27

 

On her way to the sanctuary that afternoon, so drained and weary that she felt as if she’d downed lithium with her morning coffee, Suzanne ran into Vivian Brassart, who was steaming toward the church office, her dyspeptic eagle presence ready to shred anything in its path.

“Oh, Suzanne,” she said, the sharp features softening. “I just heard the good news. The boys are back.”

“I’m afraid you’ve got only part of that right. Jack’s home. Gabriel’s still missing.”

Her frown deepened the lines around her mouth. “But I was told—”

Suzanne had no desire to explain, but took a moment to do so anyway, thinking that it was best to keep their relationship, such as it was, civil.

“I’ve been praying for both of them,” said Vivian. “I wish I could do more.”

Nobody was all bad, thought Suzanne—even the woman who had made the last six months of her life a misery.

“This probably isn’t the time to bring it up,” said Vivian, crossing her arms over her ample stomach. “The fact that I know why you’re behind on your work here doesn’t really mitigate the problem. I’m not sure what we should do. You understand my position.”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps you should take an official leave of absence. I’m sure I could get Haden Daltry to step in for you.”

Daltry was a Vivian clone. He was also one of the nicest—and funniest—men Suzanne had ever met. Vivian had hired him as a part-time adjunct pastor in March and had been waiting for just such an opportunity to install him in a full-time position. Once he was so ensconced, even though it was temporary, Suzanne felt sure the board would keep him on. Vivian was lining up soldiers behind her. One day the ultimatum would come down from on high: Suzanne could either join the good fight, as Vivian saw it, or move on to another pastorate.

Fingering a couple of the papers in the folder she was carrying, Vivian said, “I’m starting something new. If you’d been at the board meeting on Friday, you would have heard all about it. We’re moving our Sunday service to eleven. The ten o’clock hour will be reserved for our new Sunday Morning Forum. As I envision it, it will be an opportunity to bring in experts to talk about values issues. I’ve got a list of people I’d like to extend an invitation to, and also a list of topics for which we need to find an expert. I’m really excited about this. Perhaps … if you have the time … you could look the list over and give me your thoughts. I was going to put you in charge of it, but since you’ll be taking a leave, I’ll give the job to Haden.”

As Suzanne opened the folder and began to read through the list, Craig Gilkey, the principal at the middle school, shambled to a stop a few yards away to answer his cell phone. When he was done, he smiled at Vivian and nodded to Suzanne. “Ladies.”

Suzanne hadn’t talked to him since the school year had ended.

“How’s your brother doing?” asked Vivian.

Craig’s older brother had broken his leg in a skiing accident in March. He was one of the best tenors in the church choir and his strong voice had been sorely missed.

“He’s doing much better,” said Craig, wiping sweat off his forehead. “But then we got nailed by that storm last night. Had a tree fall right on top of our garage. Thankfully, Suzanne’s husband came by with that friend of his, Andrew Waltz. They’ve got most of the tree cleared away. Can’t thank them enough. They’re sure a couple of great guys.”

“I agree,” said Suzanne.

“Yeah. My insurance man will be out in the next couple of days. It’s always something, isn’t it?”

“I was just talking about you this morning,” said Suzanne.

“And up I jump,” he said, grinning.

“I’m curious what happened with that unit on creationism you wanted Aaron Eld to teach.”

“Intelligent design. We don’t use the word ‘creationism’ anymore. And don’t get me started on that.”

“Eld flat-out refused,” said Vivian. “I believe the school board is planning to let him go. Isn’t that right, Mr. Gilkey?”

“You’re firing him?” said Suzanne, unable to hide her astonishment.

“Well, not for that. It was poor job performance all around.”

“But I’d heard the kids loved him.”

“I shouldn’t be talking about this, but since I know it will go no further—” He glanced around before continuing. “See, the thing is, I’d smelled alcohol on his breath. That means he was drinking during school hours. We can’t have that.”

“No,” said Vivian firmly. “We’re well rid of him.”

“It wasn’t just the alcohol,” added Gilkey, flipping open his cell phone to check the screen. “He’d been late for class a few times. Missed several important teachers meetings. And then there was the parents’ petition.”

“Right, the petition,” said Suzanne.

“I wasn’t the one who issued the final verdict about firing him. The school board did that. In fact, the letter went out on Friday. He should have it today.”

Suzanne harbored no doubts about the primary cause of Eld’s dismissal. She excused herself, said she needed to get back to her office. Vivian and Gilkey could continue to applaud the school board without her.

Four pictures adorned Suzanne’s desk—one of her first husband, Sam, a shot of Branch piloting his pontoon, a picture of Eric and Andrew, their arms around each other’s shoulders, and Gabriel’s sixth-grade school photo. She gazed at the picture of Gabriel for a long time, her hand rising trancelike, wanting desperately to touch his soft, sandy blond hair. Nobody who hadn’t lost a child could even begin to know what this was like. It was against nature. Purely atavistic. Wrong clear to the bone.

Suzanne called her neighbor Sandy Anderson, who had offered to stay at the house while she and Branch were away. Someone had to be there at all times. After learning that everything was quiet, Suzanne rose and went down the hall to get herself a cup of coffee. The normality of the activity helped to focus her mind. Even so, her hand shook when she picked up the pot, though nobody was in the break room to notice.

Returning to her office, she placed a call to Burton. After their conversation on Saturday, she felt the need to talk to him again. His phone rang five times before his voice mail picked up. She didn’t leave a message. As she carefully brought the paper cup to her lips, her attention fell to the folder Vivian had given her. Opening it, she ran her finger down the lists. She should have expected it. It was standard fare for someone with deeply conservative values.

An invitation was to be offered to a man from Sanctity of Life Minnesota, a pro-life group, and to another from something called the Death Penalty Advocacy Group. Apparently, Vivian saw no irony in this particular philosophical juxtaposition. A woman from the Project for a New American Century had already been contacted. She’d suggested a topic: The need for American “full-spectrum dominance” in the world, including land, sea, air, space, industry, and agriculture. Vivian wanted experts found to discuss such issues as immigration and the pros and cons of the Dream Act; opposition to same-sex marriage; gun control; homeschooling and vouchers for charter and private schools; and finally, the scientific evidence against global warming. Vivian had written a note at the bottom of the sheet: “Feel free to suggest other topics.”

Right, thought Suzanne. How about: “The Fires of Hell—How God Keeps Them Stoked”? What kind of sick mind would come up with the idea of eternal torturing fire?

Turning to her computer, she brought up Google and typed in her question. Up popped an article written by an ex-Presbyterian minister, a man who’d left his church because of a similar issue. Suzanne scrolled down the page, learning about the path his ideas had taken over the years. She was struck by how much they paralleled her own. He’d called his leaving the church a “coming out” process. For years, he’d keep his thoughts to himself, even kept his family in the dark—for multiple reasons, not the least of which had to do with his need for employment.

At the end of the article, Suzanne came across the name of something called the Clergy Project. She quickly returned to Google and typed it in. Up came a Web site that offered her the chance to join a confidential online community for active and former clergy who had lost their belief in God. She was staggered. She had no idea something organized existed for people like her—or even that there were others like her. Of course, when she thought about it, it made sense. She couldn’t be the only one this loss of faith had ever happened to.

For the next hour, Suzanne devoured the testimonials, the news stories about nonbelieving clergy who had left churches behind. Some identified as atheists, some as agnostics, some as nothing at all. She ran through dozens of links for books, podcasts, and other resources for those who were dealing with “this most fundamental question of human existence.” In the midst of a darkness that truly did seem impenetrable, she’d found a tiny ray of light—not a light others would understand, but one that held out hope that she wouldn’t have to walk this difficult path alone.