God Only Knows (12 page)

“Maybe,” Julia said, raising her hands slowly, “we should just agree that we need God, however we define Him —”

“Or Her, depending on Toya’s beliefs,” Terry said, shrugging in amused disgust.

“Let’s just say,” Julia continued, “that we need God’s covering over this conversation. Fair enough?”

Glancing at her watch, Toya sighed. “You have what you wanted, Julia. We’re all here, we’ve had our small talk, and now we’re
as tight as the old days, okay?” The sarcasm in her tone leveled off finally as she said, “So what is it you want? Do you
really want to talk about Eddie?”

“As I told you over the phone,” Julia replied, looking around the table, “it’s not about what I want. It’s about what we have
to do, now that his brother has surfaced with these accusations.”

Terry looked over her shoulder before peering anxiously over at Cassie. “Are we sure it’s safe to talk here?”

“We’re in a back corner of the restaurant,” Cassie replied, “and as long as we keep our voices down, it’s clear everyone here
is too busy to care about our conversation.”

“What I think we need to do,” Julia said, “is to first make sure we are all agreed on the details of what happened that day
with Eddie.”

“Oh, really?” The tallest of the group, Toya looked down at Julia from her perch. “So you’ve already decided that we’re confessing
to something, have you?”

“From what I hear,” Terry said, an emphatic
hmmph
underneath her words, “you the one that confessed already, Toya. Why you gonna tell
Lenny,
of all people?”

“Terry,” Toya replied, slowly raising a hand and aiming her index finger with precision, “don’t tread on ground that doesn’t
concern you. I had my reasons for sharing this with him.”

Cassie sighed. “I actually think it’s a fair question, Toya. You put all of us at risk by telling Lenny about this.”

Toya folded her hands before her, glued her eyes to the table suddenly. “You all do know that he’s gone, right? That he’s
been dead for several months?” When the women had nodded respectfully, she continued. “What I told him, I told him out of
a desperate sense of trying to save him. Lenny was running his mouth about a lot of his past crimes in an attempt to shorten
his sentence. My parents kept telling him he needed to shut up, because it was clear that the authorities didn’t value any
information he had for them. All he was doing was making enemies for himself. I suppose I thought that if I told him about
a secret I had kept, he would understand the value of keeping his mouth shut.”

Cassie patted Toya’s hand as she shared chastened glances with Terry. “You did what you thought you had to in order to reach
a loved one. We understand.”

“Amen,” Julia said. “There’s nothing to be gained by finger-pointing at this stage, we are where we are. The point is, regardless
of how God leads us to deal with the threats Cassie’s facing from Peter Whitlock, we have to first agree on what the truth
is.” She met Toya’s piercing, defensive glare head-on. “Would you like to go first?”

H
ustling down the soccer field, the tips of his Nike cross-trainer gym shoes scuffing the white chalk of the sideline, Maxwell
screeched to a stop. “Luke, talk to me, boy!”

Ten-year-old Luke Sharp, the older son of Maxwell’s lifelong friend Lyle, stepped to the line so that he stood a few inches
from his godfather. Fists rebelliously planted against his hips, he raised dart-sharp brown eyes to Maxwell’s stern gaze.
“Uncle Max, the coach is always riding me —”

“He’s just helping you keep your head in the game,” Maxwell replied, nodding across the field to where the team’s coach, a
beleaguered parent of one of the least-talented team members, stood talking in low tones with a referee. “Where’s your hustle,
son?”

“Coach needs to keep another fullback with me, I can’t stop number twenty-two on my own. The dude’s too fast.” He jabbed a
finger at Maxwell. “He made a fool of me on that last play, you saw it. He’s almost as awesome as you were in you and Dad’s
day.”

Repressing a smile at the flattery, Maxwell said, “Between you and me, you’re probably right.” He leaned in until his nose
was inches from the boy’s. “That doesn’t mean you give up, just because the boy’s got skills. Get out there and give it your
all. You can ask Coach to give you more fullback support during halftime.” The referee’s sharp whistle cut through the air,
and Maxwell stepped back as little Luke jetted back toward his team’s goal.

“Isn’t that cute? Maxwell Simon, always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” Lyle, reclining in an expensive portable chair, set
his iPhone down as his friend returned to his seat. “If I wasn’t so self-confident, I might feel threatened to see you counseling
my boy while I sit here texting half the country. Get a son of your own, man. I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t
even know how babies get made.”

Shrugging off his friend’s jab, Maxwell chuckled. “If you fathers were up to the job, I wouldn’t have your kids looking up
to me in the first place.”

“I think Maxwell’s willingness to mentor our children is inspiring,” Jake Campbell said from his seat on the other side of
Lyle. “You keep doing the mentoring thing, man, especially with Lyle’s boys. You may save me some heartache in case either
of them ever tries to date one of my girls someday.” Jake’s four stair-step daughters ranged from four to ten, and as he and
his wife did not practice birth control, it was just a matter of time before additional children would join the fold.

“Well, you know I’m not hatin’,” Lyle replied, his eyes intent again on an e-mail message on the iPhone screen, “but I do
feel the good doctor is getting a little old to be a bachelor who spends most of his free time influencing other folks’ kids.
Seems it’s about time he took the leap, built a house and a home, like the rest of us.”

Jake picked at his bare chin for a minute, seemingly formulating a thoughtful response. “You can’t clock God. He’ll bring
the right woman into Maxwell’s life at the appropriate day and time.” Eyes ablaze with sudden glee, he knocked elbows with
Lyle. “I take Maxwell’s lifestyle choice —long-term celibacy —as evidence he’s at peace with that.”

“Oh, you guys are so funny,” Maxwell replied, shaking his head even as a chuckle escaped. Catching the glance of a cute, but
apparently married, mom next to him, he leaned over toward his friends and lowered his voice. “This is a family setting, so
can we please change topics . . . quickly?”

“Oh, sure,” Jake replied, hands folded together as he smirked at his friend. “Just remember, Maxwell, if it ever gets that
tight on you, it’s better to marry than to burn.”

“Oh, well,” Lyle said, laughing loudly, “that probably means the good doctor went up in flames a long time ago. We know he’s
had a few slipups.”

Maxwell was surprised by a warming sensation in his cheeks, but he had full control over the words that popped from his mouth.
“If anyone here should quit right now, Lyle, it’s you.” He loved Lyle like a brother, but the former hoops star, with the
gift of gab, had a history littered with premarital and extramarital encounters. In addition to his obligations as a city
council member, the main reason Lyle and his family still lived in Dayton, despite his status as a partner in a Columbus law
firm, was that Lyle’s wife, Stacy, had refused to move. It was one of the few ways in which she made him pay for his spotty
attempts to stay faithful.

“Excuse me,” Lyle said, whistling lightheartedly. “It, uh, seems somebody had a bad night.” He turned toward Jake and rolled
his eyes before popping Maxwell’s shoulder. “The pastor and I were just having some fun, man, cool out. You know we’re just
jealous of your freedom.”

“Oh, there’s not much to envy.” He felt the touch of the Spirit calming him now, but Maxwell was more aware than usual of
his chronically single state —probably something about being surrounded by so many apparently happy families.

He knew enough about the complexities of both Jake’s and Lyle’s marriages to know that the grass wasn’t completely greener.
Lyle’s attempts to reliably attend his sons’ soccer games and his daughter Maya’s dance recitals were constantly foiled by
the demands of his ambitious career. As for Jake, while he had a staff of assistant ministers to ease his workload, he had
so little free time that he had sneaked away this morning to hang at a game that didn’t even involve any of his girls.

A few minutes passed as the game’s tempo heated up, and just before halftime, Maxwell’s counsel paid off, when Luke chased
down an opposing forward and slide-kicked the ball out from beneath him. As the referee’s whistle blew for halftime, Lyle
picked the conversation back up.

“I hear the sound,” he said, looking over at Maxwell, “of a man who’s tiring of life as a single Christian brother. Am I right?
Now that you’re finally settled in locally again, do we have permission to start matchmaking for you?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Why would any desirable woman want to date a broke doctor?” Visions of his clinic’s red ink weighing
on him, he was reminded of Toni, the fine sister on the television show
Girlfriends,
who had divorced her doctor husband when she realized he wasn’t making “real” money. Maxwell supposed it made sense: If he
were a janitor, women at least could marry him knowing what to expect. When they heard he was a doctor, though, they immediately
judged him through a lens that he no longer intended to live up to. He was intent on doing good for others, not necessarily
doing well for himself; with the state the American health care system was in, he wasn’t sure it was possible to do both anymore.

“Maxwell,” Jake was saying now, “we’re not taking no for an answer. I’ve counseled Lyle that he needs to match you up with
all these fine women he knows. It’s the best thing for the both of you —you get to meet women who may be wife material, and
Lyle gets to make it clear that he’s not interested in them.”

“Uh-huh.” Maxwell raised an eyebrow cynically. “I’m having visions of Lyle being pretty stingy as he goes through a little
black book, holding back a few numbers for the occasional booty call.”

“Not cool,” Lyle replied, feinting a punch toward Maxwell’s chest. “You know I’m clean, baby. With Jake’s ongoing counsel,
I’ve walked the straight and narrow for two years, six months, three weeks, and —”

“You’re scaring me, man,” Maxwell said, a hand raised to shut his friend down. “I was having fun with you.”

“I’ll give you my black book, if that helps,” Lyle continued. “I just thought, given as you’ve probably been working so hard,
you’ve forgotten how to lay a rap. I figured you might want me to call some of them for you first —”

“Burn the book,” Maxwell replied, rising from his seat. “I’m gonna go grab some popcorn or something. Either of you want anything?”

“Not so fast,” Jake said, standing and blocking Maxwell’s attempt to stand. “You just not interested in dating? Or have you
already met someone?” The naïvely hopeful look in Jake’s eyes actually warmed Maxwell’s heart; Jake was a true shepherd of
souls, clearly hopeful that God had already sent his friend a Mrs. Right.

“I’m just not ready for dating, guys,” Maxwell said, leaning back in his seat but keeping his hands on knees for balance.
He had to choose his words carefully now. “You know how nasty my breakup with Tiffany was. I haven’t even kissed a woman since
we broke off our engagement.”

Lyle smiled. “What
have
you kissed? Okay, I’m stupid. Look, man, I stand by my advice. You listened to your heart on that one. You know you’re not
some racist.” He looked over at their friend for affirmation. “Ain’t that right, Jake?”

Silence enveloped the friends for a minute as history hung in the air. All had dated white women through the years, and Jake’s
sweet wife, Meghan, was a bleached blonde of Eastern European descent. Stacy, Lyle’s wife, was the type of black woman who
trumpeted her Native American ancestry, and she embodied the racial diversity of Lyle’s past loves: There was hardly an ethnicity
he had not sampled through the years.

So three years earlier, when Tiffany had insisted that Maxwell’s decision not to marry her was driven by a belief that he
was too good to marry a white woman, these two friends had been the perfect sounding boards. Maxwell was still grateful today
for the care they had taken in helping him examine his thinking through prayer and meditation, but he didn’t need to relive
all that. The drama that followed in the weeks after Tiffany first leveled her charges, and his attempt to prove his honor,
had led to a new relationship, though it was one his friends agreed would not lead to marriage: Nia.

“Why don’t we let this drop, guys,” Maxwell said, rising from his seat. “No need to rehash old history. Frankly, I may have
stumbled onto a dating lead of my own.” He nearly swallowed the words as soon as they escaped.

Did I just say that?

S
o who’s the lucky lady?” Jake asked the dreaded follow-up, flanking Maxwell, along with Lyle, as the three crossed the empty
soccer field. Maxwell bought a minute while they meandered past the teams’ benches, tousling the hair on Luke’s head and shooting
the breeze with one of the coaches, an acquaintance from the old neighborhood.

As they turned toward the concession stand, though, Lyle resumed the conversation. “Out with it, Doc. Who’s the target of
your affections?”

Too tired to run, too honorable to lie, Maxwell tried to sound offhanded as he said, “Well, you know I’ve been working a bit
with Julia Turner on the plan to save Christian Light —”

“Oh, I got you,” Lyle said, snapping his fingers. “I’m sure there’s quite a few beauties serving on that board, huh? Probably
some nice twenty-something babes, if I had to guess? Black, white, or brown?”

Maxwell set his tongue deep within his mouth, realizing immediately the turn the conversation was about to take. As the men
took a place in line at the snack stand, it took Jake’s perceptive radar to move the conversation forward.