Riven (17 page)

Nabertowitz studied Brady. “You might be on to something. He’s perfect in the speaking parts, and he knows all the lyrics. But we’re going to bog down waiting for him to do something he seems incapable of.”

The director called the boy over and briefed him. The actor looked dubious but said he’d give it a try. “Kids!” Nabertowitz shouted. “From the top!”

This time, when the actor got to the difficult parts, he spread his feet, squared his shoulders, planted his fists at his waist, threw his head back, and belted it out for all he was worth. He missed the notes by a mile but sang with a sneer of confidence, as if performing an aria at the Met. The audience erupted in cheers and laughter, and Forest View’s
Bye Bye Birdie
had its singular moment.

Brady’s performance was stellar. He hit every line and note and step with just enough charm and swagger and danger for the role, and Mr. N. crowed to everyone that he was also like an assistant director. He let it be known to all that the idea that made the father’s performance work was Brady’s alone.

All the success served to make Brady Darby the most popular, talked-about, sought-after kid in the school. He even had attention from girls—real women, cheerleader types—like he had rarely experienced before. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the type. They loved the attention of getting next to the bad boy. They weren’t really going to date him or fall for him, and while he daydreamed about several of them, no preppy girl and he were going to become an item.

But this was sure fun.

As opening night approached, so did midterm exams. Brady hoped everyone in authority—though he had been warned otherwise—was prepared to make an exception in his case. Because while he was as ready for opening night as he had been for anything else in his life, he was not ready for midterms.

Adamsville State Penitentiary

Thomas had never worked for the state before, and he was pleasantly surprised to find how nice bureaucrats were to newcomers. He was treated the same at the main gate as he had been at the guardhouse, with two officers assuring him they would recognize him from now on and telling him they hoped he’d work out the way Chaplain Russ had and stay at least as long.

That was Thomas’s dream too. He couldn’t help himself. He was an optimist. He had seen every new church and ministry opportunity as something unique from God, and while each in its own way had gone south on him over the years, nothing had ever fully taken the wind from his sails. He was committed. He would remain true. He would stay in the Word, as he and people like him were wont to say about studying the Bible every day. He would rise at dawn and kneel and pray and read and memorize. He and Grace would sing together other each evening. And he would look for opportunities to introduce people to Jesus. Adamsville State Penitentiary sure seemed the ideal place for that.

He had to admit that there were parts of ministry he wasn’t that good at. The preaching thing, for one. Oh, he had tried, had given it all he had. He had seen and heard the best of the best at Bible college and at the occasional conference over the years. He’d been inspired and taken notes and even tried copying the techniques and mannerisms of the most engaging preachers. But he knew he had never riveted a crowd, never persuaded anyone just from the strength of his own passion and delivery.

He was better at the one-on-one: teaching, discipling, encouraging. That was why this new role seemed a perfect fit. Thomas had taken Russ’s misgivings to heart and knew he would have to be wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove, as the Scripture said. That would all come in time. For now, he had a lot to learn.

Gladys, decked out in orange, including her eyeshadow, was remarkably cheery for a woman in her role. She couldn’t have been much older than he, but Thomas felt mothered by her—in a good way. She escorted him to Human Resources, where he was initiated with keys, a packet of brochures and pamphlets, and an employee manual. He signed more documents than he and Grace had had to sign to rent the tiny four-room ranch three miles from the prison.

Thomas had just arrived for his first day on the job, and already he was eager to get back home to help Grace unpack and set up housekeeping. Her health seemed to have rallied with the new opportunity and a home to call her own. He just hoped she didn’t overdo things.

Thomas worried about his wife. Soon, he feared, he would have to press Grace to see a doctor. Not only was she not herself physically, but her demeanor had also been affected by whatever was ailing her. He knew better, but Thomas had long seen her as perfect, almost too good to be true. He wasn’t complaining, but there were days he would have loved to see her as more human. Nothing ever seemed to get to her, and part of him even suspected that her equanimity had been partly to blame for Ravinia’s revulsion of them.

He’d never dared raise this with Grace, and he knew his own bland consistency in all things spiritual had to be frustrating for a young woman too. But he could identify with Rav’s complaint that she had been raised in the house of a matron saint.

Several days before, however, a bit of Grace’s sheen had worn off, and she had tearfully confessed to him what she considered a sin that had eroded her conscience.

“I wrote a letter to the Pierces,” she said.

“You didn’t.”

“I did. And I even used a bad word in it.”

“Whatever you called them, they deserved it,” Thomas said before he could catch himself.

“I need to apologize,” she said.

Thomas knew she was right, but he wished she wouldn’t. Few people stood up to Paul Pierce. He could only imagine the man fuming at the brass of the former circuit pastor’s tiny wife.

“I want to send a note of apology even before I hear back from them.”

“You think they’ll write back?”

“Of course.”

Grace had fired off the follow-up letter, but she never heard from the Pierces.

Thomas had pestered her for days to tell him what she had called the Pierces, and when she finally admitted she had regrettably referred to them anatomically, it was all he could do to hide his glee. Even now he chortled aloud when he thought of it.

Loaded with all the stuff from the personnel director, Thomas found his way back to his office. He would have to bring in a box of personal photos to adorn the walls and make it homey, but for now he just set the furniture the way he wanted it and jotted a list for Gladys—as she had instructed—of the office supplies he needed.

When he delivered it to her, she rang a tiny hand bell on her desk, and people seemed to appear from nowhere. Offices and cubicles emptied, and men and women of all ages and races—though they all seemed to dress in the same plain, cheap business wear—moseyed into the central area and lined up for a pastry and a cup of coffee.

Frank LeRoy was the last to appear. “Okay!” he said. “Thanks for coming. Get yourself something to eat and drink and introduce yourself to our new chaplain. Then let’s get back to work.”

“Yeah, no,” someone whispered, and several laughed.

“What’s that?” the warden said.

“Thank you!”

“Oh, well, thank Gladys. She arranged all this like she does everything else.”

Gladys bustled here and there, making sure everyone was taken care of, while Thomas stood awkwardly, wondering if he should try to eat and drink while greeting all these new associates. He decided against it, but Gladys brought him a plate with a doughnut on it and a cup of coffee.

“I’d better go easy on the sweets,” he said.

“Oh, go on and have one,” she said. “It’s a party.”

“Lot of calories, I’ll bet.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, beaming. “I say, ‘Get thee behind me,’ and then I eat ’em, and they do!”

Maybe it was first-day jitters, but the unexpected humor caused a snort when he laughed. He would have to engage with the warden’s secretary more when occasions arose. It was a joke, but she had quoted Scripture. He wondered where she was spiritually.

Thomas managed to hold both his plate and his cup in one hand as he shook hands with nearly everyone and quickly recited for each where he was from, that he was eager to introduce his wife someday, and how glad he was to be there.

“You seen the unit yet?” someone said.

“That’s next, I believe, after my meeting with Warden LeRoy.”

“You’d better decide after that how glad you are to be here.”

20

Forest View High School

Dean Hose called Brady out of a morning class. Brady had no advocate along this time.

“Against my better judgment, I slipped into that dress rehearsal.”

“No kiddin’? Did Mr. N. know?”

Hose shook his head. “Thing is, live theater is not my deal, especially musicals. But I loved it. I’ll be bringing my family and even another couple.”

“Cool.”

“You’re really good, Darby. Who would have guessed?”

“Not me. Thanks.”

“Anybody who can do what you do on that stage is no dummy. So what are you doing about your grades?”

“I told you. I’m trying harder, gonna get my homework done, study for these tests, look into getting some help.”

“C’mon, Darby. Who do you think you’re talking to? That’s a load, and you know it.”

“Sorry?”

Dr. Hose pointed to the brass plate on the edge of his desk. “You see my title, ‘academic dean’?
Academic,
son. You think I’m not in daily touch with every teacher in this school and don’t know who is and who isn’t in trouble? You haven’t talked to one of your teachers about your situation, haven’t asked for help, haven’t asked for a tutor, and worse, you’re
not
keeping up with your homework. That one I can’t figure at all. At least do that!”

Brady hung his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, believe me, I understand. You’re not the first smart kid who’s more concerned about his image than his grades. It’s one thing to be the hip tough guy who crashes the preppies’ party and lands the sweetest role in the musical. But to do your daily assignments, carry your books, take notes, get help—no, that’s beneath you. Am I right or am I right? Huh?”

Brady felt exposed. “Let’s be real. I’m going to be a workingman all my life. I just can’t get myself worked up over these classes.”

Hose stood and thrust his hands into his pockets. He peered out the tiny window in his door, then turned to face Brady. “That’s something else that’s always puzzled me. Most of your friends are in work-release programs where they take shop classes in the morning and head for a job in the afternoon. Why not you? You get to start that as a junior.”

Brady shrugged. “Can’t afford a car yet, so I haven’t gotten a job like that. Anyway, I wanted to play football, and when that didn’t work out, I tried out for the musical.”

“You know, don’t you, that if you don’t do something drastic, you’re going to be out of the musical? Past that, how will you ever graduate? While there’s nothing wrong with being a workingman, as you say, you’re never going to get to be a foreman if you don’t have a sheepskin. It’s all right to punch a clock, but wouldn’t you like to at least be on salary someday, get some benefits, have a little job security? You’re going to want a wife and a family, aren’t you?”

Now Hosey had hit Brady where he lived. He had no crazy notion that he could find the right woman, have the right job, find a decent place to live, and make the family thing work the way his aunt and uncle had. Desperate as he was to be a good example to Peter, he was already failing miserably at that and could only hope against hope that Peter had no idea.

Brady nodded. “You think I could try that work-release thing when the play is over?”

“I do. But, listen, you can’t just let everything slide until then. It happens that your midterms end the Friday night the play opens, so your grades won’t be recorded until Monday. But if your GPA slips an iota, you’ll disqualify yourself from the three performances the following weekend. And the work-release thing would be out the window too.”

Adamsville State Penitentiary

The warden waved Thomas in while still on the phone and pointed to a chair. “All right, then, George. I’ll be back to ya.”

He hung up and studied Thomas. “There’s still time to turn tail and run, Reverend,” he said, smiling.

“I don’t guess I’ll be doing that. I’m excited about this.”

“It’ll be no picnic. That was Andreason on the phone. The gov and I go way back, you know. College. He’s not happy about me trying to run the DOC from here, but for now I’ve got him convinced it’s cheaper. We’re saving a salary, for one thing, and I have a good team. But I do have to travel a fair amount to the other facilities, so you won’t be seeing me a lot. Our work doesn’t overlap much anyway. Gladys can answer most of your questions. I’m glad we’ve got ya, because I know the spiritual health of the population here is important. It’s not very good, of course, but it’s important.”

“You believe that?”

“I sure do. I’m a churchman myself, ya know.”

“Really?” Thomas wondered why Chaplain Russ had never mentioned that.

“Yeah, saved when I was a little kid, the whole bit. Now saying I’m a churchman is a little overstated, ’cause I admit I find more reasons to stay home than go anymore. But I get out when I can.”

Thomas was tempted to ask about the man’s personal devotional life but feared it would be too forward this early in their relationship. He also wanted to urge the warden to become regular again in his church attendance for the sake of the survival of his spiritual life. But he wasn’t the warden’s chaplain. Russ had reminded him of that. “The people in the office might come to you with a question, but they don’t want to be approached. Your constituency is the men in the cells, not the staff.”

LeRoy looked at his watch. “I got to be heading out in a couple of hours, but that leaves plenty of time to give you the lay of the land. You’ve never been in a place like this, so prepare yourself. You may hear things you’ve never heard before, smell things, see things. You show the least bit alarm, they’ll be on you like wounded prey.”

“But they can’t get to me.”