This Side of Salvation

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  Sophia uncrossed, then recrossed her legs. (I confess, I looked. Her crotch was at eye level, after all. But I saw nothing.) “David, may I tell you a story I’ve shared with few others?”

  I draped my arm across the back of the sofa and set my ankle on my knee, the portrait of calm confidence. “Shoot.”

  “I was only a year older than you when I had my first epiphany. By now you must know about Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus.”

  “Jesus appeared to him in a vision and asked why he was persecuting His people. Saul converted and became Paul.” I almost said, “Saint Paul,” a holdover from my Episcopalian days.

  “Very good. Sadly, my epiphany was more sordid. I was a runaway, doing drugs and turning tricks on the streets of Camden, New Jersey.”

  “Wow.” I was more impressed by the Camden part than her being a strung-out prostitute. At its best, that city was the seventh circle of hell (though I’ve heard the aquarium is cool). “So what happened?”

  “I was in a back alley one night, performing an unspeakable act with a priest, of all people”—she paused to adjust her glasses, but probably also to let my mind run with that image—“when suddenly from above, a great golden light beamed upon me, a light that cast no shadows, even as it shone through the fire escape. I thought it was a side effect of heroin withdrawal, that I needed my next fix. But as the light descended upon me, it took the form of a dove.”

  I fought not to roll my eyes. This sounded an awful lot like the vision Jesus had when He was baptized. At least she was plagiarizing from the best.

  Sophia began to act out the scene, lifting her hands. “I reached up and said, ‘I am lost.’ But the Holy Spirit had mercy on my despair.” She drew her hands down to her heart, as if cradling a bird against her breast. “The Holy Spirit filled my heart with the hope and courage I needed to change my life and get right with God again.”

  “Then what?” This oughta be good.

  “I left the alley and walked until I found a church that would take me in. There I met the man who would become my husband, and when I was finally clean, I dedicated my life to the Lord.”

  “How long did it take to get off drugs?”

  “Years. They say that ‘with God, all things are possible.’ They never say, ‘with God, all things are easy.’ ”

  Finally she was sounding like a real person instead of an infomercial.

  “It hasn’t been easy for your parents, David. They’re world-weary, I can see it. Your brother’s death, your father’s unemployment . . .” She raised her chin. “Your crimes brought them more heartbreak than you realize.”

  I looked away. “I’m not proud of what I did.”

  “Aren’t you, just a little? You probably would’ve gotten away with it if you hadn’t confessed. Doesn’t that make you feel all badass?”

  I pulled my arm from the back of the couch and tucked my hand under my other elbow. “I was angry.”

  “At God?”

  “Yeah, and at—” My mouth twisted to keep in the words. I drew my ankle off my knee and sat forward. “Why are we here tonight? What’s happening on Tuesday, and what’s it got to do with sacrifice?”

  “Tuesday will be forty days before the Rush. That’s how long our Lord spent in the desert undergoing temptation. It’s how long the rains came during the Great Flood. It’s a time of repentance and spiritual trial.”

  “So we’re supposed to repent? Like, confess our sins?”

  “If you like. I’d be honored if you opened your heart to me, David, the way I opened mine to you.”

  “No, thanks.” I fidgeted with my tie, which seemed to have suddenly tightened. “I’d rather keep that stuff between me and God.” I didn’t trust Sophia with my truths. People like her used secrets as raw material for their manipulation. She may not have been asking for money, but she wanted something from us.

  “Suit yourself.” She raised her voice. “Mara, would you join us, please?”

  I gripped the sofa’s arm, ready to escape. My sister could tell her lots of stories about my screw-ups.

  “Don’t worry, David.” Sophia smiled at me. “This isn’t about your past. It’s about the future, for your entire family.”

  My family has no future, I thought, then felt ashamed. I wanted it to have a future. I would do almost anything to hold us together. We’d lost one of us already.

  As Mara entered the sitting room, Sophia shooed Jacob off the love seat, then removed his white-fur–ridden blanket. “You may sit next to your brother.”

  Mara paused next to Sophia’s temporarily empty chair, and for a moment I thought she would sit in it. Then she changed her mind and joined me on the couch.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Sophia, her voice surprisingly strong and calm.

  “As I was saying, Tuesday begins our forty-day journey toward the Rush. From that point on, our lives must focus on the coming of our Lord.”

  Okay, a few extra hours of Bible study or family prayer time. I can handle that, to keep the peace.

  “To do that,” Sophia continued, “we must clear our minds—and our lives—of all other concerns.”

  A warning bell went off in my head. “Clear our lives?”

  “Your parents and I would like you to take these last few days to say good-bye—to your jobs, your friends, your classes, all earthly pursuits.”

  “Earthly pursuits like baseball? What about my girlfriend? And—and—did you say we have to give up our friends?”

  “DavidDavidDavid,” Sophia said low and quick, palms down, like she was soothing a wild animal. “I know it’s hard. But your love for these activities and individuals is nothing compared to the love you’ll feel when our Lord returns.”

  You people are insane stuck in my throat as I thought about all I would miss if Sophia had her way:

  Bailey’s hair. Kane calling me “Coop.” Bailey’s laugh. Staring down a batter from the pitcher’s mound. Bailey’s hands. Solving an impossible parametric curve problem.

  Bailey’s eyes.

  “This is bullshit.”

  I turned to stare at Mara, who until now had never uttered a cuss word in her life, not even that time she slammed her thumb in the car door. Lurking under the radar had worked for her all these years, hidden between a famous dead brother and an infamous live brother.

  “There’s no way our parents want us to give up everything.” Mara stood and called out, “Mom! Dad! This lady’s lying to us.”

  Our parents appeared in the doorway. By the look in their eyes I knew Mara was wrong.

  My sister shook her head. “You can’t do this. If I don’t finish my classes, Penn State might revoke my admission. And David’s baseball? It’s his junior year. College scouts’ll be watching his games. Next year could be too late.”

  “Mara, there won’t be a next year,” Mom said. “Speaking of college, I’m sorry, but your father and I won’t be signing those financial-aid applications. It wouldn’t be fair to take money from another student who’ll actually be around come fall.”

  Something happened then to Mara’s eyes. Like when a store closes at the end of the day and the manager pulls down that metal shutter over the front of the shop so no one can throw a brick through the window and rob the place.

  Mara was no longer open for business.

  “Then I’ll pay for college myself.” She stalked past them into the foyer, grabbed her coat from the rack, and went out the front door.

  I had to stop this family’s death spiral. “Go after her,” I said to Mom. “Tell her you don’t mean it.”

  “But we do.” Mom bit her lip. “I know it seems harsh, but it’s all for the best, you’ll see.”

  “How can ignoring the world be for the best?”

  “Don’t forget,” Sophia said, “Jesus asked us to reject the world.”

  “No, He said we shouldn’t be of the world, but we still have to be in the world.”

  “That may have been true when He was alive,” Sophia said, “b
ut the world is nearing the end of its days. We have no need for it, and in fact, it holds us back. That’s why we need this period of withdrawal. I’ve dubbed it the Abandoning.”

  In a voice that was close to tears, Dad said, “For this, my son was dead, and is alive again. He was lost, and is found.”

  It took me a second to realize he wasn’t talking about John. He was quoting the parable of the prodigal son. He was talking about me.

  The Abandoning.

  The cookies’ aftertaste turned bitter as bile rose in my throat. “Excuse me.” I lurched to my feet, out of the room, and down the hall to the bathroom.

  Somehow, I didn’t puke. Maybe just getting away from them was enough relief.

  I splashed my face with cold water, then sat on the toilet lid, forcing myself to breathe slow and deep, making my lungs expand through that familiar kicked-in-the-stomach feeling. The corners of my eyes burned, so I held my lids shut, three fingertips each, until the tears changed their mind about coming into the world.

  On the car ride home, no one spoke, though there was so much to say. As we pulled onto our street, the screen of my phone lit up with a silent text from Mara:

  Don’t let them do this to you.

  • • •

  That night, I dreamed I was the priest in the alley with Sophia, but she was her current age, not seventeen as she’d been in real life.

  Wearing her iconic clingy white dress, she dropped to her knees before me, but not to pray. I let it happen, though I already knew how this scene would end. I watched her and pretended this body wasn’t mine.

  Sure enough, she stopped, looked at the dark sky, and broke into a beatific smile. Sophia rose to her feet, hands cupped, ready to catch . . . what?

  I could tell it fell slowly, like a leaf in a breeze, but only because she tracked its course. I could tell it shone brightly, like the sun between clouds, but only because she squinted. I couldn’t see its form myself, and I couldn’t see its light.

  A long, bleating trumpet blast pierced the night. I covered my ears and crouched down against the wall, my pants still bunched around my ankles. As burning water swept up the alley, I reached out to shield Sophia, but she was already gone.

  I woke filled with shame and longing—and shortly thereafter, no more longing but twice as much shame.

  Then I stared at my bedroom’s ceiling fan, listening to its familiar squeak and wondering what happened to the priest Sophia was servicing in that alley. What did he say when she left? Did he ask for a refund? Or did she finish the job, out of professional courtesy or the kindness of her heart? Did the Holy Spirit hang out while she fulfilled her obligation?

  In the aftermath of the dream—and the aftermath of the dream’s aftermath—her story of redemption seemed like a fairy tale. Maybe the only person who needed to believe it was Sophia herself.

  Was that how she saw the world, as a filthy alleyway that could be escaped only through a church? She and my father shared at least one thing in common: They’d struggled with drugs or alcohol, then found what they thought was a cure in devout religion.

  My faith had carried me through the worst grief and rage, but it wasn’t the only part of my life that had healed me. There was baseball and my friends and eventually Bailey. Dad, on the other hand, had nothing but religion; after he lost his job, he’d avoided his old friends out of embarrassment—as well as an aversion to the bars they hung out in—and his bizarre Bible speech kept him from making new friends.

  I couldn’t let him walk Sophia’s road to Crazytown. But I knew that begging him to get help would only enrage him. We couldn’t afford another broken TV.

  An idea struck me so suddenly, it seemed impossible it could’ve come from inside my own mind. But it seemed like the solution I’d been praying for. I sat up slowly and took a drink from my water bottle, my mouth dry from fear.

  I don’t have to beg anymore: I can bargain.

  • • •

  After my dream of Sophia and my plan to save the family, I stayed awake weighing the pros (which were singular) and the cons (which were legion). I even got on my knees and asked God, Are you sure? Like, really, really, really sure?

  At 7 a.m., I found my parents in the family room watching a Saturday sunrise worship program.

  I stood in the doorway for a moment without them knowing I was there. They sat together on the couch, holding hands, eyes closed, while the TV preacher said a prayer.

  When he uttered “Amen” and started flashing the toll-free donation number at the bottom of the screen, I cleared my throat.

  My parents looked up and broke out in the most loving smiles. I suppressed a shiver. Dad’s broad grin looked just like his “friendly drunk” face from years ago.

  Mom paused the television. “Good morning, David.”

  “Cause me to hear your loving kindness in the morning,” Dad said, “for I trust in you.”

  “Thanks. You too.” I stepped into the room but didn’t approach the couch. “Can I talk to you guys for a sec?”

  “Of course. Come sit down.” Mom gestured to the armchair.

  I sat on the edge of the seat and got right to the point. “I was pretty upset last night about what you guys and Sophia were asking us to do.”

  “We understand it’s difficult.” Mom squeezed Dad’s hand and lifted it a few inches. “Your father and I want you to know we love you very much and are proud of the young man you’ve become. You’ve already taken so many big first steps on your journey to being right with the Lord.”

  I completed her thought: But you have a long way to go. On the TV screen, the paused preacher was captured with his lips apart, hands beseeching.

  “I think the things that are important to me, like my friends and school and Bailey and baseball—they’re why I’m getting right with the Lord. They’re good for me. They’ve taught me about love and joy and discipline, and how not to be selfish, though I know I still am sometimes. I still mess up.”

  Dad nodded. “He who is without sin among you, let him throw the first stone.”

  “David, we know those aspects of your life have played some minor role in your redemption. But it’s time to put them aside. Your sacrifice would please God immensely.”

  “That’s what I’m here to say.” I gripped my hands together in a single fist, as if I could hold inside everything I was letting go. “I’ll give it all up—baseball, classes, my friends . . . Bailey.” I pushed on before my voice could crack. “On one condition: If the Rush doesn’t happen, you have to get help. Both of you, but especially Dad.”

  “David—”

  “I’m not finished. The help has to come from outside any church.” I set pleading eyes on my father. “You need a doctor, and we all need counseling. You know I’m right.”

  “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.’ ”

  I took a breath before replying, resolved to have the coolest head in the room.

  “I’m not saying this to judge either of you. I’m saying this because I love you guys. I want us all to be happy.”

  “We’ll all be happy when the Lord comes,” Mom said.

  My fists clenched in my lap. “Right. But can’t you just humor me? If you believe in the Rush, then what do you have to lose?”

  “Making contingency plans is a sign of faithlessness, remember?”

  “I get that, but isn’t my cooperation worth it? Especially now that Mara’s rejected you? And making contingency plans only looks like a sign of faithlessness to humans. God knows what’s in your heart. He knows how committed you are. He knows you have no doubt. But I have doubts. I’m not as faithful as you, I’m sorry. I need a reason to hope for something other than the end of the world.” Time for a tiny threat. “Without that hope, I’ll do what Mara’s done. I’ll ignore you. I’ll embrace this world with all my might. Do you want to lose us both?”

  They looked at each other, then at the silent, frozen televangelist.r />
  Mom asked me, “Can we have a minute alone to discuss this?”

  Relieved to get away from them, I nodded quickly, and then went up into the kitchen.

  Mara ambushed me at the refrigerator. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Why are you playing their game?”

  “I’m trying to change their game. What are you doing besides turning into a brat?”

  “I’m helping myself and maybe you. They won’t help us anymore.” Footsteps came up the basement stairs. “I can’t be part of this.” She grabbed a banana from the counter and scampered off.

  Mom appeared, looking nervous. “David, your father and I have discussed matters, and we feel that having you on our side is worth this small concession.” She drifted over and hugged me. “Your sacrifices mean so much to us.”

  I tried to hug her back, but my arms felt heavy. I can’t believe they agreed.

  Now I would have to abandon everything else—and everyone else—I loved.

  What have I done?

  CHAPTER 25

  NOW

  Once we’re in the car outside Mr. Ralph’s house, Bailey calls my mother’s office from the backseat.

  “Hello, I’d like to speak to Jennifer Cooper. Ah. May I ask, did she take a position at another location?” Her voice is low, throaty, and grown-up, like one of those call-in sex lines (or so I imagine). It makes me want to crawl into the backseat with her. “No, I’m afraid I’m only looking for Mrs. Cooper. She came highly recommended as an agent. I was hoping to sell my boat. I mean, my house. My boathouse. It’s at Penn’s Landing.” Bailey covers her eyes to keep from seeing us laugh.

  “She’s born for undercover work,” Mara whispers to me from the driver’s seat.

  “Shh.”

  “I’ll keep your agency in mind, thanks.” Bailey hangs up. “They said your mom took an indefinite leave of absence. Her last day was Friday.”

  “Leave of absence.” Mara thumbs her lip. “Why didn’t she permanently quit?”

  “That’s good, right?” Bailey asks us. “She might be planning to come back.”

  “It could be weeks or months or years.” I copy the address from my arm into the car’s GPS. “That’s why we have to get them.”