Fatherless: A Novel

by Dobson, James

  “He knows.”

  “Then there’s only one explanation,” Troy suggested. “He’s testing your loyalty.”

  “I considered that, which puts me in a difficult spot. If I hold my nose to support Franklin’s full plan it could open doors for greater influence. Doors, as you suggested, God himself may be opening for reasons I don’t yet understand.”

  Kevin recognized a series of faint taps on the other end of the line, indicating Troy’s habit of drumming with a pencil when untangling a thorny issue.

  “Listen, Kevin. Someone has to write Franklin’s plan, right?”

  “Yes, Troy. Someone has to write the plan. What’s your point?”

  “You, unlike anyone else I can think of, would craft language that could shift the debate slightly in our direction.”

  “If I accept the assignment, I suppose I could try.”

  “And someone has to present Franklin’s plan, right?”

  “Or Franklin could present it himself.”

  “If it’s you the Bright Spots proposal would get the emphasis it deserves. I don’t know for sure, Kevin, but I think saying yes to this offer could be the lesser evil. It might be a detour that lets you do more good than would be possible on the main path.”

  “Or it could lead to places I don’t want to go,” Kevin said hesitantly.

  Troy waited, sensing there was more.

  “After Dimitri excused himself from the lunch Franklin asked me to stay for a few more minutes. I figured he sensed my hesitation and wanted to close the deal.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he had given serious thought to my original proposal and understood that I might be uncomfortable advocating certain elements of his plan. So he asked me to think through language that would appear to restrict practices like the one that led to the NEXT lawsuit.”

  “That could be good,” Troy interjected.

  “I thought so too, until he explained the idea. He suggested requiring something called neutral consent confirmation for every transition volunteer in lieu of my proposal that all moneys go to charity.”

  “Meaning?”

  “In his words, we would protect potentially vulnerable volunteers from undue pressure from greedy family members trying to preserve an inheritance.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Troy said.

  “So did I, at first. Current policy asks clinics to recommend discussing the decision with a loved one. The revised policy would require every transition volunteer to find a neutral party willing to confirm that the person has made the decision while of sound mind and with no undue pressure.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “The definition of neutral party, for starters. Anyone with a relational attachment or religious bias would be considered partial so wouldn’t qualify.”

  Kevin heard a low groan coming from Troy.

  “So a wife who disagrees with her husband’s decision wouldn’t qualify as neutral?”

  “As I understand it.”

  “An adult child with a deep emotional bond or a sibling who considers suicide against their religion?”

  “Both biased. Neither neutral enough for consent or opposition.”

  “Oh.”

  “I guess NEXT has already started implementing a similar policy. Franklin envisions a network of detached professionals willing to review case after case like a bunch of auditors proofing spreadsheets. He sees the requirement creating additional jobs.”

  Troy considered the implications. “All that would do is protect a few sloppy transition clinics from costly lawsuits. ‘Don’t blame us! We have signed neutral consent forms right here!’”

  “Exactly,” Kevin confirmed. “I have a feeling that’s what Franklin wants. Or should I say what Evan Dimitri expects.”

  A long silence as both men considered options.

  “So what are you gonna do?”

  “I’m still not sure. We need to pray for wisdom.”

  “Have been.”

  “I think I’m going to head home. I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”

  “See you then,” Troy replied. “Oh, and don’t forget, Julia Davidson is scheduled to interview you at nine thirty.”

  The reminder prompted a moan. He had completely forgotten about his obligation to walk the plank.

  “Do you want me to reschedule her?”

  Kevin remembered his agreement. Julia had promised to let him present his concept to nine million readers in his own words.

  “No.” His voice lifted, an idea forming in his mind. “I’ll do it.”

  As soon as he ended the call with Troy, Kevin dialed the number of Dr. Bryce Richert.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Before Julia could reach for the passenger-side handle Troy bounced around her petite frame to do the honors. “Allow me.”

  She didn’t chafe at the offer, to her own surprise. Julia had always resented men who treated women as helpless creatures, whether offering to stow her baggage on a plane or hold the door for her when entering a building. Rather than fragile, however, Troy’s offer made her feel treasured.

  An involuntary smile lifted her voice. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

  Troy eased the door closed after watching her legs safely clear. Julia rolled her eyes at herself. Thank you, kind sir? Good grief!

  Pretending to check her makeup in the visor mirror, Julia watched Troy walk around the back of the automobile. He seemed to move slowly, as if using the few moments to shore up his wavering confidence. She did the same, wondering why she had changed her mind and accepted Troy’s invitation to breakfast.

  I had another nightmare about descending into hell. A truth she didn’t want to share.

  My flight got in very late last night. A lie too easily exposed.

  I should prepare for my interview with Kevin.

  I need the time for research.

  Each a legitimate-sounding excuse, none of which she had used.

  “I’d like that.” The words had escaped before she could stop them.

  Troy closed his own door almost as cautiously as he had Julia’s.

  “You look lovely.” It sounded more like a question than flattery, as if he had run out of time while debating what to say next. A good choice, the compliment confirming that it had been a good idea to wear her hair down. Up would have given her more authority during the interview. Down matched the look Troy had seemed to admire the day they met at Angie’s church. “I like your hair like that.”

  She was glad he couldn’t see her smile, his eyes fixed on the driver-side mirror, watching for an opening in traffic that would let them pull away from the hotel curb.

  Julia noticed that Troy was wearing the same dark suit, white dress shirt, and tie she recalled from the day they had strolled through the Botanic Garden. On second glance, the stripes on his tie might have been a different shade of blue. But the effect remained the same, that of a plain-vanilla congressional staffer too focused on an endless list of tasks to worry about wardrobe variety. A simple haircut, clean-shaven chin, and non-sporty car rounded out the package. Troy Simmons was a man every bit as loyal to his rut as he was to his best-friend-turned-boss.

  She thought of the contrast between Troy and the string of dates Maria had arranged for her. Like the mythic Narcissus, they loved their own reflections. They worked hard shunning the stabilizing habits and settled patterns that define mature masculinity. They insisted on wearing the latest styles to impress the latest lady willing to accommodate the hollow policies of a town she had labeled Guyland: no demands on their time, no limitations in the bedroom, and definitely no babies in the future. Boys eluding the very burdens of fidelity Troy seemed eager to assume.

  “Have you seen Angie?” he asked while nosing the car into westbound traffic.

  The question caught Julia off guard. “Not this trip.” She hadn’t even bothered to tell Angie she was in town. How could she forget that Kevin would mention it? “I wanted to have lu
nch with her but need to rush to the airport after the interview.”

  “I guess she’s sick.”

  “Sick? Anything serious?” She felt even more guilty.

  “Nah. Kevin called me a few minutes ago. Said she was feeling a bit nauseated so he needed to get Leah settled before heading to the office. He didn’t sound concerned.”

  “Will that delay our interview?” She looked toward the clock on the dash and counted backward from her scheduled departure time.

  “Nope. He’ll be in at nine thirty sharp.”

  A bullet dodged, Julia told herself to relax and try enjoying Troy’s company. As long as she got a few on-the-record comments from Kevin before her flight she could meet the commitment to send her finished story to Paul by the end of the day.

  “Angie’s a trooper,” he continued. “Tough as nails yet soft as a feather.”

  The esteem in Troy’s voice sounded like that of a schoolboy with a crush on a first-grade teacher, a platonic infatuation with the woman who could gently entice boys away from childish frivolity toward classroom industry. Julia felt a tinge of wholesome envy, jealous of Angie’s influence rather than Troy’s admiration.

  “I know what you mean,” she admitted.

  A slight drizzle peppered the windshield as they approached the fuzzy glow of countless taillights ahead.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Troy complained as he glanced at the clock. “We might need to abandon Plan A.”

  “Plan A?” she wondered aloud.

  “I wanted to take you to this historic bakery across town called Heller’s. Ever been there?”

  She hadn’t.

  “Best doughnuts east of anywhere!”

  Dull wardrobe, simple haircut, boring car, and a doughnut shop to impress his date, Julia thought with a grin.

  “Doughnuts?”

  “Not just any doughnuts!” he countered. “Heller’s doughnuts. Great bakery with a great ambiance. The place was established back in 1922 when Roosevelt was president.”

  “Warren Harding was president in 1922.” Her smile brightened further, which seemed to have a settling effect on Troy.

  “Harding? Are you sure?”

  “Fairly.”

  “No matter. I’m sticking with FDR. Gives the doughnuts a more significant flavor.”

  They laughed as he flipped on his right-turn blinker.

  “So what’s Plan B?”

  “A coffeehouse around the corner,” he said in defeated resignation. “I promised you I’d get you to the interview on time, so I’m abandoning what might have been for what needs to be.”

  He turned toward her with a warm smile.

  “OK,” she said. “But I expect a Heller’s doughnut rain check.”

  I can’t believe you just said that!

  “Deal!” A look of ecstatic surprise. “We’ll go all out. Might even order you a jelly-filled!”

  After a five-minute navigation through DC side streets and a hasty trot through the misty rain Julia found herself sitting at a table alone while Troy shrugged apologetically in her direction. He stood at the tail end of a serpentine line of customers waiting to order their morning verve. Troy had insisted she relax by the artificial fireplace while he braved the hazards of the morning rush at Capitol Java Café. It would be several minutes before her valiant prince would arrive with her tea and raspberry scone.

  She tapped her phone to check messages, finding two.

  FROM MARIA DAVIDSON: Hi, Sis! I’m done being mad at you in case you wondered. I need your help. Jared knows about the date with Fin. Don’t know how. He’s gone quiet on me again. Can you give him a call? He might talk to you. Hugs!

  Julia sighed at her sister’s folly, then tapped a quick reply.

  I’ll try calling him from the airport in about four hours if you promise to end it with Fin.

  She hit SEND as she looked back at Troy, whom she caught staring at her. He seemed momentarily embarrassed, leaping forward to close a two-person gap in the line that his inattention had created. Julia beamed at the comically pleasant mishap before returning to her message box.

  CONFIDENTIAL FROM PAUL DAUGHERTY: I’m forwarding the attached, the promised dirt on Kevin Tolbert.

  She scrolled to the bottom of the message. No attachment. Julia typed a quick note.

  Got your message. You forgot to confirm the attachment before sending. Try again.

  She paused, rereading the request she didn’t want to make. Her story was strong and clean. Whatever dirt Paul did or didn’t possess might sully her journalistic reputation, not to mention Troy’s friend’s career.

  “Here we go,” Troy said, placing two mugs and a plate on the table. He seemed impressed with his own balancing acumen.

  She closed her eyes and hit SEND. Decision made, she willed her attention back to her handsome suitor.

  Noticing the look on her face he asked, “Is everything OK?”

  “Fine.” She nodded more vigorously than required. “Just checking messages. Nothing important. This looks yummy!”

  He took his seat while shooting a glance toward the stone-cold fireplace. “Well, it ain’t Heller’s,” he chided. “But as a consolation prize I can guarantee we’ll make it to the office on time for your interview.”

  The ping of a new message invaded the moment as they sipped their drinks.

  Julia ignored the sound uneasily.

  “Do you need to check that?”

  “I’m sure it can wait,” she said, forcing her eyes to remain on his.

  “Go ahead.” He motioned toward the device. “I understand. Trust me, I have my own digital leash to hear and obey!”

  A knowing chuckle shifted her gaze downward.

  FROM MARIA DAVIDSON: Deal! No more Fin. Thanks, Sis!

  Pleased, Julia looked back toward an endearingly patient Troy, who was taking his first bite of a merely adequate doughnut.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” she said.

  He lifted a curious eyebrow, mouth too full for a proper reply.

  “I like the way you talk about Kevin and Angie. You really admire what they have, don’t you?”

  A sip of coffee helped him swallow his mouth clear.

  “More like who they are,” he explained. “I’ve been pretty close to them for a long time, before the kids and the stuff and the accolades. It’s easy to be impressed with either of them separately. But I’m in awe of the two of them together.”

  “I remember you saying that last time we spoke,” she mused. “Tell me more.”

  “I don’t mean to imply they’re perfect. Trust me, I know. I’m the guy who kept a spare pillow and blanket around for the times Kevin was in the doghouse.”

  “He sleeps on your couch?”

  “Not anymore. But he did back when they first got married. They had a few rough spells early on.”

  Julia had never considered what a fight between Angie and Kevin might entail. She had imagined five-minute spats with passionate reunions. Not knock-down drag-outs with overnight exiles.

  “But things calmed down as he got less cocky and she became more confident.”

  “More confident?” she asked with surprise. “The Angie I remember always seemed to be pretty together.”

  “Maybe confident is the wrong word. How about contented? Yeah. That’s what I mean. She seemed to become more secure in Kevin’s love at the same time he became more assured of her support.”

  The word support triggered a slight surge of offense, but Julia dismissed it as she recalled what had attracted Troy to Christianity.

  “Two people trying to out-serve one another. Isn’t that what you said before?”

  “Exactly. Two people helping one another become more like Jesus Christ, who…” He paused, closing his eyes as if searching for a mental script. “Let me see if I can remember the exact words.”

  “To what?”

  “Something Saint Paul wrote,” he said. “‘Let the same mind be in you that is in Christ Jesus, who, be
ing in the form of God made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant.’” A slight pause. “Wait, let me think for a second.”

  She broke off a bit of scone as he assaulted his failing memory.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t recall the rest exactly. But it has something to do with Jesus humbling himself to the point of death on a cross.”

  Julia felt genuinely impressed, both with his recitation and with his seemingly genuine regard for a posture foreign to her world and thinking. “I thought you believed Jesus was God.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why the emphasis on humility? You wouldn’t call God humble.”

  He looked puzzled by the comment. “Of course I would call God humble.”

  “Seriously? But he’s the head honcho, king of the mountain and all that.”

  “Who made himself the lowest of the low.”

  “I don’t understand,” Julia confessed. “How do you reconcile those things?”

  “I can’t reconcile them,” he admitted. “But I’ve seen it in action.”

  “Kevin and Angie?”

  “At times. I feel like I’ve been watching someone paint them into a portrait of a mysterious beauty hanging on a gallery wall. They seem to portray a scene I’ve never witnessed firsthand but that I know has existed or will exist. Maybe both.”

  It was a lovely sentiment Julia wished she could grasp.

  “How they’ve responded to the news about Leah is a great example.” He stopped suddenly, as if he had said something wrong.

  “Leah?” Julia prodded. “Is something wrong with Leah?”

  Troy lowered his head in embarrassed regret. “I’m so sorry. I’m not supposed to say anything. I guess I assumed Angie had told you.”

  “Told me what?” Her mind went back to her first glance at Leah’s picture on the hallway wall and the evening she had watched the children. Something had seemed odd, but she hadn’t been able to put her finger on what it might be.

  He hesitated, appearing to weigh the risks and rewards of spilling the beans. “You need to assure me of complete confidence. Not just off the record for the press. You can’t let on to Kevin or Angie that you know anything.”