by Tim LaHaye
“Decided? Look at me, Stan Taylor.”
Stan raised his head.
Her eyes, like an angry cat, glowed. “You broke up with me, remember?” she said. “What choice did I have? As I recall, you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Right?” She sat upright.
“Faith, I . . . I never knew you were pregnant.”
She fell back against her pillow. “What difference would that have made?”
Stan shuff led his feet. “I . . . maybe if I knew, I might have stuck around—”
“Maybe—nice, Stan.” She folded her arms. “You really have such a way with words.”
Stan lowered his voice. “Well, for what it’s worth, I can’t stop seeing, like, the faces of babies floating through my head. And, every time I see a baby, I can’t help the tears. I’m living with this, too, you know.”
Faith bit her lip.
“Even when I sleep.” Stan took a deep breath. He brought a hand to his chin. “The worst part is . . . I picture my baby crying for me to save him. But I don’t. I just let him die . . .”
Faith searched his eyes. The beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room.
“And another thing, Faith,” Stan said after a long moment. “Three weeks ago I decided to get right with God.”
“You?”
“Weird, isn’t it?” Stan said. A smile cracked his face for the first time in days. “A little late, um, as far as what happened between us. I’d like to think I would have, like, respected you more . . . if I’d known then what I know now.”
Faith raked her hair.
He sniff led. “I’d like to think I’m on the right track. Got a long way to go . . .”
In what felt like half an eternity, Faith didn’t say a word. She looked off into the distance, biting her bottom lip as if deep in thought. Stan started to shift in his seat, figuring her dad would burst into the room at any minute and order him out.
She reached out and took his hand.
He glanced over his shoulder at the door and then back to Faith. There were several things he just had to know. “Can I ask you a question?”
Faith nodded.
“Why are you still here?” Stan scratched the back of his head. “I mean, didn’t you get this done, like, a week ago?”
She let go of his hand, then folded her fingers together. “The short version?”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t know what to do . . . or where to turn,” she said. She pulled her dark, reddish-brown hair back behind her neck. “I didn’t even know who to talk to about it. So I figured I’d just pay the money and be done with it.”
Stan pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down. “So it wasn’t done here?”
“No, I went to one of those women’s clinics,” Faith said. She looked down at her hands. “Anyway, they were in such a hurry. I was in and out so fast I hardly knew what was happening. Afterward, I was cramping really bad. I mean, my insides felt like they were tearing apart.”
“Man, what happened?”
Faith pointed toward the box of Kleenex. Stan handed her one. She dabbed at the edges of her eyes. “I figured I’d take a warm bath, you know, to relax the muscles. That’s where he found me.”
Stan gave her a puzzled look. “Who found you?”
“My dad,” she said. “He came home for a late lunch and I was passed out in the tub. I must have blanked out from the pain—”
“When?”
“A week ago, Friday morning,” Faith said. “I was bleeding pretty badly, so, not knowing what was wrong, Dad rushed me here. Turns out that clinic totally messed things up. They almost killed me.”
Stan felt his heart leap in his chest. “Faith, you don’t have to—”
“Wait a sec; there’s more,” she said. “When I got here, the doctor had to do an emergency hysterectomy on me.”
Stan’s heart was in overdrive. “A what?”
“The doctor had to take out my uterus—” Her voice was shaking. She clutched the Kleenex.
“Meaning?”
Faith didn’t answer.
“Please, Faith. I don’t know about these things.”
She spoke just above a whisper. “I’m eighteen . . . and I’ll never be able to have children.”
Stan felt as if he’d been socked in the eye. His face dropped into his hands. “Oh . . . my . . . gosh.” He lifted his head, fighting back the tears. “All because I was—”
“Don’t, Stan.” Faith took his hand again. “You weren’t the one who—” She cleared her throat. “Anyway,” she said, “Dad says we’re going to have to sell the house.”
Stan grabbed another tissue and then handed it to her. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“Dad’s just a preacher at a small country church,” Faith said. “We don’t have insurance for this—”
“I thought you said it was, like, the clinic’s fault.”
“It was,” she said, scratching under her bracelet. “They’re saying I was never a patient—which is a lie.”
Stan felt the room start to spin around him. Why had God let something like this happen to her—to him, too? It seemed so unfair. He leaned forward and held her. His tears mixed with hers.
Faith whispered in his ear, “They claim they don’t even have a record of me being there.”
Chapter 8 Tuesday, 6:33 p.m.
When Jodi answered the door, she recognized the white T-shirt and the faded blue jeans. But the guy holding the Papa John’s pizza box hardly looked like the guy she knew. “Hey, Stan,” she said, pretending not to notice the redness in his eyes. “Glad you’re here.”
“Thanks.” He stepped through the front door of Jodi’s parents’ house.
“Gosh,” Heather said, coming up behind Jodi. “You look like a train wreck, Stan.”
“Good to see you, too, Heather.” He gave her a side hug. “I haven’t figured out how to put a shower in my car yet. Take me as I am, or I can go eat this thing by myself.”
“Right this way,” Jodi said, leading them through the hall toward the kitchen.
As they walked, Heather said, “I guess you know your mom is really worried—”
“I know,” Stan said. “I just talked to her. We’re cool now. Just had to be left alone for a while.”
“Hey, let’s eat out on the deck,” Jodi said. She held the rear kitchen door open for Stan as he headed out to the picnic table. Her dad had mowed the yard the night before, and the smell of freshly cut grass lingered in the air. Jodi pointed to the counter and said, “Heather, can you get me some of those paper plates and some napkins, please?”
“Sure thing.”
“Drinks?” Jodi said, heading for the refrigerator.
“Mountain Dew for me,” Stan said, shouting from the deck. “Or anything nondiet—with bubbles.”
“Ditto that,” Heather said heading toward the door, plates and napkins in hand.
Jodi grabbed a bottle of water for herself and a two-liter of Coke for the others. She was glad Stan had called to suggest they get together. By the looks of it, he’d been through the wringer and needed a friend. That makes two of us, she thought. She was dying to tell them about Gus’s letter—at the right time.
Stan called again. “Can we get started? I could eat the whole thing myself.”
“Wait a sec, Stan,” Jodi said. She snatched two paper cups, filled them with ice, and then, drinks tucked under her arm, made her way outside. As she sat at the picnic table, the wind chimes, a gift to her mom last Mother’s Day, danced a whimsical tune in the gentle breeze.
Stan f lipped open the box. “Hope you guys like double pepperoni and double cheese.” He tossed a piece on a plate and then passed it to Heather.
“This is great,” Heather said.
He handed Jodi a plate with a slice.
“Yeah, Stan. Thanks,” Jodi said.
“And three for the dealer,” Stan said, stacking his plate with several slices. A second later, he started to tackle h
is first piece.
Jodi reached out and held Stan’s arm midair. “Like I always say, ‘You pay—I pray.’ Sound good?”
“Oh, right,” Stan said, lowering the slice.
Jodi closed her eyes. “Thanks, Jesus, for my friends and for this food. Amen.” She had barely finished praying when Stan was deep into the cheese.
“So, Jodi,” he said, his mouth full. “Um, where are your folks?”
“Mom’s at some women’s group clipping photos for a family album, or something exciting like that—”
Stan’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s exciting?”
“It’s a joke, Stan,” Jodi said.
“Boy, you must be tired. Even I got that,” Heather said, dabbing her slice with a napkin to suck up the extra grease.
Jodi said, “And, my dad’s working late, since you asked.”
Stan licked his fingers. “I never did thank your dad for being so cool about, you know, the big-time mess I got us into with the limo—”
Jodi cut him off. “Stan . . . duh! He knows it wasn’t your fault we got, like, taken for a ride,” she said, smiling. She could laugh about it now, but on the night of the prom several weeks back, the limo ride had turned into a life-and-death situation she’d never forget.
“Yeah, well, still,” Stan said. “I wish I had a dad like yours.”
Jodi picked the pepperoni off her pizza. “Did you ever think about praying for your dad? You know, to have a change of heart?”
“That jerk?” Stan reached for another slice. “Okay, so that ‘wasn’t very loving’—as you like to say, Jodi. But it’s how I feel.”
Heather said, “Maybe we should change the subject—”
“Or not,” Jodi said, cutting her off. “I mean, he is your dad, jerk or not. Sorry . . . I don’t mean to preach.”
“You’re cool, Jodi,” Stan said. “It’s just so hard to pray for the guy who left me and Mom for some . . . some loser chick he met on-line, you know?”
Jodi nodded as she took a drink of water. “It’s weird,” she said putting down the bottle. “I just had this conversation with Kat. Think about her folks. Her dad’s in jail for selling kiddie porn. How whacked is that?”
“I know,” Heather said. “That’s really bad.”
Jodi looked at Stan. “But God still wants us to, like, forgive those who wrong us.”
The neighbor’s miniature schnauzer, Violet, her ears straight up like some kind of bat dog, started to bark. Jodi, who had lived there most of her life, knew Violet was easily provoked by squirrels. Jodi had decided long ago that the squirrels enjoyed provoking the dog. “Violet, chill out. It’s okay,” Jodi said, calling over the fence that separated their backyards.
“Doesn’t seem fair, does it, Stan?” Heather said, apparently sensing his resistance.
“Not in the least,” he said.
“But that’s what God’s grace is all about,” Jodi said. “Grace is . . . a gift. We don’t deserve it, we can’t earn it, and it’s not for sale.”
“Show-off,” Heather said, poking Jodi’s arm.
Jodi tossed her wadded-up napkin at her. “I only knew that because Pastor Paul preached on grace last week.”
Stan wiped his hands on his pants. “Don’t take this wrong, Jodi. I’d say it’s easy for you to, like, say all of that because you live with a mom and dad who love you. I’d bet you never had an argument.”
“Go ahead and say it,” Jodi said with a smile. “You think we’re, like, that Leave It to Beaver family on TV, right?”
“Maybe I do,” Stan said, his chin out. He reached for his Coke.
“Well, you’re way wrong, Stan Taylor.” Jodi wasn’t mad, just tired of the label. “Everyone has stuff they have to deal with—even me.”
“Give me one example,” he said.
Jodi thought a moment. “My mom, if you want to know, got an abortion shortly after they were married.”
Heather touched Jodi’s arm. “You never told me that.”
“Yeah, well, the doctor told them the baby had a birth defect or something like that and they decided to—” Her voice caught.
Stan and Heather stopped eating.
With a tilt of her head, Jodi said, “I happened to be the replacement baby.” She looked at Heather and then Stan.
Stan formed the letter Twith his hands. “Time out. You’re a what?”
Jodi pulled back her hair. “Mom says something like 40 percent of the girls who terminate are pregnant again within, like, six months.”
Heather crossed her legs. “Oh, kind of, like, to replace the one they, um, lost?”
“That’s me,” Jodi said, folding her arms together. “So, I’ve had to deal with stuff, too. Like, I sometimes wonder if I am loved for who I am . . . or, am I loved for who I replaced?”
Nobody spoke for a long second. The chimes continued their soft, atonal song.
“How long have you known?” Heather said.
Jodi looked toward the house and pictured the conversation. “I found out a couple of years ago . . . when Mom and I had ‘the Talk.’”
Stan and Heather appeared puzzled.
“You know,” Jodi said. “‘The Talk’ about sex and stuff.”
Stan laughed. “My old man just handed me a box of condoms and told me to ‘play safe, son.’”
“I got a book,” Heather said. “It was there on my bed when I came home from school one day. That’s it. No discussion—not that I’d really want to talk about sex with them.”
“Yeah, well, my mom thought it would be best to be up-front with me,” Jodi said. “That’s probably why we’re close . . . But wait a second. What’s all this talk about me? I thought Stan called this meeting.”
“Yeah,” Heather said, turning to Stan. “What’s been going on with you? We’ve all been, you know, concerned.”
Jodi nodded. “And what’s up with Faith these days?”
Stan, his plate empty, leaned back in his chair. He folded his fingers together across his abs. He coughed. “I guess, well . . . these last few days I’ve been dealing with what a big screwup I’ve been most of my life.”
Jodi was stunned to hear Stan talk this way. After all, it didn’t fit with what she knew of him. She had watched Stan strut like a peacock around campus their entire junior year. Everybody who was anybody wanted to be Stan’s friend. His parties with the jocks after home football games were legendary. He drove a cool car and always had a girlfriend, usually a cheerleader, hanging on his arm. Even the upperclassmen wanted to hang out with him.
She had first met Stan on a personal level last semester during the houseboat experiment hosted by their honors social studies teacher, Rosie Meyer. She remembered how cocky and self-assured he’d been on that trip. Who could have blamed him? He had just been named Most Valuable Player of the school’s football team, and then Penn State handed him a full scholarship upon graduation.
Ever since he gave his heart to God several weeks ago, Jodi had seen amazing changes in Stan. He was asking great questions and trying to read his Bible every day. He made an effort to ask for forgiveness from people he had hurt with his arrogant attitude, and he wasn’t afraid to stand up to old friends who challenged his new faith.
“The deal is,” he said, bringing his chair down and then resting his arms on his legs, “I went to see Faith. She’s in the hospital.”
Jodi stopped chewing. She swallowed. “I had no idea. What for? Is she okay?”
Stan nodded. “Basically, yes. See . . . gosh . . . I knew this was really gonna be hard for me.”
Jodi thought she heard him sniff le. She looked at Heather, wondering if she had heard it, too.
Stan fiddled with his plate. “Turns out . . . I got her pregnant, like, when we were dating . . . and I never knew about it—the baby, that is.”
Heather’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“What a surprise, huh?” He ran his fingers through his hair. He took a deep breath. “She decided to . . . fix the problem—but didn�
��t ask me about it,” he said, looking at Jodi.
Jodi bit her bottom lip, too stunned to say anything.
Stan tossed the empty plate on the table and then leaned back. “The real kicker is the doctor at the clinic messed up—that’s why she’s in the hospital. The deal is, they don’t have enough insurance to pay for a hystorec— . . . a hyster—”
“A hysterectomy?” Jodi said.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Stan’s face looked pale. His heavily bloodshot eyes met hers.
Heather gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Stan, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
He took another deep breath. “Faith says the clinic denies everything, so her dad has to sell their house to cover the bills—something like $56,000.”
Jodi shook her head in disbelief. “That is so wrong, Stan. Did she say which clinic?”
Stan rolled his eyes up for a second, as if searching his memory. “You know, she did. It was something like the Total Choice Medi-Center.”
Jodi’s heart almost stopped.
“I know the place,” Heather said. “Isn’t that over on Street Road? I think it’s by that giant school bus parking lot.”
Stan shrugged.
Heather nudged Jodi under the table with a foot. “You know the one I’m talking about, right?”
Jodi was too busy finding her next breath to answer. She was pretty sure Total Choice Medi-Center was the place Gus had described in his letter. She had to be sure, which meant she had to get to the office before the janitors tossed the trash.
Jodi stood up. “I’m sorry about this, but I’ve got something I’ve got to do. Um, you guys hang tight. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, tops.”
“In your dreams,” Heather said, jumping to her feet. “Wherever you’re going, I’m with you. What’s so urgent?”
Jodi said, “I’ll tell you on the way. I’ve just got to get to the newspaper before everyone’s gone—”
“Got room for me?” Stan asked, standing.
“You guys are nuts.” Jodi held the door open. Under her breath she said, “I hope we’re in time.”
Chapter 9 Tuesday, 7:19 p.m.
Victor Graham sat at his desk, his door closed, the window blinds drawn. He stared at nothing in particular, caressing an empty shot glass with his left hand. In his estimation, the day had been a complete disaster.
