The Promise (9 page)

 16 

J
ean was exhausted. And a little bit frightened. She was washing the dishes from last night, keeping an ear out for Tommy and Carly, who for the moment were entertaining themselves in the family room.

After crying herself to sleep last night, as quietly as she could, Jean had awakened this morning the same time she always did. She couldn't remember any of her dreams, only that they were disturbing and left her feeling anything but rested.

Tom had eventually apologized before bed for the scene at the dinner table. But his apology was wholly unsatisfying. He volunteered that he was sorry for not thanking her for the fine dinner she had made and for making her feel uncomfortable about talking to Michele. But that was all. He'd said nothing about the question she'd asked him:
So . . . are you going to tell me what's bugging you?

It was obvious after his perfunctory apology that he had no intention of answering that question or talking about anything else that mattered. He'd leaned over, pecked her on the cheek, lain back on his side of the bed, and stuck his face in a book.

Ten minutes later he was sound asleep.

This morning as he'd gotten ready for work, he'd barely said a thing. He just went through his normal routine and left at his normal time. Gave Tommy a hug good-bye, kissed Carly on the forehead as she sat in her high chair, kissed Jean on the cheek. “I should be home at the usual time,” he'd said. And then he walked out the door.

Before he'd left, she had tried to read his eyes, since that was all the communication she was going to get. If there was anything different about him, it was only that he seemed more distant and aloof, and possibly a little more depressed.

If he wasn't, she certainly was.

She didn't know what to do or whom to talk to about this. She really didn't have any close friends, which was why she was so happy when Michele had stopped by the other day. She'd hoped that might be the beginning of something meaningful. But Tom's nearly paranoid reaction last night properly nipped that in the bud. And his apology was so flat and lifeless, she didn't get the impression he'd be okay if she tried talking to Michele again.

She wished she could talk to Marilyn, Tom's mother. But she was in Italy on her second honeymoon. Even if she was home, talking to her would likely invite the same angry reaction from Tom. Because anything she'd say to Marilyn would likely be repeated to Jim. For whatever reason, above all things, Tom wanted his father to think well of him.

But Jean knew that Marilyn would understand everything she was going through. It had taken Marilyn tremendous courage to do what she'd done last summer. Leaving Jim like that after twenty-seven years. Even though it might have cost her everything.

Jean certainly wasn't at that place of desperation yet. She'd only been struggling with Tom for a few years, and he wasn't nearly as bad as his father had been. Was he? Even still, she was certain Marilyn could help her learn how to better cope with
all this. Maybe help her understand how to chip away at this wall that had grown up between her and Tom.

She heard Carly start to cry from the other room. A moment later, “Mommy!” It was Tommy calling. After turning off the faucet, she dried her hands with a dish towel and walked toward the growing noise.

As she did, she thought of something else. Something she wished for more than being able to talk with Marilyn. What she really wanted was for Jim, her father-in-law, to come home from Italy and give his son a strong dose of whatever medicine he had taken seven months ago.

It was as if he'd become a totally new man. That's what she needed.

A totally new Tom.

It really wasn't such a crazy idea, robbing a bank.

Tom sat back in his chair at the Java Stop, mulling it over. This was normally his third stop of the day, but today he had decided to make it his first. Since his “Masked Avenger” heroics had made the Coffee Shoppe off-limits for a while, he had been starting his days off at the local library. But this morning, kids from a private school had filled the place, working on their science projects.

He had just finished reading an online news story about two out-of-work white-collar criminals that the FBI had arrested in Orlando. From what he could gather, they had devised a brilliant scheme. The problem was, they had gotten greedy. The FBI estimated the pair had robbed over a dozen banks in central Florida in a three-month period. Four in the last two weeks . . . and that's why they had gotten caught.

They weren't taking as much time to plan the jobs anymore. That much was obvious. At the beginning, the robberies had
been happening every two or three weeks. Tom decided the time must have been spent working through the details, coming up with a foolproof plan for each one. And it had been working, flawlessly. No one had gotten hurt in any of the heists. In the interview, the FBI special agent in charge said he didn't believe the guns they had used were even loaded.

At the time of their arrest they had made off with well over $130,000 in cash. Tom did the math. That was an average of $10,800 per bank. He didn't know what standard of living these two guys were shooting for, but even splitting the money in half, that came out to just over $21,000 per robber, per month.

No way those guys needed that much money every month. See, he reasoned, that was how greed had sunk them. If they had continued robbing banks at the pace they had started with and been content with that, they'd still have each cleared over $10,000 per month. And they'd still be free, able to live their lives as they pleased.

Now their lives were ruined.

But Tom wouldn't get greedy. And he wouldn't have to split the money with a partner. He'd only need to rob one bank. Not one bank a month, either. Just one bank. And he could take a whole month to plan it out. That was when his unemployment checks would run out, in one month. Then he'd rob the bank.
After
he'd worked out every last detail. If he got even $10,000 for his efforts, with his food stamps kicking in, he and Jean could live on that for three months.

By then he'd be able to finish all these online courses for his IT certification. With that certification in hand, and with his bachelor's degree and his five years of IT experience, there'd be no reason for an employer to turn him down.

It was a perfect plan. Except for the robbing-a-bank part.

Who was he kidding? He could never rob a bank.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, right? That
was the saying. These were certainly desperate times. For Tom, as desperate as they could get.

But God would never let him get away with something like this. It was stealing. He'd be breaking one of the Ten Commandments.

But all the money would be insured by the FDIC. It wasn't like the bank customers themselves would be out anything.

“Tom? Your name is Tom, right?”

Tom turned around. He instantly recognized the man standing over his shoulder. It was Alvin, the manager of the Java Stop. Or maybe he was the owner. “Yeah, my name is Tom. How can I help you?”

“I was hoping you'd come in today,” Alvin said. “Last night my assistant manager had to quit suddenly. Well, actually, I had to fire him for stealing. I'm kind of in a bind. None of my other workers are assistant manager material. My guess is you're probably overqualified for this. But you've been out of work for a while, haven't you?”

“Yeah,” Tom said.

“Would you consider working for me for a month or so? Till I can hire someone on a permanent basis? If you get a job in your field, you can quit right away. No hard feelings. But it would help me close the gap I have right now, and I'm sure I can pay you more than what you're getting on unemployment. So, whatta you say? Can we talk about it?”

“Sure,” Tom said. “Pull up a chair.”

 17 

T
he sun was up, starting to make its presence known. Minutes ago, its rays began to highlight the treetops in Henry Anderson's backyard. Henry lived in an older but well-kept section of cottage homes and bungalows in New Smyrna Beach, between the river and US 1.

The temperature outside was perfect. A slight breeze had found its way over Henry's wooden privacy fence. Sitting in his wicker chair, he could see houses in every direction, but because the neighborhood was so old, most were completely obscured by large, shady trees. Made it feel like he had the place all to himself, like a place out in the country. There weren't any children living in the homes nearby, hadn't been for well over ten years, so it was always real quiet in the morning. Truth was, it was quiet most of the time. He almost never saw any of his neighbors in their backyards . . . morning, noon, or night.

As Henry closed his Bible, a snowy egret glided across the sky from east to west, on the way to its first tasks of the day. Henry's day wasn't firmed up completely yet. That was part of the reason why he took this time each morning—to get his heart and mind in sync with God, renew the sense that he was the follower and
not the one in charge. Beside his wicker chair on a matching wicker table sat a perfectly brewed cup of coffee, compliments of his wife, Myra. She was inside now, preferring to have her quiet time under a floor lamp on her favorite side of the couch.

“Too muggy out there in the morning,” she'd said. But it suited Henry just fine. Weather permitting, he always took his quiet time out here. Living in Florida made that possible more months out of the year than in most places.

He closed his eyes and meditated on two Bible passages he'd just read. Psalm 16 in the Old Testament and the story of Martha and Mary in the New, the one in Luke's Gospel. They kind of went together in his mind. David talking about the joy of spending time in God's presence; Mary sitting quietly at Jesus's feet. Then hearing Jesus defend her right to do so by saying she had chosen “the best part.”

This really was the best part, he thought. A time to treasure. There was nothing like starting off his day alone with God. He hadn't always thought that way. For years, he'd have been right there nodding his head along with Martha, wondering how it was fair for Mary to be sitting there doing nothing when there was so much work to be done.

But now, he viewed life differently. God had led him through his own version of the “valley of the shadow of death” about six years ago. A number of difficult things had happened to him, both physically and financially. Seemed like that one year, for the better part of the year, it was one thing after another. Those tough times forced him to seek God every morning just to keep his sanity intact, for the strength to make it through the day.

But something wonderful happened through that fiery time. He learned why Jesus said Mary had chosen the best part.

Ever since then, with few exceptions, Henry chose the best part every day. He'd read his Bible awhile and talk to God the way a man talks to a good friend. He'd start off surrendering
his day, asking the Holy Spirit to guide him through the day and to help him not focus so much on himself. He'd pray for Myra, their kids and grandkids, and others God brought to mind. Then he'd just pour out whatever was on his heart. Sometimes it was high praises, sometimes cries of desperation, or anything in between. And then he'd just sit there in God's presence—just like he was doing now—and wait for God's peace and rest to come over him and fill his soul.

This morning, Henry waited there an especially long time. His heart became so full and his soul so quiet, he didn't want to move, didn't want to do anything to disturb it. Minutes went by, or was it an hour? He couldn't tell.

Finally, he heard some movement inside the house. Probably Myra finishing up her quiet time, getting things squared away in the kitchen. She hated an untidy kitchen. He opened his eyes and took in a deep breath. Then this strong urge came over him to write down what he was feeling. He reached for his pen and wrote the words “No Greater Place to Be” at the top of a page in his journal.

Then he wrote:

I have no greater place to be, no greater thing to do,

than to sit at your feet, Lord, gaze at your beauty,

and listen to your Word.

Your Word speaks peace to me.

With you my soul finds rest.

Fears are stilled; sorrows cease.

Lord, there is no one like you;

no other thing in life that can affect me this way.

Only you.

Only being with you, spending time alone with you.

When I am with you this way, in silence and stillness,

time seems to stand still.

The clock within me slows to your pace.

And it is a lovely pace.

My heart is refreshed, my mind is renewed.

I find I don't ever want to leave this place, sitting here,

alone with you.

What manner of love is this, that you would first die for me?

And then, call me your own?

And offer me new mercies every morning.

And invite me to come and draw near to you, every day.

And I can, every day, without fear

until the day I see you face-to-face.

After a time like this morning, Henry felt a deep longing to meet Jesus face-to-face very soon.

He got up, grabbed his things, and headed into the house. Myra wasn't in the kitchen, though. She was sitting at the computer desk in the family room.

“Whatcha looking at, hon?” he said.

She looked at him then back at the screen. “Some pictures on Facebook. Marilyn must have put them up last night.”

“From Italy?”

“Yep. She put up fifteen or twenty of them. They're marvelous. Most are from different places in Rome, but it looks like these last few are from Florence. Guess that's where they're at now.”

Henry remembered when he and Myra had gone to Italy a few years ago on their fortieth wedding anniversary. “Let me see.” He walked over and massaged her neck, looked at the pictures over her shoulder.

“That was such a wonderful trip,” Myra said, touching his hand softly. “Our best one ever.”

He thought so too. “I'd go back in a minute if we could afford it.” Henry had saved for over five years to pull off that trip. They
were doing okay now, living on his modest teacher's pension and Social Security. But it wasn't enough to take trips like that anymore. Neither of them minded, though. Gave them a chance to do something they both loved and could afford more often.

Camping.

Last year, he'd almost finished restoring an old '65 Midas mini motor home they had bought. It was just like the one they'd used to take their boys camping when they were little. Now when they went, it was just him and Myra. Their two boys, Hank and Michael, had families of their own. Both lived out of state.

Myra pointed at the computer screen. “Look at Marilyn's face. I don't think I've ever seen her look so happy.”

Henry agreed. It was so wonderful what God had done for them last fall. “I wanted to mention something. When I was praying, I got this burden to pray for Jim and Marilyn's kids. You have any idea why? Heard from any of them lately? You know, since Jim and Marilyn left for Italy?”

“No,” she said. “Haven't talked with anyone on the phone for a while. I've been keeping up with things Michele puts on Facebook. But I can't see anything that seems off. 'Course, that doesn't mean anything. Michele's not like some of those foolish girls who air every stray thought that fires off in their head.”

Henry thought about it. The impression was still pretty strong. “I'm not thinking it's about Michele and Allan. I'm a little bit concerned about Doug. But mostly about Tom and Jean. Don't know why. Have you seen Jean on Facebook lately?”

“She's got a page, but she hardly ever puts anything up. Occasionally a picture of Tommy or Carly. Maybe she'll write something today. Marilyn posted on her Facebook site she was craving to see her two grandbabies.”

“Well, I was thinking. I've still got a few little projects left to finish on our motor home. There's that store over in Altamonte I like to go to for parts. They keep an inventory for the older
models. I think I'll head over there today, pick up a part for that gas oven. Maybe I'll stop in on Tom and Jean, see how they're doing.”

“Well, you know Tom works during the day, right? He won't be home.”

“That's right.” He thought a moment. That burden was still right there, as strong as before. “Maybe I'll just stop in on Jean, then, see how she and the kids are doing.”

And maybe he'd get some clarity about why this concern for them had suddenly become a part of his morning.