The Book of Joby

by Ferrari, Mark J.

  During the past few years, Joby had become a kind of honorary member of the priory community. In the company of St. Albee’s priests, he had finally found something to trust and care about as he’d once cared about his Roundtable club. Only this was something real—something lasting. Under Father Richter’s tutelage, Joby had come to see that the Arthur he had once searched for in fairy tales might be found, after all, in God. Joby had been baptized on Easter Sunday, the year before last, and often found himself talking to God these days as he had once talked to Arthur. God did not talk back, of course, as he’d once imagined Arthur did, but it was enough just to know that someone real was listening now.

  Father Richter had taken a remarkable interest in Joby from the day his mother had reintroduced them, teaching him far more about scripture and theology than Ben seemed to have learned in his entire lifetime as a Catholic. The old priest had even shyly confessed to regarding Joby as the son he would never have—though Joby had never found, in Father Richter, the father he had lost. God had filled that gap. It was God’s knight Joby aspired to be now, for in God alone had Joby found a mentor who seemed to harbor any greater ambition for him than that he be as little trouble as possible.

  The bike ride back was long and peaceful until, several blocks from home, Joby glanced down Ben’s street, and saw his oldest friend standing by the car his parents had just helped him buy, kissing Rebecca Medina. Joby pedaled quickly past, not wanting to be caught looking, but three blocks later his mind still clutched at that one brief glimpse into an alien life furnished with cars and girls and confidence.

  Laura was going out with super-jock Kevin Branscom now, a senior with a build like Ben’s, and a shiny red Camero. Joby didn’t even have a permit. His mother had refused to allow it. Joby tried to imagine himself pedaling over to pick up Laura on his bike. That would sure have Kevin running scared.

  At home, he parked his bike in the side yard and went in the back door, careful to wipe his shoes clean on the mat. The scents of cooking drew him toward the kitchen.

  “Smell’s awesome, Mom!”

  “Hi, honey!” She turned to give him a hug. “Have a nice day?”

  “Great.” He smiled. “You?”

  “Wonderful,” she said. “Why don’t you go wash up. This is just about ready.”

  Walking through the dining room, Joby saw that his mother had hung crepe paper and balloons everywhere, and set the table as if for two visiting dignitaries, but despite the festive decorations, the house seemed full of gloom. Joby told himself it came of staying so long out in the bright sunlight, and went to wash his hands.

  “Well, Karen, Kevin may be dating his car, but I’m not.” Laura looked at her watch. “Oh my God! If I don’t hang up, my parents will call the phone police.”

  “They can’t,” Karen laughed. “You’re on the phone. So, are you telling me you’re dumping Kevin?”

  “No,” Laura sighed. “I’m just saying . . . he’s wearing a little thin, that’s all.”

  “You poor thing,” Karen scoffed. “Kevin Branscom’s hands all over everything. I’m sure there’s not a girl at school who doesn’t thank God every night she’s not you.”

  “Shut up, Karen. At least your boyfriend’s idea of intelligent conversation isn’t debating the weight-gain benefits of burgers versus Mexican food. That’s the only thing Kevin seems to think about, besides his car . . . and getting . . . you know.”

  “Yes, I do,” Karen vamped. “And, FYI, Brian’s interests aren’t nearly as broad as you seem to think, which suits me fine.”

  “What!” Laura demanded. “You’re not doing that with Brian!”

  There was a somehow smirky silence on Karen’s end.

  “I don’t believe it!” Laura gasped.

  “Laura, grow up!” Karen scoffed. “We’re not little kids anymore. Brian’s graduating next year! Besides, he knows perfectly well we don’t even get started until I see his little stash of Trojans. I can’t believe you and Kevin really never—”

  “With Kevin?!!” Laura blurted out. “Where? On the hood of his Camero—in between mouthfuls of burger? Don’t make me retch!”

  “Well, then with someone else,” Karen said impatiently. “We’re not gonna be beautiful forever, you know. Better get it while we’re hot, I say.”

  “Oh, please!” Laura scoffed. “We’re only seventeen!”

  “It’s your call,” Karen said, “but I’m not just going to wait around for Mr. Perfect.”

  Laura shook her head, and turned to look out her bedroom window. “I wish Joby had a clue.”

  “Joby Peterson?” Karen said incredulously. “He’s got pretty eyes, and nice hair—for a twelve-year-old. . . . Brian says he’s gay.”

  “Joby’s not gay!” Laura snapped. “Where does Brian get off spreading such bullshit?!” She heard Karen laugh quietly. “Look, Karen. He’s into church, okay? He has a whole set of values. If you don’t know what those are, you can look it up under ‘make the world a better place.’ That prob’ly seems gay to Brian the stud-wonder, but I—”

  “You don’t need to get nasty, Laura,” Karen said frostily.

  “You don’t call what you said about Joby nasty?” Laura asked.

  “Okay! I’m sorry! I had no idea you were in love with this guy.”

  Laura slammed the phone down without caring what Karen would think. “You can be such a bitch,” she muttered, then went to her bedroom window to watch shadows stretch across her lawn in the last clear light of day, and wonder what had ever happened to the Joby she still remembered from so long ago.

  Disguised as a mourning cloak butterfly, Gabriel perched tenuously atop a wreath of chrysanthemums someone had left at the feet of a marble angel, then fluttered into the air again in Miriam’s wake as she moved slowly through the Mt. Madonna Cemetery toward her parents’ grave site. Her head was bowed, her hands thrust into the pockets of her coat, and her shoulders hunched as if against a cold wind, despite the pleasant summer morning. At the grave site, she pulled a handkerchief from her purse, and bent down to clean the black granite headstone’s polished face. When she had finished, she remained hunched over and motionless, gazing at the simple inscription:

  IN LOVING MEMORY:

  ABIGAIL MARY EMERSON

  1893–1956

  EMERY MERRILL EMERSON

  1880—1969

  It seemed especially cruel to Gabriel that she should suffer such deception, even in this. The angel wondered, yet again, why the old man had chosen to perpetrate such a seemingly senseless fraud on his own daughter. How much better might both Miriam and her son have come through all of this, Gabe thought, had her father simply been there to turn to. The old wizard’s untimely pretense made so little sense. Then again, when had the motives of wizards ever made sense, even to angels?

  Miriam sat down, leaning against the headstone, folded her arms as if against a chill, and, haltingly, started speaking to her father about how terribly she longed to repair her marriage and how unequal she felt to raising her son alone.

  Perched on a small bouquet of daisies not fifteen feet away, Gabriel listened, slowly opening and closing his wings in the sunlight, and wishing with all his heart that he could do something. He had never understood why the Creator had agreed to such a one-sided set of rules for this wager. Especially this wager!

  Filled with frustration, Gabriel realized that, strictly speaking, his Lord had only forbade him to help Joby uninvited, not those around him. Surely one fleeting bit of comfort for Miriam wouldn’t constitute any real breach of the Creator’s command.

  He fluttered up to land unnoticed on Miriam’s shoulder, and sent his faith in the Creator and his own care for Miriam into both her mind and body, then watched her careworn face relax, her eyes close, her hand reach back to stroke the polished surface of the headstone. As Gabriel fluttered away across the cemetery lawn, her face softened in a smile, as rare these days as it was lovely.

  While Rebecca was still off in the bathroom with
her girlfriends, doing God knew what, Ben began his second circuit around the pool deck, sipping at his drink, nodding at the occasional familiar face, bobbing his head to the music, and trying to look something other than bored. Pete Blackwell’s Summer Kick-Off party was Hawaiian-themed, but the thought of donning some loud flowered shirt had made Ben feel like a corny lounge singer, so he’d opted for plain beach casual, and a simple onyx stud in his left ear. A year ago, he’d have given not a single thought to what he wore, but within days of their first date, it had become clear that if he didn’t fuss over his appearance, Rebecca would, and while Ben liked some parts of her attention quite a lot, that kind wasn’t one of them.

  A burst of catcalls and laughter from behind him made Ben turn in time to see Kevin Branscom holding Laura’s upper arms from behind, amusing his buddies by pretending he was going to push her into the pool, only to pull her back from the edge as she tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

  “Saved yer life!” Kevin grinned, turning her around to face him. “You owe me now, girl. Come on. You know what I want,” he burbled, as if addressing a toddler while he puckered up and leaned in for a kiss.

  To Kevin’s obvious displeasure, Laura twisted away before his visibly greasy lips found any purchase. “Try asking again,” she said with an almost unforced laugh, “when you’ve wiped that big string of cheese off your chin, Kevin.” Kevin’s friends clearly found her gambit even more entertaining than his, which didn’t please Kevin. Letting go of her to reach up and wipe his face, he found the long string of cheese left there from nachos he’d been wolfing down a moment earlier. Looking first at it, then at her, as if the disgusting artifact were entirely her fault somehow, he huffed, “Whatever,” and waved her away as if she’d just blown the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Ben tried pretty hard not to judge people, but for all Kevin’s ability on the field and reputation as a hunk, no matter how Ben sliced it, Kevin Branscom was just an inexcusable jerk. Ben never understood what someone as sharp as Laura was doing in his clutches to begin with, much less why she’d stayed this long. For all his own reputation around school as a ladies’ man, girls were as mystifying to Ben now as they’d been when he was ten.

  As Laura seized the opportunity to escape Kevin’s presence for a more secluded corner of the yard, Ben followed, and sat down beside her on a bench beyond the light of Pete’s tiki torches.

  “How ya doin’?” he asked casually.

  “I’m tired,” she said, and sounded it.

  “Good,” Ben said, looking back toward the crowd of partyers around the pool. “Does that mean you’re finally dumping meathead? Like, tonight, I hope?”

  “I’ve been meaning to for months,” she conceded without objection, or even attitude. “I don’t know why I haven’t.”

  “Me neither,” Ben said, still not looking at her for fear of seeming too interested and shutting her down. “You could have anyone at school you wanted, Laura. He’s not even close to worthy of you.”

  “You offering?” she asked, almost defiantly.

  Ben turned to her in surprise. “I’m with Rebecca,” he said, before he could check himself.

  “Who’s about as worthy of you as Kevin is of me,” Laura said, still sounding as if this were some kind of dare.

  “Yeah, okay. You got me,” Ben said, looking down into his glass of cola, and wondering how much she’d seen before he’d recovered his composure.

  “It’s probably not my place to say it, Ben—especially right now—but you really ought to hear the way she talks about you when you’re not around. She’s probably off with her little fan club right now, parading every detail of your sexual exploits together.”

  “Our what?” Ben said, whirling to face her.

  Laura studied him for a moment in the dim light, then nodded. “I didn’t think so,” she said, managing to sound both satisfied and apologetic at the same time.

  “Well,” Ben said, grinning in embarrassment, hoping the light was too dim for her to see him blush, “I guess she’s got appearances to think about.” He shrugged ruefully, still grinning. “Probably hasn’t done my rep any harm either. Maybe I should get her some kind of little thank-you gift.”

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” Laura said, laying a hand gently on his arm. “I knew she was lying. Really.”

  “Yeah,” Ben sighed, “well, I guess while we’re bein’ all honest like this, I should admit that it’s not like I haven’t come plenty close a few times—like, every other day.” He shook his head. “The thing is, I just can’t ever figure out what I’m gonna say to her afterward. ‘I love you. No wait, that’s a lie’? What we have is fun enough, Laura, but I just can’t see going any further until I have some plan I can at least pretend to believe in about the ‘ever after’ part.” He looked up at Laura’s shadowed face, realizing how much he trusted her, and, in contrast, how little he had ever trusted Rebecca. So little, in fact, that he really wasn’t that disappointed, or even surprised, by what Laura had told him. “I’d never risk saying this to anyone but you, Laura, but I think I’m going to wait until I’ve found someone I really love, or at least really think I love.”

  “So,” she said, almost timidly, after a lengthy pause. “That brings us back to my question. If not Kevin and Rebecca, who?”

  Ben looked away, aching to keep on being as honest as they’d suddenly become for just one more moment. But, as with Rebecca, he couldn’t quite kid himself into dismissing what he knew was true—even in pursuit of what he wanted.

  “I’d leave Rebecca for you in a heartbeat, Laura,” he said soberly, “if I really thought your heart wasn’t already spoken for.” He turned to look her in the eye again. “Just tell me you’re all done waiting for Joby, and I’ll go put Rebecca’s hand in Kevin’s right this minute.” He looked back into the crowd around the pool. “Hell. She’d probably go for it without a thought. Kevin’s car’s more tricked-out than mine. And Kevin’s the senior varsity quarterback. Rebecca won’t mind tradin’ up.” He looked back at Laura. “So, are you offerin’, Ms. Bayer? . . . Cross your heart and swear on Arthur’s sacred sword?”

  To his horror, Ben realized that Laura was crying.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms without thinking. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did I do this? I didn’t mean to.”

  She shook her head against his shoulder. “What if Joby never gets it?” she whispered back, her voice trembling as she cried. “Am I just supposed to wait forever? It’s like you could hit him with a shovel, and he wouldn’t even notice.”

  Ignoring the pang of disappointment he felt at hearing what he’d always known confirmed, Ben just said, “Have you tried?”

  “What!” she said, hiccupping a laugh, and disentangling herself from his embrace with a quick glance around them to see who might be looking. “You mean really hit him with a shovel?” She laughed again, wiping at her eyes. “Well, no. I’m not sure that would really work so well.”

  “Sometimes, that’s exactly what guys like Joby need,” Ben said. “As usual, you’re way ahead of us all, Laura. I haven’t got a clue who my real match is, and Joby hasn’t got a clue about, well, much of anything. But you’ve known what your heart wants for years. He’s a dense son of a bitch, but he’s like a brother to me, and, pitiful as it is to say, I think you’d better stop waiting for him to step up to bat, and just make the things you want happen. If that takes a shovel, it’d give me more satisfaction than you know to lend you ours from home. It’s pretty big,” he added with a lopsided grin. “Oughta hurt enough to make even Joby notice.”

  Mentally rehearsing her lines, Laura rang the bell and waited. Taking Ben’s advice, she had decided to throw pride to the wind and take the direct approach. She heard footsteps on the hardwood inside, and braced herself as Joby opened the door.

  “Laura! . . . What are you doing here?”

  “Was I supposed to make an appointment?” So much for her lines.

  “No!” Joby apologized. “I did
n’t . . . I just meant, well, you know. School’s out and all, so I just didn’t expect . . .”

  It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She decided she’d better just get on with it before things got worse.

  “Diane Kelty invited me to her pool party next Saturday. I was wondering if you would go with me.”

  Joby looked startled. “What about Kevin?”

  “Kevin and I aren’t together anymore.”

  “Why not?” Joby asked, looking concerned.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Joby. Will you go with me or not?” This wasn’t going at all like she’d hoped.

  “Well . . . sure,” he said, sounding dazed. “I mean, I should ask my mom, I guess. You wanna come in for a minute?”

  She nodded, and stepped inside as Joby jogged off to get his mother. Something smelled wonderful. She looked around the entranceway, wondering why Joby needed permission to attend a daytime party.

  “Hello, Laura!” Mrs. Peterson smiled as she came from the kitchen. “It’s been such a long time! Can you come in for a minute? I’ve just finished a batch of cookies. I’d love to catch up on what you’ve been doing!”

  “Thanks,” Laura said. “I’d be crazy to turn down anything that smells that good.”

  Mrs. Peterson looked pleased as she led Laura and her son toward the living room, where a plate of M&M oatmeal cookies was already laid out on the coffee table.

  “Have a seat,” Mrs. Peterson offered, settling onto the couch.

  Laura sat down beside her, while Joby sat across the room in a rocking chair by the fireplace.

  “Joby says you’ve invited him to a party,” Mrs. Peterson said, handing her a cookie. “That’s very nice of you. Where’s it going to be?”

  “It’s a pool party at Diane Kelty’s house. She lives up on Viewline Drive.”

  “Oh! That’s a very nice neighborhood, isn’t it,” Mrs. Peterson said brightly. “I’ll bet they have a lovely home! What time will it be over?”