18

 

It was later that night, curled up in an armchair, that Suzanne realized what she had to do. Branch was across the room, sprawled on the couch, a baseball game on TV, his eyes glazed, a million miles away. “Honey,” she said.

“Yeah?” he responded, unmoving.

“I need to go out.”

“Okay.”

“I have to talk to Burton Young.”

“That’s probably good. Talking to another minister will help you.”

“Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

His head dipped.

“Branch?”

“I keep running it over in my mind, trying to understand what happened. They were fine. Both boys were fine. Last time I talked to them, they were laughing, giggling … you know, just … normal. So, I mean, I don’t believe they ran off. Not for a second. Who took them? What sort of sick, twisted—” He pressed his fists against his eyes.

Her heart ached for him. For all of them. “Maybe I should stay.”

“No. Go talk to Burton. Makes sense. I think … I can’t stand being cooped up in this house either,” he said, repositioning his baseball cap. “How long will you be gone?”

“An hour. No more.”

“Let’s take a pontoon ride. We’ve got cell phones, so it’s not like we can’t be reached. What do you say? Won’t get dark for hours. This might be one of the last times I get to ride on that boat.”

“Because?”

“I put it up on Craigslist last night. Will you come? You can meet me at the boat launch at Arbor Lake.”

Suzanne didn’t feel much like it, but she could see by the eagerness in her husband’s eyes that it was what he wanted. Maybe even needed. “Sure.”

*   *   *

Suzanne called Burton from the kitchen phone, relieved to find him home. She suggested that they meet at Amanda’s Pie Shack near his house in Bridger. When she got there, he was seated in one of the booths, a cup of coffee on the cracked Formica tabletop in front of him. He stood as she approached, held out his hands to her.

“The boys?” he asked, his eyebrows arched expectantly.

She shook her head.

“But the ransom—”

“We paid it. They never came home.” She felt herself begin to crumble.

“Sit,” he said. Holding up his hand, he ordered another coffee. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He sat back down and watched her. “I appreciated your call yesterday, keeping me in the loop. Tell me how you are?”

She spoke slowly, explained what had happened, and ended by saying that she’d never felt so lost in her entire life.

Burton was a frail, bookish man, so unlike Branch. His best feature was his eyes—clear, kind, full of warmth. He listened with his eyes, spoke with them, touched and even embraced people with them—if any of that was even possible. Suzanne had liked him from the moment they first met.

She leaned back as a waitress set the coffee in front of her.

“How’s Branch taking all this?”

“I haven’t told you the good news. He found a job. He’ll be on probation for six months. After that, he’ll get a raise and even some profit sharing. It’s a good salary, more than he expected.”

“Such great news. I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thanks.”

“And how’s everything at the church? Vivian still being … Vivian?”

She wanted to tell him, ached to explain what was going on inside her, but something always stopped her. She thought tonight might be different. All her normal defenses were down. Nothing felt real.

“Something you want to say?” he asked.

Could she? Guilt was combustible. As long as her lies went unchallenged, the guilt only increased. She wanted Burton’s serenity, though she understood she would never have it—not now. The past still tugged at her. Sometimes she tried to slip back into the old verities, try them on like a pair of old shoes. They didn’t fit anymore. The soles were all worn away and the toes felt too tight. Burton had helped start her on a spiritual journey she assumed would bring her great happiness and fulfillment. Instead, she’d taken dynamite to that road, blowing away chunks until it had become impassible. She was at a crossroads, a crisis point, one that Burton, for all his kindness and ability to listen, might not be able to understand. She loved him for so many reasons. The idea that her choices would hurt him was almost too much to bear.

“What can I do?” asked Burton, his hand reaching across the table for hers.

“Talk to God. Tell Him to bring the boys back.”

His eyes were immensely sad.

“What good are we if God won’t reach down into the world and act when we ask Him to? We’re His priests. His intercessors. How can He stand to watch all this pain and not do something about it?” She couldn’t help herself. The words had simply fallen out of her mouth.

“It doesn’t work like that. The pain is what teaches us.”

“What did the Holocaust teach us? Biafra? Six thousand years of war and rape, hunger and ravaged lives. Children dying before they even have a chance at life. I feel so alone, Burton. Why does God seem so cold, so indifferent?”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

“It’s not just Gabriel. This has been growing in me for a long time. Even before my first husband died, I was questioning my beliefs. What the church teaches—it doesn’t make sense to me anymore.”

“I see.” Still holding her hand, he said, “And Vivian didn’t help matters.”

“I hate the way she uses God as a weapon. But, again, it’s more than that. How can any human being ever say they know the mind of God?”

“You still believe in God?”

“I believe in a consciousness beyond ourselves, but not the gods we’ve created in our own image, for our own purposes, to serve our needs, our fear of death.”

“Then you have to find a new path.”

She gazed up into his eyes. “You don’t condemn me?”

“Condemn you? Why would I do that? You’re struggling, just like the rest of us. The Christian path works for me. I find great meaning in it, but that’s not to say it should be everyone’s path. The world is a very big place. We all have a lot to learn. There’s room for all of us, Suzanne. Room for different opinions. Change. Growth. Perhaps even a spirituality that isn’t tethered to a specific religion. I don’t know. But I learn more every day. That’s what I love about life. It’s always evolving, always teaching me something.”

She felt tears of gratitude burn her eyes.

“I believe that God does act in our lives, does help,” said Burton.

“You believe. You have faith.”

“I do.”

“That’s what I’ve lost,” she said. “Maybe that seems sad to you. But for me, it’s liberating. The only thing is, I’m finding this new direction painfully lonely. What do I do with my life after I leave the church?”

“I’m sure you’ve thought about it. And I’m also sure you have some ideas.”

She looked down into her coffee cup. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Tell me.”

“I want to get a law degree, eventually work with people who’ve been sent to jail for crimes they didn’t commit.”

“You’d have to leave Winfield.”

“I’ve already checked into the University of Minnesota and William Mitchell. Branch could work in Prior Lake, we could even live there. It might be a good thing to get out of here. I mean, how do I tell my family what’s going on with me? My congregation?”

“You’ll find a way,” said Burton.

“You’re sure.”

“I’m sure of one thing. You’re a good woman. You’ll work it out.”

“Will you help me?”

He squeezed her hand. “In any way I can.”

*   *   *

Driving down the path to the boat launch a while later, she found Branch hunched on the dock, his hands covering his face, the pontoon tied to a post. “Problems?” she shouted, getting out of her Prius and approaching the dock on foot.

He raised his head. In a tightly compressed voice, he said, “When I pulled the canvas cover off, I found something I didn’t expect.”

She moved up behind him, seeing the word “Satan,” the numbers “666,” and several pentagrams scrawled across the pontoon’s carpet and seats. Most of the seats had also been slit, foam spilling out onto the deck. “Oh, honey, this is awful.”

“That about covers it.”

“Why? Who?”

“Must have happened during the night. I’m thinking it’s a curse. Somebody’s trying to put a curse on me. Those are powerful satanic symbols.”

“No, they’re not.” It sometimes amazed her what he believed. She crouched down behind him, put a hand on his shoulder.

Shaking it off, he jumped into the water and began to pull the pontoon toward the trailer. “Let’s go home.”

“This was just some stupid prank.”

“No, Suzanne. It wasn’t. It was a message.”