by Juliann Rich
He didn’t know my parents. “Um—”
“No, Jonathan. Don’t. I need to imagine this. It’s the only way I can say good-bye to you.”
“Okay, I get it. And then I’m going to take you to a coffee shop I know and we can have strawberry-rhubarb pie.”
“Only if I can have a whole pie for myself.” He grinned, remembering.
“You can have anything you want. I’ll make sure of it.” I reached for him and pulled him into my arms again. He knocked over one of my crutches and it clattered to the ground.
“And we can work on our coffee-table book.” Ian laughed as he knelt and handed me the crutch. The situation was ridiculous, but my laughter sounded wrong, given what I was feeling.
“I don’t think there are many porcupines in Minnetonka.”
“That’s okay. We’ll figure something out.” I heard the layers of meaning behind his words. “Two years. That’s not so long,” Ian whispered.
A sharp rap on the door shattered the fragile dream. “Jonathan, five minutes!” Sara said.
“Coming!” I dropped my voice and whispered to Ian, “What are we going to do? We can’t both walk out of here.”
“It’s okay. I’m not in scene one. Just the video of me. I’ll wait in here until the play begins, and then I’ll sneak out. You’d better go now.”
I stood with my hand on the doorknob and searched his eyes where I found my reason to take the next step along my vision quest. “I’ll find a way to see you again. I promise.”
“I know you will. Now get out there. Everybody’s waiting for the star of Curtain Call. I’d tell you to break a leg, but…”
There was the grin I loved. Flecks of dust danced in the golden light as Ian stood, surrounded by twenty years of moth-eaten costumes and handmade props.
“That’s too bad,” I said, wishing I could freeze time and never leave him or the safety of this hut. “All they’re going to get is me. I’m done acting.”
Because part of me demanded more: the right to walk hand in hand with him in the sunshine for everyone to see.
Nothing less would be enough.
Chapter Thirty
Backstage, Lily held my crown out to me. “I found it on top of the bust of Ian’s head with a piece of paper taped to it that read King of the Fags. I told our executioner that if he pulled another stunt like that I’d take his head myself.” She sent a withering glance at Jake, who was annoying the hell out of Bethany by swinging his ax at her. Idiot needed to enroll in Flirting 101.
“You did not.” My mouth dropped open.
“I most certainly did.” She reached up to straighten my beard. “Hate is hate. I don’t care what anyone says.”
“Lily, you are beautiful.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“And you’re brave. I wanted to tell you that.” She blushed.
I stood there, basking in the warmth of her words and the sound of Aaron’s guitar music. The audience appeared to be enjoying Ian’s idea of dinner theater as they nibbled Hannah’s bread and drank their wine. Mom, sitting in the front row, took a sip and sniffed her glass.
“Ah, Lily, did anyone help you set the tables?”
“Yeah, Jake and Bryan poured the grape juice while I filled the bread baskets.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Lily turned to look at the audience, worry written across her face.
“Nothing. Just remember, when Paul asks you about the wine, you only filled the bread baskets. Got it?”
“Got it. Are Jake and Bryan in trouble?” A grin spread across her face.
“Oh yeah.” I chuckled, enjoying the scene that played out in my mind. “Trouble of epic proportions.”
Things went uphill or downhill from there, depending on your perspective. For me it was one big roller-coaster ride. Smooth all the way up through act 1 and act 2 until we hit Salome’s seductive dance that contained more lurching and leaping than bumping and grinding.
“I was horrible!” Bethany wailed backstage as the audience watched Ian’s television broadcast cut to static, an indication that John the Baptist had been arrested.
“No, you weren’t. You were sexy,” I said, relying on kindness and not first-hand knowledge to sound convincing.
“You’re not doing her any favors, you know.” MacKenzie slathered on another layer of plumping lipstick. “Let her learn from her failures. It’s the only way she’ll improve.”
Jake looked murderous, which was perfect considering he was going to chop off John the Baptist’s head in the next scene. Just thinking about it made me twitchy.
“Shut up, MacKenzie!” Jake growled. “Bethany, you were beautiful and classy. Not everyone can pull that off.” Bethany smiled at Jake like she was seeing him for the first time.
Oh, goody. A socially approved happily ever after for Jake and Bethany. I tried and failed to keep my resentment to a minimum, and then MacKenzie yanked Bethany and me out of our pity parties and onto the stage.
“Did Salome’s dance please you, my king?” MacKenzie, as Queen Herodias, addressed the audience. I coughed to remind her that I was sitting behind her at the dinner table, supposedly celebrating and drinking heavily.
“Yes, my queen. Very much.” I picked up a goblet, took a deep drink, and swore under my breath. Of course Jake and Bryan had filled my glass with actual grape juice. The douche nozzles. I could have used a little liquid strength, given what I knew was coming. “So much that I would like to thank the lovely Salome by granting her any request.” I swayed forward and grabbed the table, partly because I was supposed to be drunk and partly because I felt sick. I hated this scene.
MacKenzie flipped her hair and swayed her hips as she sauntered over to Bethany and whispered in her ear. I hated to admit it, but she did embody the haughty Queen Herodias.
“Come, Salome,” I said to Bethany. “Surely you must have one request from your king?”
MacKenzie nudged Bethany, who stumbled forward, looking every bit the manipulated daughter.
“Yes, King Herod, if I may…” Bethany turned to look at MacKenzie for reassurance, and even I couldn’t tell if she was acting or not. MacKenzie nodded and Bethany continued. “I would like to request peace for you. Freedom from the lies that are spread about you.”
“You ask for my own heart’s desires,” I said, glancing at my mother in the front row. She looked away and took a long drink from her glass. “How may I grant this request?”
“You must silence the one who slanders you, my king.” Bethany’s voice rang out over the stage, across the audience, over all of Spirit Lake Bible Camp and beyond. “Bring me John the Baptist’s head on a platter!”
I knew my next line. Of course, I did. Make it so. Just three little words. Three little words that would haul Ian, bound and humiliated, onto the stage. Three little words that would summon Jake to drag him sobbing off the stage where the audience would hear him scream and imagine an ax falling. Three little words that stuck in my throat and refused to be spoken.
Seconds of silence on stage are minutes. Hours. Decades. A lifetime.
MacKenzie glared at me, willing me to speak.
I did not. Could not.
I leaned my head on the table and closed my eyes, shutting out all the staring faces.
MacKenzie spoke again, groping for words never written by Sara. “Hello! Did you hear her?” She improvised. Badly. “Are you going to order the scum’s execution or not?”
It might have been the darkness that surrounded me, reminding me of prayers and dreams and the world beneath the surface of Spirit Lake where his arms had once turned gentle. Maybe it was her calling him scum.
I stood and faced her, faced them all. “I will not! You will not force me to betray a good man!”
Offstage, Sara gasped. Ian laughed. The metal tray clattered to the ground. I turned toward the sounds and saw Lily and Kari scrambling after the bust of Ian’s head as it rolled toward the stage. Lily grabbed it just
in time.
MacKenzie swiveled and looked at Sara. “What do we do now?” she asked, shattering the illusion of the play and her reputation as a consummate actress. Bethany didn’t wait for Sara’s answer and bolted from the stage. MacKenzie followed her, leaving me alone to deal with the fallout.
I stared at the bewildered faces of the audience and had no panic. No fear. No clue what to say.
And then he walked onto the stage. Ian, his tie crooked and his slick newscaster hair jutting out in crazy angles because he was supposed to look as if he’d been roughed up for this scene. Everything about him said he was a defeated man. Everything, except his face.
Ian strode center stage, the prop microphone with the letters CESR in his hands, and addressed the audience. “We interrupt this program to bring you a breaking news story. A good man chose love and not hate. Why that is newsworthy, I’ll never know, but it does secure ratings and that means job security. You may now return to your regularly scheduled lives, hopefully changed for the better.”
He bowed and exited stage left.
Like I said, it was a roller-coaster ride marked by twists and turns. Oh, and ear-shattering screams too. A few from Sara. Most from MacKenzie.
Chapter Thirty-one
The ride home was quiet. I sat in the passenger seat and replayed my last hour at camp: Dawn and Simon clapping and beaming as Ian and I walked onto the stage, held hands, and bowed for our curtain call. Paul hauling Jake and Bryan along with their parents into the admin building, an empty bottle of Manischewitz in his hand. The painful fact that Ian had been right—we had not been given another chance at good-bye.
“The play was, erm, original.” My mother stared straight ahead, white knuckled as she clutched the steering wheel. “You were wonderful in it, as always.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Do you think you’ll be in Curtain Call next year when you’re a junior counselor?”
“I highly doubt it.” The road thumped beneath our car’s tires as mile after mile disappeared behind us, taking me farther and farther away from Spirit Lake Bible Camp.
“It’s such a blessing that storm didn’t do any real damage. Imagine if the lodge had been hit by lightning.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I remembered the fallen willow.
“Oh, Jon, I forgot. Simon asked me to give you this.” She pointed behind her where a package, wrapped in hand-painted paper, sat on the backseat. “He said you forgot it at the arts-and-crafts pavilion.”
“Jonathan, Mom. My name is Jonathan.” My voice sounded harsh even to me as I reached into the backseat and got the gift.
“Of course, Jonathan, if that’s what you want. You look so tired. Is there anything you want to talk about?”
I tore open the wrapping and gasped when I found the statue of the willow tree, a note tied to one of the branches.
Jonathan, may you remember what you loved most about Spirit Lake.
P.S. The answer is a relationship with you, just as you are. That is what God wants most from you.
Like the fallen willow, I couldn’t weep any more. I had finally run dry.
“Jonathan?” she pressed.
I rewound back to her original question. “No, not really.”
I knew she wouldn’t push it. I knew her discomfort would give me space. In fact, I was counting on it. Silence fell between us and I concentrated on the view from my window. Signs for Split Rock Lighthouse and Gooseberry Falls sped past us. I was about to suggest we grab a slice at Betty’s Pies when the steering wheel turned in my mother’s hands and we pulled into the parking lot of Flood Bay State Wayside Scenic Overlook off Highway 61. Mom shifted the car into park and the engine sputtered and died. Lake Superior spread out before us, enormous, filling the entire windshield of the car with its endless expanse of blue.
“We’re stopping?” I looked sideways at her in surprise. Her hands hung relaxed on the steering wheel. Color returned to her knuckles, but her shoulders sagged.
“We always stop here to say good-bye to Lake Superior. It’s our tradition. Why wouldn’t we this year?”
Oh, I don’t know, I wanted to say. I thought that since everything else had changed, this would too. But we didn’t do direct in my family. We spoke through veils and relied on each other’s faces to tell the truth. The car dinged as Mom opened her door. A breeze, cool and fresh off the lake, rushed in to greet me. Mom walked over to one of the low, flat rocks and sat, her face turned away from me and into the wind as she stared across Lake Superior. I opened my door and hopped on my one good leg to the back of the car. Reaching into the backseat, I grabbed my crutches and made my way toward her. Somewhere, deep inside, I had always known the day would come when my truth would surface. When she would finally know that our stories were separate, hers and mine. She and my father would live their lives, sometimes together and sometimes apart. Each following truth, her God and his country, in their white house with the black shutters and a cranberry door.
There was space on the rock beside her, but I hesitated. Uncertain. A stirring of wind like a soft breath blew again off the infinite lake, carrying with it the sound of pulsing waves, constant as a heartbeat. I imagined the indiscernible shore, far off to be certain, but real and calling to me. The day was fast approaching, I knew, when my journey would require more than half a story with a slanted roof.
I looked at my mother and my palms grew moist. My chest seized. Would I lose her along the way?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The fingers on her right hand played with her gold wedding ring. It spun easily on her thin left ring finger. Around and around, with no sign of ceasing.
“I know you don’t.” Her words were small and quiet.
I barely heard them and yet I clung to them, my hope dangling like a rock climber scaling a sheer cliff. There were so many things I wanted to say. So much I needed to explain, but now wasn’t the time. Words spoken too soon, I knew, could be wounding. Besides, I was still waiting for the words to surface, so I could tell myself the story of the past four weeks. She stood and took a final look at Lake Superior, turned and walked toward our car.
My hand slipped on the handhold of my crutch. Pain shot into my shoulder as my weight crashed down on my armpit. Tears sprang to my eyes. Behold, I will do a new thing. I felt the familiar quickening of my soul. I took a deep, calming breath and looked at the lake, endless in its possibilities.
“Thank you, God, for loving me just as I am.” I turned and hobbled after her.
On the road again, I pressed my cheek against the cool glass of the car window. My golden month of independence was over and a new season of—what? I didn’t know—was about to begin. I only knew one thing for certain. The guy, reflected in my window, was no longer a stranger. We weren’t best of friends yet, but I admired something about him. He had guts.
It was a start.
We drove into Two Harbors. Familiar landmarks sped by: Lou’s Motel and Fish House, Judy’s Café, the Vanilla Bean Café, and the Blueberry House.
“We’re making good time,” my mother said.
I looked at my iPhone. I have bars! Finally. It took seconds to access my Facebook account. Ian McGuire, I typed in the search box and hit enter. I should have expected the profile picture, an image of a writing quill and a bottle of ink, and yet I felt disappointed. I already missed his face.
My finger hovered for a moment.
Request sent, the iPhone screen read.
About the Author
Minnesota writer Juliann Rich spent her childhood in search of the perfect climbing tree. The taller the better! A branch thirty feet off the ground and surrounded by leaves, caterpillars, birds, and squirrels was a good perch for a young girl to find herself. Seeking truth in nature and finding a unique point of view remain crucial elements in her life as well as her writing.
Juliann is a PFLAG mom who can be found walking Pride parades with her son. She is also the daughter of evangelical Christ
ian parents. As such, she has been caught in the crossfire of the most heated topic to challenge our society and our churches today. She is drawn to stories that shed light on the conflicts that arise when sexual orientation, spirituality, family dynamics, and peer relationships collide. You can read more about her journey as an author and as an affirming mom on her website, www.juliannrich.com and her blog, www.therainbowtreeblog.com.
Juliann lives with her husband and their two dogs, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Ms. Bella Moriarty, in the beautiful Minnesota River Valley.
Soliloquy Titles From Bold Strokes Books
Caught in the Crossfire by Juliann Rich. Two boys at Bible camp; one forbidden love. (978-1-62639-070-6)
Remember Me by Melanie Batchelor. After a tragic event occurs, teenager Jamie Richards is left questioning the identity of the girl she loved, Erica Sinclair. (978-1-62639-184-0)
Frenemy of the People by Nora Olsen. Clarissa and Lexie have despised each other as long as they can remember, but when they both find themselves helping an unlikely contender for homecoming queen, they are catapulted into an unexpected romance. (978-1-62639-063-8)
The Balance by Neal Wooten. Love and survival come together in the distant future as Piri and Niko faceoff against the worst factions of mankind’s evolution. (978-1-62639-055-3)
The Unwanted by Jeffrey Ricker. Jamie Thomas is plunged into danger when he discovers his mother is an Amazon who needs his help to save the tribe from a vengeful god. (978-1-62639-048-5)
Because of Her by KE Payne. When Tabby Morton is forced to move to London, she’s convinced her life will never be the same again. But the beautiful and intriguing Eden Palmer is about to show her that this time, change is most definitely for the better. (978-1-62639-049-2)
