wanted him there when Sofie would be there, and why, if Sofie would be there, he'd want to be anywhere else. But the answer to that was the key to it all. If she didn't want him there—He pushed away from the counter.
He needed to see Sofie without Carly, but that was harder to accomplish than it should have been. He didn't want to go to the house and compromise what Carly must consider a safe place. He couldn't go there while the child was in school since he was bogged down at work and skating on thin ice with his supervisor. He couldn't take a lunch break without someone looking over his shoulder, and his dad's words rankled. If he was making the income he'd thrown away he could tell them to take a flying leap.
As it was, he'd been assigned a mountain of paper work that kept him at his desk and out of trouble. Cassinia had been gone twice as long and violated more protocol issues with Maria than he had with Annie, but he hadn't blown a whistle on her. The lawsuit had been dropped, but not before his supervisor and Cassinia had found him a convenient fall guy. For the first time ever, he'd begun to know how Jacky felt. Nothing he could do was right.
Sofie and Carly blamed him. Mom and Dad blamed him, as evidenced by the fact that no one had called to say his father had made it through surgery. He'd contacted the hospital and learned that much, though they would not discuss the prognosis. And now even his work was being scrutinized, his thoughts and beliefs suspected.
It looked a lot like persecution. He'd read Jesus' words about having tribulation in this world, with the assurance He had overcome it. But Christ had been speaking to His followers, His disciples. Did he fall into that camp?
There'd been no huge moment of truth, only small moments along the way. Little nudges back in line. Small confirmations of things he'd once believed enough to get baptized. Or had that only been one more expectation he'd fulfilled? Like law school, proving he could do enough, be good enough for two sons.
He opened the refrigerator and took out the pitcher of green tea he'd brewed that morning, poured a glass and set it on the table. He ladled a bowl of stewed chicken and vegetables and set it beside the glass. He sat down and considered blessing it. Was it by God's grace he had even that?
He didn't know the formal blessing they all said together at Sofie's so he simply said, "Please bless this food that you've provided, Lord God. Amen." It didn't feel as weird as it might have. But then, no one was there to observe and pass judgment one way or the other. Solitude was a good thing after some of his days. But now he just felt alone.
He'd alienated so many people. Or himself from them, as with Sybil. He'd probably find her at Murphy's with some of the others doing happy hour after work. All he could feel was sorry for all of them. What was wrong with him? What he wanted, what he wished he could do was go hang out at the villa. What if he showed up at the door?
He took a bite of the stewed chicken seasoned with fresh rosemary. Not bad. Good actually. Maybe not fancy, but wholesome and tasty. He turned on the iPod in its docking station and set it to play a random selection. When he'd finished eating he went for a walk. The evening resonated with the sounds of spring birds, dogs yipping, voices of other strollers.
He went back and picked up his novel where he'd left off the night before, too tired to hold his eyes open. The writing was tight, fast paced and packed with activity, but it lacked elements he could savor. Like his life.
He sat back and rubbed his jaw. Nothing had changed except him. His job, his home, his choices; they were all there. Just as before. He still wanted to make a difference, still stood against wrongs. But somehow he was out of step with himself.
He set the book on the end table, leaned his head back against the couch, and closed his eyes.
What do you want from me?
But he knew. The ambiguity of no-man's-land no longer accepted vagrants. He had to pitch his tent in one camp or the other.