by JR Thompson
As soon as the Byrds entered the house, Edward, the building permit guy who had chickened out of the project, approached Brock and Titus.
“Hey guys, first and foremost I want to congratulate you on a job well done. The place looks great.”
“Thanks,” Brock said.
Titus nodded.
“I… uh… well, I want to apologize to you gentlemen for backing out on you. That was wrong of me and I’d like to make it up to you. Do you have any other upcoming projects I could help on? You have my word — I’ll stick it out this time.”
“We definitely have additional projects coming up and we can undoubtedly use the assistance,” Brock replied.
“Isn’t the parrot lady next on the list?” Titus interjected.
“The parrot lady?” Brock responded.
“Yeah. That old lady whose parrot died in the fire.”
“That’s right. She’s next on the list,” Brock agreed. “I suppose our next step will be to conduct a face-to-face conference with her to determine how we can best build a dwelling to her exact needs.”
Edward smiled. “I would love to go with you to meet her. It would probably help me if I had a face to put with the project we’re working on.”
About that time, Rachel popped her head out of the front door. “This place is fabulous! People… what are we waiting for? Let’s get that truck unloaded!”
From the corner of his eye, Titus caught sight of Ericka sauntering away from the crowd. He sneaked away from Brock and the others and trotted up behind her. “Ericka!” he called.
She turned to face him, but only for a second. She picked up her pace and continued walking, without speaking a word. “Ericka, please! Can I speak with you?”
His red-headed angel stopped but didn’t turn around and still didn’t speak.
Titus caught up with and jumped in front of her. He couldn’t help but notice how she purposefully kept staring over his shoulder to not become mesmerized by his eyes. “Ericka, I know I was wrong. I let my temper get the best of me. But I’m a changed man. I’ve been—”
“No, Titus!”
“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I’m not interested in being in a relationship with you.”
“But… but… Ericka, come on! Please forgive me.”
“Now that is something I am willing to do. Your apology has been accepted.” With that, Ericka stepped aside and continued marching.
Titus followed her. “Thanks for forgiving me. But if you forgave me, why don’t you want a relationship with me?”
“I told you before — I’m patiently waiting for a Godly man and to be honest, you’re not him.”
Titus ran around in front of her and stopped again, forcing her to stand still for a moment as well. “Doesn’t the Bible say not to judge?”
“It does. It also says to judge righteous judgment and to come away from those who are ungodly. In this case, that is you and I have to pull away.”
Titus was quickly growing flustered. “But we haven’t been around each other much for the last three months. I’ve been changing. I’ve been reading my Bible, crying out to God, and telling people about Jesus.”
“Why Titus? What made you change?”
Titus smiled. I’m getting somewhere now. She’s listening to me; I got her curiosity up. “I… um… remembered back to when I was a little boy and my mom taught me about seeking God first and—”
“Oh, I’m picking up what you’re putting down! You decided to manipulate God!” Ericka scolded before stepping aside and picking up her pace.
“Manipulate God?” Titus yelled back, practically jogging to keep up. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You tried to manipulate God. You didn’t truly seek after Him. You were seeking after me. You wanted a relationship with me so badly that you used God. You weren’t reading the Bible and praying and telling people about Jesus so you could develop a closer relationship with Him. You were using Him. ‘God, I’m gonna do everything you want me to do for a while so in return you’ll bring Ericka back to me.’ That’s not changing, Titus. Quit following me. I wanna be left alone.”
29: Put The Gun Down
On Monday Brock and Edward met in the parking lot of Mrs. Hackney’s hotel at 1 pm. Together, they talked their way down the sidewalk until they came to room 113.
Brock rapped on the door a few times before calling out, “Mrs. Hackney, my name is Brock Pearson. I’m the director of Laborers for God.”
“Be right there,” she called in a raspy voice. “Just be patient. These old legs of mine don’t carry me as fast as they used to.”
“No problem, ma’am. We’re not in any rush,” Brock replied.
A couple of minutes passed before Mrs. Hackney managed to get to the door and slowly swing it open. “Come on in,” she offered. “There’s not much furniture in here.”
“It’ll be splendid, ma’am,” Brock replied.
The room was pretty small and quaint, but at least it was clean and smelled fresh. Brock wished she didn’t have the heat turned up so high — but it was her room. Not much he could do about that.
“Ma’am, this gentleman who came with me today is Edward. He’s one of our volunteers who will be helping with the building project.”
Mrs. Hackney eyed him from head to toe. “Let me see your hands,” she insisted while reaching toward Edward.
Edward shot Brock a questioning glance before extending both hands toward her. She reached out and felt his palms. “Not a very hard worker,” she remarked. “Soft hands.”
Looking offended, Edward pulled his hands back.
“Mrs. Hackney,” Brock said, changing the subject as quickly as possible. “Our funding is somewhat limited. We intend to build you a dwelling, but it’s not going to be anything extravagant. We know you live alone, but do you ever have anyone who dwells with you? You know, like to take care of you?”
“Take care of me?” Mrs. Hackney laughed. “Why would anyone need to take care of me? I’m 82 years old, as healthy as a horse, and a harder worker than your friend Nellie or whatever you said his name is.”
Brock chuckled — due more to the disgusted expression on Edward’s face than her comment. “Okay, Mrs. Hackney. Please embrace my expression of regret.”
“Sure thing, sweetie.”
“What I was trying to ask is if a one-bedroom, one-bathroom home will be adequate or if you require additional arrangements for any purpose.
“Honey, I grew up sharing a bedroom with five sisters and we were too poor to even have an outhouse. Just went behind the bushes. I live all by myself. What would I need more than one bedroom for?”
Before Brock could respond, Edward butted his way into the conversation. “So what happened, Mrs. Hackney? I mean, did they ever figure out what caused your house to burn down?”
The friendliness of Mrs. Hackney’s demeanor disappeared from view. “I… I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it. They claim somebody burned my house down on purpose. I ain’t never done nothing to nobody. Nothing worth burning my house down for anyway. What is this world coming to?”
“Wow! That must have been terrifying,” Edward replied.
“Oh, it was. Believe you me. Peanut woke me up. That bird was having a fit. Startled me, I’m tellin’ you. When my eyes popped open, that smoke was so thick I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me. It was a real struggle to find the door. By the time I got outside, the firetrucks were pullin’ up out front. One of those guys, a handsome fellow he was, came running up to me and asked if I was okay. I told him I was, but Peanut was still inside. Apparently those attractive features were only skin deep. That guy was nothing but a coward. Told me he couldn’t go inside and get my bird cause the house was gonna cave in. I tried to go back in to get Peanut myself, but he grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let me go in.” Mrs. Hackney burst into tears. “And Peanut. Poor, poor Peanut.”
“Peanut lost his life?” Edward asked.
&
nbsp; “Sure did. I’ll never be able to replace him. He was one of a kind.”
“I’m sure he was, ma’am,” Brock interjected. “I decipher you’re upset, but we genuinely need to converse regarding this dwelling place we’re going to be—”
Edward cut him off. “Now Brock, this lady needs somebody to talk to. Let’s allow her a few minutes.” He turned back to Mrs. Hackney. “So what’s it like now? Do you reflect on Peanut often? Have nightmares about the fire?”
Mrs. Hackney’s lips began to tremble. “Why yes. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about Peanut. He was my best friend. I taught him to talk when he was just a baby. Still remember his first phrase.” The lady chuckled. “He said, ‘Don’t forget your dentures. Don’t forget your dentures.’ So cute!” Mrs. Hackney paused for a moment.
“And… nightmares… you have no idea how hard it is simply to go to bed at night. I can’t help but to fret over that house burning down. What if whoever done it wanted me dead? They might follow me and burn down this hotel. To be honest with you, that’s why I didn’t answer the door when you guys knocked the first time. I’s afraid it might be the bad guy, whoever he is.”
“I’d be worried about that too if I were you,” Edward replied. “There’s some pretty creepy people in this world.”
Brock extended Edward a look of disdain while cutting him off, “About the dwelling… um, I’m envisioning it with one bedroom, one restroom, a kitchen, a dining room, and a laundry room. Would that be sufficient for you, Mrs. Hackney?”
“Sure, sweetie. Whatever you think. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
✽ ✽ ✽
After departing from the hotel, Brock’s mind wandered to the Russells. He missed their friendship and hated hearing about the shoe store going up in smoke. He tried not to worry about the suspicion that his own son had something to do with it. Brock soon found out that pondering deep subjects while driving is not among the best of ideas — he figured that out when he accidentally pulled into the Russells’ driveway.
Their mini-van was parked out front. At least I know they’re home, Brock told himself while unbuckling his seatbelt.
As nervous as a fox in a henhouse, he sauntered to the door, hoping Alayna wouldn’t start screaming at him at first sight. Appears kind of dark. Hope they’re not sleeping. It was too late in the afternoon for a nap and too early for them to be in bed for the night. Brock rang the doorbell.
Within a matter of seconds, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming toward the door. He could only hope it wasn’t Alayna or at least that she had calmed down since the last time he saw her. The door flew open and a colt 0.45 was immediately pressed against his forehead. “Don’t move!” Collin ordered. The man standing in front of Brock didn’t look anything like the Collin he had ever seen before. He had puffy bags under his wide eyes, a scruffy beard, and his hair was racing off in a gazillion different directions.
“Collin?... It’s me… Brock. Disarm yourself.”
Instead of putting it down, Collin pulled the hammer back and his hands began to waver. Alayna ran into the room, crying, “No, Collin! No! Don’t do it! He’s your friend. He’s not gonna hurt us!”
From his frozen position in the doorway, Brock could do nothing but observe as Alayna gently placed her hand on Collin’s shoulder and smoothly glided it down toward the pistol. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she pleaded, “It’s okay, honey. Put the gun down.”
Slowly, Collin lowered the pistol while keeping his eyes trained on Brock.
“Hand me the gun,” Alayna whispered, holding out her hand.
Collin complied without uttering a word. He stepped around Brock and headed to the driveway.
“Collin? Where are you going?” Alayna called after him.
Instead of answering, her husband got in the car, started the engine, and peeled out of the driveway.
“What was that experience concerning?” Brock asked.
“I’m afraid he’s having somewhat of a mental breakdown. Remember how bad he was when we first moved to Farmington? Constantly afraid the human traffickers were coming back? Terrified we had been followed?”
“I recollect,” Brock agreed.
“He was doing better, Brock. He honestly was. But now that the store’s gone, he’s gone off the deep end.”
Brock shuffled his feet. “Do you all still speculate Scottie had something to do with that?”
With a sigh, Alayna said, “It doesn’t matter who it was at this point. All I care about is getting my husband back before he hurts himself or somebody else.”
Brock left the Russell house feeling about as tall as an earthworm scooting around on his belly. It would have been bad enough if Scottie was responsible for burning down the store had it only been an act of arson and no one was hurt. But the idea of Collin losing his mental stability as a result of the fire — it couldn’t be Scottie. Brock was convinced his son would not have caused such agony of the man who had so graciously taken him in and who had labored so hard to clear his name.
When he got home, Brock called an emergency family meeting. Not only were Collin, Alayna, and Remington in desperate need of divine intervention, but so was Mrs. Hackney and the Laborers for God ministry. Brock had seen God answer many inexplicable prayers and he needed, more than anything, to see another one answered.
Brock went first, begging God to speak to Collin’s heart while he was all alone. Knowing God speaks in a still small voice, he asked the Creator to talk to Collin while he was in the car by himself, to comfort the sorrow and sadness Mrs. Hackney was dealing with, and to bless his ministry with the finances and volunteers they needed in order to take on new projects.
Titus spoke next and instead of just praying for the things Brock mentioned needed to be prayed for, he added one of his own. “Ericka still doesn’t trust me, God. You know I would make a respectable husband for her someday. Please, Lord, if it’s in Your will, let her see that. I haven’t given up. Deep within me, I know she’s the one.”
Somehow Titus’s selfish prayer served as an inspiration for Scottie, who was quick to follow his lead as soon as Titus said Amen. “Okay God, it’s me again. I know before I told You I wasn’t even sure You existed. I’ve been working on that and I’m startin’ to think You might be real. So if You are, will You please help Collin not go crazy again? When he was goin’ through stuff like this before, he drove us all nuts. I know Alayna and Remmy are probably about ready to gouge his eyes out, so if You could help them find a way to ignore him, that’d be appreciated too. Oh, and God, I have one more thing I’d like to ask. Sometimes I feel like it’s not fair that I’m always the one gettin’ in trouble and even gettin’ blamed for things You know I didn’t even do… so God… would You… would You make it so Titus gets in trouble? Like seriously bad trouble? I’d honestly appreciate it. Thanks.”
Brock couldn’t help but smirk as he barely opened his eyes and glanced over at Titus to see his reaction. Titus had his eyes open as well. Both of them grinned and closed their eyes back waiting for Victoria to pour her heart out. One thing about Scottie was for certain — his prayers were one-of-a-kind.
Victoria completed the prayer circle by bragging on how God had brought her family back together again, about how He was growing them spiritually, and about how she knew He could put the pieces of the Russell household back together. She thanked Him for allowing her family to have a part in the Laborers for God ministry and asked Him to fill it with His blessings to ensure its continued ability to be a blessing to others.
30: Remorse Sets In
“Alayna, it’s Victoria. Just wanted to let you know we’ve been praying for your family. If there’s anything we can do to help, please give us a call. Talk to you soon.” As much as Victoria hated talking to answering machines, she had a solemn desire to be a blessing to Alayna. Well, that and she was hoping Remmy would be able to help with the building project and simultaneously serve as a positive example for Scottie — but that wasn�
�t the primary focus of her call. It was the gravy spooned on top of the mashed potatoes.
Less than two minutes after hanging up the phone, it rang back. “Sorry I didn’t answer when you called. Remmy was sitting right beside me and I didn’t want to speak where he could hear me. I’m outside right now so I believe I can discuss things a little more openly.”
“Does that mean things aren’t going any better?”
“Victoria, I’m scared. I’ve never seen Collin act this way before; I don’t trust him. It’s almost like he’s suffering from PTSD or something, but he refuses to talk to anybody. Remington’s miserable. He wants out of the house so bad he can’t stand it. He’s even asking if he could go stay with his uncle out in Montana for a while.”
“You’re not gonna let him do that, are you?”
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do at this point. I don’t know if being around Collin is safe for either one of us, but at the same time I’m under the impression Collin needs his family. If either one of us turn our backs on him, it could plunge him even further into his… his… whatever it is he’s struggling with.”
“Alayna, what if… for now, you find ways to cut Remington a break. To get him out of the house doing something after school. That way, it won’t feel like he’s moving away — but like he’s developing some new interests.”
“I’ve considered that, but there’s not a lot to do in this town. Well, except for… I don’t know.”
“Except for what, Alayna?”
“Laborers for God… but I don’t know if Collin would go for that. I don’t suppose he wants Remmy around Scottie at all.”
The ladies chatted for twenty minutes or so before Alayna broke down into uncontrollable weeping and had to get off of the phone. Victoria understood. She remembered how it felt when Brock had been accused of cannibalism and would disappear without warning.
✽ ✽ ✽
Around 4 pm, Brock and Titus were floored to see Alayna’s vehicle pulling in at the new building site. Remmy jumped out of the car and ran straight to Brock. “Mom gave me permission to help out on the project. Do you need me?”
