The Rising: Antichrist Is Born (27 page)

was spectacularly bad at the game.

Everything about the milieu disgusted him. He was not and would not be a club kind of a guy. The casual wear that cost more than a tuxedo; the inside jokes and rhc banter; the camaraderie that seemed so easy and friendly but always managed to work in how guys’ businesses were going, how their new luxury cars were working out, and how they were manipulating their handicaps to score better in the next tournament.

Ray and Kitty spent two nights each at her respective parents’ homes, and both put them up in one bedroom without question or mention that it should be any different. In spite of himself, Ray was embarrassed. It was an adult thing, he tried to tell himself. Good. Mature. Why pretend things were other than they were? These sophisticated, worldly-wise people wouldn’t have even considered that a modern college couple who had been together a while would save sex for marriage. And why should that surprise him? They were right.

The drive back to campus was different than the one from Illinois. There was no making fun, no criticizing of her parents or stepparents. Kitty was proud of how both her mom and dad had remained major influences in her life and had not let their personal acrimony spill onto her. “Sure, they had unkind things to say about each other for a while, but they eventually came to a truce so my sisters and I wouldn’t suffer.” She giggled. “And of course we learned to play them off each other and trade on their guilt over what they had put us through. We’ve all always had everything we wanted whether we need it or not. And it’s nice they both remarried well, because we get double everything. Imagine our wedding, Ray.”

He could imagine it, all right. He had not formally proposed, but after six months of dating they talked about the future as a foregone conclusion. They discussed his career, the fastest route to becoming a commercial pilot, where they would live, whether she would work—Kitty had no illusions about needing to. “Me-time can be a full-time job. I want to stay gorgeous

for you, Ray. That takes a lot of time and a lot of money.”

One afternoon at the
ROTC
center, Ray and Irene sat in their usual spot in a corner on an overstuffed couch, feet up. That day’s activities had been exhausting but ended with a training film, and now plebes were milling about, heading back to dorms, or playing games and snacking in the lounge.

Irene, it seemed, had become Ray’s only friend besides Kitty—and of course friend was not the right term for his almost fiancee. In some ways, the provincial Irene reminded Ray of his own mother. For one thing, because he was always called by his real first name in
ROTC
activities, Irene called him Rayford. And lately she had taken to shortening that to Rafe. He liked her. She had depth. Because she had lived in so many different places, she had learned about people and knew how to interact. And because of the loss of her father, a soberness deep within her seemed to give her earthy values.

“You don’t even like the girl you love, Rafe,” she said.

He had to smile. That hit the nail on the head. “Let’s face it,” he said. “I’m not going to do better than Kitty Wyley. I don’t

even know what she sees in me.”

“Maybe she’s smarter than you think. She’s got all those frat boys mooning over her, but you’re better looking, have more potential. You’re more of a self-made man.”

“Not yet,” Ray said. “Potentially, maybe, but not yet.”

“C’mon, Rafe. You flew solo at sixteen and got your private license before you got out of high school. You worked an actual job. You were a great student and active in extracurriculars. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I must brag a lot too.”

“Well, someone had to tell me. Might as well have been you.”

“You want to hear something funny, Irene? I actually pray about Kitty.”

That seemed to get her attention. “For her or about her?”

“I don’t pray for anybody but me. Don’t believe in it.”

“So what’re you praying about?”

“Whether I should marry her.”

“You’re asking God? What’s He telling you?”

Ray laughed. “I’m getting nothin’! Shouldn’t be surprised. Last time I was in church was when Kitty and I were at my parents’. They just assumed we would go. First time in almost two years for me. Kitty said it was her first time since junior high, when some Holy Roller girlfriend talked her into going.” He affected a high-pitched voice and mimicked Kitty: “‘Never again, I swear!’”

Irene fell silent for a moment. “I don’t pray anymore,” she said. “I miss it.”

“You used to go to church?”

She nodded. “Raised that way. Never seemed to work for me though. I prayed and prayed for stuff that never happened. I don’t know. Maybe they were selfish prayers. My little brother was born with spina bifida cystica. The bad kind. Myelomeningocele. That wasn’t fair. What’d he ever do to deserve that? I prayed—and I mean prayed hard—that he would

be healed. Some victims live to young adulthood. He died before he was ten.”

“I’m sorry, Irene.”

She shrugged. “Guess I should have prayed harder for my dad too. When he went into combat it seemed we prayed all the time. At the base church they prayed for all the people who were over there, but nobody seemed to mention that it worked for some and not for others. When moms and dads and sons and daughters came back, people would say their prayers were answered. But when soldiers came back in boxes, nobody said their prayers weren’t answered. That’s how I felt. My mom couldn’t drag me back to church after my dad’s funeral. And I haven’t prayed since.”

“But you miss it?”

She nodded. “Don’t know why. I never got any answers, but I have to say it seemed like when I prayed I was sort of communicating with God. I couldn’t hear Him, and nothing ever worked out the way I asked, but sometimes it felt like He was there and listening.”

“That’s how I feel!” Ray said. “I mean, as I said, it’s not like I’m getting any answers, but when I ask whether I should marry Kitty, it seems I should at least be getting some feeling one way or the other.”

“And are you?”

“I just feel rotten, like it’s the wrong thing to do and I know better.”

“So God’s telling you what I’ve been trying to tell you. And what your conscience has been telling you. Maybe that’s what God is. Our conscience.”

“You’re probably right,” Ray said. “I do know better about Kitty. I shouldn’t have to ask.”

Irene asked if Ray wanted a cookie. Somehow it seemed like the best idea he’d heard in a long time. What was the matter with him? Irene moved to the snack table and returned with not only his favorite—chocolate chip with a big chocolate kiss baked in—but also a Styrofoam cup with coffee just the way he liked it.

He thanked her. “You’re not having anything?”

She shook her head. “Not hungry. Just thought you might be.”

Ray was struck not only by Irene’s thoughtfulness and selflessness but also by the realization that this was something Kitty had never done and—he believed—never would. She baby-talked him, manipulated him to get what she wanted—always rewarding him with squeals of delight. But cater to him and his needs, show sensitivity or even awareness of his preferences? Simply not part of the equation.

“Whatcha thinking about, Rafe?” Irene said.

He cocked his head. “So you don’t believe in God anymore, or what?”

She seemed to think a long time. “I still believe in Him, I think. Of course I do. I’m just not sure I like Him much. I sure don’t trust Him.”

That was all Ray could think of that night when he and Kitty went out for pizza. Both were still too young to drink, but he was never carded, and she had a phony ID. As they chased their slices with mugs of beer, Ray leaned in and shouted over the din, “Kitty, do you believe in God?”

“What? Sure. I guess. Supreme being. Made the world. Bails me out now and then.”

“You talk to Him?”

“Him? Not sure God’s a Him, but yeah, occasionally.”

“Like for what?”

She looked at him strangely, as if she had already lost interest in this subject and wondered what was on his mind. “Uh… for stuff. You know. Like if I really, really want something. Or if I’ve screwed up, like I didn’t study for a test.”

“And He comes through?”

“She, you mean?” she said, smiling. “Or it? Nah. Just makes me feel better. Makes me cram more. God helps those who help themselves.”

That was Ray’s dad’s line.

“You ever pray about me?” Ray said.

She actually blushed. “How did you know that?”

“Just wondering.”

“Actually, I did. I wanted you from the minute I laid eyes on you. I promised God a lot if I could have you.”

“No kidding?”

She nodded. “And she came through.” Kitty had made herself laugh, but Ray chalked it up to too much alcohol for her little body.

  “So what was your end of the bargain?”

“That I would keep myself in shape, never get fat, never embarrass you by being sloppy or dressing bad.”

  Ray couldn’t even force himself to smile. He sat back and stared into the distance, barely aware of the raucous activity all around. No promise to go to church, be a better person, do something for the poor or the handicapped? Nothing like that? If God gave Kitty what she wanted—Ray himself—she promised to be more of what she already was, basically a self-possessed nothing.

She reached across the table and grasped his forearm. “So, how’m I doing?”

“Hm?”

“You think I’m keeping my end of the bargain?”

He nodded.

“What?” she said. “What?”

Maybe it was the booze, though he’d only had two beers and could usually handle that. But after all the worrying and praying and talking to himself over the last year, Ray had come to zero hour. He was about to tell the truth, and he dreaded how it was going to come out. Worse, he could imagine the fallout. Kitty would be hysterical.

Was this the place to do it, to say it?

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” she said. “You proud of me? proud to be with me, to be seen with me? Am I doing what I promised God I would do? What do you think?”

Ray imagined himself saying, “Frankly, my dear, that may be the dumbest thing I have ever heard.”

But he would regret it the next day. He would blame it on the beer, apologize, convince her he didn’t mean it, take it back, and ask her to marry him. That made him sick to his stomach.

“Talk to me, Ray,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

“What?”

“I need you to tell me how I’m doing.”

“How you’re doing?” he said, loathing himself. “Who could do better than you?”

It was a nonanswer, a skate, but of course she had heard what she wanted to hear. “You love me, don’t you,” she said, telling rather than asking.

When Irene showed up at
ROTC
drills one afternoon wearing makeup, Ray was thrown. She actually looked cute in her own way. She had to know she would take abuse from the commander—which she did, but mostly in the form of teasing about having a date or a boyfriend. She ignored it all with a smirk. Strong, Ray thought.

That day he turned the tables on her. As they chatted in the lounge, without asking he delivered her favorite refreshment: coffee, black with extra sugar. “So what’s this all about?” he said, circling his own face with a finger.

“You like it?”

“Quit sounding like Kitty. It looks nice.”

“Good. I’m trying to impress someone.”

Ray caught his breath in spite of himself. Was it possible she was referring to him? And why did he care? He didn’t see her in that light. Anyway, he was deeply committed to Kitty. At least he was supposed to be. If anyone knew better, it was Irene.

“I’ll bite,” he said, not sounding as casual as he had hoped. “Who’s the lucky fella?”

“You know him,” she said.

“Do I?”

She nodded.

“I have to guess?” he said.

“Twenty questions.”

“Here on campus?”

“Yes.”

“ROTC?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How well do I know him?”

“That’s not a yes or no question,” she said.

“Do I know him well?”

She smiled, shrugging. “Well enough. His name will be immediately recognizable.”

“I’m drawing a blank.”

  “No you’re not. This isn’t that big of a
ROTC
. You know everybody.” 

“Janie?” he said.

She laughed. “Right, I’m gay.”

“I know better than that,” he said.

“Do you? How?”

“I danced with you, remember?”

She squinted at him. “That didn’t persuade me you were straight. What did I do to convince you?”

Well, she had been awkward, and they hadn’t seemed to connect. Nah. She was pulling his leg.

“So I was right? Janie? She’s got a bit of a masculine thing going.”

“Don’t all female ROTCs? I get that all the time. No, it’s not Janie. So you don’t have to waste a question— I’m not gay and you know it.”

He knew what would get a laugh out of her. “Commander Olsson!” he said. “You’ve got a thing for the Swede. Am I right or am I right? It’s you and Bodil steppin’ out tonight.”

“How’d you know?”

Very funny. He had to be twice her age, but it was known he was single. For the third time. To Ray’s shock, however, the color in Irene’s cheeks said he was at least close.

“But he teased you about the makeup!”

“Pretty good cover, don’t you think?”

“Is it Olsson really?”

She nodded. “He asked and I accepted.”

“Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“What are you, my mother? A movie and dinner.” Ray shook his head. That rascal Olsson. Who would have guessed? There had to be some regulation against this.

“You’re seriously interested in him?” he said.

“How would I know? He’s apparently interested in me.

Ray told himself that his obsession with Irene’s date with
ROTC
Commander Bodil Olsson was purely because he felt protective of a friend. Irene was like a sister, and he didn’t want to see her hurt. Olsson was an upstanding guy, though he

had a history of bad marriages—two Ray knew about. And he was, literally, twice Irene’s age. He had no business with her, and vice versa.