Childless: A Novel

by James Dobson

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, forgoing any attempt to mind-read the problem and abandoning the fantasy he had indulged in while showering.

  She waited, the tear on one cheek dripping to the page in her hand, drawing out the moment like a knife sliding slowly across taut skin. Finally she gathered herself enough to speak. “You want to kill my dad?”

  Tyler squinted in confusion. Kill her dad? Why would he want to kill Gerry? Sure, he had flipped Tyler’s life upside down, but any fleeting thoughts of murder were harmless catharsis. Nothing even remotely serious.

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” she said, sitting up more bravely. “You want him dead. Probably both of them. Am I right? And you seriously thought I’d be OK with it? They’re my parents, Ty! My flesh and blood!”

  The final comment came out as a definitive jab. They were her flesh and blood, whereas he…wasn’t. She had put Tyler in his place, and to his surprise, it stung. It was one thing for him to view Renee as expendable, but quite another for her to do the same to him. Out loud.

  “Renee. I don’t know what—”

  “Don’t deny it. I found the evidence in your pants pocket!”

  For the first time Tyler examined the pages scattered about. They were the legal documents and partially filled-in application from New Day Transition Center.

  “No, Renee, you don’t understand!” He took a step forward to defend himself from what, he realized, might be the perfect way to end this relationship. Let her think it. Give her a reason to leave his house. His life.

  No! he thought to his own surprise.

  Renee held up the application, positioning it so Tyler could read it clearly. “What’s not to understand?”

  He wasn’t sure what to say, how to explain it. She didn’t know about the case with Judge Santiago. At least not specifically. He’d mentioned a new opportunity, that he was finally doing some real detective work with a real detective paycheck. But she didn’t know how big it was, nor that it involved the transition industry. He wished now that he’d at least said that much. She would never believe he had just pretended to enroll her father to transition as part of a case.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” he heard himself saying. Great! Now you sound like every one of your clients’ cheating lovers.

  “Doesn’t mean anything? You can’t be serious. They’re my parents!”

  “No, listen. I’m working on this case. Remember, the one I told you about? There have been threats, and I need to make sure that…” He hesitated. What was the reason he’d gone to New Day? He really didn’t know. A lead from a guilt-ridden former transition specialist that had gone nowhere?

  “Make sure that what?” Renee pressed.

  “You see, the entire transition industry hangs in the balance on this lawsuit appeal that—”

  “I don’t care about the transition industry.”

  “I know, but…a lot of people do and—” Suddenly Tyler wasn’t sure he was talking to Renee. A lot of people included those who had nothing to do with the NEXT lawsuit or the Santiago case. He forced aside the hazy form of an emerging idea and brought himself back firmly to Renee. He stepped forward again, this time reaching to grab her hand. She jerked it away, but relented on his second attempt. “I needed to find out for myself what actually went on inside one of those clinics.”

  “I don’t understand. Why my father?”

  “It was the best I could come up with in the moment. I’m sorry. I never meant for you to even see these.” He shoved aside the documents and climbed onto the bed, one knee at a time. “I just had to make it seem like, to them, I was serious.”

  Renee wiped a tear from her face, then sighed. “And were you?”

  “Was I what?”

  “Serious.” Her gaze rose to his. “Because I know you hate every moment of them being here.”

  Tyler shook his head before looking away. She was right. He did hate it. The moments. But not them.

  “I don’t hate your parents,” he finally said. “It’s just…I interviewed this guy. His mother died, and his invalid brother transitioned. He had given up everything for his brother, including his own future. And after he was gone, Jeremy—the brother—he told me that even though he hated the situation he had been in, he missed his brother dearly. And that’s how it is with your parents.”

  This time Renee was the one who appeared confused. “You missed my parents?”

  “No. I mean, even though I don’t like the situation we’re in—and I’m just being honest—even though I don’t like it, I know it’s the right thing to do. Otherwise I never would have agreed to it to begin with.”

  “Do you mean that? Really?”

  Tyler pursed his lips. Did he mean it? The words had just kind of fallen out of his mouth without much thought. Perhaps he’d become so accustomed to smoothing things over with Renee he was lying without even realizing it. But then again, maybe it really was how he felt. That taking in Renee’s parents had been right. Katherine was practically bedridden. Gerry had managed to lose his own teeth in a container of mashed potatoes. They clearly could no longer manage by themselves. They needed Renee. He smiled. “Of course I mean it,” he finally said to her, and to himself.

  “Thank you.” She took both his hands in hers, pressing his palms against her cool, wet cheeks. “But I need you to understand something. My parents are my priority right now. I mean, I love you. I want you. But they’re my flesh and blood. If I’m ever forced to make a choice…”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say the rest.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. “Don’t worry. I get it.”

  She pulled back, smiling, then leaned her head against his chest before squeezing tightly. He returned the embrace, kissing the top of her hair tenderly. It felt nice, making up.

  A voice came shouting from downstairs.

  “Renee? Are you up there?”

  Tyler tried to ignore Gerry’s call, tried to distract Renee by kissing her neck just behind her ear. It didn’t work.

  “It’s my dad.”

  “Ignore him. Five minutes.”

  “Renee? Your mother needs you. She needs to use the bathroom and I can’t do it by myself.”

  Tyler tossed himself to the bed in defeat. “Fine. Go.”

  “I won’t be long,” Renee said with a wink. “I promise.”

  He knew better. Bathroom duty was a choreographed endeavor that took at least thirty minutes from start to finish. Tyler slipped under the covers, questioning his fleeting sense of love for Renee. Perhaps he’d confused his desire for passion with a willingness to continue this relationship indefinitely. He needed to regain control. This could be his life for a very long time if he didn’t solve the Santiago case.

  He drifted off to sleep, vaguely aware he was still hungry.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Very nice,” Dr. Vincent said as he watched Sarah walk away after delivering two steaming mugs to the table. “A friend of yours?”

  “Sarah and I worked together,” Matthew said, still enjoying the lingering scent of her good to see you again embrace. “We got pretty close.”

  Campus Grinds looked as it had every day of every year that Matthew had started and ended a shift. But it felt different sitting across from his mentor enjoying conversation instead of rushing to clear used napkins and empty mugs.

  Both men took a first sip.

  “How close?” Dr. Vincent asked with a wink.

  Matthew’s first instinct was to confirm the professor’s suspicion with a bluff. But he had already exaggerated his progress with Maria, so decided to tell the truth. “Nothing like that. Just coworkers chatting to pass the time.”

  Dr. Vincent pulled out his phone, pointing and zooming toward the counter where Sarah was taking an order, and clicked a photo. Then he began voicing letters as he tapped “S. A. R. A. H.” He paused, looking back at Matthew. “How do you spell her last name?”

  Matthew recognized the professor’s pattern. “She h
as a partner,” he said protectively.

  Dr. Vincent frowned like a wine connoisseur shaking an empty bottle. He hit the DELETE key.

  “So, this girl in Denver,” he said, getting them back to the conversation interrupted by the arriving drinks. “Any chance she’ll keep you from returning to school next year?”

  “Maria, from Littleton. And no, I don’t see her keeping me from school. Although I do face other obstacles.”

  Dr. Vincent glanced at the time. “What do you say we spend twenty minutes overcoming your obstacles and leave the last ten for you to tell me about Maria?”

  If only his financial problems could be solved so quickly.

  “Actually, I wanted to discuss a different topic if that’s OK with you.”

  The professor smiled. “You made the drive and bought the coffee so I suppose I should let you set the agenda. What’s on your mind, Mr. Adams?”

  “I’m working with a man who should transition,” he said abruptly. “But he thinks it’s wrong. And his daughter, who really needs him to volunteer, is scared to talk to him about it.”

  Dr. Vincent enjoyed a second drink while waiting for Matthew to say more.

  “Well, not scared. More like perplexed. I think she likes the idea but vacillates between what she knows would be best and what she thinks would be wrong.”

  “So you’ve discussed this with both the father and the daughter?”

  “I have. I raised it with my client after lunch a few days ago. Then I spoke to his daughter yesterday. That’s when I decided I needed your advice.”

  Dr. Vincent seemed pleased by Matthew’s deferential regard. “I’m glad I was available. Tell me about the conversation with…what’s the daughter’s name?”

  “Marissa. She’s a bit older than me. Has two young kids.”

  “No partner?”

  “Died a few years back. That’s part of the reason the old man should transition. If he doesn’t he’ll need to move in with her and the kids.”

  The look on the professor’s face told Matthew he didn’t entirely see the problem.

  “They don’t get along,” said Matthew.

  Dr. Vincent continued to stare.

  “And he’s about to run out of money.”

  Finally an understanding nod. “I see. And his health?”

  “Pretty bad. He can’t walk. Breathes through a tube. Can’t really be left alone.”

  “We decay,” the professor said. They were the same words he had used when Matthew asked about his own ailing mother. And the words he used to explain Manichaeism to students and readers.

  “Exactly!” Matthew said. “He’s in decay and plans to make himself a burden to Marissa, Isabelle, and little Pete.”

  “The kids?”

  “Yeah. Twins. About five or six years old.”

  “Hmm. Do they get along with their grandpa?”

  The question carried weight, as if the professor thought affection might trump pragmatics.

  Matthew recalled little Pete’s secret conversation in his grandfather’s room. “They get along,” he replied. “But they’ve never had to live with Reverend Grandpa.”

  “Reverend Grandpa?” A chuckle.

  “Don’t ask,” Matthew replied with a roll of his eyes. “He’s sort of eccentric.”

  “I bet.”

  “He insists everyone call him Reverend. So the kids call him Reverend Grandpa.” Matthew matched his mentor’s smile as he thought of the comical man. “He used to be a preacher of some sort. Loves to read and quote from a vintage Bible he keeps in the front room.”

  The description flattened Dr. Vincent’s grin into a disapproving sneer. “A literalist?”

  Matthew didn’t understand the question. “A what?”

  “Does this Reverend Grandpa read the Bible as if it were literally true?”

  “Seems to. Why?”

  “What about the daughter?”

  “What about her?”

  “Does she share the old man’s beliefs? You know, does she read the Bible literally?”

  “I don’t think she reads it at all. Like I said, she and her father don’t get along.”

  “So she doesn’t object to her dad volunteering for religious reasons?”

  “I don’t think so. She never mentioned any religious reasons. She just seemed afraid to talk to him about it.”

  “What did she say exactly?”

  “Well,” Matthew said, trying to recall. “I told her that I had asked Reverend Grandpa whether he had ever considered volunteering. She seemed both surprised and intrigued, especially when I explained your ‘spirit good, body bad’ concept.”

  “It’s not entirely my concept,” Dr. Vincent said with a reluctant hint of modesty. “Did Marissa seem open to transitions in theory?”

  “I think so.”

  “So she didn’t dismiss the process as immoral out of hand?”

  “No.”

  “But she got nervous when you suggested a transition could help her specific situation?”

  “Exactly! How’d you guess?”

  “I’ve been teaching about enlightened spirituality for a long time now. The easy part is getting students to accept ideas in the abstract. It’s much harder getting them to connect the dots to concrete realities like life and death. Humanity is hopelessly addicted to the embodied-personhood paradigm.”

  Matthew pretended to follow. “I guess,” he said, returning to his dilemma. “One thing’s for sure. Marissa Gale will never suggest a transition to Reverend Grandpa.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yes. I sensed he was depressed and assumed he had been considering volunteering. Boy, was I wrong!”

  The two shared a laugh.

  “Bit your head off, did he?”

  A nod. “Yep. But I also sensed a tiny crack in the door, as if I had raised an option he would only consider under dire circumstances. That’s why I mentioned it to Marissa. I even offered to help.”

  “Help? How?”

  “I said I’d raise the topic with him again at the right moment. Possibly when he’s feeling depressed or when he asks me to deposit his reverse mortgage check.”

  “Reverse mortgage?”

  “He’s been living on the house equity.”

  A nod of recall. “Right.”

  “Anyway, I said I could raise the subject at a time when he might be open to a different solution than burdening his daughter and grandkids. That’s why I called your office. I was hoping you could help me come up with a few arguments that he might hear.”

  “I take it he doesn’t like Manichean philosophy.”

  “Not at all. Dismissed my best points without a thought.”

  “I’m not surprised,” the professor said. “Bible-thumpers aren’t exactly known for their ability to think.” He chuckled derisively.

  “I guess. But he seems pretty smart. He’s even read a book by Augustine.”

  “City of God?”

  Matthew didn’t recognize the title. “No. The book where Augustine described his religious conversion.”

  The former priest grimaced. “Confessions.”

  “So you know it?”

  “All too well.”

  “Should I read it?”

  “No.”

  The answer surprised Matthew. “No?”

  The professor corrected himself. “I mean, yes, of course. But Augustine wrote Confessions after ditching Manichaeism for Christianity. His books won’t help you convince an old literalist that it’s OK to escape a decaying body.”

  “I see.”

  A brief silence.

  “Let’s get back to the daughter,” the professor said. “Did she accept your offer to talk to the father about volunteering?”

  “She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either.”

  “Then you need to do it.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” Dr. Vincent appeared to have overcome any concerns about affectionate grandkids. “Does the family have mone
y?”

  “Not much. Like I said, he’s burning through a reverse mortgage. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered whether the daughter would be willing to pay down your school loan if you convince the old man to go through with it. You know, sort of like a finder’s fee.”

  “Would that be, you know, ethical?”

  Dr. Vincent rolled his eyes. “Why wouldn’t it be? Anyone can donate to a university.”

  “I don’t know. It feels sort of—”

  “In fact,” the professor interrupted, “I have a research project that’s been on hold since the end of last semester when I lost my grant. If you can find me a donor I could easily create a full-scholarship intern position.”

  “Wait. You mean if Marissa donated to your research project you could get me back into school?”

  “Not just Marissa. Anyone.”

  Matthew considered the possibilities.

  “What about my mother’s estate?”

  The question seemed to confuse the professor. “I thought your mother’s estate was held up until the NEXT appeal gets resolved.”

  “Yeah. But it’s only held up because I’m the direct beneficiary. What if the money got donated to the university instead?”

  Dr. Vincent smiled at the idea before showing a look of concern, as if trying to figure out how to avoid getting into trouble with the IRS. After a few seconds he appeared to imagine a loophole, or possibly a cheat. “We might just be able to make that work.”

  Ten minutes later Matthew sat alone at the same table staring at the bottom of an empty coffee mug. His breath quickened with excitement as he considered his next steps.

  First, call estate trustee Benjamin Cedillo to relinquish his inheritance money to the University of Colorado.

  Second, ask Maria Davidson on a date in order to celebrate his pending return to college.

  Chapter Thirty

  Troy looked at Julia from his side of the sofa without saying a word. He had seemed distracted while reading the first draft of her story. It had made her nervous watching facial expressions and hearing sighs that she couldn’t quite decipher. Was he impressed? Confused? Did he love it? Hate it? Perhaps the pause meant he was trying to think of what to say without hurting her journalist ego.