by Tim LaHaye
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that was not unusual. She often had trouble sleeping. He was surprised at dawn, however, to discover that she had laid out his golfing clothes, put his golf bag next to his car, and even packed him a little goody bag with a frozen bottle of water, a couple of energy bars, and a love note.
In the note she also wished him a good game and said she and the kids would like to join him for lunch in the clubhouse after church. Rayford felt guilty that that didn't sound like such a good idea. Hanging with his golfing buddies for a sandwich and a brew was all part of the milieu, but he could hardly turn her down after all this.
Should he beg off from the guys and tell them he had lunch plans elsewhere? He didn't really want the kids in the clubhouse, especially at lunchtime. Rayford considered leaving Irene a note suggesting that he meet her and the kids at a fast-food place for lunch.
Ah, there was no point in upsetting her. He could live with her plan this once. Maybe he'd even have the rest of the foursome join them. Surely Irene would see that it was awkward and not suggest it again.
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133
SIXTEEN
Irene was sitting in church when her cell phone vibrated. She peeked at the caller ID and recognized the number of the health-care facility in Belvidere. Slipping into the foyer, she returned the call to find that Mr. Steele was in critical condition.
"What in the world?" she said. "We just saw him."
"Actually, this is not unusual, ma'am. Alzheimer's patients often have internal problems that don't come to light except for random testing. They don't understand or recognize pain, and often they complain of things that don't exist while missing serious problems that do. Mr. Steele is undergoing renal failure and has already been moved to the hospital wing. He may soon be reclassified as grave. We have not succeeded in reaching your husband."
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"I'll let him know, and we'll be there as soon as we can."
Irene called Jackie, who said she would come right over from New Hope and take Chloe and Raymie to her home after church. Irene informed the kids' teachers and rushed to her car, dialing Rayford's number. She immediately got his voice mailbox, which reminded her that cell phones were verboten on the course at his club. She left a message, then called the clubhouse. They agreed to track him down.
By the time Irene pulled into the parking lot of the health-care facility, a hearse was parked at the curb. She prayed it wasn't for her father-in-law and told herself there were a lot of old and potentially terminal patients here. On the other hand, she had never before seen a hearse here.
Rushing into the hospital wing, she was intercepted by her in-laws' caseworker.
"I'm sorry, Irene," the woman said. "He's gone."
Gone? "This makes no sense," she said, reaching for the wall to steady herself. "So sudden."
"I've made arrangements for you to talk with the physician, and there's an aide who wants to talk to you."
"Where's my mother-in-law?"
"In her room. Sedated. You can imagine her tailspin."
"I should see her."
"She's sleeping, last I heard."
The doctor told Irene basically what she had been told when she was first called. "With Mr. Steele not being bedridden, we knew of no reason to monitor his urine
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output. He didn't complain until this morning, but apparently he had been unable to eliminate for some time. His color was bad, and he was suffering by the time we diagnosed the problem. We moved him over here, but he had already suffered a kidney shutdown, and it was a race against time, which we obviously lost."
Irene wanted to be waiting at the entrance when Rayford arrived, and she had to be reminded that an aide wanted to talk with her too. He was a young, fleshy Asian man wearing institutional blues. She asked him to join her in chairs near the door.
He introduced himself as Erap from the Philippines, and Irene noticed a faint blue tattoo of a tiny fish between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers. "I am a Christian," he said.
"I am too," Irene said.
"I know."
"How?" she said. "Do I know you? I don't recall meeting you."
"My cousin works in the supervised care unit," he said. "She told me she thought you were. But I know from Mr. Steele."
"What? Mr. Steele told you?"
"Not in so many words."
"I'm listening, Erap."
"I could see that your father-in-law was dying. In fact, I called in the code blue. In the few seconds before they rolled in the crash cart, I asked Mr. Steele if he was conscious and could understand me. He was barely speaking,
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but he nodded. I told him he needed to get right with God and receive Christ.
"I asked if he knew he was a sinner and separated from God. He nodded. I asked if he believed Jesus died on the cross for his sins. He nodded. I asked if he was willing to pray and accept Jesus into his heart. He said, 'I already did.' I said, 'You did?' He said, 'Yes, when my daughter-in-law told me how.'
"Mrs. Steele, I was there until they finished trying to save him. And those were his last words. I thought you would want to know."
Cameron Williams told his mother he was going to try to get home during the holidays. "With the money for the plane ticket from the Globe and a little loan from my Welsh friend, Dirk, I should be able to make it."
"Don't go to any trouble, Cam. There's no rush."
How he wished he could believe that. Of course, his brother, Jeff, didn't like the idea. "She's not going to tell you how bad off she is, Cameron. And Dad can't talk with her sitting right there. She looks terrible, hardly eats, can't get around well. She doesn't want to go to the hospital, but that's where she ought to be."
"That's her call, isn't it, Jeff?"
"'Course it is, but I'm telling you, she's fading fast."
"She sounded pretty good on the phone."
"So you're calling me a liar?"
"Come on, Jeff. We're not in junior high anymore.
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I'm just saying she sounded fairly perky. And she was so proud of this honor I'm getting. She wants me to bring her pictures and news clippings."
"So you're coming when?"
"If I can find a few more bucks, I'll book a flight for the day I return to Princeton from Boston."
"How much more do you need?"
"A couple hundred. I can get one of those super-cheap non-refundables if I book it this week."
"I'll put a check in the mail today."
"Jeff, I can't ask you to do that. I--"
"You didn't ask. Come on, Cam. This isn't for you or about you. It's about Mom. You should be here tomorrow to be safe. What're we looking at now, ten days?"
"Twelve."
"Gimme a break."
"I'll see you then, Jeff. And thanks."
"Whatever."
Irene was not sure how the loss of his father truly affected Rayford. He was shocked, of course, at the suddenness of it, but he quickly seemed to go into business mode, making sure his mother was taken care of and that the funeral did justice to his father's memory.
Unfortunately, the funeral was held at the family's longtime church, Central Church. "I swear," Irene told Rayford as they prepared to leave for the church, "if there is no mention of your father's faith during the eulogies I'm going to say something."
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"No."
"No? What are you saying?"
"Don't embarrass me or the pastor."
"It would embarrass you to have people know that your father was a true believer?"
"A deathbed convert is more like it, Irene. After your browbeating and that Filipino kid's badgering, what choice did a confused, dying man have? Anyway, he's already known in this church as a true believer for a lifetime."
"This won't be doing justice to your father." This was the last thing she wanted to fight over, but it was as if she couldn't help herself.
"Just promise me you won't do anything weird, Iren
e."
"You'd consider it weird if I merely told the truth?"
"I'd be humiliated."
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, despising that she felt so weak. "I won't humiliate you, Rayford."
"Thank you."
"I do wish your mother could be here. You couldn't stop her from telling the truth."
"Depends on your idea of truth," he said. "People would pass it off as the ravings of an Alzheimer's patient."
"But I would know better. And so would you."
"You know what I think, Irene. The truth is my dad has always been a Christian. He didn't just get religion before he died."
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On the way into the service, Rayford was accosted by his childhood Sunday school teacher. She tearfully wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, dear. Your father was a great man."
"Yes, he was, Mrs. Knuth. Thank you."
Irene couldn't keep from weeping throughout the service. It was worse than she expected. While all the familiar Scriptures about death and rebirth were employed, nothing that was said explained them or brought the point home. Mr. Steele was revered, but there was no mention of his coming to a saving belief in Christ, no mention of his ever repenting of sin and putting his faith in God.
Irene was still crying on the way home, quietly grateful that the weather had finally turned and she would not be a golf widow again until spring. Rayford surprised her by putting a hand on her knee as he drove. "I do appreciate all the time you took with my parents," he said. "I really do."
His voice sounded quavery, and it was as close to tears as she had seen him in years.
"That's not over," she said. "I'll keep seeing your mom, of course."
"But they're saying she's already almost as bad off as Dad was mentally. Incoherent, and refusing to come today unless Dad came with her."
"All the more reason."
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SEVENTEEN
"IS HE YOUR PARTNER?"
"I beg your pardon?" Cameron said.
"How would you like us to list Mr. Burton?"
"He's a classmate."
"You're not lovers then?"
"Urn, no. Are we supposed to bring only significant others?"
"No, I was just wondering. We'll put him down as 'friend'; how's that?"
"Accurate."
Cameron was thrilled to be allowed to bring a guest to the Boston Globe event. Apparently others were bringing family members or lovers.
"There's another reason I ask," the woman said. "The executive editor of the Globe and a few of his associates
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would like a moment with you in his office after the banquet. Are you able to accommodate that request?"
"Well, sure. That'd be great."
"Your friend would not be included in that, unless he was your significant other."
"Really? Why?"
"I couldn't say."
"I mean, you don't think they're talking about something I would want to inform my loved ones about."
"I have no idea."
"Well, okay."
"He would be joining you then?"
"No. No. He'll wait. That will be no problem."
"The Globe is just up the street from the banquet site, and I don't expect your meeting will be long."
Irene could tell Rayford felt trapped. With the weather no longer conducive to golf, he no longer had an alternative to church on Sunday mornings. He still had some Sunday flights, but there were only so many. And when he was in town, there was really nothing else to do.
"You know what, Rafe?" Irene said. "I'll bet you'd enjoy attending New Hope, and it wouldn't be such an ordeal to talk yourself into going."
"No you don't. You haven't even been there. How do you know?"
"I can tell from what Jackie says. It's like I already know the pastor, Reverend Billings, even though I've
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never met him. And there's an assistant pastor, Bruce Barnes, whom everybody loves. All kinds of good things happening there."
"Don't start, Irene."
She hadn't meant to press; she really hadn't. Irene knew her motives were pure. If only she could find the right approach to the man she loved and worried about.
"I'm just saying," she said, "it might be worth a try. I sure would like to go and take the kids, especially when you're not in town."
He shook his head. "I'd never get you back."
"What do you mean?"
"It sounds like a cult to me. You know the leaders' names without even having been there? Let's just stay where we are, and I'll go when I can."
"Let him go, Nicolae," Leon Fortunato said, sitting across from Carpathia in the younger man's home office. "I'd encourage it."
"You would?"
"I would. You have nothing to fear from Jonathan Stonagal. Sure, he has the drop on you right now because you owe him a lot of money. But that will change. You have more potential in your little finger than he has in his whole body, and besides, he's not a young man."
"My strategy is not to fight him though, Leon. My plan is to endear myself to him."
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"Then let Reiche accept his invitation to represent your interest. What are you worried about? Planchette being on Stonagal's turf?"
"Of course. You have seen the magazine spreads of Jonathan's Manhattan office; have you not?"
"I've been in those offices. They do make one's jaw drop. Planchette will be in way over his head. But I don't think they will be in league against you. Stonagal believes he, in essence, created you at the behest of the spirit world."
"Maybe he did."
"Maybe. But he will serve you one day, as we all will."
"I like the sound of that."
Leon stood and moved to the window. "I'm glad, because it's time for a tune-up of your image."
"What is wrong with it?"
"In many ways, nothing. You are in the thick of this race now and favored. But I have seen candidates lose in the final days on the turn of one phrase, sometimes one word. With you, it's all about tone."
"I am listening, Leon."
Fortunato returned to his chair. "Consider this question: who was the most influential person who ever lived?"
"Jesus."
"Excellent. As you know, the world has been impacted more by Him and His teachings than by any other. Our very calendar is based on His birth. What was His one most dominating character trait?"
Nicolae liked this kind of a challenge. "He could
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perform miracles. At least that was claimed. I do not believe that."
Fortunato cocked his head. "That was something He was known for, yes. But I am talking about a quality He was seen to possess."
"Divinity."
Fortunato drew out a long "Hmm ..."
"No?"
"Others have claimed the same."
"I doubt them all, of course, Leon."
"Of course, and while Jesus' adherents believe He was the only divine human, again that is not a character trait."
"All right, great one, I am ready for your all-knowing wisdom. What is the singular trait of Jesus you wish me to emulate?"
"In spite of everything He said and did and remains known for, two millennia after His death, Jesus' defining quality was humility."
Carpathia could not suppress a smile. "I will tell you the truth, Leon. I believe I am more than fairly self-aware. I know how I come across to people; I know myself. Frankly, I have nothing to be humble about and detect not a shred of humility in my personality."
Fortunato seemed to study him. "You are self-analytical."
"Humility is for weaklings. I know who I am and what I am capable of, and I am determined to do it."
"That's all well and good, but would you call Jesus a weakling? I submit that the ethereal paintings of Him as effeminate and cherubic are all wrong. This was a man
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of the earth, a man of the hardscrabble first-century Mi
ddle East. He was a carpenter, a man's man. A revolutionary. A preacher of paradoxes. An enemy of the establishment.
"You don't believe His entire resume, fine. Neither do I. But His story is compelling. If He truly came from the throne room of heaven to be a mere mortal, it was the greatest act of humility ever. He had no reason to be humble either. His followers believe Him divine and perfect, self-sacrificial to the point of death. That is what makes His humility so attractive, so magnetic. You would do well to conjure a bit of it to round off your image."
Carpathia laughed, and the more he laughed the funnier the whole idea sounded to him, so he laughed all the more. "Think of it, Leon! What could be more egregious than false humility? I believe I may be unique among mankind. I have a combination of gifts and talents and knowledge and confidence that sets me far above perhaps anyone who has ever lived--including Jesus. And I should compound that with humility? What should I be humble about?"
Cameron Williams nursed his ancient Volvo north along the East Coast toward Boston through a light rain that turned to sleet and then a beautiful snowfall.
"Care to drive at all, Dirk?" he asked the Welshman.
"Not on your life. I would be on the wrong side of the
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road within a minute. You just keep steering and I'll keep pedaling. Sure you have enough tread on these tires?"
"It's not the tires I worry about, Dirk. It's the heat gauge and the oil gauge. One is high, the other low."
"Seems a simple solution then, Cameron."
They stopped for oil. And antifreeze. And windshield-washer fluid. And a brush/scraper. A hundred miles later they stopped for more of the same, including the scraper, which had broken after two uses. Cameron was tense from peeling his eyes through the growing flakes and trying to sense whether his speed was right for the increasingly slippery roads.
