by Alton Gansky
“A little!” Greene laughed. “I didn’t know you preachers were such a sneaky lot.”
“We’re full of surprises.” Adam returned the laughter.
“All right, I’ll check into it. Unlike your friend, I’ll need a court order to look at his bank records, but that shouldn’t be a problem. One other thing, Reverend; don’t talk to anyone else about this. Sanchez may have other hospital people involved. You’ve done your part, now let me do mine.”
“Agreed. You will keep me posted, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Greene hung up abruptly.
“Nothing to do now but wait.” Adam heard Rachel’s voice behind him.
“I guess so,” Adam said, as he turned and looked over his shoulder. What he saw caught him completely off guard. He leaped from the couch. Standing before him was Rachel, in an elegant gossamer nightgown that set off her fair skin and dark hair to perfection. Adam attempted to speak, but only managed to stutter.
“My dear Adam,” Rachel said seductively, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you like it?”
Slowly, Rachel walked toward him.
Twenty-Nine
Tuesday, March 31, 1992; 5:05 P.M.
“OUT!” RACHEL SCREAMED. “Get out!”
“Rachel, listen,” Adam said softly.
“I want you out, right now!” Rachel’s face was bright red. Adam stood his ground. Grabbing her firmly by the shoulders he said, “I’ll leave, but first you must listen to me. It is important you understand.”
Saying nothing, Rachel, glared through angry and embarrassed eyes at the man who had just spurned her.
“I am not rejecting you,” Adam spoke softly. “There is no problem with you. You are very attractive—very alluring. God knows it is taking every bit of discipline I have to say no, but I must.”
Tears rolled freely down Rachel’s cheeks.
Adam continued, “I am flattered, but I still must say no. Not because I don’t care for you, but because I do. Rachel, I am a minister; if I give in now, everything I’ve studied for, everything I believe will be wasted. Tomorrow I will be racked with guilt, and then what will our relationship be like? I know it sounds puritanical to you, but I cannot make love to you now, because it will ruin our friendship.”
Rachel pulled away from him and hid her face in her hands.
“Rachel, I have feelings for you—strong feelings. Feelings I never expected. I am drawn to you. You occupy my thoughts day and night. Rachel, I honestly believe I’m falling in love with you, but I need time.”
“I wanted to please you,” Rachel said, fighting back the rising flood of tears. “I have never done this before in my life. You are the only man I have ever been attracted to, and oddly enough, I never wanted to be attracted to you. I should have known better than to become involved with an archaic Bible-thumper. This is the twentieth century, Adam. Wake up, or perhaps I should say, grow up.”
“It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“Well, you did!” Rachel snapped. “I feel like a fool!”
“I wish I knew what to do to make you understand,” Adam said meekly.
“I’ll tell you what to do, Adam. Leave now!” Rachel’s tone had turned cold and hard.
Adam’s heart skipped a beat. Without a word he turned and left.
Rachel walked to her bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on her face.
“I will not cry,” she told herself. “He isn’t worth it.”
A moment later she fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably.
Within fifteen minutes after Adam left, Rachel had washed her face and changed from the gown into a pair of jeans and blue sweatshirt with a Yale insignia. Five minutes after that she was careening down the freeway, releasing her anger in aggressive driving. Only San Diego’s massive freeway system and understaffed Highway Patrol kept her from being stopped for reckless driving. Within ten minutes she slowed to the speed limit, moved to the right lane of I-8 and took the I-805 north turnoff.
He’s not worth getting killed over. After all, he’s just a man. She let that thought marinate in her mind. Was he just a man? Or was he something more to her? If she wasn’t attracted to him, then why did she act like such an imbecile? And if she felt nothing for him, then why was she so upset?
“It’s time for a long conversation with yourself. There are a few things we need to get worked out.” Without thought of where she was going, Rachel continued up the 1-805 to 1-52. Before she was conscious of the fact, she found herself driving the narrow streets of La Jolla headed for The Cove, the place where she shared a hot dog with Adam.
In what many San Diegans would consider fortune just short of a miracle, she found a parking place right in front of the park. Several people strolling along the green grass gawked at the antique T-Bird she drove. Taking the parking place as an omen, Rachel left the car and began walking the serpentine concrete walk, pausing from time to time to gaze at the ocean as it cast its churning waves onto the shore. The cool salt air and setting sun proved a natural sedative. With hands behind her back she strolled along the walk, then through the grass and back to the beginning of the walk again. She circled the small park four times while she thought about herself and Adam.
At first she was angry with Adam for spuming her. She reminded herself of what Shakespeare had said, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” She smiled at that thought. Then she was angry with herself for being so foolish to begin with. What was I thinking? Did I ready think that I could seduce a preacher? And why was I so angry when he rejected me—no, he didn’t reject me, he . . . he . . . she paused to search for the right phrase . . . he did what was right. Of course, what else could I expect?
Rachel thought about the man named Adam Bridger. At first he had seemed a superstitious cleric who clutched onto God because the world was too difficult to face. But now she knew that he was a man with a keen intellect and a heart for people. He proved that several times, but never more than the kind, yet firm, way he dealt with that Jehovah’s Witness woman. Now he has shown himself to be a man of both character and conviction. Just how many men like that are there in the world? And how many of them would be interested in an opinionated, quick-tempered doctor?
There was a great deal to Adam that she didn’t understand. He carried himself with a confidence and assurance that few possessed, and that she didn’t possess despite her usual intense manner. There seemed to be a well of strength and wisdom. That well must be connected to Adam’s God.
Rachel had never had any use for religion and knew very little about it. Her father’s atheism was a source of pride for him, and something he attempted to instill in his daughter. Her mother, who spent her entire married life cowering in the shadow of Rachel’s father, offered no opinion on the matter, or any other subject. Rachel loved her mother, but despised her servant role in the home and determined at an early age to be nobody’s second. As much as she loved her father, she hated his domineering personality, always saying what was on his mind regardless of whose feelings it hurt. Yet she still admired the man who created in her a love for medicine as he loved medicine. It was that admiration for her father’s strength and a fear of her mother’s meekness that made Rachel who she was: strong, forceful, and quick to share what was on her mind. In many ways she had become her father, and she both hated and appreciated that.
God was never spoken of in her home except to list reasons why He did not exist. Rachel took such pronouncements from her father as fact, without supplying any of her own thoughts to the matter. Now she was attracted to a man who saw all of life through eyes of faith. Adam was a man whose beliefs were easily seen and not just heard. Rachel came to understand that without faith there would be no Adam, at least not the Adam she knew.
What if Adam is right and my father wrong? What if all hat Adam believes is true? The thought proved sobering for Rachel— sobering and frightening. She didn’t know how to answer the question because she knew nothing about faith
. She knew only medicine and that had proved incapable of making her a better person or a happy one.
The sun was beginning its slow slide into the ocean, leaving the sky scarlet with streaks of red. Looking back down the walk, Rachel saw the hot dog stand where Adam had taken her for “dinner.” The owner of the stand was packing away the condiments as Rachel approached.
“Is it too late to buy a hot dog?” she asked.
“Almost, but for you I’ll stay open a little longer,” the vendor said. He was a large, olive-skinned man in a red-and-white checkered apron. “What’ll it be?”
Rachel thought for a second then said, “A chili dog with extra onions.”
“Food of the gods.”
“A friend recommends it,” Rachel said through a big smile. It was neither the hot dog nor the man that made her smile; it was the remembrance of the last time she ate a chili dog here, and the recollection of the man who bought it for her. She knew now what she would do: she would eat her hot dog while walking around the park one more time, then go home, call Adam, apologize profusely, and ask to see him again. And when she did see him, she would be open to anything—spiritual or otherwise—that he had to say. For the first time in Rachel’s memory she felt good—really, really good.
“Excuse me,” a voice said behind her, “aren’t you Dr. Rachel Tremaine?”
Turning, she saw a man with a goatee. “Yes, who are you?”
“That’ll be $2.50,” the vendor said.
“Please allow me,” the goateed man said. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, peeling off a five and handing it to the man in the checked apron. “Keep the change.”
Then, taking Rachel by the elbow, he led her to a dark sedan parked alongside a red curb reserved for emergency vehicles. “It’s important that I talk to you,” he said. “It’s about Reverend Adam Bridger.”
“Adam?”
“Yes. He needs to speak to you right away.”
“Who are you?” Rachel asked again.
Looking over her shoulder she saw they had walked about twenty feet away from the hot dog cart.
“Please get in the car,” he said forcefully.
“I don’t think I want to do that,” Rachel said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “And what is this about Adam?”
“Just get in the car and don’t make a fuss.”
“Forget it,” Rachel said, pulling herself free. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
She stopped mid-sentence. They were the abductors, and the car at the curb was the one that had followed her a day before. The man with the goatee pulled his coat back, revealing a revolver. Rachel knew nothing about guns but did know that her life was in danger. She suddenly felt helpless and alone. She didn’t know what to do, so she acted on impulse: she screamed.
Her captor acted quickly, reaching out and seizing her sweatshirt. Then with incredible strength and agility, he dragged her the remaining few feet to the dark sedan and threw her through the open back door, stepping in behind her.
“Hey!” the vendor shouted, but too late. In just a few seconds the goateed man had snatched Rachel from the sidewalk and thrust her into the car which sped away with tires squealing. All that remained of Rachel’s stroll at the beach was a hot dog with its topping of chili streaking the sidewalk.
Wednesday, April 1, 1992; 7:15 A.M.
ADAM DROVE SLOWLY, not because he was punctilious about traffic laws, but because he had much to think about.
After a restless night, Adam rose early to review his notes for the Milt Phillips’ Show. Yet, he found it difficult to concentrate on anything but Rachel and last night’s incident. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind. He was right in refusing her advances, but he wondered if he could have done so in a better, less hurtful way. How could doing right feel so wrong? He could still see the shock on her face when he said no; the hot stream of tears running down her face. Adam was as miserable as he had ever been.
“This seat taken?” a jovial voice asked.
“It’s good to see you, Dick,” Adam said, motioning to the empty bench seat on the opposite side of the table. Adam had asked Dick to meet him at the local Denny’s restaurant.
“Well, it sounded important.” Dick turned toward the waitress, raised one finger and silently mouthed the word “coffee.” The waitress nodded.
“I hope I’m not making you late for work,” Adam said quietly.
“I own the trucking firm,” Dick said with a broad grin. “I can be late anytime I want.”
The waitress brought the coffee and a menu to Dick who waved it off and quickly ordered bacon and eggs, the same breakfast he ate nearly every day. Adam declined breakfast saying he would just have coffee. “I hope you have good news about the Loraynes.”
Adam shook his head. “I wish I did, but the police have discovered nothing, and we’re no closer to understanding the Healer thing than when it all started. I have to admit it’s starting to weigh on me.”
“I know.” Dick took a sip of his coffee. “Some of us at the church are worried about you.”
“I’m okay, but I could use a little . . . advice.” Adam’s words came out haltingly.
“About the Loraynes?” Dick asked.
“Uh, no.”
“If it’s about this television show you’re doing today, then I’m afraid I can’t be of much use.”
“No, it’s not that at all.”
Although he tried, Adam couldn’t conceal his discomfort.
“It’s . . . it’s of a personal nature,” Adam said.
“Look, why don’t you just spit it out? We’re friends. I’ll stand by you and do whatever I can.”
Adam took a long, deep breath and said: “It’s about Rachel Tremaine.”
“Wait, I know that name.”
“Dr. Rachel Tremaine—she performed my surgery.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember.” Dick said smiling, “You told me she gave you a pretty bad time about being a preacher.”
“That’s the one, but I’ve discovered that there’s a lot more to her.”
“Oh?” Dick replied, leaning back in the booth and raising an eyebrow.
“Let me start from the beginning.” Adam relayed the events of the last few days. He spoke of the investigation, the walk at La Jolla Cove, and Rachel’s offer last night. As Adam finished, the waitress brought Dick’s breakfast. Dick closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Adam couldn’t tell if he was thinking or marshaling his concentration to stifle his urge to laugh.
“Let me get this right,” Dick said. “You go into her home to use the phone, you kiss for a moment, and then while you’re makin’ your call, she comes out in a nightgown.”
“That’s right.” Adam looked into his coffee cup to avoid eye contact.
Dick said nothing for a moment. Then with a broad grin he said, “My pastor—the lady-killer. Don’t let Mrs. Bachelder hear of this.”
“She won’t hear it from me.”
“She won’t hear from this side of the table either.” Dick grinned again. “I’m sorry, Pastor, it’s just not every day that a man hears that a woman try to seduce their preacher.”
“This is the first time, and I hope it’s the last,” Adam said defensively.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing and showed more strength than most men could—preacher or not.”
“I don’t feel strong; I just feel confused.”
“It sounds like you have feelings for this woman.”
Adam sat quietly and turned his empty coffee cup on the table. “Yes, I think I do. That brings about a whole new set of problems, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Dick asked.
“Well, she’s not a believer. In fact, I think she may be an atheist.”
“And so you think that a relationship between you two wouldn’t work out.”
“That’s what I’ve been teaching our church, especially our youth. We should avoid being unequally yoke
d.”
“Talk to her.”
Adam looked puzzled, “Talk to her?”
“Sure. Look, how do you know that God didn’t put her in your path to solve two problems: companionship for you and salvation for her? For all you know, you’re supposed to fall in love.”
Adam blinked hard. “But I don’t see how . . . I mean . . .”
“You amaze me, Pastor. How can you be so talented and not see that talent yourself? Talk to her. If anyone can show her the truth, you can. Do you remember that time we were downtown and we came across the police attempting to stop a suicide? You identified yourself as a minister and offered to help. Do you remember that?”
“Of course. The man’s wife had left him and took the kids with her. He had a gun to his head and was standing in the middle of Broadway.”
“And what did you do?” Dick asked pointedly.
“The police let me talk to him and he gave up his gun.”
“Exactly. But not only did you convince him not to kill himself, but you even had him laughing. It was incredible, you and this guy standing in the street surrounded by the police, and you’re telling jokes—and he’s laughing.”
“Well, that was different.”
Dick chuckled. “No, it wasn’t. Adam, you’re the most persuasive man I know. You can do things with words that are unbelievable. You’re blessed in that way, and that’s not just my opinion. I could bring dozens of people from the church in here and they’d tell you the same thing.”
“So, what’s your point?”
“My point is this: stop feeling guilty for being attracted to a woman. Talk to her. Tell her the truth about your beliefs, and your feelings, and then let God do the rest.”
“It seems too simple.”
“It is, and that’s why you’re overlooking it. You’ve been through a lot lately and maybe the simple things are getting by you. Trust me, just talk to her. She’ll see the light, and if she doesn’t, then at least you’ll know where you stand.”
“But after last night, she may not want to talk to me.”
“She will, and if she doesn’t, then make her want to talk to you.”
