Fatherless: A Novel

by Dobson, James

  “I hope you don’t mind that I invited my wife to sit with us,” Pastor Mubar said, breaking the silence. “Talia joins me whenever I meet with a female parishioner.”

  “Not at all.” In truth, Talia’s presence comforted Angie. “That seems like a wise policy.”

  “It protects everyone. Besides, the Scriptures tell the older women to instruct the younger. I know I’m not qualified.” He gave himself a slight courtesy laugh.

  “Who are you calling old?” Talia winked while flashing a playful smile that further lightened the mood. The pastor’s wife had no discernable accent. Perhaps the northern Midwest? Chicago? Or Detroit? Probably in her late thirties, Talia Mubar did not seem much older than Angie.

  “Reverend Mubar, can I ask a personal question?”

  “Please, call me Seth,” he corrected.

  “My husband Kevin and I have been attending Apostles’ Church since moving to DC. We both love your teaching ministry.” She paused to let the compliment sink in before asking him to resolve a trivial dispute. “But we have a running debate over your background. Were you born in America?”

  Seth chuckled at a question he seemed to have answered many times before. “My parents immigrated from Egypt to the United States when I was seven years old. My father was a civil engineer until he fled during what they now call the Arab Spring.”

  “Fled from what?” Angie wondered aloud.

  “My parents belonged to the Egypt Orthodox Church, which made them second-class citizens amid the Muslim majority. After the revolution my father feared things would become much worse for believers in Egypt. He wanted to give my sister and me a better life, so he came to America. If you know anything about the plight of Christians in Egypt today, you will understand why I remain very grateful.”

  “Egypt Orthodox. Is that like our church?”

  “Yes and no. They don’t have many Protestants in Egypt. Most believers attend either a Coptic or Orthodox church where they use ancient liturgies few in America would recognize. But we affirm the same basic creeds defended by the early Church fathers.”

  Angie nodded politely at matters far removed from her present concern.

  “But that’s enough about my background,” Seth said. “Let’s talk about your situation.”

  Placing her saucer and cup on the table, Angie took a deep breath in preparation for her dive.

  “Two days ago my husband and I met with our daughter Leah’s pediatrician.” The doctor’s accusing face invaded her memory, stirring defensive feelings she thought had been purged. “We learned that our baby’s genetic profile revealed irregularities.”

  Seth gave Talia a knowing glance.

  Angie’s voice broke as she spoke the words aloud for the first time. “She told us Leah has something called fragile X syndrome. It’s a rare disorder that causes physical and mental—”

  “We know the disorder,” Seth interrupted. “A former member of Apostles’ Church had it also.”

  For a brief moment Angie felt less alone. “Former member?”

  “Yes. She died shortly after her mother. A very sad situation.” Seth assumed a reflective posture. “Between genetic screening and transitions very few believers ever meet a disabled individual, let alone serve one.”

  Angie continued. “Our doctor asked why we skipped the genetic screening process before Leah’s conception.” Her head fell as if she had exposed a mortal sin.

  Angie’s eyes darted between her two confessors in anticipation of condemning glares. To her surprise, both glowed like parents genuinely pleased by a child’s Crayola mess.

  “I felt—” Angie began.

  “She made you feel foolish?” Talia asked.

  Angie nodded. “And irresponsible. The doctor said the only parents who skip the genetic screening process are religious extremists.”

  Seth started to speak, but Talia squeezed his leg in pain-inducing punishment. He obediently bit his tongue to let Angie continue.

  “We’ve never considered ourselves to be extremists.” She was trying to convince herself. “We just never felt comfortable with the whole designer-baby thing. Now I’m not so sure.”

  Talia loosened the grip on Seth’s leg, releasing his tongue.

  “You are extreme.” Talia’s grip clamped again. Seth’s reaction struck Angie as funny, causing her to smile at the couple’s wordless banter.

  “I mean to say, most people will consider your choice extreme.” He removed Talia’s hand in self-defense. “Even most of the people who attend this church opt for genetic screening. No one seems to question the procedure since it’s become the new normal.”

  Angie felt abnormal. She recalled the label blind conception to mock mothers who rejected prescreening, mothers who wanted to conceive babies through the beauty of intimate passion with their husbands rather than the clinical proficiency of in vitro selection.

  “But normal is not the same as good,” Seth continued. “Or heroic.”

  Angie reacted with curious surprise. “Heroic?”

  “Angie, sweetheart.” Talia took over. “Describe what you felt the moment you learned something was wrong with your little girl.”

  Angie remembered the call from the pediatrician’s office insisting Kevin attend Leah’s genetic profile appointment. “I was terrified.”

  “I bet you held Leah extra tight that evening,” Talia continued.

  She had.

  “I imagine you felt an intense urge to protect her, even though you had no idea what you needed to protect her from.”

  A single tear on Angie’s cheek confirmed the suggestion.

  “Did you resent Leah?”

  The question jolted Angie. “Resent Leah? Why would I resent her?”

  “She’ll be a major burden to you and your family,” Seth interjected.

  “But that isn’t her fault.”

  “Whose fault is it?” he asked.

  “Nobody’s. Maybe mine. But certainly not hers,” Angie said with indignation.

  “How about God?” Not a question she had expected from her pastor. “Shouldn’t he have protected Leah from disability? Protected you from this burden?”

  No one spoke as the interrogation served its purpose.

  “Your heart yearns to protect your daughter,” Seth explained. “You defend her instead of resent her, accept her as a gift instead of criticize God for a faulty design.”

  Talia moved from the sofa to kneel beside Angie’s chair and placed her dark fingers onto Angie’s milky-white arm. “In a world that treats human life like a commodity to use and discard, many would call you extreme. Extremely heroic.”

  * * *

  After a therapeutic sob, Angie gratefully accepted her second cup of tea and a cinnamon-almond scone. Her appetite finally released from days of stomach knots, the simple pleasure seemed a soothing tonic to her soul. So were the pastor’s words.

  “The Christian faith views children as a gift from the Lord. It understands that every human being is made in the image of God himself and so has inherent worth and dignity. Leah’s value isn’t based upon her capacity to make money, enter the Olympics, or win glamour pageants. Although I know she’s a beautiful baby.”

  Angie felt her heart swell.

  “She has infinite value because she reflects the image of her maker. Just like your other two children, Leah is a masterpiece in God’s gallery of family portraits. He reveals part of himself through every child or adult who has ever received his breath of life.”

  Seth drank from his cup as his wife read Angie’s face. More needed to be said.

  Talia jumped in. “But Leah will be a tremendous amount of work and expense to raise. She might cause embarrassment when you take her out in public. She may become a source of tension in your marriage. You’ve already seen how some people will react, questioning the wisdom of your choice.”

  Seth appeared agitated at his wife’s negativity. But Angie understood. Mothers need more than inspiring truth. They must brace themselves fo
r hard realities.

  “Your daughter will be called a debit,” Talia continued as Seth visibly reacted to her offensive slang. “Leah will never fit in. She’ll always be seen as an expensive burden and as damaged goods. You and Kevin will ask why this had to happen to your child, why it invaded the life you imagined for yourself.”

  They were Angie’s very thoughts. Unspoken. Stifled. Guilt-ridden.

  Seth could no longer remain silent. “Angie, we don’t know why bad things happen to good people. We live in a fallen world that includes a whole lot of sickness, death, and heartache, but very few answers.”

  “I know.”

  “All I can tell you is that you and Kevin made the right choice by becoming tools in the artist’s hands. Now comes the hard work of putting God’s little masterpiece on display.”

  A noise caused Angie to turn.

  “I’m sorry, Pastor.” It was his assistant peering through the door. “I hate to interrupt. But I think someone needs her mommy.”

  Angie heard Leah’s whimper of discontent. The sound intensified the pain in her breasts. Feeding time had passed.

  “I should probably go,” Angie said as she placed her empty teacup beside the plate containing the remains of a scone. “There’s nothing damaged about her hunger clock. Every bit as inconvenient as Tommy’s or Joy’s was.”

  Accepting Leah into her arms, Angie cradled her daughter with a gentle swinging motion. An immediate tranquility overtook both child and mother.

  Seth and Talia leaned back on the sofa, quietly observing the holy reunion.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Troy scanned the faces around the room to gauge reactions. Kevin would land his formal presentation one minute early, an impressive first. Opinions were now forming. Political calculations made. Sides chosen.

  Reviewing his hastily crafted tally, Troy confirmed five in the Against column, Trisha Sayers most visibly of all. Only three appeared warm to Kevin’s proposals. He optimistically marked them For. He presumed the remaining poker faces Undecided, including the ever-pragmatic Brent Anderson, who rose from his chair to moderate fifteen minutes of questions and debate.

  “Thank you, Congressman Tolbert.” Anderson visually sized up the same mix of faces. He momentarily studied his handwritten notes. “Before we begin discussion I want to make sure we clearly understand your proposals. Can you please return to the earlier slide titled A Better Path?”

  “You bet.” Kevin waved back to a page displaying two items.

  PROPOSAL A: ELDER-CARE TAX EXEMPTION FOR PARENTS

  PROPOSAL B: ALL TRANSITION BENEFITS TO CHARITY

  “That’s it. Thank you.” Anderson allowed a moment for the slide to refresh memories. “As I understand them, both of your recommendations would reduce two large revenue streams.”

  “Not reduce. Reinvest,” Kevin clarified. “Let me explain Proposal A first. Our present system indirectly penalizes parents trying to raise future workers. Future taxpayers. Curbing downward population trends by even a small amount will generate long-term revenues that dwarf the short-term investment.”

  “How do we penalize parents?” Anderson asked. “Elder-care tax rates are the same for everyone.”

  “The average parent spends around three hundred thousand dollars over a lifetime to raise each child. As adults, those kids get jobs, buy homes, and launch businesses. Each will generate an average of one point six million dollars in lifetime GDP. But, as you said, parents investing to raise future workers pay the identical elder-care tax as childless individuals who spend the same three hundred thousand dollars on themselves.”

  Kevin paused. Few in the room had ever thought about child-rearing as an investment in future economic growth. When it appeared everyone was still with him, he continued.

  “Fast-forward to age seventy. The childless citizen, the one who spent three hundred thousand dollars on himself, has no sons or daughters paying into the system to offset his own withdrawals. He will receive the identical elder-care benefits as a parent who spent decades investing to replace himself with one, two, or more younger workers now paying into the system.”

  “So you think childless citizens should receive lower benefits?” Anderson asked.

  “No. But I do think we should ease some of the burden on those creating our future tax base.”

  “Are you suggesting we subsidize lifestyle choices?” Trisha Sayers appeared to take personal offense. “Give favorable treatment just because someone spawns offspring?”

  “Fewer citizens are spawning offspring, to use your words, than ever in our history,” Kevin replied. “Which is exactly why we face a declining tax base amid skyrocketing elder-care expenses. Our incentives have pushed both of those trend lines in the wrong direction.”

  “Our charter is to close the deficit gap,” Anderson interrupted. “Cutting sources of tax revenue will make that much more difficult.”

  “Not cutting. Reinvesting,” Kevin corrected again. “If we shift the incentives in the right direction we encourage more bright spot behaviors, which will actually increase revenue.”

  “That might help us over the long haul. But what will it do to our short-term projections?” Anderson appeared highly skeptical.

  “I won’t kid you. They will look worse at first,” Kevin confessed. “But after a few years they will improve sharply. Do you remember the bright spot regions? The average household generates significantly higher GDP and spends far less on elder care.”

  “How can parents generate more wealth when they spend so much to raise kids?” Anderson probed. “And how can communities with fewer transitions spend less on the elderly?”

  “Remember, necessity is the mother of invention,” Kevin continued with a wink. “Kids motivate everyone in the family to make different choices than they would otherwise have made. Dads take extra shifts and second jobs. Moms scan coupons and launch home-based businesses. Grandparents buy birthday presents and watch grandkids, providing cheaper and better child care while giving them something better to do than rot away in retirement villages. The average married father, for example, earns seventy percent more lifetime income than the average single man.”

  “That can’t be right,” Trisha objected.

  “It is right. For a thousand reasons, children give young adults incentive to work, save, and invest. They also give older adults positive purpose. The numbers don’t lie. Our brightest economic regions have more kids and fewer transitions.”

  “Have you run the projections on these proposals?” an Undecided asked, eagerly flipping through the supporting document.

  “We have,” Kevin answered. “You’ll find them on page seven. A net gain after ten years. If we could affect a ten percent shift over two decades we would generate six trillion dollars in additional GDP while reducing end-of-life expenses by two trillion more.”

  Troy noticed a slight rise in one of Anderson’s eyebrows. A budding For?

  “And all on the backs of women!” Trisha erupted.

  “Excuse me?” Kevin replied.

  “The regions you call bright spots, Mr. Tolbert, look more like a retreat to the Dark Ages.” She glanced down briefly to confirm her hunch. “I’m looking at a map of store placement for my company. It’s interesting how few of our outlets show up in the areas you’ve highlighted.”

  She stopped, assuming her point self-evident. The blank stares around the room prompted a reluctant explanation of the obvious. “Our stores serve professional women. We have lots of outlets in Mr. Tolbert’s dark red regions. Almost none in his so-called bright spots.”

  Troy quickly connected the dots. Trisha’s fashions accentuated ladder-climbing gals, not diaper-changing moms. Women purchased her clothes to make presentations, not to burp babies.

  “Who do you think wipes the noses of all of those future taxpayers, Mr. Tolbert? Certainly not the fathers.”

  Troy sensed trouble. He had seen the strongest, most decisive men shrink in the face of an offended female, especially
one as attractive and articulate as Trisha Sayers.

  “Raising children requires enormous sacrifice from both parents,” Kevin countered.

  “Am I correct to assume you have children, Mr. Tolbert?” Trisha asked.

  “Three,” he replied. “Would you like to see pictures?” The comment prompted the intended laughter, shifting momentum back in Kevin’s direction.

  “Where are they now?”

  “With my wife Angie.”

  “What about when she goes to work?”

  Kevin anticipated the end of her line of questions. “Ms. Sayers, my wife decided to put her career on hold after becoming pregnant with our third child. Your point?”

  “My point, Mr. Tolbert, is that higher fertility comes with a price tag.”

  “Which is why we should stop penalizing those willing to pay it,” Kevin retorted.

  “I mean that women give up far more than men when couples have kids.”

  Anderson stepped in. “As much as we’d love to relive the battle of the sexes, Ms. Sayers, we don’t have time for that debate today.”

  An assortment of masculine chuckles peppered the room. Trisha leaned back in her chair and assumed a seething posture.

  “But I’m sympathetic to Ms. Sayers’s position,” Anderson continued. “After all, it will be necessary to sell our plans to a skeptical public. It might be political suicide to propose fertility incentives. But we can debate the specifics later. Right now we need to decide whether we consider this idea a big-boulder option for further exploration.”

  “Then I’ll state my first proposal plainly.” Kevin quickly retook the floor. “I want to re-incentivize growth by granting one elder-care tax exemption for each minor dependent in a household. We project a slight dip in net revenue for four years followed by offsetting growth thereafter. No net increase to the ten-year deficit projection.”

  “And Proposal B?” Anderson asked, prompting Kevin to highlight his second bullet: