Terminus (10 page)

“I know the Bible says we have to forgive those that trespass against us.  But there are some things you just can’t forgive!”  The bitterness in her eyes and voice disturbed him.  And he could see that it was hurting her, cruelly, which disturbed him even more.  

“Can you tell me what’s happened?” he said softly.

“It’s my brother.”  Maria drew a deep breath and let it out.  “He murdered my fiancé.”

In all his years of ministry, Jon had never come across such an issue.  Infidelity, financial issues, personal conflicts, yes.  But murder? 

“Have you reported this to the police?”

She waved the idea off as if it were a gnat flying around her face. 

“I can’t do that.  In my family, there can never be justice.  Only revenge.”

Jon leaned forward.  “Are you in any danger, Maria?”

“No.  At least, not yet.”

“Not yet?  What—”

“Mister—I mean Reverend—Hartwell...Oh, can I just call you Jonathan?”

“Jon is fine.” 

“Jon, is everything I tell you protected by that same thing with doctors and lawyers, what’s it called?”

“Privilege.”

“That’s it.”

“Of course.  Strictly confidential.  But if you’re likely to be a danger to yourself or others—”

“No.  I just...I’m such a mess right now.  I just need to talk things out.  Is that okay?”

Jon kept his face neutral.  It wasn’t easy.  But as they talked he sensed more trust from Maria, found it unusually easy to connect with her.  Perhaps it was Carla’s absence.  Or the mutual connection they seemed to share—he could disapprove all he liked, but he couldn’t deny it.  The way she looked up to him, so vulnerable, so in need of his help and grateful to receive it, so unlike Elaine who had to be in charge all the time. 

“Maria, how are you feeling, right now?”

She looked down to her hands, folded and resting on the table.  And shaking.        

“I’m scared.”

“Of?”

“Myself.” She pushed a lock of hair from her face and hooked it behind her ear.  “Lito is my big brother.  He’s powerful, controlling.  But I never, ever thought he’d do something like this.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.  It must be awful.”

“He saw my one chance at happiness.  My ticket out of the family business.”

“What
is
your family business?”

“None of yours.”  She held a dead serious expression for a moment, then broke it with a smile.  “I’m kidding.  But still, it’s better I don’t tell you, though you can probably guess.”

Jon nodded his understanding.  How sad.  And how could he possibly help her?  To relieve his dry throat, he took another sip of water.

“Lito won’t hurt me,” Maria said.  “That’s not the problem.  It’s me.”

“What exactly are you afraid of about yourself? Remember, it stays in this room.”

Her expression reminded him of a little girl seeking approval if not unconditional acceptance for who she was, no matter how bad. 

“My emotions,” she said.  “When my feelings are really strong I sometimes can’t control myself.  It’s gotten me in trouble, but never anything too serious.”

“Nothing violent, I hope.”

“No, but…it’s not always the bad feelings, Jon.”  She looked directly into his eyes.  “Sometimes it’s the good ones.”

Ordinarily, Jon would have looked away from such intimate eye contact, no matter who initiated it. 

But not this time.

“Tell me more.”

“I’m so angry at Lito.  And I’m afraid if I don’t find a way to let go of this anger...”  Now she looked embarrassed, ashamed.  She lifted her handbag onto the table and unzipped the opening.

A gun.  He suppressed a gasp  

“Why, Maria?”

“Don’t worry, I only brought it for protection.”

“You sure?  You
did
say revenge.”

“I’m not planning on killing anyone.”  She zipped the bag shut and put it back on her lap.  “But I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t get my thoughts and feelings under control.  Sometimes I get all worked up—and then, who knows?  Can you help?”

What he should do right now is to call the police and have them deal with her.  But that would violate privilege.  And if he was going to help, he needed  to know more, needed more time with her. 

“I can offer you some advice, read you some scripture, pray for you.  But I think you need to get some good professional counseling.  And seriously consider getting the authorities involved.  If you ever want to get out of this life of...Well, you’ll need protection, right?”

The trust in her eyes was unmistakable, the absurd plea that
he
save her from Lito, her family, herself. 

“I don’t know, Jon.  Could you just...pray for me?”

“By all means.”  He bowed his head.  But just before he began, he felt warm fingers wrap around his hands, which tingled with an electric thrill he could feel head to toe.  Jon opened his eyes.  His heart beat so hard he feared she might hear it.  
He
could hear it.  “I think...this is probably not the best idea, Ms. Guzman.”  He stood up.

“But Jon—”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Let
what
happen?”

He walked to the door and opened it.  Poor Maria, she came looking for help from a man of God in the most desperate of circumstances, and what did he do?  Commit adultery in his heart with her. 

“I can’t apologize enough.  If you call back in the morning, I’ll have Carla refer you to someone from our female pastoral staff.”

“But I don’t want them, I want you.”  At least she stood up, but the hurt in her expression was clear.

“I’m afraid I can’t go any further.  Please.”  He stood holding the door open, trying to ignore the subtle whispers in his mind. 

You haven’t done anything wrong….

You deserve to be treated well, respected, adored...

No one would have to know….

Maria took his hand in hers.  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You haven’t.  I just get, I don’t know...nervous around beautiful women.”

That seemed to ease the hurt a little.  She looked down to the floor. 

“Guess I’ll be going now.”

Jon pulled out his business card and a pen and jotted down a number.  

“This is my cell phone.  If you’re in any kind of danger...”  He handed it to her and she slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.

“What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch.  “Getting late—half past eleven.  Let me walk you to your car.  It’s dark out.”

A single lamp lit the parking area like a jaundiced eye observing them as they reached Maria’s car.  She unlocked it, Jon held the door open for her.

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

She got in and put the key in the ignition.  But from the sound of it, the battery was dead or close to it. 

“Oh, no.”  Maria let out a frustrated sigh.

“May I?” 

She stepped out and let him give it a try.  Nothing but a weak clicking sound.  He got out.

“I’m afraid it’s dead.”

“Must have left the lights on.”

“I wish I had jumper cables.”  Jon looked at his watch.  11:40 PM.  If he called a towing company, he’d have to wait here with her until they showed up.  “Look, why don’t I give you a ride, then in the morning I’ll have someone bring you here and get your car started again.”  He handed her the key.

“You sure?  I don’t want to inconvenience you.” 

“Not at all.”

She opened her trunk and pulled out a small suitcase on wheels.  He pointed to his car on the other side of the lot. 

“I’m parked over there.”

Standing next to him, she peered over to the far side of the parking lot, dark except for the few overhead lamps.  For a few seconds neither of them said a word.  Jon could hear nothing but crickets chirping and Maria’s  breathing.

CRACK!

Maria let out a yelp and ran right into Jon’s arms.

“Get down!”  He pulled her to the ground.

What he thought had been the shooter was actually an ancient pickup truck rumbling, pumping country music through its speakers.  Growing up in a tough Baltimore neighborhood in the eighties had trained Jon to react to anything that sounded like a gunshot.  No doubt it was the same for Maria.    

“Probably a backfire,” he said.

“Really?”  Maria’s body, still pressed against his, was shaking uncontrollably.  “Sounded like a gunshot to me.”

Without thinking, Jon moved the hair out of her eyes, brushing her cheeks with his fingertips in the process.  She looked up at him with gratitude—which she expressed by touching his face.

It took Jon a minute to recover his perspective.  But in some ways it was too late. 

She knew.

He
knew.

“Let’s get you back.”  They started for his car. 

Maria leaned her head against his shoulder.  Jon didn’t object. 

“Where are we going?” he said.

“The Hotel Pacifica.”

23

THEY STOPPED AT A LOCAL DINER because Maria said she was “so hungry I could eat a cow.”  At that late hour, nobody was around but the waitress and a few patrons as they talked.  And talked.  Maria didn’t mention her brother, Jon didn’t mention his wife—they talked about things of no real consequence that interested them, which turned out to be the same things. 

Finally Jon, now feeling completely at ease with this woman he was convinced could disarm anybody, looked at his watch:  it was well past midnight.  Maria insisted he call her a cab.

“I promised you a ride back,” he said, “and I’ll not be known as the pastor who didn’t keep his word.”

So he drove another fifteen minutes to the Hotel Pacifica.

Where, against all better judgment, he decided that chivalry required his accompanying Maria into the lobby rather than simply dropping her off.  He wasn’t doing anything wrong and didn’t really care what anyone thought.  Not the concierge who took the keys to his car, not the woman in the lobby who seemed to recognize him.  The freedom from all the expectations and limitations he’d been under so long felt good. 

He enjoyed the sound of Maria’s stilettos rapping against the white marble floor of the lobby.  He enjoyed the feel of her arm slipped around his as they turned into the dimly lit hallway where the elevators awaited.   But all good things come to an end:  he stopped, gently removed her arm from his, waited for her to  go on into the elevator without him.

She turned to face him. 

“I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am.  I…I just can’t believe someone as famous as you would take the time to listen to a nobody like me.”

“You’re not a nobody, Maria.”  It was the right thing to say, but he’d lifted her chin—gently, tenderly—when he said it.

It had been years since he’d felt that current of physical and emotional attraction running through his entire being.  Years since Elaine had looked up to him with admiration, adoration, desire.  Yet he’d never once let his eyes or heart wander.  
So stop feeling guilty
over nothing.

And then Maria’s eyes met his.  She shuddered, and of course ebony hair fell half over her face.  She didn’t lift a finger to push it aside, just kept her eyes on his as tears rolled down her cheek.  How could anyone crying look so beautiful?

Nothing wrong...you’ve done nothing wrong.

Jon wiped the tears softly with his thumb.  The elevator chimed.  Time for Maria to go—

But Jon felt a strong tug on his hand pulling them both into the elevator.  It didn’t occur to him to question or protest.

Nothing wrong...

24

FOR THE ENTIRE RIDE UP TO THE SIXTH FLOOR Maria was determined to keep any thoughts from taking shape in her mind.  Even one would lead her to what she was doing yet trying so hard to deny: leading a man of God into—

You’re a sinner and going to hell anyway.  Why not?

She tried to push that thought aside, though deep down it was exactly what she felt.  So the feeling must be true. 

It would take serious strength to act on those feelings that raged within—without regard for consequence, indulging in the forbidden just this one time.  But it also took a delicate approach.  Because this situation was as brittle as a sheet of ice so thin a butterfly could fall through it into the frigid depths.

The elevator slowed.  Maria smiled.  She and Jonathan had avoided looking at each other the whole way up.

Jonathan didn’t see the hand she put on the rail right next to his—he was looking up at the lighted numbers.  Before she could talk herself out of it, Maria slid her hand under his warm fingers.

The door slid open.

Maria knew what to do.  Still holding Jon’s hand, she led him down the dimly lit hallway toward her room.

“Maria, you know I—”

She turned, placed a finger on his lips. 

“Shhhh.”  Stopping short, he’d nearly walked into her.  Close enough to whisper.  “Better if we don’t talk.” 

He didn’t reply, but his musky scent nearly drove her mad with desire.  Was it because he was so kind, so gentle?  Was it his strong chest and arms under the thin cotton t-shirt he wore beneath his jacket?  Or was it because he was a man of influence to whom millions listened?

Yes.

With one tingling hand still resting against the pronounced ridges of his chest muscles, she reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out the key card, and slid it into the slot.

The red light turned bright green.

A quiet beep welcomed them to her room.

25

THE ROOM IN WHICH YURI SAT contained nothing but a table and chair.  Prior to arrival they’d cuffed him, put him on a helicopter with an armed guard, and flown him for about an hour to a military base in San Diego.

When—not if—they opened the suitcase and saw the contents of the package, it was all over.  He’d be tried as some kind of enemy combatant, sent to Guantanamo Bay, tortured...