The Rapture: In The Twinkling Of An Eye (15 page)

“Charles!” she said.

“Lu-cinda!” he said, drawing out the first syllable as if savoring it. “Still the best-lookin’ gal in Chicago.”

“Stop it and be polite,” she said, and Buck was amused at how she beamed. “Meet the friend I told you about.”

“Pleasure,” Charles said, offering a big calloused hand. “Trust me, you’ve never had ribs like these.”

“I’ve had some good ones.”

“They’ll be bad memories in about half an hour, young man. Call me racist, but your people don’t even start to know how to barbecue. Know how you can tell? You see white people in our establishments. You don’t see us in theirs, not that we don’t feel welcome. We do. We just go where the food is best, and that’s right here.”

Charles and Lucinda sat close and giggled like school-kids until the food came. Then it was time to get down

Charles said, “but let me pray first, all right?”

“Sure.”Right here in public? Buck had never felt so conspicuous.

Charles took his wife’s hand and reached for Buck’s. “Lord,” he began, “we’re grateful for everything but most of all for these provisions. Thank You and thanks for our friend. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Buck said amen too, almost before he realized it, and after he tasted the ribs, he felt like praying himself.

“I won’t put you on the spot this evening, Cameron,” Lucinda said, “but one of these times we’re going to have to get into why the press--yes, us, the Weekly-- seems so afraid of God.”

“Afraid of God?”

“C’mon, we run articles about Him as if He’s some sort of strange phenomenon that has to be examined from every angle. Polls show that more than half the population believes in God. But you could never tell that from our pages or those of our competition.”

“Can’t argue that.”

“We’ll solve it another time,” she said, smiling. “You look like you need to sleep off some calories.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Rayford told Irene.

“It’s nothing heavy. I just thought we could sit down together before you’re off to England.”

Rayford shrugged, and as he and Raymie sat at the table, Irene stepped into the garage to toss some trash. She noticed the light on inside Rayford’s car. As she reached in to turn it off, she smelled Chinese food and saw an empty soy-sauce packet on the passenger floor mat. She smelled something else too. Perfume? Maybe, but the food smell overpowered it.

In the ashtray lay a receipt from The Happy Lucky in Des Plaines. Well, at least it was for only one meal.

“No wonder you aren’t hungry,” Irene said, returning to the kitchen.

“Hmm?”

“Your car smells of Chinese food.”

“What? Still? Uh, that’s from the other day.”

“What were you doing in Des Plaines?”

Rayford looked puzzled. “Oh, I was dropping off that flight attendant. Then I was just famished, so…”

Why did he seem so nervous? Irene doubted the smell would linger that long. And hadn’t Irene been in his car since then? This was new. This was today. And even if he had been alone, what had taken him to Des Plaines?

Irene didn’t want to think about it.

The next morning, Irene attended her weekly women’s Bible study at Jackie’s house. She didn’t know why, but attendance was growing there too. Jackie’s little home looked even smaller as women crowded in, having to employ the piano bench and even children’s chairs. Irene was impressed by a new face, a woman about her age with salt-and-pepper hair, done up right and clearly expensively, and wearing very fashionable clothes. She carried a briefcase and a purse, so Irene assumed she was a businesswoman. Besides her appearance, the woman had a confident air, as if, though in a new and strange setting, she still knew how to conduct herself.

Irene introduced herself and welcomed the woman. She said her name was Amanda White and that she was a local executive who had been to New Hope Village Church once, after her husband had been invited to a men’s outing and wanted to check out the services.

During the Bible study, each time Irene caught Amanda’s eye, Amanda nodded and smiled. And when Irene contributed to the discussion, she sensed the woman really paying attention.

When the study was over, Mrs. White made a beeline for Irene, thrust out her hand, and said, “Well, aren’t you the most precious thing? So vibrant and pleasant.”

“Thank you. I hope you enjoyed this.”

“Oh, just processing it, you know. My family and I have been churchgoers all our lives, but something’s really caught my husband’s fancy here. This might all be a little too religious for me, if you know what I mean. It’s interesting and all, don’t get me wrong, and you ladies seem so into it. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what to expect.” She leaned close. “Frankly, I was afraid it was going to be a little hokey. But you’re like normal people.”

“Oh, believe me, we are,” Irene said. “In fact, with my church background, I’m sort of your mirror image. My family—except my son, Raymie—is more comfortable in the typical, less overt church. But my son and I have genuinely encountered God here. We’ve received Christ.”

“Have you}”

Irene nodded. “We believe He is the way to God.” And suddenly she teared up.

“Oh, you poor thing! What is it?”

“I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.”

“Not at all. This is clearly important to you.”

“I just pray I’ll be able to reach my husband and my daughter before it’s too late. That’s my greatest fear. I want to know they’re going to heaven.”

“Well, isn’t that something? Isn’t that sweet? You know, my own family is saying the same thing to me lately. Got to be saved, they say. Saved by grace.”

“You know all you have to do is admit to God that you’re a sinner and that you need Christ to forgive your sins and change your life.”

“I know. I’m not ready yet, but I do appreciate your concern. I really do.”

“May I tell you one more thing, Amanda? I don’t mean to be pushy.”

“Sure.”

“Just let me encourage you not to put off your decision too long. With all that’s going on in the world right now, you just never know what’s going to happen, how much time you’ll have.”

But Irene had pushed too far. She could see it in Mrs. White’s eyes. She just hoped she hadn’t turned the woman completely away.

That afternoon, as Raymie was getting home from school, Rayford was on his way out the door for his London flight.

“My, you smell good,” Irene said. “You seem excited about this trip.”

“Always love these—you know that.”

“But it’s not like this is anything new,” she said.

“I know.”

“Fresh uniform. Wow, you’re ready. Almost like you’re headed for a date.”

He laughed a little too loudly, Irene thought. “Your Des Plaines honey on this flight?” she said lightly.

“Hmm? Who?”

“You know who.”

“The young one? Miss Durham? I have no idea.”

“You have no idea.”

“I haven’t checked lately; that’s all. So what if she is?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.”

“Hey, Raymie! Take care of your mom for me till I get back,eh?”

“Sure, Dad. Have a safe trip and wish me luck.”

“Luck?”

“For tonight.”

“Tonight?”

The boy’s shoulders drooped. “My program, Dad!”

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot! I’ll be thinking of you. You be a good leaf or whatever it is, and—”

“Tree.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m the whole tree, Dad. There are four of us.”

“Well, see, that’s even better. My son the big tree. Break a leg. Or break a branch, or whatever.”

“And don’t forget your promise, Dad. Sunday?”

“Right. Got it. See you in a few days.”

On the way to the airport, Hattie Durham seemed to have lost any trace of inhibition or restraint. As soon as Rayford had put her bag in the backseat and slid behind the wheel, she loosened her seatbelt and leaned against him. She barely moved, pressed against him for the entire drive. He was in heaven. And already debating whether he was going to take this relationship further, once they were on foreign soil. Every few minutes he talked himself out of it, but he knew deep down that the distance from home alone would embolden him.

His number-two man in the cockpit would be Christopher Smith, a pleasant-enough guy he’d flown with before. The closer they got to O’Hare, the more positive he was feeling about the night. Not to mention the weather, which was perfect. His job, once they were in the air and settled into the flight path, should be largely routine until the descent into London.

Dinner at home was rushed as Raymie talked about how embarrassed he was to have to climb inside a cylindrical painted-cardboard tree trunk with his face sticking out. “I have to hold the leaves out and drop them when the north wind comes blowing through. It’s such a play for babies. I can’t believe they’re making us do it.”

“But you know your part, and you’ll do well. This is probably your last year for stuff like this.”

“But, Mom, have you heard my lines?”

“No.”

“Just wait.”

“Tell me now.”

“No chance. It’ll be bad enough there.”

He was right. When Raymie’s big scene came, he was the only tree to forget to drop his leaves. Everybody in the place could hear the stage whispers from the wings: “Drop your leaves! Raymie, drop your leaves!”

Finally he paled and let them go, and the crowed twittered. Then a bird pranced through, asking each tree if she could build a nest in its branches to keep her chicks warm. All, of course, were to sternly turn her down except for the last tree, an evergreen.

When it was Raymie’s turn he said, “No! I cannot be bothered with you! I have not yet recovered from the confusion and noise the squirrels made when they tried to gather my acorns for winter!”

This elicited a roar of laughter from the crowd, which warmed Irene but clearly humiliated Raymie. Never had she seen him so eager to be finished with something.

When she met him afterward, she was smiling broadly. He was still blushing.

Irene hugged him and noticed he stiffened a little, looking around. So it was happening already. “I thought you did fine!” she said.

“I was awful. Forgot to drop my leaves. Then I didn’t think I sounded like a tree at all. I don’t think any of us did.”

Irene laughed loudly. “And what do trees sound like?”

“I don’t know, but not us.”

The more she laughed, the more Raymie lost his scowl. “Well, you’ve made yourself a memory, anyway, haven’t you?”

“That’s for sure,” he said. “No matter how hard I try to forget this…”

By the time they got to the drive-through for milk shakes, Raymie was mimicking his own monotone performance and cackling about how silly it all was. Irene was grateful that he was so good about it. At his age she had been so awkward and shy that a goof like his would have haunted her for days.

The windshield steamed over as they sat and talked. Irene had prayed, including for Rayford’s safety and for his soul.

When she finished, Raymie added, “And thanks that he’s coming to church with us Sunday.”

“That means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Irene said.

““Course. Dad just doesn’t seem happy anymore. Plus, I want to be sure he’s going to heaven when he dies.”

“Me too.”

They arrived home later than Irene liked on a school night, so she pushed Raymie to get to bed. When she checked on him a few minutes later, he was under the covers. “You’re not wearing socks, are you?” she said.

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“You know you’ve got to let your—”

“Feet breathe, yeah, I know. But my feet are so cold. Just let me wear them for a little while, and I’ll kick them off later.”

“What if you fall asleep? I don’t want to have to come in here and pull them off you in the middle of the night.”

“Mom, I’m not going to die if my feet don’t breathe.”

“Just try to remember to take them off, once you’ve warmed up.”

Irene prayed with Raymie again, and as she headed to the lonely master bedroom, she questioned why she was so obsessed over his wearing socks to bed. Feet didn’t really breathe, and what was the harm? Had her parents not allowed her to do the same? Where had she gotten that old wives’ tale? She could only hope that was the biggest issue she ever had with the boy. Fat chance.

As Irene slid between the cool sheets, she wondered if she too should have socks on. She lay there on her back, silently running through her prayer list. But her mind kept coming back to Rayford. He had been her life for almost as long as she could remember, but things were clearly not the same.

Could he be having an affair with this Durham girl? And if he was, what should Irene do?

She still didn’t want to think about it, but she couldn’t help it. She would not be walked on, not be treated that way. But if there was something she could be doing differently or better, she hoped God would tell her what it was. In the meantime, Irene would just keep praying for Rayford. She didn’t want to lose him, particularly to another woman. But above all, she didn’t want to see him lost to the Kingdom of God.

Rayford Steele was a conflicted man. During the O’Hare-to-Heathrow preflight preparation he began to feel less than the professional he had always been. He was not perfect; he knew that. But he was one high-level accomplished pilot, supremely confident in his ability to safely transport hundreds of people thousands of miles in a craft worth millions of dollars. He was well paid and respected, and he believed he deserved both.

The problem was, Rayford had never been this distracted before a flight. He’d always had the ability to compartmentalize the various areas of his life. Irene knew better than to try to call him between the time he left for the airport and when he called her upon arrival at his destination. Only a couple of times during their long marriage had she violated that. Both times she had caught him in the car on the way to the airport, and she was just telling him she missed him or loved him or would be thinking of him. And both times he had realized he sounded distracted and had apologized, but he was—in essence—getting his game face on.

Preflight routine was indeed routine, but it was nothing to sleepwalk through, and he had to start thinking of the myriad checklists and protocols so necessary to safety and efficient flight operation. He was not just the pilot; he was the captain, responsible for everything, and he would have to answer for anything that went wrong.