Whatever It Takes (25 page)

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Authors: Gwynne Forster

BOOK: Whatever It Takes
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Nick's eyes beseeched his father. “Can she come back?”
“I'll ask her.”
At the door, Edwina Rawlins hugged Lacette. You're welcome any time. We loved having you.”
Oscar shook her hand. “Yes, indeed. We're looking forward to seeing you again.”
Douglas embraced Nick and his parents, draped an arm around Lacette's waist and walked with her out of his parental home.
He's made a statement,
she thought, unsure as to her readiness for it, but closed her eyes and leaned back as he started the car for the drive back to Frederick.
“Is this your first visit to Hagerstown?” he asked her, letting her know that he did not intend to ask how she liked his family.
“Yes. I'd been told that it's a beautiful town and, of course, I'd seen pictures of it, but I've always been put off by its glorification of its Civil War relics.”
“I don't think the town glorifies the achievements of either side. The city calls itself the Crossroads of the Civil War. Maryland was not in the pockets of the Confederates. Don't forget that Hagerstown celebrates the Battle of Antietam where Lee suffered one of his worst defeats and which led to Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation.”
She opened her eyes and sat up straight. “Somewhere in the archives of my mind, I think I knew that.”
“I had that drummed into my head from the time I was in the first grade. This town is proud of its history.”
As he drove, they talked about history, world peace, the beauty of nature, but not of themselves. When he reached her house, he parked, got out and walked around to the passenger's door to help her out of the van. She opened her front door, flicked on the foyer light, looked up at him and waited for his move. Unhurried and with seeming calm, he gazed down at her, his face the picture of solemnity.
“Are we going anywhere from here?”
He could have knocked the wind out of her with a less abrupt demand, but having to deal with the appeal of his masculinity along with his brashness set her back for a minute. But only for a minute.
“Where do you want us to go?”
He half lifted, half pulled her into his arms and let his action speak for him with the probe of his tongue at the seam of her lips. His scent, the taste of him and the strength with which he held her—that something about him that said I'm man and you're woman and we were made for this—impelled her surrender. She opened to him and betrayed to him the tenderness and caring that she felt for him.
He stepped back and stared at her. “Where do I want us to go? I want you for
myself
, for when I need someone to laugh with, cry with, reason with, have fun with and make love with. And I don't want any other man to have that right. I want you for the woman who shares my secrets, my ups and downs. When you opened up to me a minute ago, you answered my question. Have I answered yours?”
She was learning to accept and expect his forthrightness. She hadn't analyzed it, but she supposed that it accounted at least in part for her readiness to trust him. “In a way, you have. I imagine you'll get around to telling me why you want that from
me
.”
He didn't hesitate. “Because I care for you, and because the feeling deepens each time we're together or when we speak by phone. Thanks for an enjoyable day.”
“Thank you, and thank you for introducing me to your family. I got a warm feeling being with them. All of them.” She reached up and kissed his cheek and, as if in shock from it, his eyes widened and he scratched the back of his head. Then a grin possessed his face and he leaned down, kissed her cheek and left.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked herself and she watched him amble down the walkway. “No, I didn't,” she decided. “Surprise is good for him.”
 
 
At about that time, Marshall Graham was also thinking of a surprise, one that he hoped to spring on Melvin Moody. As a man of the cloth, he knew he was commanded to forgive his transgressor, and he preached that to his parishioners. However, Melvin Moody had been his closest friend and confidant, a man with whom he prayed regularly, and Melvin Moody had abused his friendship and his trust. Introducing his fourteen-year-old daughter to sex and, in effect, showing her how to control men with her body, was not something that he was prepared to forgive without recompense. He had no doubt that Kellie's promiscuous behavior began under Moody's tutelage, and he meant to call him on it.
He returned to his small, but comfortable, motel room after an unsatisfactory meal at a steak house and phoned a man who had attended the church he once pastored in Baltimore. “Charles, this is Marshall Graham. I hope you and your folks are well,” he said, and assured that they were, proceeded to the purpose of his call. “I'm trying to reach Melvin Moody, and I remember that the two of you were close friends. Where does he live and what's his phone number?”
“You sound just like your old self, Reverend. No small talk. But I guess it's that and gossip that gets us into trouble. Wait a minute. It's Lizzie who keeps up with our social life.” He could hear them in the background, and his heart skipped a beat when he thought she said she didn't have it, for his task would then be much more difficult than anything as simple as making one phone call.
“Here it is,” Charles said. “We don't hear from them except at Christmas, but that's about the way it is with most folks we keep up with. Let's see. Lizzie's pretty sure he's in Baltimore at 2904 Brockton Street. You can call him at 410-777 . . .” Charles gave him the number, “but he's never home.”
Marshall thanked the man, wished him well, hung up and dialed the number. “Moody residence, how may I help you?”
“Sorry,” he said, not wanting to hang up without saying anything or to lie and say he had the wrong number. He checked his calendar and decided that Monday afternoon would be the perfect time to confront Melvin Moody. He reread portions of John Kennedy's
Profiles In Courage
and went to bed. He missed his family more than he would admit to any of them, and most of all, he missed the camaraderie he once enjoyed with his wife, but there was no turning back. What was done was done, and he knew his attitude toward that awful afternoon would never change.
“I'm happier here by myself where I can control both my behavior and my tongue.”
Monday afternoon, the next day, Marshall knocked on the door of 2904 Brockton in Baltimore. “
Marshall!
This is really a surprise,” Moody's wife exclaimed. “Come on in. I'll get Melvin. He's down in the basement checking on the seedlings. We have a nice garden out back, and I grow a few vegetables back there and some flowers.”
He had no reason to treat her coolly, and he tried not to, but he was more vexed than he'd been in years. He never had been much good at pretense, and small talk was nothing more than pretense.
“Have a seat,” she said. “He'll be right in, and I'll get some coffee. I know how you love your coffee.”
He had to restrain himself when Moody walked into the living room with his arms widespread for their old greeting and his face wreathed in smiles. Marshall stepped back, hands up and palms out, halting Moody's steps and dashing the grin from his face.
“What is it?” Moody asked him, his face etched in concern. “Have a seat.”
He ignored the invitation, walked over to the wall-to-wall picture window that bespoke the elegance of the house and leaned against it, relaxed and comfortable with himself and what he was about to say.
“How did you get the gall to violate my fourteen-year-old daughter?”
Melvin Moody's feet popped up from the floor, his face appeared to ashen, and his bottom lip sagged. “Man, there must be some mistake. You know I wouldn't—”
Marshall held up his right hand. “There's no point in lying about it; Kellie told me. And what's more, she did so in a terrible fit of anger, intent on proving how inept I'd been as a father, how little attention I paid to what was going on in my face and under my nose. Oh, you're guilty, all right. I trusted you as I would have trusted a brother, and that's the way you treated my trust. I've a good mind to let you feel the brunt of my fist on the side of your face.”
“Marshall, I . . . it must have been—”
“It was you. I know my daughter. She was too furious to lie. If I didn't have to deal with God, I'd wish you to rot in hell. If I ever see you again, you'll wish you were already there.” He passed Moody's wife when he walked out of the room, and as he closed the front door, he heard her say, “You're going to tell me what that was about. Every bit of it.”
He started back to Frederick, driving more carefully than usual, for he was aware that anger distorted a person's thinking. At Lisbon, about halfway between Baltimore and Frederick, his conscience began to flail him, and he drove off the highway and parked at a gas station. What had he been thinking? Didn't he preach forgiveness, and that if you had a grievance against someone, you went to that person and talked with him about it? He wanted to cry, as if somehow that would heal the hurt, wash away his disappointment in a friend he had loved, and cleanse him of his own guilt in not paying more attention to Kellie, as if crying could banish his self-disgust about the way he approached Moody.
He started the engine, turned around and headed back to Baltimore. He didn't expect a warm welcome from Moody or his wife, and he didn't get one. “What do you want
this
time?” she asked when she opened the door.
He didn't pretend warmth or pleasantness, but merely fixed an unwavering gaze on her. “I was angry, and I didn't behave as I should have. I want to speak with Melvin.”
She regarded him carefully, not attempting to hide her resentment. “Just a minute.”
She left him standing there, and after a few minutes Moody appeared, obviously upset and embarrassed. “Come on in and sit down.” He didn't give Marshall the option of opening the conversation, but plunged ahead, purging his soul, as it were.
“I know it sounds terrible, but when you left here, I felt as if a full ton weight had been lifted off me. I carried this shame and guilt all these years, and not many days passed when it didn't worry me. I don't have an excuse, Marshall. I was older, and I knew better. Once I started it, I became like a crazed man. I wanted to stop it, but I—well, at least I never went all the way, though I'm not sure I can take all the credit for that.
“You were mad this morning, and you should have been, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“I'm going to try, and I'll have to pray over it. I came back here because I didn't practice what I preach, and because the Bible teaches that we should forgive if we would be forgiven. Did Annie hear any of what I said this morning?”
“No, but your demeanor and your attitude spoke volumes to her. I told her the whole thing. I was just tired of keeping it to myself. She's hot as a steamed lobster right this minute, but we'll work through it.”
Marshall rose and extended his hand to Moody. “I hope you and I can do the same. Would you ask Annie to step in here for a minute?” Moody left the room and returned a few minutes later with his wife, who tilted her nose upward and stood at the door with her arms folded and her stance wide.
Holding the hand of each, Marshall prayed, “Lord, help us to forgive and to forget and to love one another. Amen.” He squeezed their fingers in a gesture of warmth. “Be seeing you. God bless.”
He walked down the street for about seven blocks, went into a fast food café and bought a lunch that consisted of a hamburger and a bag of chips. When he left the café, drops of rain fell around him but, with no pity for himself, he took his time walking to his car. A clap of thunder and then a flash of lightning were sufficient to make him run. He opened the door of the car just as a bolt of lightning flashed around him and the sky seemed to open up. Thoroughly damp, he slid behind the wheel of his Cadillac and headed for Frederick. His anger had not completely abated, and he knew it wouldn't for some time, but he'd made a start. He owed it to Kellie to tell her what he thought of her behavior, for at age fourteen, she had been taught that involvement in any kind of intimacy with a married man was a sin as well as a dangerous thing for a girl to do. And if she was fooling around with Hal Fayson, which was nearly as bad, she didn't think highly of herself. It might be too late to turn her around, but he owed it to her and to himself to try.
After arriving in Frederick, he drove directly to the parsonage, having decided to speak with Kellie that night, but as he turned the corner into the street on which the church was situated, he nearly wrecked his car, for Kellie jumped from Fayson's pickup truck and raced around the corner toward the parsonage. His immediate reaction was to block the pickup truck, but he remembered his two earlier encounters with Melvin Moody, passed the truck and parked in front of the parsonage at about the same time that Kellie reached it.
He got out of the Cadillac and slammed the door loudly enough for the sound to get her attention, so that she slowed her steps and looked over her shoulder, allowing him to catch up with her.

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