Pastor Charles motioned toward his office. “Have a seat. Let me get my coffee.”
Candi entered his office and crossed the small space to turn on the brass lamp at the corner of his large mahogany desk. Late morning sun peeked through the partially open mini-blinds and illuminated the same stack of books that had been sitting on the floor by his chair for weeks. She knocked the dust off and set them on the bookshelf along the wall. He’d never know the difference.
She sat down in one of his well-worn, hunter-green visitor chairs and then hopped up again. As she always did when she came to pour her heart out to her beloved pastor, she made her way around the room to scan the latest photos of his children and grandchildren. Someone graduated from college, someone had a baby, someone had their first haircut.
And because she had very few of these idyllic family photos featuring her own parents, she remained continually grateful that God had sent Pastor Charles to be the mentor and father figure she desperately needed.
He came in and placed his mail on one of the many piles on his desk. “What’s up?” he asked and took a gulp from his
Real Men Love Jesus
mug.
What’s up? What’s up?
She returned to her chair.
So he was going to play this like he had no idea
what was up
? He leaned forward, folded his hands on his desk and waited.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked calmly. “I mean, am I being punished? Do you think I offended God in some way that He’d send one of the Dead Lizards to join my praise and worship team?”
Pastor Charles’s bottom lip twitched and a flash of red crossed his cheeks before he started to laugh. “Oh, Candi, that’s good,” he said and leaned back in his swivel chair. “You think this is somehow all about you.”
And so they were off.
She left her chair and started to pace. “No, I don’t think it’s about me. It’s about the band, and it’s about worship, and I can’t believe you think this is going to work. He’s a real live rock star, you know. I could barely control practice. Everyone knew who he was. Kevin and Kelly almost had matching heart attacks trying to keep their mouths shut. Max was so star-struck he played one of our most familiar songs in four/four.”
“So?”
“It’s supposed to be in six/eight!”
He shrugged and laced his fingers behind is head. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure everyone will settle down once they get to know him.”
“And here I was going on about our little sound system and how I hoped we’d get something bigger and the whole time he’s probably thinking what a rinky-dink little set-up we had compared to the mind-blowing speakers he’s used to.”
“I don’t think he’s like that.”
She paused in the middle of the room. “I can’t tell how old he is,” she said and pointed to her own eyes with an exaggerated gesture. “He’s got these crow’s feet like a forty-year-old. Most likely from years of squinting in the dim light of smoky bars.”
Pastor Charles’ laugh rumbled low in his chest. “Oh, Candi, he’s not forty. He’s in his twenties like you—”
“Have you seen his tattoo?”
“Yeah, they’re kinda hard to miss.”
“
They’re
kinda hard to miss? How much satanic artwork does he have?” She should have known his other arm was just as bad.
Pastor Charles rolled his eyes.
She planted her hands on his desk and leaned in. “I’m talking about the lizard right now. It’s the most demonic image of a poor, innocent reptile I’ve ever seen. Whoever put that ink on his arm must’ve been stoned out of his mind. He’s going to have to cover that thing up in church.”
“Really? Do you make Max cover his tattoos?”
“Max has a giant cross on his right forearm. He says that when he shakes hands with someone, his testimony is right there for them to see and it often opens doors for witnessing.”
“I see. So clearly Max went to a Christian tattoo parlor for his giant cross, while Samuel chose a devil worshipper to paint his lizard, so therefore, Samuel must cover his up. Right?”
“You know what I mean, Pastor. And, by the way, he goes by Shade. Not Samuel.”
“Oh, yes, I seem to remember that.” He scratched his balding head. “What’s this really about, Candi? It’s not like you to shut someone out.”
She collapsed in the chair. “I’m not trying to shut him out. I just don’t know if the praise and worship team’s the right place for him. I don’t think he knows anything about worship.”
“Teach him.”
“But you want me to take him on as some sort of co-leader or something. Do we even know his musical background outside of Dead Lizard Highway?”
“So that’s what this is about. You don’t like the way this happened and you feel threatened.”
“Not threatened so much as confused. The guy showed up at practice before we even had a chance to meet. I was completely unprepared.”
“Would you have approached him yourself?”
She sank further into her chair. “I didn’t even know he was here.”
“Well, there you go. I met him when he first visited and wanted to get him connected.” He pulled out his reading glasses and perched them low on his nose. “Listen, Candi, I’m trying to look at the big picture. We’re already at two services on Sunday morning and you and your team are doing them both. You can’t keep up that pace, especially since it looks like we’ll have to add another one during the week. Did you really think you could do three services week in and week out? You’ve got to grow the band so when the time comes there’ll be enough of you to go around. Shade is the first person to come through those doors with as much musical experience as you. There’s not anyone on your team we could put in charge if God decided to move you tomorrow.”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
“
Ask
him.”
“Everything about him screams
rocker
.”
“Then you’re not looking hard enough, or worse, you’re just looking at the outside. Trust me, that guy is trying his best to do something different with his life.”
She let out a long, heavy sigh. “All right.”
“Anything else you need this morning?”
“I think he might know my dad.”
He pulled his glasses back off and took another sip of coffee. He leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk. “That would be interesting.”
“You mean terrifying?”
“Why do you think he knows your dad?”
“Last night at practice he seemed convinced he knew someone named Canaberry in Austin. It’s not that common of a name. Then he backed off, so I don’t know if he really knows something or not.”
“And what if he does?”
“Then there will be no end to my humiliation.”
“You’re not your father, Candi, and someday you’re going to have to stop running from all that and deal with it.”
“Who’s running? Is it wrong to not want people to know I have a criminal father who took advantage of a lot of good people and cost them their musical careers, their reputations, and often left them penniless?”
“He’s paying for his crimes.”
“And so am I, as are most of his victims.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to get back on campus.”
“Here,” he said and handed her a slip of paper. “It’s Shade’s contact information. Call him. Get to know him. Sometime soon, we’ll sit down together and see what ideas you’ve come up with, and I have a few of my own. The building committee has already finished with the architect. This thing’s not slowing down. You need to be ready.”
Candi nodded and headed for the door. “We will be.”
“Wait a minute. You didn’t tell me how he did last night. Will he play Sunday?”
“Oh, no, he needs time to learn our music.”
“Is he any good?”
Candi bit the inside of her lip. “One of the best I’ve heard.”
“Hey, Candi?” Ms. Mattie flagged her down on the way out.
“Watcha’ need?”
“I have a question.”
Ms. Mattie always had a question, and it was usually related to music and her grandchildren. Should so-and-so be taking piano yet? Should her daughter buy or rent a brass instrument for a sixth grader? Candi was happy to oblige. “Go ahead.”
“Can you ask Shade if he’ll sign my grandson’s
Let Dead
Lizards Lie
CD? It would mean the world to him.”
****
Shade glanced at the map on the seat beside him. Oak Manor
should be just ahead. He flipped down his visor to cut the glare of the mid-morning sun, and took a quick look at each side street and road sign as he wrestled the old truck into second gear. And though he expected Oak Manor Drive to appear at any time, he still almost missed it. He hit the brake, pressed the clutch to the floor, and made the hard right. The truck stalled. Any attempt he made to pop it back into gear proved futile.
He drifted onto the shoulder and came to a stop just across from the large and dilapidated Oak Manor subdivision sign. He thumbed through his spiral notebook filled with job site directions, business contacts, and other information. Near the back, he found the page with the address.
1227 Acorn Ridge.
The words above it,
Jess and Rachel
, jumped out at him and snatched the air from his lungs. Was it hope he felt as he caught his breath, or was it fear?
Jess’s visit to see him in the hospital was a blur of pain and confusion. She’d come at a time when every movement was a struggle, and every connected thought was a chore. For weeks he’d lain there as his spine healed and his bones fused back together with no real certainty of when he’d walk again. He’d marked the days by the changing shifts of the nursing staff and by the number of times a week he saw the hospital’s social worker, or physical therapist.
When Jess hadn’t come right away, he believed it was over and never expected to see her again. Yet there she stood at his bedside, her bulging belly covered in stretchy pink material that hugged her so tight he could see the baby inside her move. Even now as he recalled what he could remember of their conversation, the feelings of total helplessness and anger crept back into his brain.
“...Jess?”
She gently curled her fingers around his left hand where it lay at his side. “Yeah, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
“Pete’s dead.”
“I know, babe. I’m sorry.”
“It’s my fault.”
Her huge blue eyes shimmered. “No, it’s not.”
“It is.” His own tears slid from his eyes and dampened the pillow.
She glanced at his other hand. “That contraption on your arm looks like a cell phone tower or something. Does it hurt much?”
“Only when they adjust the screws.” He tried to clear his throat. “You’re pregnant.”
She squeezed his hand tighter and reached behind her to scoot the chair closer to the bed. She gathered her long, honey-blond hair and pulled it around to hang across her right shoulder. That hair move was classic Jess and usually meant she was about to say something important. “We’re pregnant. This baby is yours and mine.”
Shock surged through him. If there was an appropriate response, he could not voice it. Scrambled phrases came to mind, none of them made any sense except one. “You smell like coconuts.”
He met her gaze. She laughed softly. “Yeah, it’s the oil I rub on my belly every day to keep from getting stretch marks. My mother swears by it.” She leaned in closer and touched his cheek. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah. I’m fuzzy from the meds and crazy from the amount of time I’ve been here. The right words don’t always come out, but I heard you.”
“I know I should have been here sooner, but the pregnancy was difficult in the beginning. The doctor said no trips, not even a three-hour car ride to Austin. He didn’t want me too far from home if something went wrong. Then, when your mother called about the accident, I’d kept it from you so long I didn’t know what to do.”
“I can think of a million things you could’ve done. At least now I know why you didn’t return my calls.” He tried to pull his hand away. His shoulder throbbed with the movement, and his heart ached when he brushed her thumb and realized the silver band of engraved roses he gave her was gone.
“I’m sorry, Shade, but you have to understand. I suddenly had a baby to think about. I couldn’t take any more chances, or hold on to any more promises that never seemed to mean anything.”
Anger raced through his system and cancelled out the shock. “Who’s gonna raise my baby?”
“It’s not like that.”
His heart monitor bleeped double time. “When’s my baby due?”
“Late October.”
His nurse hurried in and gave Jess a dirty look.
“I’m going.” She leaned in again. “Look, Shade, I would never, ever, keep you away from your child. But if you want to be a part of this baby’s life, you need to be well. And you know what I mean. It doesn’t have anything to do with your current injuries...”
Yeah, he knew what she meant back then, and he’d already decided to change his life.
The blast of a horn startled him as a huge, paneled delivery truck rumbled past. The rush of wind it created blew through his open window and scattered the pages from his seat. He stretched to retrieve the map from the floor and started the truck.
1227 Acorn Ridge.
He made the second left and drove past the row of older brick homes on oversized lots, and around the bend, where mature oaks canopied the entrance to the subdivision’s playground. He slowed to pass the morning walkers and the friendly neighbors who lingered to visit in driveways with mail tucked under their arms. Everyone waved, though he didn’t know a soul.
1223... 1225...
He gently pressed the brake and prayed that just this once the truck would cooperate as he took a fleeting glance at the home where his nearly six-month-old daughter hung her booties.
He held his breath. Front bay window, dented mailbox, neat front lawn. He exhaled and drove on because this wasn’t the day to stop and knock on the door.
Instead, this was the day to allow more reality into the puzzle of recovery that had become his journey. This was the day to take another step and see how it felt. He imagined her eyes were bigger and bluer than the last picture his mother sent.