by Ted Dekker
“And you have no right to assume that just because it is I who speak the truth, it is also I who make that truth. I can’t change the fact that you were at the village when my daughter was killed, no more than I can change the fact that it was you who showed up on my doorstep yesterday with a stray girl who was in desperate need. So I’m simply telling you, we all know about the love of Nadia—the whole world knows about the love of Nadia; you have written of it well. But what about the love of Jan?”
He wanted to tear into her; to tell her to hold her tongue. She was consumed with this resurgent focus on love. And now, because he’d made the mistake of bringing Helen to her, she had in her hands a tangible example of that love. He collapsed on the overstuffed chair and stared out at the swimming pool without seeing it. “You think that lowly of my capacity to love?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I think, Janjic. I’m simply struck by a deep desire to help Helen. Because she reminds me of Nadia? Perhaps. Because we spent a day and a night together and I grew to like the child? Yes. But also because she’s desperate for love, yet she does not even know it. What good is our love if we do not use it?”
She was right. So very right! This wasn’t some vagrant who’d waltzed across his doorstep. Helen was a woman; a grown Nadia, suffering and lost.
Ivena spoke quietly now. “You felt something, Janjic. Both times in my house with her you felt some things. Tell me what you saw.”
The request took him off balance. Thinking of it now, his objections over the past hours seemed absurd. He had felt God’s heart for Helen, hadn’t he? And if Ivena knew how clearly . . .
He sighed. “I told you, it was strange.”
“Yes, you did. So then, tell me what strange looks like.”
“Sorrow. I looked at her and I felt the pain of sorrow. And I heard crying. White light and weeping.” Yes indeed, she would tell him straight now. And he deserved it. He shook his head. “It was so vivid at the time. Goodness.”
They sat in silence for a moment. “So, you feel this breath of God on your heart and still you argue with me about whether Helen needs our help?”
He closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, she was right about that too, wasn’t she? And yet he didn’t necessarily want to feel the breath of God when it came to Helen.
“Why do you resist?” she asked.
“Maybe the idea of playing nursemaid to this street girl scares me.”
“Scares you? And what you saw in her presence does not scare you?”
“Yes, Ivena. It all scares me! I’m not saying it’s right, I’m simply telling you how I feel. I have a full plate already and I don’t need a tramp camping out on my doorstep right now. I have a trip to New York in a couple days, I have wedding details to work out with Karen; I have the movie—”
“Oh yes, the movie. I had forgotten. How silly of me! You have a movie to make about what love really looks like. God forbid you take time out to try loving a poor soul yourself.”
She is right, you know.
“Ivena!”
“No, you are right. It all makes perfect sense now. Christ has already died for the world’s pain; there is no need for the rest of us to suffer unduly. A small girl here, perhaps. A priest there. But certainly not we who live in our fancy palaces here in God’s backyard.”
She is right! She is so right.
“Ivena, stop it!”
They sat in silence again. It was a thing with them; they either spoke with meaning or they did not speak.
“You know, Janjic, there are very few who have witnessed the unconditional love Father Micheal taught in the years before his death. He spoke of it often, about the hope of glory as if it were a thing he could actually taste.” She smiled reflectively. “He would speak and we would listen, imagining what it would be like, wanting to go there. American Christians may not have hope for anything beyond what they can put their fingers around in this life, but we hoped for the afterlife, I tell you. ‘When you have a desperate love for God,’ Father Micheal would say, ‘the comforts of this world feel like paper flowers. They are easily put aside. If you really have God’s love.’” She paused. “Have you thought about our discussion the other day, Janjic?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I have.”
“Perhaps God brings people like young Helen into our lives to teach us something of his love.”
Jan leaned back and closed his eyes. “You’re right.” He rubbed his face with his hands. How could he have been so callous? Has my heart grown so callous? God, have mercy on me. “I had the dream again last night. Same thing. If you’re right and the dream’s somehow of God, I wouldn’t be upset if he would speed up his clock just a little.”
But Ivena wasn’t listening. “Father Micheal taught Nadia well, you know,” Ivena said, her voice distant. “Sometimes I think he taught her too well.”
Her mouth quivered to a frown despite her best efforts to stay strong. He slipped from his chair and knelt beside her. She began to cry and he placed his arm around her shoulders. “No, Ivena. Not too well.”
It happened very rarely, this free flow of sorrows, and neither tried to stop it. Tears slid from Ivena’s clenched eyes and quickly ran in streams. Jan pulled her to his chest and let her cry, choking on his own emotion. “Shhh, it’s okay. She waits for you, Ivena,” he said. “Shhhh.”
For several long minutes they held each other like that and then Jan brought her a drink of water and sat in his own seat again. She sniffed and commented about how soft she was getting in her old age and he insisted that her tender heart had nothing to do with age.
“So then,” he said after some time. “If it’s true that God has brought Helen into our lives to teach us of his love, who’s taken her out of our lives?”
“She has taken herself out,” Ivena responded.
“And how do you propose we find her?”
“We don’t. If it is indeed God’s will, he will lead her back to us.”
Jan nodded. “You know, for all of my complaining about her, I must say that I did enjoy her company. She was something, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. Just watch yourself, my young Serb. You are, after all, engaged to be married.”
Jan blushed. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“If I suspected a pitter in your heart, do you think she did not?”
“Please. Not everyone’s as thorough a romantic as you!”
“Me? A romantic? Ha! Not too many would accuse me of that.”
“That’s because few know you as well as I, dear.”
“I’m not judging, Janjic. I’m only telling you what I see.”
“And maybe it’s why I’m not so eager to have Helen walk back into our lives,” he said plainly. “I’m at a delicate stage of my life, you know. I have responsibilities; I have a ministry; I’m going to be married. All of this love talk is making me dizzy.”
“Never mind the responsibilities Roald and the other church leaders place on you. Just guard your love for Christ and your other affections will follow.”
He nodded. “You’re truly a romantic at heart, aren’t you, Ivena? All this talk of love is your cup of tea.”
“And yours, my dear. And yours.”
JAN PARKED the Cadillac and rode the elevator to the eighth floor at nine the following morning. He was back in crisp form—a starched white shirt, trim black slacks, and a narrow black satin tie.
Nicki chirped a bright-eyed Good morning! and brought him coffee. He should get his own coffee, he thought. Drive his own car, get his own coffee, and love as Christ had loved. What would Karen say to that?
Karen came in half an hour later, wearing a bright blue dress and a brilliant smile. “Good morning, Jan.” She leaned against his doorframe and folded her arms. “You sleep well?”
“I slept well.” The glint in her eyes brought a surge of adrenaline to his blood.
“Good. I did too. So, I hear you’re driving yourself these days.”
“Yes.”
“You
really think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes.”
She nodded and smiled. “Okay.” But he knew she didn’t really mean okay.
They held each other’s gaze for a full second before she slipped out of his sight toward her own office.
What was it with the heart? What madness that a simple look from a woman could prove so distracting? Jan cleared his throat. He had a decent stack of calls to return, but suddenly the thought of making them seemed so utterly mundane that he pushed them aside and stood from the desk. He could return to them later. He needed to talk to Karen.
Jan walked into her office and sat across from her.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Well now. What’s on your mind?”
That feeling swept through him again. A few words from her and his stomach was floating. “So, we leave for New York tomorrow. Everything’s set?”
“It’s all set up. But you know that from our meeting yesterday.”
“Yes. I also know that with you things happen so quickly that I can’t rest on yesterday’s news,” he said with a gentle smile.
“Nothing has changed. We fly at nine, meet Roald in New York at one, and sign the deal the following day. God willing.”
“Yes, God willing.”
They talked then of details already covered, but worth another pass considering the gravity of the deal they were about to sign. They also talked wedding plans. It would be a Christmas wedding—they had decided that much last night. A big wedding with a thousand guests. She would plan it, of course. She’d been born to plan this wedding. It would have to be in a park—a Southern belle affair—with enough glamour to attract national coverage. She thought she might be able to talk Billy Graham into doing the honors.
Jan finally excused himself to make some calls, he said. By the stack of messages on her own desk, Karen needed to make many more calls than he.
She came into his office late morning with some updates. Delmont Pictures was definitely on track, she said. They wanted to launch a fresh round of book interviews within the month, with a broader audience.
“So how does it feel, Jan?” Karen asked with a smile.
“How does what feel?”
“Please, don’t pretend you don’t know. You’re going to become a star, my dearest.”
He grinned slightly. “Oh? And here I thought I was already a star.”
“Not like this, you aren’t. Strap in, Jan, because you’re going to be a household name. Just don’t forget that your lovely wife played a part in it when they’re scrambling for your autograph.”
He laughed. “Ha! My autograph? Never. Even if they wanted it, I would have to sign Father Micheal’s name. Or Nadia’s.”
“Hmmm,” she said. “You’ll see. We’re entering brand-new territory here. I don’t think you have a clue.”
“Maybe. But we can never forget the price paid.”
And paid for what, Jan? Your wealth and honor?
He looked away from her, sobered by the thought.
“What is it, Jan?”
“Do you ever wonder if the story has changed people, Karen? I mean really changed them?”
“Of course it has! Don’t be ridiculous, it’s changed thousands of lives.”
“And how?”
She paused. “Jan, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s the prerogative of every artist to want to know that his work has somehow made a difference in the world. But believe me, your work, like none other I’ve known, has made an impact on the hearts of men. I came here because I believed in the book, and I’ve known from the beginning that it was the right choice.”
He nodded. “Yes. And I’m not saying you’re wrong, but tell me how it has changed a man’s heart. Tell me about one man.”
Karen eased around the desk and sat in the guest chair next to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jan, look at me.”
He did and her eyes were round and gentle.
She lifted a finger to his cheek and stroked it very lightly. “You have no reason to feel this way,” she said. “We’re impacting hundreds of thousands with this ministry. You can’t reach into the hearts of men and personally change them, but you can tell them the truth. And you have. You’ve done it well. And trust me, Jan, the movie will do even more.”
What part was she playing now? The comforting agent, talking to her client, protecting her investment? Or the loving fiancée? Perhaps both. Yes, both. But why did he even question her motives?
“Look at me,” she said. “I had no intention of loving God before meeting you. You think I haven’t changed?” She smiled and winked. “And it’s touched my heart in other ways as well.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. It’s not every day you’ll find my hand on a man’s cheek.”
His face grew red beneath her touch—he couldn’t see it, but he could feel the heat sweep over his skin. He lifted his hand and took hers. “And it’s not every day that you’ll find me holding such a delicate hand as yours.”
She blushed pink. They sat silenced by their own admissions for a moment.
“And you . . . we can’t forget you, Jan. The story has transformed your life.”
“Has it?” he asked. “I wonder at times if my love for myself isn’t greater than my love for others.” He paused and shifted his gaze to the far window facing a blue sky. “Just two days ago, for example, I met this woman . . . a tramp really. A junkie. Her name was Helen.” The memory of the vision he’d had at her touch suddenly skipped through his mind. Choose your words carefully, Janjic.
“Yes?”
Jan told Karen about rescuing Helen and taking her to Ivena’s. And then he told her about how she’d disappeared. He left out the strange emotions he’d felt in her presence, but explained his fear of caring for such a wayward soul. How it might taint his perfect world. Somewhere in there Karen removed her hand from his and sat back to listen.
“So you see, if I’ve changed so much, why does the thought of showing compassion to this simple desperate girl scare me? Even repel me?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” It struck him that her tone was not completely friendly.
“I’m not talking about any kind of romantic attraction, Karen. Helen’s a poor lost soul. What would Father Micheal say? He would say that I should give her what is mine. That if she asked for my shirt, I should give her my coat as well. That if she wanted a lift for one mile, I should offer to take her two.”
“Yes, he might. And you’ve done that, haven’t you? A thousand dollars of clothes? What did the woman think she needed?”
“Well, that was actually Ivena’s doing. They had differing ideas of what to buy so they evidently bought everything, just to be sure.”
Ordinarily Karen would have laughed, but now she only smiled, and thinly at that. “So then you’ve done what you should have and she’s gone. If you’re concerned about not doing enough, I would think you’re going a bit far.” She said it and waited a moment before adding, “Don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” He nodded. Karen seemed impatient with the conversation and he could see that she wasn’t the one to discuss Helen with. “Yes, you may be right.” He smiled and turned the discussion to the coming trip. It took Karen a few minutes but she seemed to forget about Helen, and after a few minutes the twinkle in her eye returned.
Or so Jan thought, until he stood to leave for the night.
“Jan.”
He turned back. “Yes?”
She stood and put her hand on his arm. “I think you were right about Helen. Okay? It’s easy to lose sight of what love means these days, but I didn’t mean to discourage you.”
“No, and you didn’t. But thank you, Karen. Thank you.”
“So then, New York tomorrow?”
He lifted her hand and kissed it gently. “New York tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GLENN LUTZ was back in his game. He conducted business over lunch—a shipment of hash from Jamaica—and by his rough count, the deal
would put over five hundred thousand dollars in his bank over the next month. He would have to shove that morsel up Beatrice’s nose.
The limousine took him back to the Twin Towers where he took the elevator up to his perch atop the East Tower. Memories of his reunion with Helen brought a smirk to his face. They were made for each other, he thought. Carved from the same stone as children and presented to each other only now, when they were old enough to play properly. Helen had gone sky-high last night and he’d joined her there. He had left her at two in the morning, curled semicomatose on the bed, gone to the house, showered, and regained his desire for her.
It had been a good morning, he thought. Everything was back in its place. He’d even seen the wife and kids, although he hadn’t spoken to the kids—they were off to school by the time he emerged from the shower. His wife on the other hand had sulked about the kitchen, asking every question except the one he knew blared in her mind: Where have you been for the past three days, Glenn?
Never mind where I’ve been, meat brains. I own this house, don’t I? Mind your own business or you’ll be out on the street before you have the time to blink. And your kids with you. She was really no longer much of a wife anyway. A live-in mother, taken care of nicely enough, and they both knew it.
He spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on phone calls, slowly building an appetite for the woman. It wasn’t the same kind of desire as when she left him—no, nothing could be so strong. It was a desire that came and went with the day’s passing and now it was coming.
Glenn left his empty, mirrored office at six o’clock and entered the enclosed walkway that spanned the eighty-foot gap to the West Tower. Only he used the private passage. It was one of the Tower’s features that had attracted him in the first place. He did not own the entire building, but he did own a twenty-year lease on the stories that mattered, including the walkway that conveniently separated his two lives.
He entered the Palace. “Helen?” The room lay in the dim late-day light. “Helen?” She was here, of course. He had called just an hour ago, received no answer, and sent Beatrice in to check. She had come back to the phone and informed him that she was still sprawled on the bed, dead to the world.
