The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  “How did you like that water?”

  “I liked it, Opa. But I didn’t know I was thirsty until you asked me if I wanted a drink.”

  “Good.” His grandfather nodded, looked directly into Franz’s eyes, and then let out a long breath. “Would you like me to pray for you?”

  Even as an eight-year-old boy, Franz knew it wasn’t a casual question, and any prayer that followed would be different from the ones said before a meal.

  “Yes, sir,” he said timidly.

  “Are you sure?” his grandfather asked with a voice that held a mix of opportunity and fear.

  Extra glad that he’d had the glass of water to drink, Franz swallowed.

  “Yes,” he said, trying to sound confident and grown up.

  His grandfather didn’t say anything. Instead, he continued to stare at Franz while breathing in and out with loud sighs and an occasional groan. Franz began to squirm in his chair. He looked over his shoulder at the stairs that led to the upstairs bedrooms.

  “Opa—” he started.

  His grandfather didn’t respond but slipped to his knees and pulled Franz down beside him. He then placed his right hand on Franz’s head and began to pray. Franz heard snippets of sentences that sounded like words from the Bible, but what he vividly remembered was the pleasant sensation of warmth that flowed over him and made the room feel like a summer afternoon. The sensation of heat remained after his grandfather said, “Amen,” and slowly got up.

  “Why is it so hot in here?” Franz asked.

  “Is it a good heat?” his grandfather replied.

  “Yes, I like it.”

  “Water and fire and snow,” his grandfather said. “For a little boy, you’ve seen and felt a lot tonight. And you’re going to see a lot more.”

  The older man looked tired as he led the way upstairs. Franz followed. The next time Franz saw him, his grandfather was lying in an open coffin.

  “Opa,” Parker said.

  Frank jumped at the sound of the word so closely linked in his mind with the memory of his own grandfather.

  “Did you doze off?” Parker asked. “The meeting is over.”

  Frank glanced around as everyone around them was standing up. “No,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  Parker looked at him skeptically. “I was worried you were about to snore.”

  Layla was talking to the mother of the two boys sitting in front of them.

  “Can you come to lunch with Layla and me?” Parker asked.

  “Sure.” Frank stood up and stretched. “What did the minister say about Paul laying his hands on Timothy and praying for him?”

  “That it’s something the church has done ever since. He asked people who wanted someone to pray for them to come forward.”

  Frank saw a half dozen people at the front of the church. An equal number were praying for them.

  “My grandfather prayed for me like that when I was a little boy,” Frank said to Parker. “And it’s something I should have done for you a long time ago.”

  “Why?” Parker asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Because of the verses about Timothy’s mother and grandmother.”

  Before Parker responded, Layla turned around as the woman moved away down the aisle. “You never know what someone who walks into a church meeting wearing nice clothes is struggling with,” she said.

  “Was it about her sons?” Parker asked.

  “Yes,” Layla answered in surprise. “They’re going through tough times in different ways.”

  “Yeah, it was easy to see,” Parker replied.

  “Tell me,” Frank said to him.

  “Oh, you know,” Parker replied vaguely. “The kind of stuff boys struggle with as they grow up. Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Ten minutes later they were sitting in a local delicatessen that served an extensive array of meats, cheeses, and spreads. After the waitress brought them water to drink, Parker started focusing on his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Frank asked.

  “Checking on my fantasy football team,” Parker answered. “All through the church service I was debating whether to start my backup quarterback because of a favorable matchup with the opposing team. I know soccer is your sport, but what should I do?”

  “You should turn your phone off when you go to church and not look at it,” Frank shot back. “If you were working for me on my fishing boat, I would have thrown that thing into the water.”

  “Hey, I was paying better attention than you were,” Parker countered. “You dozed off, and I had to tell you what the minister said during the last ten minutes of the sermon.”

  “I was thinking about something important that had to do with the message,” Frank replied.

  Layla glanced back and forth between the two men. “Be nice,” she said.

  Parker refocused on his phone and pressed several buttons. “There, it’s done,” he said.

  “You’ll regret it,” Frank mumbled.

  They ordered their sandwiches.

  “Put extra brown mustard on his and mine,” Parker said to the waitress. “It’s a German thing.”

  “Make mine with extra brown mustard, too, please,” Layla added.

  “Well, we agree on that,” Parker said.

  After the waitress left, Frank eyed the two young people. There was more to the lunch than discovering unanimous agreement about extra mustard. Parker cleared his throat.

  “Is it okay to talk about something that’s supposed to be a secret if everyone already knows about it?” he asked.

  “What?” Frank asked.

  “My father offered Parker a job,” Layla replied, turning to Frank. “And he wants to know what we think about it.”

  “Is that true?” Frank asked.

  “Yes,” Parker answered.

  “He’s not moving here, is he?” Layla asked.

  “He didn’t mention it, but I’m sure he’ll be here on a more regular basis.”

  Layla pursed her lips. Frank shifted uneasily in his chair. The mention of Layla’s father caused his stomach to suddenly feel queasy.

  “Working for Greg Branham is no picnic,” Parker continued. “But at least it’s a job, and I don’t want to end up in a worse situation, even if I’m making more money. Layla’s father wants to open a branch office in a house on Pollock Street.”

  “Which one?” Frank asked.

  Parker described it. Frank nodded. “That’s a showplace,” he said.

  “And it’s recently been renovated.”

  “When do you have to give him an answer?” Frank asked.

  “He hasn’t given me a deadline,” Parker replied. “At least not yet.”

  “He will,” Layla interjected.

  “Then don’t decide before you have to,” Frank said. “And it might be good if I met him in person before giving you my opinion.”

  “Oh, he’d like that,” Parker replied. “He’s mentioned a couple of times that he’d like to meet you. He’s very interested in everything German.”

  Layla turned to Frank and said something to him in German. Frank nodded but didn’t reply.

  “What did you say?” Parker asked irritably. “When are you two going to realize it’s rude to talk behind my back?”

  “We weren’t talking behind your back,” Layla replied with a slight smile. “You watched every word come across my lips. I was simply pointing out that my father can be a hard man to read. He has such a thick shell that I’m not sure even he knows how to penetrate it!”

  “I’d still like to meet him,” Frank replied.

  The waitress brought their food. The freshly baked bread used for the sandwiches made Frank nostalgic for the bakery where his mother bought bread when he was a child. Layla turned to him.

  “I know you weren’t dozing in church,” she said. “What were you thinking about during the sermon?”

  Frank told them about the evening when his grandfather prayed for him in
Dresden.

  “You’ve never talked about your childhood like that,” Parker said when he finished.

  “Now is the time,” Frank replied. “Before it’s too late.”

  “Quit, Opa,” Parker said. “I don’t like it when you talk like that.”

  They sat in awkward silence for several moments.

  “There’s another important reason for lunch,” Parker said. “Layla, tell him what you found out.”

  Parker watched his grandfather’s face as Layla described her Internet exchange with Gerhardt, the journalist searching for the Aryan Eagle. What had seemed to Parker like an unwelcome intrusion into his grandfather’s privacy at the coffee shop now took on a more sinister tone. Several times he saw the older man’s jaw muscles tighten.

  “Some things are better left unsaid and buried in the past,” Frank said when Layla finished.

  “And it’s my fault all this is coming back into your life,” she added. “I didn’t tell this Gerhardt guy where either one of us live.”

  “And I’m not sure why anyone would care about me now.” Frank shook his head.

  “Conrad Mueller tracking you down,” Parker said, “and now this. At the least, it’s creepy. You know, attracting the interest of strangers on the Internet is never a good thing.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Layla said apologetically. “I won’t do anything else.”

  “Don’t worry,” Frank said to Layla with a kind expression on his face. “Ende gut, alles gut.”

  “Which means?” Parker asked.

  “All’s well that ends well,” Layla replied. “That’s what I hope for everything we’ve discussed.”

  Parker and Layla waved good-bye to Frank as he pulled out of the parking lot.

  “I feel worse than ever about talking to Gerhardt online,” Layla said. “I could tell the whole thing upset your grandfather.”

  “Yes,” Parker answered. “But I don’t think he can stay upset with you.”

  “Which makes me feel worse.”

  They walked over to a bench positioned near one of New Bern’s ceramic black bears and sat down.

  “What about the job offer from your father?” Parker asked.

  “I’ve been down that road once, and it’s not a place I want to go again,” Layla said without hesitation. “For me, dating a lawyer who works for my father is a recipe for disaster.”

  It wasn’t the answer Parker expected and caught him off guard. “But that involved someone else,” he said.

  Layla turned on the bench so she faced him. “But my father is the same person, and I know what being under his control will do to anyone.”

  Parker’s backup quarterback in fantasy football threw three interceptions in the first half, and the head coach pulled him out of the game. But that wasn’t the main worry on Parker’s plate. His brief conversation with Layla on the bench had forced him to consider what he really thought about the blond photographer. And added another layer of uncertainty to the chance to work for her father.

  Monday morning Parker was researching an issue on the computer when Greg showed up in his office doorway.

  “How was the Bahamas?” Parker asked.

  “What I can remember was great,” Greg replied, rubbing eyes that were slightly puffy. “But I should have stayed away from a rum drink they were hawking at the resort. It had a wicked second and third punch that took me down for the count. How was your weekend?”

  “Different. I went to church yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “With my grandfather and Layla Donovan.”

  Greg’s eyes widened. “Donovan? She’s roped you in and tied you up if you’re willing to do that. The one thing I can’t handle in a woman is religion.”

  “Even if she had the good sense to keep you from diving headfirst into the rum and ending up with a level 10 hangover?”

  “Maybe if she had other qualities, but I don’t know anyone like that.”

  Greg handed him a file. “Here’s some good news. I looked over your prep work for the Calypso case, and it’s spot-on. I know I dumped a bunch of stuff on you at the last minute, but you came through.”

  It was a rare compliment.

  “And how did your follow-up meeting with Thomas Blocker go on Saturday?” Greg continued.

  Parker stopped and stared at his boss. “Uh . . . ,” he started and stopped.

  “Vicki drove by and saw him coming into the office to see you. I assume it was a positive meeting. If not, you’d better tell me now.”

  “Oh, it was positive,” Parker said, trying to regain his footing. “He’s pleased with the work we’ve done so far, and he’s assigning me real tasks to perform, mostly related to finding and choosing experts who will give us the most bang for the buck.”

  Parker hoped his use of one of Greg’s clichés would help end the conversation.

  “Okay,” Greg replied with a wave of his hand. “I’m not sure what else you’re working on, but get to it. We’ll circle back after I finish these depositions.”

  Greg left, and Parker closed his office door. As had happened repeatedly during the past eighteen hours, his mind returned to the dilemma of the job offer from Thomas Blocker and his blossoming feelings for Layla. After several minutes passed, Greg returned.

  “Quit daydreaming,” Greg said. “Just because I gave you kudos for your work on the Calypso litigation doesn’t mean you can take the rest of the day off.”

  “I was thinking about what to do next,” Parker answered truthfully.

  Greg dropped a folder on Parker’s desk. “I have the answer. Prepare the responses to interrogatories in this case. They’re due Wednesday, and I don’t want to request an extension.”

  Parker finished his initial phone call with Dr. Cheshire, the neuropsychiatrist. He was nervous when the call began, but Dr. Cheshire didn’t make him jump through any hoops to prove his qualifications to ask her questions. Once he laid out the basic facts, she rattled off a bunch of medical terms and tests that quickly left Parker behind, but before he could interrupt she set him at ease.

  “Don’t try to take notes and look up anything,” she said. “I’ll give you a glossary along with my analysis and opinion. We’ll also discuss ways my testimony can be attacked and how to counter them.”

  They concluded the phone call with Parker’s promise to send a contract to Dr. Cheshire agreeing to pay her hourly consulting rate but leaving the charge for testimony via deposition or in court to be determined later. The latter request made Parker nervous, but the professor wouldn’t budge, which left Parker hoping Tom Blocker would know what to do if Dr. Cheshire tried to jack up her fees later on.

  Parker then located an online legal seminar featuring Tom Blocker as lecturer. As he watched and listened to Blocker repeat the closing argument from a real case involving carbon monoxide poisoning, Parker was mesmerized. Carbon monoxide is a clear and odorless gas, but Blocker made Parker taste the fear the vapor could release as it insidiously seeped into the unsuspecting lungs of a family of four as they slept in their suburban home. The Greensboro jury that actually heard the argument returned a seven-figure verdict.

  “Wow,” Parker muttered to himself when the presentation ended.

  The possibility that he could sit at Blocker’s feet and soak up the trial lawyer’s wisdom and experience was tempting. But he wasn’t going to let an online seminar make up his mind about his future.

  CHAPTER 30

  Parker checked his hair in the rearview mirror of the car on his way to pick up Layla. It had taken several minutes of persuasion to convince her to accept his dinner invitation for Thursday evening. In the end, his uncertain status with her father kept her resistance from becoming an impenetrable wall.

  “Are you sure steak is okay?” he asked as they drove away from Layla’s apartment.

  “So long as I don’t have to look in the cow’s eyes,” she answered.

  The restaurant was dark on the inside. The only lighting came from sconces set in
the walls.

  “This looks like a meeting place for the mafia,” Layla said as they stood at the hostess station and let their eyes adjust from the sunlight outside.

  “Mr. Burnside, the owner, is an old friend of my grandfather. He’s more of a pirate than a gangster. He used to sneak off and spend a day on the water when Opa owned the Aare.”

  “Parker!” a man called out. “Welcome!”

  A short, burly man with a gray beard and balding head came up and greeted them. Parker introduced him to Layla. The owner led them to a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant.

  “You can look at the menu,” Burnside said when they were seated. “But order the rib eye. The ones waiting to be grilled are as good as they get.”

  The owner left, and a waiter brought them water and menus. Along with the steaks, they selected creamed spinach and scalloped potatoes à la carte. Parker took a sip of water.

  “If it’s okay with you, I don’t want to talk about anything that has to do with the law,” he said.

  “Agreed,” Layla replied.

  “Okay,” Parker said, sitting up straighter. “You’ve never told me why you became a photographer.”

  Parker couldn’t have predicted how much he would enjoy listening to Layla describe the creative journey that began with taking pictures of her friends in smeared makeup when she was a little girl to composing shots of immaculate brides with a rose-colored sunset as a backdrop.

  “And I love going to movies,” she said in a random comment when she finished. “I get ideas all the time for still shots from them.”

  “I was talking to a buddy the other day about movies and women,” Parker said. “Have you ever noticed how in romantic comedies the guy and the girl keep getting thrown together, even if they aren’t trying to make it happen?”

  Layla nodded. “Yes. Tell me the name of the last romantic comedy you saw.”

  “Uh, I can’t, but my friend Creston filled me in on the genre. Anyway, every time I think I won’t see you again, something comes up and I do. Vicki claimed you were stalking me—”

  “That’s not true!” Layla interrupted.