CHAPTER TWO

Saturday Morning

THE OCTOBER SUN played peekaboo with Jimmy’s left eyelid through the crack between the half-drawn curtains on his bedroom window. Swimming to the surface of wakefulness, he was aware of the irritation the sunlight caused him. He moved his head. The sunlight hit his right eyelid. He moved his head again. Relief.

But not for long.

Right on cue, his head throbbed. He rolled over with a groan and tried to open his mouth to lick the cobwebs off his lips. His tongue felt like a fuzz ball. His eyes twitched but wouldn’t open. He was numb all over.

He rolled over onto his back again and rubbed at his eyes until they could open.

His room looked as if someone had hung a giant piece of gauze over it. He blinked. The gauze separated like a curtain, and he made out the specifics—so familiar and so cluttered. Posters covered almost every inch of wall space. The small desk was piled high with magazines, school papers, comic books, and only heaven knew what else. The closet was an outpouring of clean and dirty clothes, games, games, and more games. A chair was covered with more clothes. A small table held his CD player and surrounding stacks of CDs. And there was the ancient oak dresser with the Old West wagon-train lamp and 96-ounce beer mug half filled with pennies. Also on top, as a testimony to the night before, was the junk he had taken out of his pockets last night.

He moaned as he remembered what had happened.

He remembered Tony, the cigar, deep blue water, and…his parents coming home.

He scanned the room, trying to remember where he threw his alarm clock. He had no idea what time it might be. He sat up, and his head protested.

As he struggled to get out of bed, the door slowly opened, and Donna peeked in. She looked annoyed until she saw Jimmy swing his legs off the side of the bed.

“Mom wants to know if you want some breakfast,” she asked.

He shook his head. “Maybe later” was all he could manage. His tongue wouldn’t let go of the roof of his mouth. After a moment he asked, “What time is it?”

“Almost lunchtime.” She retreated.

“Donna?”

She returned and said, “What?”

He hesitated, then: “Are Mom and Dad…still mad?”

“What do you think?” she asked and left again.

He gingerly stepped out of bed and grabbed at the nearest stack of clothes.

In the bathroom, Jimmy tried to use water to flatten some of his hair. It stuck out in 12 directions. He looked at his face. His eyes looked tiny. He leaned closer to the mirror and checked his chin and top lip for anything that might look like a beard. He couldn’t wait until he was old enough to shave.

Grabbing the skeletal remains of a bar of soap, he scrubbed his hands. And he began to think—not the way the world’s great thinkers do, but with all the concentration he could manage. He replayed the night before in his mind and wondered what made him act the way he did.

He searched his mind for something or someone to blame.

Blank.

Nothing.

He did what he did because it was what he wanted to do. That was all. There really wasn’t any other reason, was there?

Something was just out of reach in his mind. A thought, a feeling…he wasn’t sure. But it made him feel that something was wrong. Maybe something was wrong with him. Maybe he should try harder to behave himself. Maybe he should change somehow.

But he was only 10 years old. What could be wrong with him at the age of 10? How much can a 10-year-old be expected to change? He shrugged and walked out of the bathroom.

Mary Barclay sat silently at the table drinking a cup of tea. Jimmy halfheartedly ate some sugar-coated cereal that promised to be part of a nutritious breakfast. His head still sent dull thuds to his eyes. Did cigars make everybody feel so bad?

His dad had gone to Jimmy’s grandma’s house. It didn’t really sink into Jimmy’s mind what was happening, but someone called that morning to say his grandmother was in great pain and had to be put back in the hospital, and the doctors were playing guessing games about radiation and maybe chemo, but there were no promises, no guarantees, because she was almost 80 years old and not as strong as she used to be.

His mother looked Jimmy directly in the eyes and asked, “Why, Jimmy? Why do you get into so much trouble? The past few months have been one incident after another. Last night was the last straw. Why do you do it?”

His mouth was full of sugar-coated cereal, so he couldn’t answer her.

“I wanted to see your grandma, too, but—” She looked down at her cup of tea. “I can’t trust you anymore.”

Jimmy swallowed hard. He could tell by her tone that she wasn’t just trying to make him feel guilty. She wasn’t even trying to make him feel bad. She was speaking in a neutral voice as if she were telling him about the weather. That made it even worse. Jimmy searched frantically for the right words to say—something to convince her he could be trustworthy.

He couldn’t think of anything. So finally he offered, “I’m sorry, Mom. I just got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

The words sounded hollow even as he said them.

“That’s what you keep saying over and over.”

“This time I mean it,” he said, on the edge of pleading. All his life there had been a bond of trust between him and his parents. Even when he misbehaved, the bond somehow stood firm. To lose it, to feel he had truly failed them, was more than he could handle. “I’ll behave.”

“Don’t tell me you’ll behave. I know better. You feel bad this morning, but that won’t last. You’ll get with Tony and forget.”

He stood up to take his dishes to the sink. “It’s not Tony’s fault,” he said. He stood there, looking out the window into the backyard. The swings on the swing set moved gently in a breeze.

“I’m not blaming Tony. He’s been like another son in this family. But he does influence you. You can’t deny that.”

He turned back to face her and said, “Maybe I’m influencing him.”

She took a drink of her tea. “I hope not,” she replied. “I hope I raised you better than that. But since you got bored with church—” Her voice faded, the sentence left unfinished.

Jimmy knew where the conversation was going. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about that. He wanted to go out.

“You say you’ll behave, and then you don’t. I don’t think you can behave by yourself. I think you need help.” She watched him as she spoke. “So, until further notice, Tony can’t come over, and you can’t sleep over at his house. You’re on restriction. And that means you have to come straight home from school—no Tony, no Whit’s End, nothing.”

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. He hadn’t expected his punishment to be that bad.

Just then, somebody knocked at the front door.

Mary stood up, saying as she walked out of the kitchen, “I want you to think about how you behave and what it does to us…all of us. Another night like last night and I…I don’t know what we’ll do.”

Jimmy brooded as he listened to his mom walk to the front door and open it. Probably the mailman with a personal delivery, he figured.

“Ever since you got bored with church—” she had said to him. Church, church, church, he moaned inwardly. Church was the last thing he needed. He knew plenty of people who went to church, and they weren’t any better than him. In fact, he could think of a whole list of people who seemed worse off because of church.

“Jimmy,” his mom called from the living room, “there’s someone here to see you.”

Huh? he thought. Who in the world would come to see me in the middle of a Saturday except Tony? He pushed off from the sink and rounded the corner into the living room. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could still smell the cigar somewhere.

That’s when Dave Wright and his son, Jacob, entered Jimmy’s life.

Dave was the ever-smiling, ever-friendly kids’ pastor from Calvary Church—his family’s church. Jimmy had heard of him and seen him in the pulpit to make announcements, but he stayed clear of him whenever he could. But there he stood, right in Jimmy’s own living room, grinning from ear to ear. His 10-year-old son, Jacob, stood next to him with the same smile. Jimmy’s mom stood next to them both.

It was a setup. A trap.

“I’ll go to the kitchen to make some tea,” she said and quickly departed.

Dave stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Dave Wright from Calvary.”

Jimmy hesitated and then shook his hand. His grip was firm. Obviously a weightlifter, Jimmy thought. That’s a surprise. Most of the church leaders I’ve ever met turned out to be meek, mousy, turn-the-other-cheek types. “Hi,” Jimmy said.

“This is my son, Jacob,” Dave said.

Jimmy nodded to Jacob. Kids their age didn’t shake hands unless they were making a deal.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Jimmy,” Dave said. He moved to the couch to sit down.

“Oh,” Jimmy said, bugged that Dave sat down. That meant he planned to stay for a little while. Jacob leaned against the side of the couch.

“You’re wondering why we’re here, right?” Dave asked, then gestured to the end table. “I had to drop off some Sunday school material for your mom.”

Jimmy glanced down skeptically at a couple of Sunday school books sitting there.

Dave chuckled and said, “Actually, that’s a lie. I really came by to talk to you.”

“Isn’t it a sin to lie?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah, it is,” Dave said with mock shame. “I guess that’s why I’m still just a kids’ pastor. I’ll graduate to pastor when I can stop sinning.”

Jimmy looked at him blankly.

Dave’s smile faded. “I’m kidding,” he explained.

This guy is really weird, Jimmy thought. He was wearing a normal-looking sport coat and tie and had longish brown hair, a plain face, and an athlete’s build. He wasn’t at all what Jimmy thought a kids’ pastor should be. Kids’ pastors were supposed to be wimps. Even Jacob looked like his father, except he was too young to lift weights.

“I have to go now, okay?” Jimmy said as he moved toward the stairs. “My mom’s in the kitchen if you want to talk to her some more.”

“Wait a sec,” Dave said, waving him back. “What’s the problem? We’re here to talk to you.”

Jimmy stopped. “Yeah, and I know what you wanna talk about, and I don’t wanna talk about it, okay? I don’t like church.”

Dave laughed. “I know,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t like it either.”

“I guess that makes us even.” Jimmy faked a smile and turned away to head for his own room.

“How does that make us even? I still want to talk to you.” Dave stood up and followed Jimmy up the stairs. He obviously wasn’t going to let Jimmy go without a fight.

“About what?” Jimmy asked.

“I want to know why you don’t like church.”

“I don’t know. It’s boring, that’s all. No offense.”

“No offense? Are you kidding? What have I said, what have I done?” Dave pretended he was hurt. “It’s my breath, isn’t it? Go on. You can be straight with me.”

At the top of the stairs, Jimmy stopped. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” This guy really was a wacko.

“Then you have something against the church?”

“I just don’t care, okay?” He went into his room, hoping Dave and Jacob would go away.

But they didn’t. Dave and Jacob stepped into the room. Jimmy felt invaded—it was his room, for crying out loud. Why wouldn’t these guys go away? Jimmy looked for something he could busy himself with.

Dave smiled and continued, “You’re evading the question, Jimmy. I want to know what your problem is.”

“I don’t know!” Jimmy said.

“Not an acceptable answer. Try again.”

Jimmy felt uneasy. “What is this—a quiz?”

Dave smiled. “Sort of,” he said. “Why don’t you come to the church youth group?”

“’Cause I don’t feel like it.” It was all he could think of.

“Not acceptable. You’re oh for two.” Dave frowned and shook a finger at him. “You’re flunking, Jimmy.”

Jimmy was tongue-tied. He didn’t know how to get out of this. But he had to say something… so, he grunted.

“I’m sorry,” Dave said, “was that a grunt?”

“Yes, it was. Do you want me to do it again?” And he did.

Dave laughed. “That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said so far.”

Jimmy sighed and said, “What do you want from me? What’s it gonna take? Do you wanna hear my life story? I could tell you a lot. I could make up even more.”

“I’ll bet you could.”

“What do you want to know? Just ask.”

“I did, and you grunted. I’m afraid of what you might do if I ask anything harder.” Dave sat down on Jimmy’s unmade bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I want you to come to one of our youth meetings. Just one.” His voice was low and very serious.

Jimmy grimaced. “And do what? Drink punch? Sing some boring folk songs? Pray?”

“Maybe.”

“Forget it,” Jimmy said firmly and glanced at Jacob, who seemed to be admiring some of his posters. It bothered Jimmy that Jacob didn’t speak.

For a second, Dave seemed at a loss for words. But only a second. “That’s it? There’s nothing I can do to get you to come?”

“You can tie me up and drag me, I guess,” Jimmy said.

Jimmy knew right away that it was the wrong thing to suggest. Dave looked as if he might consider the idea. Instead, however, he stood up and offered, “How about a deal?”

Jimmy cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

“What sports do you play?”

“I don’t know. Most of them.” Jimmy looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”

“Pick a sport.”

Jimmy eyed him, trying to figure out what he was up to. “A sport?”

“I saw a basketball hoop over the garage. You use it?” Even as Dave asked, he began taking off his sport coat.

“Me and my dad play sometimes. Why? What are you going to do?”

Dave knelt down and tightened his shoelaces. “We’ll play one-on-one. First to reach 10 wins.” He untied his tie and pulled it off. “You lose and you’ll have to come to the youth meeting.”

“Play you? ” Jimmy laughed. “No way.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dave said. “I’ll just referee. You’ll play against Jacob.”

Jacob looked at Jimmy without smiling. Jimmy realized Jacob stood about an inch shorter than himself. “And if I win?”

“We won’t nag you ever again,” Dave said with a smile.

“That doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”

Dave laughed and said, “You’ve never seen us really nag.”

Jimmy sized up Jacob and thought about his chances of winning.

“Well?” Dave asked.

“I don’t know.” Jimmy ran his fingers through his short, curly hair, his habit when thinking hard.

“They call me the Hound of Heaven,” Dave said. “I’ll stay on your tracks for the rest of your life. For eternity.”

Jimmy looked at him closely. This situation had all the elements of a Twilight Zone episode. But this was a dare, a challenge. It intrigued him too much not to see it through to the end. “I’m gonna regret this,” Jimmy finally said. “Deal.”

Jacob and Jimmy silently shook hands.

Dave smiled again and moved to the door. “I have a ball in the car,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Jimmy dug under his bed to get his basketball shoes. He tried to figure his chances of winning. Jacob was shorter and looked a little wimpy. Jimmy, on the other hand, considered himself a pretty good basketball player—not because he loved the game, but because he played against his dad. It would be a good match. And as Jimmy put on his shoes, he psyched himself up. He told himself all the reasons why he would win. Why he had to win.

Jimmy’s mom caught him at the bottom of the stairs. She asked what was going on. Outside, Jimmy heard Jacob dribbling the basketball on the driveway. “I just moved the car so you could play…basketball?”

Jimmy explained the deal.

She shook her head. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t like it at all.”

“You’re right,” Jimmy agreed. “It’s risky. Jacob could win.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She turned and walked away.

Thanks, Mom, he thought. Glad to have you in the cheering section.