I was halfway through the science-reasoning portion of the practice test when my parents thundered back up the stairs. I went to see what all the commotion was about and found Mom frantically trying to straighten up the apartment.
“Arlice, go put on a suit and tie.” Mom grabbed the dirty paper plates off the side table and stuffed them in the trash. “And brush your teeth too.”
Dad wrung his hands as he meandered around the den. “Just because Daniel’s coming over doesn’t mean I have to get dressed up. He comes over here all the time.”
Mom stopped in her tracks and eyed Dad. “Then why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not.”
“Are too. You don’t pace the floor every time the branch president visits.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Mom clenched the front of my shirt with both hands. “You have to help me get things straightened up,” she pleaded. “And tell your father to put on a suit and tie.”
I picked up the stack of newspapers beside the couch. “Dad looks fine. Besides, he’s been working downstairs in the funeral parlor. He’ll stink up his suit if he puts it on without taking a shower first.”
Dad looked relieved. “Thank you, son.”
“Well, here.” Mom reached into the box of stuff she kept for Lily B and took out a handful of baby wipes. “Clean yourself off with these.”
“But Mom, he’ll smell like a baby!”
“No, he won’t.” Mom motioned to Dad. “Wipe, Arlice. Hurry!”
Dad was so nervous he did as he was told.
I sighed and took the newspapers out to our recycle box.
We’d barely finished the emergency cleanup when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed out on the deck. Someone knocked on the kitchen door.
Dad smoothed his moustache and brushed his hands over his nearly bald head.
Mom took a deep breath and opened the door. “Good evening, Daniel.” She motioned for President Carter to come in. “And welcome, President Kensington.”
The stake president? What was he doing here?
“I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time,” President Kensington said. “I was in Armadillo on business and thought we might as well meet now instead of Sunday.”
Dad swallowed hard. “We’re glad you stopped by.” I wasn’t so sure Dad meant what he said. He looked ready to jump out of his skin.
Mom offered her hand. “I’m Freda.” She gestured toward me. “And this is our son, Kevin.”
President Kensington wrinkled his nose. “Do you have a baby?”
Mom picked up Lily B’s latest portrait. “We have a granddaughter—Lily—at least we call her our granddaughter. Her mother is like a daughter to us and so—”
Dad still had a baby wipe in his hand. He stuffed it in his pocket. “We have a granddaughter and another grandchild on the way.”
Mom nudged Dad. “Why don’t you give the stake president a tour of the Paramount?” Then, instead of letting him do it, she stood in the middle of the room and announced, “This is our apartment where we live, and this,” Mom gestured as if she were one of the stage models on The Price Is Right, “is our living area. We live here.”
President Kensington raised an eyebrow. “How convenient.”
Mom glowed and her gestures became more animated. “This is the perfect place to live, although it is a bit crowded. As you can see, there’s no dead space here—”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Freda—”
“The parlor—I mean the business—is downstairs.” She nudged Dad again, this time harder. “Why don’t you show him the chapel?”
President Carter spoke up. “President Kensington could do the interview there.”
Interview?
Dad wrung his hands again. “Follow me.” He led them to the door. “Watch your step. The stairs are steep.”
As soon as they were downstairs, Mom flopped onto the couch.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“All I know is the stake president is interviewing your father.”
Big deal. “I’m going back to my room.”
Mom rubbed her eyes with one hand and shooed me away with the other.
I tried to resume my practice test, but I’d let the computer idle for too long and the session had timed out. I had to start over. I’d answered ten reading comprehension questions when President Carter came back and asked Mom to come downstairs.
An hour later, I was still working on the practice test, and my parents were still talking to the stake president. I yawned and stretched. The questions on the screen blurred together and my brain hurt. I’d had enough practice for one night. My cat, Lima Bean, leapt onto my desk and walked over my keyboard. I wiggled the mouse, and he pawed at the pointer as it moved across the monitor.
“You’re shedding all over my keyboard.” I put him on the bed, and he tried his best to curse me with his unblinking green eyes.
“What do you think is going on down there?” I asked.
Lima Bean picked up his right front leg in response and casually raked his tongue over his paw.
“Do you even care?”
Lima Bean flopped onto his back and stretched. He twisted his middle so that his front paws stuck up in the air while his back paws were flat on the bed. It looked like he was unscrewing his top half from his bottom half.
I took that as a no.
When Mom and Dad returned, they were alone. “Let’s have a snack,” Dad said. He patted his stomach. It didn’t sound hollow to me.
Mom got the paper plates. Dad opened the refrigerator.
“Mmm. Macaroni and cheese.” He set the bowl on the table. “Did we eat all the banana pudding?”
“Where’s President Carter?” I asked. “Where’s President Kensington?”
Dad picked up a plate of leftover pork chops and, after he lifted the aluminum foil covering, sniffed to make sure they hadn’t been in the fridge too long.
“What about olives?” Mom asked.
“Yup. We got some—ooh, looky here!” Dad lifted a plastic bowl as if it were a first-place trophy. “Fried okra!”
“Didn’t we just eat dinner?” I asked.
“Dinner was hours ago,” Dad insisted. He checked his watch. “It’s after nine now.”
Mom grabbed the olive jar. “I love olives. Especially those little red things they stuff ’em with.”
“Pimentos,” Dad said. He popped open the okra bowl. “You reckon this would be good heated up in the microwave?”
My parents were absorbed in their food—or at least they were pretending to be. “What happened with the stake president?”
Mom shoved the bread basket in my face. “Corn muffin?”
I pushed it away. “He had to be here for a reason.”
Dad dumped a lump of macaroni on his plate. “I love cold macaroni. It’s as good out of the fridge as it is hot out of the pot.”
Mom jumped from her chair as if she’d had a sudden revelation. She opened the refrigerator and searched the bottom shelf. “Potato salad! I knew we had some left.” She handed the bowl to Dad.
“Mmm. Marcy makes the best potato salad. I’m glad you remembered it.” He dug into it as if it would be the last time he’d ever eat any.
It was obvious my parents weren’t going to tell me what happened. I held my hand up in the air. “Fine. I don’t have to know what’s going on.”
Mom slapped a chop in my hand. “Have some pork, dear.”
“Gimme one of those,” Dad said through a mouthful of macaroni.
Mom tossed him a pork chop, then ladled out some olives. They rolled around on her plate like green eyeballs. “Kevin, grab us some soda. Make sure it’s diet.”
I put the pork chop on a plate, wiped the grease from my hand, and got three cans of diet soda from the fridge. I figured I might as well have a snack too.
“Maybe we should call Granddad,” I said and helped myself to some cold okra. “He likes leftovers.”
“Granddad’s
playing bingo at the Elks Lodge again,” Dad said. He popped an olive in his mouth, then grimaced. “This one still has a pit. I hope I didn’t crack a tooth.” He wrapped the pit in a napkin and set it aside.
“Wish we could get him to come to church with us,” Mom sawed her stiff pork chop into bite-size pieces. “I worry about him. He plays bingo all the time. He needs something more constructive to do.”
I didn’t agree. “He’s always repairing something around here. He probably likes getting a break from the funeral home.”
Dad salted his potato salad. “He’d be a big help to the branch.”
I split a corn muffin and slathered it with butter. “Have you ever asked him to come to church?”
Dad stopped chewing. “No.” He turned to Mom. “Have you?”
Mom’s eyes widened. “I thought you had.”
“Well,” I said as I smushed the halves of my corn muffin back together, “I guess someone needs to.”
“Maybe he’ll come this Sunday to see you sustained,” Mom said to Dad.
Dad nodded in agreement.
Ah-ha! So this was what the food frenzy was all about. “Sustained to what?”
Dad gnawed on a pork chop bone and didn’t answer.
Mom patted Dad’s arm. “The stake president issued your father a new calling in church.”
Dad gnawed harder on the bone.
Mom popped the top on Dad’s soda. “He’s going to be a counselor in the branch presidency. It’ll be a lot of responsibility, but your father can handle it.”
Dad dropped the bone and started on the okra.
“We can’t tell anyone about this.” Mom gave me a stern look. “Not until after he’s sustained on Sunday.”
When I went to bed, I thought about what Mom had said—how Dad would have a lot of responsibility in his new calling. She was sure he could handle it. I wasn’t sure Dad felt the same.
Lima Bean woke me up a little after one in the morning. He was in my bed, pouncing on a twist tie and flipping it in the air with his paws. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Outside my window I could see that the sky was clear and the stars were exceptionally bright.
Something was moving in the grassy area between the parking lot and the woods. I went to the window to check it out.
It was my father.
I put on my shoes, pulled on a hoodie, and went outside to see what he was up to.
Dad didn’t even know I was there until I tapped him on the arm. He jumped. “What are you tryin’ to do? Give me a heart attack?” He tightened the belt on his robe.
“Sorry. I saw you out here pacing and—”
“Never mind.”
He resumed pacing. I walked beside him, matching my steps to his. He didn’t talk. I didn’t either. By the time Granddad showed up, we’d worn a nice path in the grass.
“What in blazes are you doing out here?” Granddad asked.
“Pacing,” I said.
“Don’t you know it’s one thirty in the morning?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is kinda late.”
Dad sped up. I darted forward to catch up with him.
Granddad joined the silent march. The three of us walked and walked and walked, back and forth and back and forth.
“Three guys, outside in the middle of the night, marching in their pajamas—what would Grandma say if she could see us?” I asked.
Granddad chuckled. “She’d say, ‘Hang on and let me get my robe. I want to walk with you.’”
“She’d bring us hot chocolate too,” I added.
“Your mother, on the other hand—”
“If Mom wakes up and sees us, she’ll be mad. Her voice’ll get all squeaky.” I tightened my throat and spoke in my best high-pitched Mom voice: “It’s the middle of the night! You’ll catch pneumonia and die!”
Dad came to an abrupt stop. “So my nerves are shot and I can’t sleep! I didn’t ask you to come out here! I can walk in my own backyard by myself any time I want!”
Granddad hitched up his pajama pants. “What’s the matter, son?”
Dad abandoned his straight-line march and began wandering in circles. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
Granddad scratched his head. “Do what?”
“It’s a big commitment. My head says, ‘Arlice, you can’t do this. You’re not smart enough.’ But I couldn’t say no. How could I say no?”
Granddad frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Dad stopped and put his hands on his temples as if he had a headache. “I’m going to be a counselor in the branch presidency at church. I’ll have to go to meetings and interview people and conduct services and—”
“That’s no different than your work at the Paramount.”
Dad crossed his arms and sighed deep.
“Yeah, Dad,” I added. “You meet with people to plan services. You’ve gone to mortician meetings before. You’ve even conducted funerals when there wasn’t a preacher available.”
“But it’s not the same,” Dad said. “This is church service.”
Granddad put his hand on Dad’s shoulder. “You’re not serving the Church, son. You’re serving God.”
Dad’s jaw dropped. I was amazed too. I’d never heard Granddad talk like that.
Granddad looked Dad in the eye. “Why do you go to church?”
“Because I believe what the Church teaches.”
“Let’s try again. Who does your church teach about?”
“God and Jesus Christ,” I interjected.
Granddad kept his eyes on Dad. “Kevin, let your father answer. He’s the confused one.”
Dad pawed his foot in the grass. “I go to church to learn about God. Is that better?”
Granddad held up his index finger, signaling that he was ready to make his point. “If you serve the Church, you’ll never do enough. The Church will always need more. The people will always need more. But if your position is to serve God—well, that’s a whole ’nother can of beans.”
“Your advice isn’t helping,” Dad said. I could tell he was losing patience.
Granddad thought for a second before he spoke. “If you serve the people, you’ll be influenced by how the people judge your service. There’ll always be someone who’s not satisfied with what you do.”
Dad sighed. “I am supposed to serve people.”
Granddad pointed his finger again, this time more adamantly. “You’re supposed to serve God.”
“I don’t see the difference.” Dad stuck his hands in his pockets. For a second he reminded me of a little kid.
“Listen, son. God knows when you’re giving Him your best—and that’s all He wants. People? You can give ’em all you’ve got, and they still won’t be satisfied. They’ll complain because you didn’t give ’em what they want. And you’ll get discouraged and think you’re a failure.”
Granddad pointed to the sky as if his words were written in the stars. “God, on the other hand, isn’t going to expect something out of you without showing you how to get it done. He doesn’t want any of us to fail. He wants to make good soldiers out of us. I mean, if He kicked out everybody that didn’t polish their boots right the first time, he’d have an awfully small platoon.”
Dad wiped his eyes.
“That’s cool, Granddad,” I said. “Where’d you learn that?”
“The army.” Granddad strutted ahead of us. “If your drill sergeant is happy, that’s all you need to worry about.”
I couldn’t help but grin at Granddad’s logic.
The three of us started pacing again. We walked in silence for a long time.
“Dad?” my father said to his father.
“What?”
“I want you to be there when I’m sustained.”
“Nothing would please me more. Do I have to wear a tie?”
“I’ll loan you one.”
“I haven’t worn a tie since your mother’s funeral.” Granddad groaned. “Oh well. I guess wearing a tie once every four years i
sn’t going to kill me.”
I yawned. “Now that that’s settled, I’m going back to bed. G’night.”
“Good night, Kev,” Dad said.
“Good night, Kev,” Granddad echoed.
I went up to my room and took off my shoes and my hoodie. Before I crawled back in bed, I glanced out the window. Dad and Granddad were walking side by side. They were so much alike on the outside—and more similar on the inside than I’d ever realized.
Chapter Four
On homecoming night I put on a white dress shirt, green striped tie, and black suit. I stood in front of the mirror to check myself out. Tall, clean-shaven, broad shoulders, dark hair combed just right. I felt pretty smug. I looked just as good as Hunter Rockwell. And I’d make sure Dani had such a good time at the dance that she wouldn’t give Hunter Rockwell a second thought. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw a missionary nametag on my breast pocket that said ELDER KIRK. I gasped.
I put my hand to the pocket. Nothing.
I glanced up and stared into my reflection. My dark, nearly black eyes gawked back at me. Shaken, I grabbed the keys to the truck and left.
When I arrived at Dani’s, President Carter answered the door. He let me in and invited me to have a seat.
“We’ll be right there,” Sister Carter called out from the other room.
I entered the den where Dani’s little brothers, Dylan and Derek, were battling on the couch. When they saw me they giggled and made kissy-kissy noises. I gave them my meanest piercing stare and settled into the recliner to wait for Dani.
Something hit the side of my head and stuck there. I peeled it off. It was a chunk of banana. I wiped the goo off my head, but as soon as I put the handkerchief back in my pocket, they hit me with more banana.
“Cut it out,” I growled. “Aren’t you guys too old for that?”
“Aren’t you guys too old for that?” Dylan mimicked. Then he and Derek collapsed into hysterics.
I wondered if I had been that obnoxious when I was nine years old.
“What are you boys up to?” President Carter peeked in the door. His face was stern. “Why do I smell bananas?”
“There must be monkeys in the room,” Dani said as she walked around her father and to the recliner. She had on a silky brown dress and a matching jacket. She looked so elegant. My old black suit suddenly felt shaggy and worn. I wished I’d at least bought a new tie for the occasion.
The Final Farewell Page 3
