This Side of Salvation

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “We suspected when we got to the general store and you weren’t waiting for one of the boats.”

  “No.” Mom glares at him. “That’s when I knew, not suspected. I stood on that dock, feeling it in my heart that my children were left behind.”

  “Our children,” he corrects her.

  “My children. By that point, you’d already abandoned them.”

  Whoa. I’ve never seen Mom lash out at him like this.

  She stands and advances on Dad. “Remember? You said, ‘Get in the boat, we have to go now.’ What was I supposed to do? Run off into the wilderness?”

  “Honey, it’s all worked out for the best. The kids are here now.”

  “And if they hadn’t arrived,” Sophia adds, “we would have fetched them for you. I’d planned a second round of pickups for the stragglers next Sunday. A sort of gathering of lost sheep.”

  I wonder what my sister and I would’ve done if Sophia’s people had shown up at the house to take us away. Would we have used Mara’s machete to fend them off? Or Dad’s gun? Hot fury sweeps up my neck at the thought.

  I can’t look at them anymore. I spin on my heel and stalk toward the corner of the room, where a cast-iron woodstove sits, unused right now due to the warm weather. What would they do, I wonder, if I kicked in its glass door? Or put my fist through the window over there? Could I hurt myself badly enough to win us all a fast boat trip to a hospital at the other end of the lake? Even if not, the destruction would feel good.

  “Sophia,” my father says with quiet urgency, “I need to speak with my son alone. Now.”

  • • •

  Before the wood shop door has even swung closed behind us, I turn on my dad. “How could you leave us? How could you lie to us?”

  “You left us first, David. When we woke up and found your bed empty—”

  “My bed was empty for three hours!” I hurl at him. “Yours was empty forever! I went to a party one street over. You went to the Adirondacks, where we couldn’t even call you to make sure you weren’t dead.” I want to turn him upside down and shake out the truth. “Were you going to come back when you found out we weren’t here? Were you even going to send a ‘we’re still alive’ note? And why do this in the first place without asking us if we wanted to move?” I stop yelling, only because I’m out of breath.

  “I’m sorry.” Dad goes to a worktable and pulls out a metal stool, its feet squeaking against the floor. “I had to get out of that house. This seemed like the answer.”

  “We could’ve left that house years ago. You should’ve left.” As much as it hurts to say that, it’s true. We all would’ve been better off with him gone. “What about our deal? I gave up everything I cared about to get ready for the Rush, and in exchange you were supposed to get help if it didn’t happen. You were supposed to change.”

  “I did change. I did get help.” He raises his arms. “What do you think this place is, if not the ultimate spiritual therapy? And listen to me: I’m speaking like myself again. You know why? Because here I experience the fullness of God’s creation through all His works, not just His Word.”

  My head is spinning enough from hearing him speak original thoughts. I don’t need this extra layer of theology. “I’m glad you can talk normally, but you need more than fresh air and freedom from cell phones. You need treatment.” I force out the word he doesn’t want to hear. “You have depression.”

  “I wasn’t depressed. I was unhappy.”

  I don’t grasp the difference, but his use of the past tense is what crushes the breath out of me. “And now you’re happy? Because you’re away from us?”

  “No. I’m happy because I’m away from there.”

  “I know it’s hard living in that house. I miss John too, all the time.”

  “It’s not about missing. That’s normal.” He presses his palms together, then puts his steepled fingers to his face. “It’s about there being something drastically, fundamentally wrong with the world since he died. I thought nothing and no one could fix it. Then one day I found out the Lord not only can fix it but will. He’ll end all the pain and suffering.”

  “Maybe someday, but until then, we have to go on and make the best of it.”

  “No, we don’t.” He rests his hands on his worktable with an air of finality. “We have a choice.”

  “This is your choice? Escaping the world because you don’t like what it’s done to you?” I pick up a stray table leg from the bench next to me. “Sitting around praying and building furniture? You think Mara and I would’ve been happy here?”

  “Yes. I do. You’ll see over the next few days. Life here isn’t easy, but it is rich in spirit.”

  “But it’s not for me. I have school, baseball, my friends, Bailey. I gave all of that up for you once. I won’t do it again.”

  “This time you wouldn’t be doing it for me. You’d be doing it for yourself.” He moves to the wide bay window, beckoning me. “Come see this.”

  I go to stand beside him. From here I can see the lake through a gap in the trees.

  The water has turned to gold.

  “There’s no direct view of the sunset from here,” he says, “because of the mountains. But this time of year we get the perfect reflection in the lake. And over there, can you see what I made for you? In that beech tree up the hill to your right.”

  I scan the edge of the forest until I find the tree he’s pointing to, along a trail leading out of the village. Peeking out through the beech’s widespread branches is a replica of the tree house in our backyard. This one has stairs instead of a ladder, but otherwise it looks the same. Even from here I can see that kids are playing in it.

  I bite my lip hard to keep from crying.

  “Just think about it, okay?” He lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll make this a home for all of us. You’ll see.”

  Through the screen I hear nothing but the singing of birds and the whoosh of wind through boughs of leaves and needles, a fiddle tuning amid not-so-distant laughter. I smell nothing but pine sap and wood chips and, when the breeze shifts a little, baking bread. I see nothing but beauty.

  But it’s not for me.

  “Dad, I can’t stay. If you won’t come, at least let us take Mom home. She’s miserable.”

  “Only because she missed you and your sister. Now she’ll be happy.”

  “Living under Sophia, who tricked her into abandoning her kids? Even Mom’s not that forgiving.” I shift my feet, working up the courage to look him in the eye for the next question. “Speaking of Sophia—I don’t know how to ask this, but—”

  “Yes, I’ve been faithful to your mother. Always.”

  I stare out the window, letting my shoulders drop with relief. “I believe you. Whatever else you are, you’re not . . .”

  “A player? Is that what they call it these days?”

  It’s been so long since Dad has spoken in regular English, much less used slang, it takes me a moment to interpret. I shrug, very much wanting to change the subject.

  “So where were you Saturday night?” he asks.

  I guess it’s my turn to apologize. “At a prom after-party. Mara was there too. Not that that’s an excuse.”

  “You went just for fun, or to see your girlfriend?”

  “Bailey. Yes. I’m sorry. Sorry I worried you, not sorry I went.”

  “I understand. You missed her.”

  I think of how she and Kane helped us search for clues this last week, and how they stayed calm through the weirdest moments. It reminds me of something I need to mention. “Finding your empty pajamas in bed really freaked us out.” I study his face, but not too closely. I want him to think I believe he and Mom left their clothes themselves.

  Dad’s serene smile fades. “My what?”

  “Your pajamas and Mom’s nightgown. We found them in your bed, all laid out like you’d been asleep when Jesus came and Raptured you. What was that all about?”

  Now I look him straight in the eye, and what I see chills m
y spine. The wheels in his mind are spinning, maybe careening off the track. Something inside him is disintegrating.

  “Why would she do that?” he whispers to himself.

  “Who, Mom?”

  Dad turns away, rubbing his chin, then his hair, gripping the thick, dark strands at the back of his head. “If she was sending someone back for you, why would—” He stops, then spins to face me. “Have you mentioned the pajamas to Sophia?”

  “No, why?”

  “Good. Don’t.” My father comes back to the window and stares out, his jaw shifting from side to side. “I need to think. Something is very, very wrong.”

  CHAPTER 38

  NOW

  The “residency director” Rusher finds single rooms for me and Mara one floor up from our parents. Mine has the same view as the wood shop, of the forest in front, mountains to the right, and the lake to the left. When we visit our parents’ room before dinner, I notice that my father’s stuff is everywhere, but my mother’s bag is still mostly packed.

  Mara and I have nothing but the clothes we’re wearing. They took our phones when we arrived; our emergency supplies, I assume, are still in our boat, which is probably no longer our boat.

  After dinner Sophia holds a worship service in the lodge’s great room. There are no light shows or fog machines or rock-band choirs, but because it’s her, it feels overwhelming and in my face. I slip out the back and venture outside.

  Last night on the lakeshore I couldn’t see much of the sky, what with the trees, but in the clearing around the lodge, the stars are huge. I feel like I could reach up and almost touch them, like the hanging snowflakes at Longwood Gardens.

  “Hey, David.”

  I turn at the sound of a girl’s voice. “Eve.” I’d totally forgotten about checking in on her. Ezra would’ve been so pissed if I’d come back without word on her welfare. “How are you?”

  “Cold.” She wraps her pale-blue sweater tight around her chest as she sits next to me on the stairs. “And bored. You?”

  I’m not chilly, but I cross my arms to cover the “Bass Man” on my sweatshirt. “I’m okay. Except for the part where I’m held against my will.”

  “Yeah, that sucks.” She tucks a strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear. “I’m so jealous of my brother. He actually had a choice.”

  I check behind me for eavesdroppers, then shift closer to her. “We talked to Ezra before we left. He said if you came home, you could still live in the house with him. And Molly,” I add, figuring Eve must be attached to the dog too.

  “Ugh, Molly. Old dogs are such a pain.” She picks up a fallen pinecone at her feet. “I miss her, though. I cried when we left, because I know she’ll probably die before we ever go home again. If we ever go home again.” Eve wipes her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. “Sorry. I just feel so alone. There’s hardly anyone my age here.” She gives me a hopeful look. “Except you now.”

  “I’m not staying.”

  Eve picks apart the pinecone for a few moments. “Wanna play Spin the Bottle?”

  “What?” Caught off guard, I scrabble for a response. “With just two people?”

  “I hate surprises. Especially after last weekend.”

  “I bet. But I’ll take a pass on the game. I have a girlfriend.”

  “Right. Bailey. How long do you think she’ll wait for you?”

  A fair question. Bailey and I discussed the matter before I left, knowing I might be trapped here forever, and promised to wait as long as we could before giving up on our reunion. I can’t believe it was only two nights ago we lay in my bed making this promise—and making up for time we lost to the Abandoning. Those stolen hours seem like weeks ago, and yet when I close my eyes, I can still taste her.

  Eve scoots her butt up against mine on the stair. “Come on, just one round. I’ll let you spin.”

  The doors behind us open, letting out a low wave of murmurs. Prayer service must be over.

  Dad’s one of the first out of the exit. He beckons me to follow him back to our residence house, quickly.

  I trot to keep up with him. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m getting you out of here. Tonight.”

  • • •

  My father found out that come morning, Sophia’s people will take Sandy’s boat back down the lake to her, leaving us without an escape pod. All the other boats need keys, of course, to start their motors. So we’ll have to leave tonight, under the power of my rowing arms. After the last day’s exertion, I can barely raise my hand to comb my hair, but I’ll just have to suck it up. Anything to get Mom, Mara, and me out of here.

  Dad’s not coming, of course. The boat only fits three people, and the rest of us need him to create a diversion, a not-so-fake fire alarm.

  At least, those are his excuses. I’m done arguing and pleading with him to come home. If Almost Heaven is where he thinks he belongs, fine. I can’t save him.

  The two of us head back toward the lodge, where Sophia is holding court in the great room with a nightly Bible study for teens and adults.

  We stop outside the back door. Farther down the porch, a handful of Rushers are lounging in a semi-circle of Adirondack chairs, chatting and drinking what looks like cocoa. I guess that means the Bible study is optional. It also means my father and I can’t look like we’re saying good-bye. No hugs—not that we would.

  Dad hands me a pair of flashlights. “You know what to do?”

  “Yep.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will.” I test the flashlights to make sure they work. “You too.”

  “Yep.” He scratches the back of his head, examining the porch’s overhang. Nothing to see here. We’re just thinking about cleaning the gutters. “Thanks for this.”

  “Sure.” I step up past him one stair and onto the porch, then turn, ready to try a longer, more weighty sentence. “Thanks for letting us go.”

  Dad looks up at me, his dark blue eyes unreadable now. For a moment I worry he’s about to change his mind.

  Then he blinks and asks, “Are you ready?”

  I recognize Sophia’s password. “I wasn’t born ready.” I flip one of the flashlights end over end and catch it. “But I am now.”

  One side of his mouth curves up in a smirk. “Remember, if you see a little bit of smoke, keep rowing.”

  “What if I see a lot of smoke?”

  Dad gives me a wink as he turns away. “Row faster.”

  • • •

  “He said, ‘Go out, and stand on the mountain before Yahweh.’ ”

  I’m sitting in the hallway outside the lodge’s great room, listening to Sophia read from First Kings, the bit about Elijah on Mount Sinai. The prophet had run away into the wilderness after Queen Jezebel threatened to chop off his head (long story). Elijah journeyed forty days with no food, and when he got to the same cave Moses had once hung out in, he was kind of hoping to see a good show from God. Like maybe The Ten Commandments, Part 2.

  Sophia continues. “Behold, Yahweh passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before Yahweh; but Yahweh was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake; but Yahweh was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake a fire passed; but Yahweh was not in the fire. After the fire, there was a still, small voice.”

  She lets out a contented sigh. “This is why we’ve come to the mountain, my friends—to hear that still, small voice and understand what the Lord needs from us.”

  Sophia keeps talking, but I tune her out. I’m listening for Dad’s fire alarm, but also thinking of the rest of the passage, where God tells Elijah to get his butt back to work anointing kings and making prophecies. She’s conveniently ignoring that part, I guess because it doesn’t serve her purpose.

  As much as I want to hate her—okay, as much as I do hate her—I don’t think she’s evil. She’s not cynically robbing people like those televangelists who offer empty promises in exchange for a credit card number. I think Sophia truly believes
Almost Heaven is the answer to her followers’ problems.

  That doesn’t give her a free pass. She’ll pay for jerking my family around, starting . . . right . . . about . . .

  The fire alarm wails in the distance, rising and falling like an air-raid siren.

  . . . now.

  I shift over a few inches to glimpse what’s going on in the great room.

  “Is that the alarm?” Sophia sets down her Bible and turns to her bodyguard Carter, who’s hurrying to her side. “Did we have a fire drill scheduled?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get you to the safe zone, Ms. Visser.”

  “But what about the others?”

  “They all know the drill. I have one priority, and that’s your safety. Don’t make me carry you.” He raises his voice. “Everyone walk—do not run—to the firebreak. Just like we’ve practiced.”

  I slip out the back, then run around the building in time to meet my mother and sister as they file out the front door.

  “David, there you are!” Mom grips both my arms. “I’ll show you where to go. This is probably a drill, but just to be safe—”

  “It’s not a drill.” I step close to her, drawing Mara in as well. “Dad started a small fire so we could get away.”

  “Thank God.” Mara takes one of the flashlights. “Let’s go, Mom. This way, to the boat.”

  Mom starts to follow her, with me at her side, then stops just as we round the corner of the lodge. “Your father’s coming with us, right?”

  Dad wanted me to lie to her, tell her I’d come straight back for him once I got her and Mara to our minivan parked at Sandy’s store. But that would make me no better than Sophia. “Sorry, Mom. Not tonight.”

  “You want me to leave him?” Her face crumples, and she staggers back, watching the far end of the village where the firebreak lies. A few of the Rushers look back at us as they hurry away.

  Mara stomps back up the trail to join us. “Mom, I’m not leaving without you, and I don’t want to stay. Is this the life you want for me? Or do you want me to go to college and get a job, maybe see my boyfriend again one day, so he doesn’t spend the rest of his life thinking I hate him?” She points her flashlight at herself. “Shouldn’t I have a choice?”