Luckily for me, talking was allowed. Rachel set the tone by focusing the attention on Cheryl and me.
“What did you think of the Living Peace class?”
“I thought Dr. Abe was wonderful,” Cheryl said, smiling for the first time that evening. “He really made me think, you know? I’ve been so focused on my own problems that I haven’t been paying attention to what’s really important.”
“Satan delights in selfish behavior. He’s very good about keeping our focus on ourselves rather than on the spiritual warfare that is going on all around us. Of course, it helps to have friends who are aware of these dangers.”
It felt weird to be talking about Satan at the supper table. Or anywhere, for that matter. I couldn’t even watch The Exorcist without getting a serious case of the spooks. Dropping the Prince of Darkness into casual conversation was a new thing for me.
However, I wasn’t so spooked that I didn’t notice Rachel’s implication that Cheryl’s concerns were both selfish and naive and was also coupled with an appeal to align with the group for Cheryl’s own good. Very smooth.
“What kind of problems are you having, Cheryl?” I said.
A natural response to Cheryl’s concerns. Right? Was it my fault it pulled attention away from Rachel’s agenda?
“How much time do you have?” Cheryl fake laughed. “I guess the worst thing right now has been losing my job. Now I’m being evicted too. I’m probably going to end up moving back to Ohio to live with my mom.”
A speculative look passed from Rachel to Myrtle. Rachel nodded.
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Myrtle said to Cheryl. “If you would have come to us even a week from now, we wouldn’t be able to help you.”
“Help me?” Cheryl asked.
I was more interested in “a week from now.”
“Our church is economizing a bit,” Rachel said. “Father Abraham is temporarily closing Corinth House. It will save a great deal on heating costs. Those who are currently living here are moving with us to the Elect’s main campus.”
“How can that help me?” Cheryl pursued.
This time Myrtle, at the other end of the table, answered. Cheryl’s head was swiveling back and forth like we were at a tennis match.
“We have a great deal of room there. The best part is Dr. Abe would personally instruct you, as he does all of us. We really benefit from being a part of a loving community of believers. And the other thing is our church is involved in several commercial ventures, so there would be a way for you to earn your own way. If you’re interested, we would welcome you to join us.”
“After all,” Rachel added. “We wouldn’t want to abandon you so early in your search.”
I noticed the women had slipped into calling the church leader Father or Father Abraham, instead of Dr. Abe.
Cheryl sat in stunned silence as the invitation sank in. The group beamed at her, their new best friend. So why hadn’t they asked me, too? It was too late for me to pull out a no-job-and-I’m-evicted story, so I went the whiny, nobody-loves-me route.
Lurching up from my chair, I covered my face with my napkin, let out a sob, and stumbled from the room. I didn’t run fast though. No use playing too hard to get.
Rachel caught up with me on the front porch. We sat on the stoop, and I let myself sink into a panic attack. Not difficult. I was always one short gasp away from an episode anyway, and the tension of the night was a perfect catalyst. Rachel waited quietly, responding in much the same way as she had at the meeting—calm, gentle, caring.
I sat through the heart-thumping, sweating, shaking, suffocating-dizziness cycle, but instead of feeling embarrassed, I was kind of tickled with myself. I didn’t suppose it could be called improvisation since technically I was equipped with a built-in freak-out mechanism, but it was definitely Academy Award stuff. Tracy was right; I could use this to my advantage.
After a few minutes, I pulled myself together and smiled gratefully at Rachel. She returned the smile and rubbed my back.
“What just happened?” she asked.
“I feel so stupid. I’m not sure what happened. I guess… when I heard everyone asking Cheryl to join the church…” I let my voice trail off.
Rachel went where I had led. “You felt left out?”
“I guess,” I admitted, ducking my head as if ashamed. Okay, not as much Academy Award potential here, but I lost my panic prop. Luckily, Rachel was so focused on closing the deal that she didn’t pick up on it. The church was getting two for the price of one tonight.
“Letty, you don’t have to be embarrassed. That’s the beauty of the Elect. Father recognizes that everyone has weaknesses. If you’re looking for a place to belong, we would be honored to help you.”
“But if you’re closing up Corinth House, how will we stay in touch? Where exactly is the main campus, anyway?”
“You have a couple of choices. For one, you can continue coming to our lecture series. I would be able to meet with you there. Or, if you’re ready to make a real difference in your life, there are other steps you can take.”
She smoothly evaded the second of my questions.
“Like… moving in with the Elect?” I said.
“Yes. That would take a fuller commitment, both to the church and to Fa— Dr. Abe.”
“I don’t know.” I made a show of hesitating. “That seems kind of hasty.”
I didn’t want to seem too eager; Cheryl was eager enough for the both of us. And would an insecure fraidycat just up and agree to dump everything and move in with these people?
“You’re right,” Rachel said. “It is a big commitment. I’m glad you understand that. In fact, it’s probably the biggest decision you’ll make in your life. It takes a certain kind of person, really. You have to be ready. But I think you are, Letty. I think you would benefit a lot from the safety and security of a strong community of believers.” She hit on my vulnerabilities, real and supposed, with dead-on aim. This was exactly what would attract me to a religious group. I smiled wistfully at her.
“It sounds so wonderful,” I said. “I have to think about it.”
“Go ahead and take your time, Letty. Father is closing up Corinth House at the end of this coming week, but there’s no hurry for you to decide. Like I said, you can always find me at one of the lectures.”
“Or I could call you?” I asked.
“You could leave a message for me on the phone here at Corinth, but only until this Thursday. After that, you’d have to contact me through the meetings. If I’m not there, you could send a note with one of the others.”
When we rejoined the others at the table, I saw Rachel shoot Myrtle a “look.” While we had been out on the porch, Cheryl had ditched her shy wallflower mannerisms and had become nearly manic with excitement. She giggled at odd moments. Surprisingly, she asked very few questions about her prospective new home. The ones she did ask were answered briefly with coy glances between her and the group’s members, and then the subject quickly changed. It dawned on me that since I hadn’t fully committed, she had been told to keep quiet about certain things in front of me. Pretty smart. It immediately created an “us vs. them” mentality in Cheryl and had the potential to play on my jealousy and insecurities.
One thing stood out. No one in the group was about to give up the community’s main address or even a phone number, and they were very skilled at deflecting requests for them. If I was going to find Beth, I would need to commit myself to this venture completely. No turning back.
Chapter Eight
Exhausted beyond reason by the time I made it home, I threw myself down on my bed, burying my face in the quilt. I needed to get up and make notes of the whole episode so I wouldn’t forget anything when I met with Tracy. And I was going to do that. Right away.
I slept hard until eleven-thirty on Sunday morning. I woke fully dressed, smelling more than a little rank, with a neck that blazed with pain whenever I turned to the left. Left was bad. I took a hot shower and tried
to massage my own neck, but what good is that? I needed somebody else, and my official somebody else hadn’t returned my calls in three days. Also not good. I had already left two messages and decided that calling a third time would look desperate. Would be desperate. He had been in contact with Jimmy. There was no reason why he couldn’t have called me. Except that he had chosen not to.
I pushed the fear of losing Eli into a big box labeled PAIN in my mind and focused on making a plan.
The biggest issue to deal with was taking a leave of absence from my job. Not an easy task, since psychotherapists weren’t quickly replaceable. I didn’t have a lot of time. More big guilt. More being pulled in two directions. If I was looking to make a move to the Elect, I had to face that I was letting people down who had placed their trust in me. Vulnerable people.
I would have to talk to my supervisor first thing in the morning. I needed a lie. A big one. One that would cover the abruptness of my departure, even if it didn’t excuse it. Mulling over several possibilities, I settled on the old standby: a death in the family. Preferably my mom’s, which might be the only upside to the whole venture. Unless she ever heard about her “untimely demise,” in which case she might recognize my killing her off as an exercise in wish fulfillment. She could be touchy about things like that.
I made a list of my clients and spent a good chunk of the day deciding which colleague each individual might best be paired with in my absence. At the end, I was left with three clients whom I didn’t feel comfortable referring in-house. Tracy might be a good match. I would make sure they had her name and number before I left.
The rest of the week was spent avoiding thoughts of Eli and making arrangements for putting my life on hold for an indefinite period of time. I met with Tracy again. I cleaned. I did the laundry. Packed. Read the Bible and the research books. Tried to reconcile myself and my clients with my abrupt departure.
I spent a lot of energy avoiding my boss too. Even while she commiserated with me on my “loss,” she let me know what a disservice I was doing to the clinic and my clients. Not much I could say. She was right.
One of my bigger problems was solved when I met again with Jimmy. He agreed to act as power of attorney over my finances. Not that he would have a lot to manage. His main responsibility would be depleting my savings to pay bills and keep my creditors at bay.
I refused to think of my savings. I had never saved during my drinking years, financial responsibility not taking priority over getting high. Every little bit that I could squirrel away put more distance between me and my past. I could only hope that it would last until I could get back to my real life. I wanted Eli to take over in that area, but he continued to avoid me.
I also wanted to see if he’d watch Siggy. I ended up calling Paul, an A.A. buddy whose recent and entirely unexpected romance had left him so twitterpated that I had been afraid that he would forget about Siggy altogether. I should have known better. Paul turned out to be a “cat person,” whose love of all things feline bordered on idiocy. Siggy would have to put up with baby talk and nose kisses, but Paul would be most diligent about attended to Sig’s needs.
I met with Tracy on Tuesday afternoon before attending another Peace lecture later that evening. Rachel told me Corinth House was closing for sure on Thursday, but if I needed more time to prepare for the move, we could arrange a pickup date at a later time. Still no hint of the location. I fought to project an aura of dewy pink trustworthiness, difficult to do since every cell in my body was frothing in panic and leaking my own special brand of terror from my sweat glands.
I suggested Monday.
Choosing a pickup spot proved difficult, too. For some unspoken reason, Rachel balked at setting the rendezvous outside Corinth House. Evading an explanation, she suggested they pick me up at my place.
Not good. I didn’t want them anywhere near my private life. After deft maneuvering on both our parts, we finally settled on the Wal-Mart parking lot at two p.m. Monday.
No sooner had we agreed on the arrangements when Doctor/Father Abe/Abraham took his place at the podium. Although he didn’t look directly at Rachel and me, a palpable beam of displeasure sliced through the room at us, the only ones not seated or waiting for his grand entrance in an attitude of submissive reflection.
In a grotesque parody of musical chairs, I flung myself into the closest metal chair forcing Rachel to clamber over my legs to grab a seat. Wrenching my head down in obeisance, I peeked sideways at her mortified expression. She jettisoned all dignity in the wild scramble and flashed the crowd a good bit of bare leg to boot. I fought against a fit of high-schoolish giggling until the realness of her distress registered. Ragged breathing, face as red as a baboon’s butt, and white-knuckled hands clutching each other in her lap told me there was more going on here than I understood.
Even after Father performed the ceremonial greeting, Rachel kept her eyes downcast. Periodically as he spoke, Father would lazily sweep his eyes across her figure. Each time, she tensed. Except for those periodic flinches, for the two hours, her only movement was the shallow rise and fall of her breath.
Tracy had warned me that followers are often seduced into giving up property and possessions, so I left my car at Jimmy’s for safekeeping. The only other precious thing I possessed was currently getting his chin tickled and feasting on “real” canned salmon.
On Monday, Jimmy dropped me off at Wal-Mart. We argued on the way over. A scared man is an angry man, and Jimmy, regardless of his usual urbane personality, was scared.
“I don’t like it. We just keep feeding people to this church and they don’t come back out. Didn’t A.A. teach you about insanity? It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. That’s what you’re doing.”
“Don’t quote A.A. at me, Jimmy.”
He subsided into a troubled silence. I understood his conflict. Originally, in his fear and anger over Beth’s safety, he had pushed for my involvement. Now he was caught between his fear for his wife and his guilt over sending me into the same unknown danger.
“I’ll find some way of getting a message to you,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot. “The cult connects to the real world somehow, even if it’s just buying food at a grocery store or something.”
“I’m sure that’s what Beth thought,” Jimmy said, wearing a troubled expression and a custom-made business suit that would’ve covered my mortgage payment for a month. Maybe two.
I got out and stood on the sidewalk next to my stack of belongings, bending down to say good-bye to Jimmy through the window.
“Letty, are you sure about this?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Tell Beth… Just tell her…” His lip quivered.
I reached in and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll tell her. Now, you better get going. I don’t want any questions about why I’m getting dropped off by a handsome banker in a BMW.”
Jimmy smiled wanly at my weak attempt at humor, looking as if he had five hundred different things he wanted to say. Whatever they were, he swallowed them down and drove off.
I watched the car disappear down the street before dragging my jumble of suitcases over to a metal bench tucked along the cinder-block wall of the store. The air had a thin end-of-October crispness to it, making me shiver in my jean jacket. The sky hung gray, threatening snow, although it was early for it. I tucked my hands between my knees and hoped it would be a short wait.
Perching with my butt on the backrest, feet on the seat, gave me a bird’s-eye view of the parking lot, but drew attention as well. Shoppers heading into the store glanced curiously at me and my haphazard nest of belongings. Not a common sight in small-town Wisconsin. When we made eye contact, folks would smile slightly, and we would share a friendly “howdy” nod. Most looked puzzled, obviously trying to work out how I could possibly have misplaced my U-haul, but were too polite to comment.
After a half hour of chilly breezes blowing up my skirt, my legs were chicken-fleshed and m
y butt numb. A beat-up blue van that looked like it could comfortably seat four soccer teams and their moms shuddered to a stop in the fire lane in front of me. The driver stepped out, smiling. He was tall and rangy with thick, dark hair and a clipped beard. Easter play directors would cast him as Jesus—probably a handy image in a cult—but he looked more like a cowboy. A sexy cowboy.
Still in the van, Rachel thrashed in a wicked battle with the unyielding passenger-side door. I could hear her thumping and kicking from inside. But Cowboy, intent on introductions, ignored the uproar.
“Maranatha,” he said. “Are you Betty?”
“Letty,” I corrected him. “Is, um, Rachel okay?”
He turned as if realizing his companion’s predicament for the first time. “Oh, hey. Sorry about that.” He hauled the door open with a wrenching creak, and Rachel lurched to the pavement. Her brief struggle for self-control gave her a constipated look, but she erased the irritated expression from her face with an effort.
Cowboy and I shook hands, and I learned his name. Justus’s hand felt like he had been holding it against the van’s heater the whole way here. His delft-blue eyes splashed color over the dreary day. I stood too long staring at them, causing a knowing grin to flash across his face. Oh, boy.
Like me, Rachel was in a calf-length skirt, which snapped around her legs. The dropping temperature spurred us into action. As we slung my bags into the back of the van, I noticed a sticker fixed to the rusty bumper that warned “In Case Of Rapture, This Car Will Be Unmanned.”
Well, there’s a cheery thought.
After making such a mystery of the group’s location, I half expected to be blindfolded. Instead, we headed north up Highway 53 and then northeast for another hour. It was a depressing ride. The beautiful autumn color had been leached from the trees, leaving the dullness of browns and tans to muddy the landscape.
The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (A Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mystery Book 4) Page 6
