by B K Nault
This guy was really getting on his nerves. “All right. Answer this. Why does God, if he does exist, allow bad things to happen to good people?”
The pastor nodded as if he had expected this all along. “Why shouldn’t he? If he does exist?”
“I thought he was a god of love.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in him.”
“Do I have to believe in him to wonder why he allows disease and heartache?”
Father Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “The first step is not about having to do anything. It’s about wanting to. No one is forcing you to believe anything, Harold. Faith is a choice. It’s not a crutch. If it was, then it would make life easier, but it doesn’t really.”
“Because bad things still happen to the faithful?”
“Precisely.”
A quell of panic rose. “I have to catch a bus. Pepper has an MRI. I want to be there for her.”
“You’re a good man, Harold.” Father arose and scooted around the desk. “Please tell her I will pray for her.”
Instead of infuriating him, the comment made Harold feel better. “Thanks.”
They moved together down the tiled hallway. “Would you like to see where your father lived while he was working here? It’s out the back, and you’ll be even closer to the bus stop.”
Father Tucker led Harold down narrow stairs to a level he didn’t know existed underneath the office and kitchen. Cooking smells filled the cramped room. A metal cot, a workbench made up of rough boards, and a tiny bathroom barely large enough for a pedestal sink, toilet and shower comprised the apartment. “This is it, Harold.”
The way he was studying him, Harold sensed he was waiting for some kind of response. “This is…cozy.”
“He lived here for over ten years, Harold. Before that, he managed to live on the street. I don’t know how long he was like that. He was very grateful to have this when I cleared it out for him to use while he was our custodian.”
Father didn’t move to leave, and Harold was starting to get anxious, a raw awareness in his gut. “I guess I better head to the bus stop.”
“Before you go, may I just say one thing?”
“Sure.”
“He could have exposed himself to the authorities, and given up on what he believed was his life’s work, Harold.”
“He was hoping for a breakthrough.”
“But beyond that, don’t you realize what he was doing all those years living down here?” Father swung an arm across the cot that appeared to be inches too short for Walter’s height; his hand almost grazed the wall.
Harold blinked. “Staying out of the gutter?”
“He was protecting you from harm, Harold. If he had turned himself in or revealed himself to the scientific community, he would have stirred up the people who killed your mother. He was keeping you safe. And then he trusted you with the technology.”
The impact dug into Harold’s gut, twisting the realization that even when he had physically attacked him, Walter had been trying to keep his identity a secret. Before Morrie could harm him. Or whoever was after him. Never knowing if Harold would be tempted to sell his discovery to the highest bidder.
“He had faith, Harold. Your father had to have faith.”
“I have to go. Thanks for meeting with me.” Harold ascended the stairs into the daylight and sprinted to the bus already at the curb.
He slid into the plastic seat as the air brakes let go and the bus resumed its journey. Father Tucker waved at him from the door into the bowels of the church. Instead of answers, Harold had more questions than ever.
****
Harold thumbed through a tattered Popular Mechanics until Pepper emerged through a swinging door into the waiting room.
“Oh, hey, I’m glad you made it after all.” She allowed him to take her arm. Harold had never had an MRI, but he was familiar with the technology. A tour he’d once taken for a Programming for Medical Technology class touched on the machine’s abilities to see inside the human body, seeking anomalies, a brave new world for exploring. He mimicked the noises for his woozy girlfriend, bravely waving to the nurses who all knew her by name.
“You trying to start a career in bad rap music?” She cut a glance to him.
“Sorry. Just trying to cheer you up. You seem sad.”
“The Valium helps me stay relaxed so I can lie still. I am kind of sleepy now.” Pepper smiled wanly. “Can we just go? I need to lie down.”
Harold hadn’t asked her if she was anxious about the procedure and cradled her, his arm around her waist. “When will you know the results?”
Pepper shrugged. “Sometimes they call me the next day.” She handed him her keys. “Sometimes not for several days.”
He helped her into the car, and sprinted around to start the air conditioner.
“What was your errand?” Pepper wore no jewelry or makeup and inspired Harold’s protective side. She seemed more fragile than ever.
“Sorry I was late. I stopped by the church on the way over.”
She leaned her head back onto the rest, and Harold longed for the days when she was perky, upbeat. Soon. They would return soon, he had to believe.
“St. Mark’s? Did you see Father Tucker?” Pepper could always sense when he needed to be taken seriously, and he was glad she didn’t tease him.
“He showed me where Wal—where Dad lived all those years.”
He braked just before hitting a truck that stopped dead in front of them, grateful for the driving practice Pepper had insisted he tackle. Rush hour madness from the medical center was loud and hectic. Pepper didn’t react except to tug on her seatbelt to loosen its tight grasp over her chest.
He changed lanes, anxious to get her home where she would be more comfortable. “I wish I could understand why I don’t believe in God. But Pepper, I also can’t understand why what Father showed me was so upsetting.”
She rolled her head to get a better angle at him. “Tell me about it.”
Harold described the small room where his father had lived, the smells, the damp, the windows high in the wall, just large enough to let in small slivers of light. “All those years I hated him, all those years I wished I could tell him how mad I was at what he did. He was living down there.”
“It sounds like a prison cell, Harold. Your dad voluntarily lived in a prison most of his adult life to keep you safe.” She dropped the visor and crossed her arms. “No greater love, Harold. No greater love.” The words rolled out of her mouth in a jumble, and he was glad she’d surrendered to the effects of the drugs so she could rest.
He would ask her later what she meant. “No greater love.” That sounded nice.
****
In the apartment, still smelling like fresh paint and new carpet, Frank and Keith had arrived and walked Glenda, who was happily gnawing a new rawhide bone when Harold helped Pepper inside. Keith slid a casserole into the oven, and set the timer.
Harold led Pepper to the couch and covered her with a chenille blanket. “She’s had a rough day.”
“Of course she has,” Frank said. “Honey, I’m fixing you some hot tea. It’s my own blend.”
“How did you guys know where we were?” Harold sat on the other end of the couch.
“When you hadn’t shown up right away at the medical center, I texted and asked them for some help when I got back,” Pepper mumbled. She squished her toes into his thigh, and he slid the shoes off, rubbing her feet. “That feels good. Harold found religion this afternoon.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he protested, knuckle deep into her instep.
“Everyone needs to get their God on once in a while.” Keith smiled. “What happened? I thought you were always going to be the holdout skeptic.”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Harold told Keith. “But first I have a confession to make.”
“Oh! I love confessions!” Frank came in with the tea tray. He set out several teacups, and a plastic honey bear. “Go!”
“Not t
hat kind. I only meant that I think I resented you and your dad. At first I was secretly happy when you didn’t get along. And then you worked it out and I resented it. I doubted it could be that easy.” Ashamed, he finished his confession. “I liked knowing you had the same miserably un-fathered life I did.”
Keith lifted a cup for Frank to pour hot water in. “We’re glad you found your dad, too.” Keith dunked his bag, eyes on Harold. “Why this confession? Did you have an epiphany?”
“I visited the room where my dad lived.” He described the basement once again. “More like a cell.”
“Sometimes we have to see things with our own eyes before we believe them,” Pepper pronounced, her voice thick and slow.
“What do you mean?” Harold didn’t know why that made his jaw flex. “Now you’re contradicting what I’m trying to say.”
“No, I’m not. Harold, your father wasn’t loony tunes like your grandma tried to convince you, and he didn’t kill your mom like the bad guys wanted everyone to believe. But up until now, you haven’t really believed any of his story.” She kicked his side with her big toe. “At least that’s what I’ve been sensing. Until you saw for yourself where he was living, and how he sacrificed for you.”
“It’s like a metaphor for sacrificial love.” Keith looked into the middle distance. “Seeing is believing.”
“Like the Kaleidoscope,” Frank added. “It’s a metaphor for seeing the truth.”
“Indeed,” Harold agreed, but of course until that moment, he hadn’t really made the connection.
****
Harold had to make a phone call after he left Pepper’s apartment and dialed Stan’s house. “Walter, I need to meet with you tomorrow if you can.” He left the message and hung up, then realized how lame the comment sounded since he didn’t mention a time or place, so he called back. This time Walter answered.
“There’s a coffee shop on the corner near my building,” he started to explain, but Walter interrupted him. “I know where it is. What time, son?”
Son. Harold still hadn’t gotten used to being called that. Morrie had tried using it occasionally, but it never sounded right. Now Harold knew why. He wasn’t genuine. An imposter through and through.
“I have something to finish at work first. How about 5:30?”
****
Harold sensed a presence and looked up from his monitor expecting to see Millie. He’d asked her to verify some codes for him that would put the final verdict on his hunch about who was responsible for the data breach. But instead of the rounded, squat figure of his coworker, Pepper stood watching him from the opening into the cubicle.
“Hey, you.” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What’s up?”
“I’ve never seen inside your office.” She padded into the small space, but instead of leaning against the carpeted wall, or even perching on the edge of his desk like people usually did, she swung his chair around enough so she could sit on his lap. The chair complained under the added weight.
“Oh.” He glanced around to see if anyone had seen them. “I’m not sure—”
She covered his mouth with hers, stopping his protest. After a long moment, she pulled back. “I have some news.”
“From your lab work?” He gulped against a dry throat and tried to read her expression.
Slowly, as if she didn’t believe it herself, her sober expression changed, and her smile told him everything. She didn’t have to say another word as a tear rolled down her cheek. He melted into her, arms wrapped around her thin waist.
“You’re okay? I mean you’re going to be around a lot longer?” He wasn’t sure what the right words were, but he did know it was the best news he’d received in a long time. Ever.
“The MRI, blood. Everything looks good. Does that mean you want me around a lot longer?”
“Of course I do. I want you to stay. Don’t go to New York.”
Just then Millie appeared in the opening, and stopped when she saw the couple embracing. “I-excuse me? I’m sorry.”
“Hey, Millie. Wait.” He cut a glance to the woman still on his lap. “This is my fr-my girlfriend, Pepper. Pepper, this is Millie. We have a—”
“I can come back.” Millie winked at Harold and backed away. “Nice to meet you, Pepper.”
When she’d gone, Pepper nestled against Harold’s chest. The chair croaked as he leaned back.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“If the news was bad…”
“If the news was bad, what?” He cupped her chin and lifted so he could see her eyes. “Would I keep Glenda for you? Drive your car? Take over your apartment lease? It’s a bit nicer than mine, so I guess so…of course I would—”
She slapped his arm playfully. “Hey, don’t start counting me out yet.”
“What then? What if the news was bad?”
“Would you still hang with me? I mean, until the end.”
Gathering her in his arms and drawing her even closer, he laid his cheek against her head, the fuzzy new growth tickling his chin. “You don’t even have to ask. No question I would.”
She dashed a hand at her cheek before she stood up. “I’m glad, Harry. I better let you get back to work. Want to come over for spaghetti after work?”
She lingered, so he grabbed her hand. “I have a question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Will you stay with me until the end?”
Her mouth flew open, and she covered it with her free hand. “Oh my gosh. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems. What are you saying? Are you sick, Harry?”
He grinned. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
Realization spread across her face. “Oh, Harry. Yes! Harry!” She squealed and threw her arms around him and this time he didn’t care who was watching. She placed her open palms on his chest and narrowed her eyes at him in warning. “But not here. Not in this cubicle.”
“You want a grand gesture.” He stood, set her down gently so she faced him, and wrapped her in his arms. “And you deserve one. I will think of something to knock your socks off. I promise.” Then he kissed her with a passion that transformed them to a level their souls had been dancing toward ever since the first moment he laid eyes on her. When they parted, a round of applause broke out, and they looked around. Over the tops of the surrounding cubicles, Harold’s co-workers had been watching and now cheered them.
“Way to go, Harry!” someone called from near the copier.
Harold felt his face warm over, but Pepper waved, and he decided that was one of the reasons he loved this woman so terribly much.
“I love this woman!” He shouted a little too loudly but no one seemed to mind, and everyone burst out laughing as he fisted into the air. “Life is good!”
****
Harold had settled in with a cup of the house brew, and was stirring in sweetener and cream with a little wooden stick. He rehearsed several opening statements he’d prepared, but none sounded right. He imagined having prepared a PowerPoint presentation. That would be an idea. Bullet point one.
“How’s work?” Walter joined him with his own cup.
“Busy. How is it working out living with Stan and Sybil?” Harold felt an obligation to offer his couch, but Keith’s mom and dad had insisted Walter move into their spare room until he was back on his feet.
“It’s working out well.” Walter pulled out a cell phone. “They’ve been treating me like a long lost relative since I moved in.”
Harold entered the number into his cell, and slid the phone back in his pocket.
“Any ideas what you’ll do with your life now?”
“I’m getting some intriguing offers.” Walter blew across the hot cup. “One from UCLA is intriguing. I can stay close to you after all these years. In the open.”
“What’s kept you busy the past few days?”
“Sorry I haven’t been around much—”
“No apology necessary. You have your life.”
Harold wanted to tell him as much as he could about the thread he’d been unraveling, glad to know someone who would understand the lingo and complexities. “I’ve been chasing down an anomaly that could only be traced back to one of our own.” Harold stopped his knee from its dizzy jumping. “I had to meet with my attorney to protect myself before making the announcement. I hate saying it, but I’d had my suspicions about this particular person for a long time.”
Walter raised a brow. “Not good when the people hired to protect our fortunes help themselves to it. Good for you. How’d you catch him? Or her.”
Harold described the embedded codes he’d followed. Hidden well, the viral twists and turns had taken him several weeks to follow. Then he’d built the case of how they were skimming portfolios. Dumping small amounts from customer accounts into an anonymous account behind a firewall impenetrable to even the most talented coder. Except Harold.
“Gordon and I,” Harold hadn’t intended to say his name aloud, but no one around them looked familiar. “Supposedly we make the same amount of money, but his lifestyle was more similar to a trust fund kid than a mid-level manager.” Harold sipped. He’d already said more than he was supposed to.
“Why did you really want to meet with me, Harold?” Walter asked. “I sense there’s more on your mind than just talking shop. Father Tucker told me you’d stopped by.”
“Yes, I did, and I guess that’s what I-I wanted to talk to you about.” The wooden stick left a splinter in his lip. “That room you stayed in.” His tongue flicked over the sliver. “He showed me where you lived. All those years.”
Walter watched him over the rim of his cup. “What about it?”
“How did you manage to build the Kaleidoscope, do all your AI research, and work as a janitor? That must have been hard.” He curled his lip, sinking his front teeth, trying to dislodge the splinter.
“I did what I had to do, Harold. When I realized I’d been framed for your mother’s death, I knew I had to do something, and the first thing I thought of was protecting you and finishing the work. They’d done a pretty good job making it appear as if I was to blame, and the longer I hid out, the harder it was to find any way to prove my innocence. When I went underground, I lost touch with some of the people who could protect me. And you.”
