by Ginny Aiken
Dad. I had to be strong for him. He'd been strong for me before, and this would devastate him just as much.
I looked at my parents' portrait on the dresser. They'd had it taken on their silver anniversary, three years ago. I could do it. They'd taught me to be strong, to weather anything and everything. For Dad's sake and Mom's memory, I'd see this through.
Marge's killer would not get away with it.
I went downstairs. "I'm ready."
Detective Tsu turned from the curio cabinet where Mom's collection of eastern European Easter eggs took center stage. "These are lovely. Are they yours?"
"They are now, but my mother's the one who collected them."
"They represent hope, you know."
I sucked in a breath. Unless I was much mistaken, the iiber- professional, ultraserious Detective Tsu had just sent me a message. Did she really think that somehow, some way, at some unknown time in the future, I'd see the dawn of hope? Did she know something she had yet to tell me?
Did she see an Easter at the end of my darkness?
Time flew by in a blur of misery. Telling Dad that I was headed to jail stood as the second worst moment of my life, the worst being the attack four years ago. It was even worse than Mom's passing, since she'd been in so much pain before she went.
"I'll be praying, honey," was all he said, but the grief in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders spoke more than any puny words could say.
I didn't cry until I sat in the cruiser. Then Detective Tsu sat at my side. "I really am sorry, and I've never said this to a prisoner."
My tears gave her an E.T.-ish alien look, kind of drippy and bleary. I sniffled before I tried to form words. "I have to ask. Are you sorry you arrested me because you know I'm not guilty, or are you sorry you arrested me because you're sure I did it and wish I hadn't?"
"I'm not sure I know the answer yet."
"Then what do you have to be sorry for?"
"That I've had to arrest a woman I'm starting to like."
That set me back. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything. Just hope that if, as you say, you are innocent, the truth will soon turn up."
"I've been on that kick from the start. That's why you kept tripping over me, so to speak-No! You're not the one who said that. Dutch Merrill said it."
"He really has been everywhere you have, hasn't he?"
"Makes a girl wonder what his stake is in all this, doesn't it?
"Hmm ..."
"Okay. You don't have to answer, but at least listen to me." I figured she was stuck with me for another fifteen minutes, barring any church-rush traffic jam, if such a thing existed, so it didn't hurt to try to get a reaction from her.
Well, I could try, anyway. The woman was as readable as a treatise on the mating habits of mutant gnats.
"Look. If you think I look guilty because I've been in the wrong place at the wrong time, then Dutch should look just as guilty, right?"
She shrugged.
I went on despite her apathetic response. "I hate rumors, okay? But before the auction, when Marge first told me she'd recommend me to Noreen, she also said she'd heard Noreen was involved-personally, that is-with some builder. I didn't expect it to be Dutch, but who else would it be?"
"I heard something like that."
"So here's my question. What was Noreen really up to? We know she was messing around with Steve, but was she also involved with Dutch? And what did that mean to Steve? To Marge? Even to Dutch?"
"Does it matter?"
"It might. All the promiscuity-" I couldn't stop the shiver of disgust "-could make for some hot, out-of-control jealousy, don't you think? A crime of passion."
Her hazel eyes met mine. "Control's important to you, isn't it? That's why you take lessons with Tyler, right?"
What my arrest hadn't done, those soft-spoken words did. For the second time in my life, I was powerless; once again someone else held my life in their hands.
I had no one to turn to, no one to hold me, no one to tell me everything would turn out right. I had no illusions.
Someone wanted me to take the fall for what they'd done. My most basic freedom was being stripped away, just as control of my body was once stolen from me.
They fingerprinted me. They swapped my skirt and top for a hideous orange thing. They even took away my Birkenstocks. I tried to pull away from what was happening, but everything felt like another blow.
Wilmont's small jail, located at the rear of the police station, was little more than a holding pen. After prisoners were processed, they were sent to the King County facility in Seattle if they couldn't post bail.
I had no money. I knew what was waiting for me.
Waiting was a hell all its own.
Once they'd labeled me a criminal, I huddled in the corner of the narrow bunk, the mattress barely more than a thin pad. I shivered, even though the day was hot. The cell was stuffy and the air too foul to breathe. The shivers started small, but as time crawled by, they grew. Soon I shook so hard that the bunk, bolted to the wall, creaked under me.
My heart pounded painfully. I had no control. I couldn't handle the misery, the confusion, the tragedy. Hysteria stole in and shut down my mind.
Some time later, I don't know how long, I heard my name. A familiar voice called me, but I was too far away. And I didn't want to go back. It hurt to go where that voice wanted me to go.
A warm hand touched my cheek, and I jerked away. I couldn't trust anyone. I had to hold them off ... wrap my arms around me ...
"Honey, please open your eyes."
Dad! He'd come. Just like the last time. He hadn't left me alone and devastated. He'd come.
Fear held me in its grip, but Dad's voice, the love in his words, proved stronger. I found the strength to open my eyes.
He sat at my side, on that crummy slab of wood the police called a bed. An age-spotted hand covered mine; the other touched my cheek again.
"Come on, honey. Let's go home."
"Home?" The voice didn't sound like mine, but the burning in my throat told me it was.
"Yes, Haley. We're going home."
"I'm in jail ..."
"But we posted bail. You can come home now."
"Bail?" That meant money, right? "We don't have any..."
Dad's hands covered my fists where I held them tight around my knees. "It's okay, dear. The congregation insisted on paying your bail."
My eyes focused better now, but I still didn't understand. "How?"
"They took up a collection, then asked me to use the congregation emergency fund. They agreed this was the worst emergency our fellowship would ever face."
"They ... did that ... for me?"
"Yes, Haley. They did."
"But why?"
"Come on, honey. You have to stand up." His steady, gentle grip helped me rise. At first I felt dizzy. I almost fell. But Dad didn't let go.
"Why? Why'd they do that?"
He handed me my skirt. "Put this over your head. It's so long you can use it as a tent to change. I don't think you want to go back into the search room, do you?"
The memory of hands groping, touching me, brought panic back.
I hid under my skirt. The hideous orange thing came off. "Please, Dad. What made them pay for me?"
"Love, honey. That's what led them to do it. The love of Christ in their hearts."
"Aw, Dad-"
"No, Haley. You asked, and now you have to listen. I know how you feel about God, but it's my turn to speak. The love of Christ led them to do what they would have wanted, hoped, and prayed you would do for them had they been in your situation."
"The Golden Rule is just a cliche-"
"Absolutely not." I don't remember ever hearing my father as angry or as stern as he sounded right then. "That is the truth of the faith, Haley. It comes from God and is fed by his Word. That love leads to generosity that's otherwise impossible. The love of Jesus leads believers to see God in those they meet."
I
tugged down the skirt. I tried to fight them, but the words I'd learned in Sunday school came back to my lips. I hadn't gone after them, but they spilled from my lips of their own accord.
"Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."
Home was more than the place where they had to let you in no matter what. It really was a safe harbor. At least, it was for me. When I saw the manse again, I sobbed.
Dad stopped the car but didn't get out. He faced me, his expression thoughtful. When I didn't-couldn't-speak, he shook his head. "You've lost all faith, haven't you?"
I shrugged.
"How could you think I'd let you stay in jail? That no one cared enough to help you? You haven't fallen that low ... have you?"
"Look, Dad, I know how you feel, but you also have to understand what I've been through. I don't see the goodness you say I'll find in people. It just hasn't been there for me. I can't even see the goodness you call God. The only good in my life has come from you, Mom, Marge, and Midas."
"That's a very bleak way to look at life."
"It's a realistic one from where I stand. Today should have shown you that."
'All I saw today was the police make a terrible mistake. People make mistakes all the time. That's why we all have to acknowledge we're imperfect creatures."
When I said nothing, he went on. "Because of the police mistake, some good Christian folk showed their love by sharing what they have with us. You're free because of the love you deny."
I backhanded the tears off my chin. "I'll give you that much. But you'll have to let me tell you what I also saw in some of those people you say have so much love to give."
Dad reacted like I had to yesterday's gossip. But he didn't deny Penny's and Carla's accusations. "Marge had things in her past she wasn't proud of."
"She didn't warm a pew Sunday after Sunday either. She didn't go around looking for the church-lady-of-the-century award like they do. She wasn't a hypocrite."
"Marge wasn't a hypocrite, but she also didn't think she had any need for God's love and promises. She insisted this life was probably all there was. But she did qualify her statement. She always said probably."
"There's nothing more than a life that stinks and then you die, Dad. I haven't seen anything else."
"You haven't lived long enough."
"I've probably lived way too long. And if we don't get out of this car, my behind might just permanently bond itself to the vinyl upholstery." I stepped out. "I don't think I want to live out the rest of that life we're talking about right here."
He shook his head at my lame try but got out of the car too. "You might not want to hear it, Haley, but I'm going to say it every time I feel the Lord's leading." He locked the car door and went toward the porch. We both got there at the same time.
In the soft yellow glow from the lamp above the door, I noticed the lines around his eyes. They ran deeper than I remembered. This guilt I accepted. It was my fault Dad's day had been so hard.
But he wasn't done with me yet. "God loves you," he said, "and it's by his boundless grace that you're still here. There's a reason he spared you that other time. He won't let you down now either. You just have to reach out to him. He's waiting to take your hand again."
The familiar anger simmered to life, but this time, before I could take it and use it to my benefit, panic beat it down. My heart pounded hard and fast against my ribs. My throat closed down, all dry and scratchy and tight. My eyes burned, and my lungs couldn't draw air. My hands went cold, like blocks of ice.
I couldn't speak. I shook. Sweat beaded my forehead, and nausea made me heave. I lacked the strength to go up the porch steps.
Then the front door opened. In spite of the haze around me, Dad and someone else helped me up. Once inside, I blinked. My eyes began to clear. The man who'd come to our help was Tom. His face spoke volumes. He blamed himself for what had happened to me today.
"Oh, Tom ..."
I couldn't go on. They led me to the couch, where Gussie waited, arms open wide.
"Come here, sweetheart. Let me hold you." Inside the comfort of her hug, I let the floodwaters flow. I don't know how long I cried, but Gussie never let me go. Dad patted my cheeks dry with an endless supply of tissues and poured the balm of tender words over my battered soul. Tom's silent presence helped me recover, especially when he brought me a cup of water and insisted I drink.
I couldn't deny their love. I also had to accept the mess I'd become. Not because I'd spent the day in jail and I stank, but because of my crashing emotions and the memories I couldn't stuff away.
"There's no easy way to say this," Dad started, "but you need help, Haley. More than I can give you, much more than what Tom and Gussie or any friend can offer. It's time for a trained professional, especially since you're still refusing God's healing touch."
"But-"
"Your father's right," Gussie said. "You're still fighting a four-year-old battle, and now you have a new one to fight. Don't go it alone any longer, sweetheart. There's help to be had. You just have to accept it."
Although I shook my head, I could hear Marge urging me to find a counselor, someone who specialized in helping victims of violence. "You can't just pretend it didn't happen," she'd said more times than I could remember. "Every time you push it away, you add another pound of trouble to your load. You have to face the bad, deal with it. Then you can go on."
Mom had said about the same thing, but she'd also said I should reach out to God first. She'd echoed Dad again and again.
I couldn't. I couldn't rake up the details of the attack. I couldn't go through it again. But I also couldn't deny that I was in trouble. Dad, Tom, and Gussie knew it. So did I.
"I'll take care of it." I couldn't commit to anything. "But now I'd better get some rest. Whatever happens, I have to be ready. I won't be any good if I'm still this drained."
They watched me go upstairs. I concentrated on my steps. I made them steady, kept the shivers down to a shimmer or two, took deep, even breaths. Midas joined me, his solid bulk a comfort at my side.
Even though I didn't think I'd sleep, I was out almost before my head hit the pillow. I slept hard, and while dreams wafted in and out of my head, none stuck around long enough to form another nightmare. I just slept.
How come I felt so good the morning after a day that went so bad?
I couldn't figure it out, but when I opened my eyes, I felt better than I had since the day of the auction. A sliver of golden sunshine snuck in through the slit between the curtain panels on my window. I pulled them back and basked in the summer gold.
I had so much energy that, for lack of a better thing to do, I grabbed a dust cloth and a can of furniture spray and attacked dust bunnies with a vengeance. When every wood surface gleamed, I ran downstairs for a broom and went to town on the hardwood floor. As the final piece de resistance, I rolled up my braided area rug, then unfurled it out the window. I shook it with all I had.
"Farewell, rabbits of the dust," I emoted. "There ain't no room for the two of us in this here town."
I laughed at my goofiness, and then couldn't stop from ripping out a song. "Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day ..."
After I showered, I checked the clock. It was only ten o'clock. Wish I could be that productive all the time.
But then, I knew where that energy had come from, and I didn't want to do any more time in that deep, dark emotional pit.
"Okay," I told Midas. "Looks like I need a tune-up. Better get my gear and hustle to the dojo. And Tyler better not have some wimpy Tai Chi class going on. I want to kick and scream today."
I grabbed my bag, jumped in my Honda, and then zipped down the street. I turned right at the end of Puget Way, left on Pacific Drive, left again on Cedar Road, and finally squeaked a parking spot right across from Tyler's emporium of selfdefense and sanity.
"Score!" The giddiness lingered. I hoped it lasted long enough to see me through the pounding of a bag, power
ful kicks to man-height pads, lunges and parries, and the renewed sense of control.
I needed that today.
Tyler didn't disappoint. Johnny Weil was teaching a kickboxing class. "Just what the doctor ordered," I told him as I hurried to the back of the group.
Johnny, who wore his hair bleached into a two-tone spikedhigh Mohawk, gave me a weird look. "Whatever cleans your clock, Haley."
After we stretched and warmed up, I collared my nervous energy and fought like a woman possessed. No one got a jump on me. I could tell when I'd psyched them out enough to go in for the kill; I sniffed out their weaknesses. I took control of the class, and aside from Johnny, who, as teacher, didn't spar, I took everyone down.
When I stood in the center of the room, triumphant, breathless, and drenched in sweat, I spotted Tyler out of the corner of my eye. "Pretty good, don't ya think, sensei?"
"I think you'd better come into my office."
Great. He had more bad news for me. But today I was on a high. No one was going to bring me down. I walked into Asian World, as many of us called Tyler's lair, a cocky spring to my step.
Although Tyler took the corner of the couch, I was too pumped to sit still. I felt like a lioness, the undisputed queen of the jungle. I paced the long, narrow room from end to end.
When I felt ready for whatever he threw my way, I faced Tyler. "What's up?"
"The jig, Haley. The jig's up."
"Huh?"
"I've watched you play this game for years now, but Lila called me last night-"
"She shouldn't have arrested me-"
"That's not the issue, and you know it. I talked to your dad after I saw you go ballistic out there. If the others in class weren't as advanced as they are, you would've sent someone to the hospital today-"
"You're nuts! I was just better than everyone else today. And I didn't hurt anyone."
"By the grace of God, and not because you didn't try."
I went to object again, but the look he gave me brought me up short. I bit my bottom lip.
