Pastor Richmond stood with his hands clasped behind his back and looked out onto the softly falling leaves. Of all the seasons, fall was his favorite, although the loss of foliage saddened him despite the brilliant colors. As much as the season was celebrated with warm evenings before a fire and family gatherings, the days were short and the nights macabre. How the wind would blow with the note of a howl in its voice and cause naked branches of trees to scrape against windows shut tight.
He felt old. Older than the white oaks he passed when hiking in the woods and as withered as one shedding bark from smooth patch disease. His sigh compensated for the groan in his back now aching from the colder weather. He was reluctant to move to a warmer climate but was readying himself for a forced possibility. His hands were gnarled with ropy veins and pulsed visibly when he clenched them into fists. It was a sign of tension he tried to hide when he was in uncharted territory in regard to his emotional state of being. “What was that, Reverend Adams? I was woolgathering.”
He paused, bracing himself for a contentious rant about how the world was in the end times, and how everyone, except he and the ones he was leading, was going to go to hell. The other man was affronted. He gave Pastor Richmond a look of irritation and fumed. “Do I have your attention now, sir?”
The cleric shrugged and hoped his hands were covered well enough by his pulpit robe. “Reverend Adams, I’m quite busy. Perhaps – “
“There are parts of the world inhabited by heathens that are going to hell if we can’t get the good news to them and you don’t have time?”
Pastor Richmond winced. Under normal circumstances, he would laugh at Adams’ pompous demeanor and bellowing cheeks. Instead, he was thrown back in time to a similar conversation. He swallowed the urge to reach out and grab the man. The desire to pound the word into him through his fists from the beauty of Psalm 101:5 welled up inside him. If only people would get off of the high horse of hypocrisy and recognize people see Christ in how he reveals himself to them. If only people would stop condemning others. If only people would stop expecting the sinners to go to church, tithe, read their Bibles, and follow the Ten Commandments to make their holier-than-thou lives easier. All of it was a joke. The whole good Christian concept, when Christ himself said only God is good. “Ah yes. The heathens.”
Reverend Adams heard the rattling hiss of a venomous snake in the pastor’s voice. He took a step back. His voice was cautious as it faded away. “I only meant –“
“Please continue.”
Adams swallowed. His time for asking Richmond if he would ask others for money for his cause had passed. He took a step back. “I only meant if you would be so kind as to ask if your congregation could take up a plate for us. We’re planning a mission trip and would be grateful for any donations.”
Richmond’s smile was cold. “No. I also suggest you reread the parable about the tax collector and the Pharisee.”
Adams felt the sting of the pastor’s remark and was wondering how things could go so wrong. Didn’t he care the world was going to hell and he was one of the elitists chosen to save it? He tried again. “Perhaps we can try talking again at a more convenient time for you?”
Richmond paused as if to consider. “No. Have a good day Reverend Adams.”
Adams nodded with a respectful half-bow and retreated to close the pastor’s office door softly behind him. Richmond felt the tired sigh of his frame and sagged into his chair. His hands shook from frustration. As much as he wanted to shake sense into the core of Adams’ ignorance, he knew it would be futile. Instead, he fell back into the communion of prayer and asked God to help him continue seeking His face in humbleness and utmost humility without reward because, to him, nothing was greater than being able to spend eternity in the presence of his creator.
The steady tick of the second hand made its way around the face of a clock hung on the wall across from Daniel’s desk. Its main purpose was one of focus when he needed to clear his mind, rarely for its original function. It had been Amanda’s suggestion when he was establishing himself in his career and he would come home wrought from frustration. He was surprised it worked. The rhythmic sound of passing time soothed him as he counted the seconds between minutes.
Today, the end of a pencil kept time with the seconds as he drummed it on the varnished desktop. His younger brother, Robert, had been in earlier and caused a commotion about how Daniel owed him. Familiar with his outbursts, he had another doctor see Robert so he could get his much-needed medication. Then, with reluctance, he pulled forty dollars from his pocket and handed it to him. As Robert left, Daniel said a prayer under his breath and hoped he would use it for something he needed.
Daniel abhorred the stain his brother was on his reputation. Although nothing was said to him, he felt the eyes of pity for someone such as him, to have a schizophrenic brother. Every time Robert came into his practice, he needed something and would threaten patients as well as staff if he did not get what he wanted. Every time he left, Daniel breathed a sigh of relief along with the hope that nobody would file a lawsuit.
Robert had been diagnosed the summer he turned 23. Like Daniel, he had been going to college, but had done poorly and dropped out after his third year. Their father was infuriated by his youngest son’s decision as well as his performance and made him go to work to pay off his student debt. Robert rebelled soon afterward and left the house. Since then he had been floating in and out of homeless shelters or staying with people kind enough to take advantage of him. On more than one occasion Daniel received calls from his brother asking if he would come to visit him in jail after some minor crime or in a state hospital when he was desperate enough to get medication.
It was a sad vow of insanity. One in which Daniel listened to the tears of a drowning man seeking restitution. At one time, Robert had claimed he had been possessed by the angel of death, Azrael. The concern he felt the times he drove his brother to a place in downtown Bersek so he could roam the streets instead of taking him to a psychiatric ward, riddled him with guilt. He even knew of a place that would have given him money for taking Robert there. Money Daniel could have left with his belongings so he would have something when he was released. Yet only in a perfect world, it would work. He knew once Robert was released, he would have exactly what he went in with – The clothes on his back and the money would have disappeared into an orderly’s pocket.
His religious tangents and conversations were what disturbed Daniel the most. Robert would talk about his brushes with death as well as wanting to be the end-time prophet and even going as far as being delusional enough for the desire to evangelize to Satan under the pretense of how great his reward would be if Lucifer accepted Christ. He laughed incredulously as he recalled the memory, thinking if Robert were to stay with Satan for a while, he’d turn the devil into an alcoholic.
It had been Amanda’s analytical calmness that prevented him from laughing at the absurdity as she asked Robert with sincerity what he would get out of it and for whose purpose would it benefit. They had then sat down for dinner and the discussion ensued with his brother ranting madness about indigenous tribes and spirituality. How World War III was approaching and about Biblical prophecy. The way his brother spoke in a whirlpool dumbfounded Daniel and was enough to give him a headache. Normally, when Robert dominated the conversation, he would reach for whatever bottle was handy.
One time, Daniel listened to Amanda tell him about how Robert was a narcissist by dictionary definition. He remembered being surprised to hear the word fall from her lips as he gazed up at the ceiling as though he could see into the guest bedroom where his brother was sleeping after having a shot too many from the bottle of bourbon he had pulled out after dinner. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, Amanda had gotten up and walked over to her bookshelf. Unlike the one where Daniel kept his books in a pristine, organized fashion, hers was a haphazard array. The only order to her expanse of literature was two dictionaries kept on the top shelf. She pulled out the red volume of Merriam-Webster and sat down. “Narcissist: an extremely self-centered person who has an exaggerated sense of self-importance.”
Daniel leaned forward in thought with his elbow bent on his knee while his hand covered his mouth. His other arm dangled loosely between his legs. It was from this position that he watched Amanda bite the inside of her lower lip with a furrowed brow. It was a habit he had noted quickly when they were in college together and knew she was deep in thought. Her hand was slow as it sought for the pen on the end table beside her and with great care, picked it up. “I’m surprised I didn’t underline this one before,” she mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
She looked up in surprise and wiped back a lock of hair. “Just thinking. It’s a fascinating definition." Daniel smiled at the gesture and felt his tension ease. It was the smear of ink on Amanda’s cheek when she had tucked her hair behind her ear which turned her from machine to humane. They were the rare, fragile moments upon which he had based his marital vows.
A knock on the door violated his thoughts. The intrusion made him feel exposed. “Yes,” he snapped.
“Hello to you too.”
The pencil clattered softly on the desktop. “Have a seat, Brian. What’s up?”
Brian extended a cordial hand which Daniel received in kind. “Not much,” he answered pulling out a chair. He sat and crossed an ankle over his knee, causing his pant leg to ride up and reveal an argyle sock of navy blue and gray.
“Nice socks,” Daniel commented.
Brian shrugged. “You know Michelle. God forbid I have any say in my wardrobe.”
Daniel smirked. His friend’s wife was a fatuous socialite who was the apple of her father’s eye and could do no wrong. All she had to do was pout her full lips and the man came to her aid which included her marriage. There was a time when Brian would have done anything for her when her lush lips brushed the lobe of his ear, but like any fine wine past its prime, their relationship had soured. Daniel did not envy him. “Did she pick out your tie too?”
Brian’s lips disappeared into a white line. His nostrils flared as he bit out, “I’m not henpecked.”
Daniel sighed. “I know. Sorry, Brian.”
Brian nodded and felt his temper drop a few notches. “I wanted to remind you about dinner on Friday. You and Amanda are still coming, right? Well, at least you.”
Daniel sat forward and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. “Couldn’t you have called?”
The other man shrugged. “I was looking for an excuse to leave Michelle and her father. Also, I was hoping we could grab a drink when you are finished.”
Daniel thought about the earlier incident with Robert but didn’t mention it. “Amanda may need me tonight.”
Brian laughed. “Are you serious? Whatever for? That woman is as cold as stone.”
Daniel shrugged off the comment’s sting. “I guess having a friend with Medusa for his wife did it to her.”
Brian winced. “I apologize.”
“Accepted. Anyway, I’ll give her a call. They lost another donor at Sanford.”
“Wow. That’s the second one this year. Are they going to close down?”
“They’re going to see if they can do anything with the budget.”
Brian tilted his head to the side. “Is that all?"
Daniel’s tone was exasperated. He could feel Amanda’s frustration radiating from that morning at breakfast despite her cool demeanor. “Come on man. They’re mentally ill. Doesn't anyone give a shit?”
Brian’s knowledge of the number of Sanford’s lost donors didn’t surprise Daniel. He hoped his friend would be able to help. True, Michelle pulled the strings, but he knew his friend could stroke her ego in just the right way to get what he wanted. Brian chewed his lower lip in thought. “I suppose I could ask Michelle if she knows anyone trying to be philanthropic. With an election coming up and her father running again for mayor, it shouldn’t be too hard.”
“How are things going at the office?”
Brian smirked. “I’m still the golden son-in-law.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair and laughed. “You sound like you need a drink more than I do. Robert was in today. I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”
“Losing donors or not, when are you going to drop him off there and be done with him?”
Daniel shook his head. It was hard to explain. Never mind the conflict of interest with him being Amanda’s brother-in-law, he didn’t like the way he showed interest in her. It was as though if Robert were given the opportunity, he would violate her. The thought of it made him shudder. His answer was feeble. “I don’t like the idea of being responsible for him being locked up.”
“Really,” Brian mused. “I guess it’s better to just hand him some bills and let him roam free?”
It was times like this that made Daniel wonder why he and Brian remained friends. They had grown up on the same block and developed a fierce level of competition under their camaraderie. Unlike Daniel’s medical pursuit, Brian went for a degree in law. His meeting with Michelle in his second year of law school proved a blessing since she had a father who was more than willing to pull a few strings on his behalf so she’d be happy. Brian just had not anticipated the price it would cost him to be promoted from lawyer to a rich woman’s pet. It was only a matter of time before she threw his happy carcass to the vultures and when she did, he hoped there would be enough of him left to rebuild some semblance of life. “I guess so." The two men contemplated each other as the clock continued to tick with each second edging closer to detonating the silent bomb between them. Not breaking his gaze, Daniel reached over for the phone near the corner of his desk and dialed home.
The telephone’s ring startled Amanda. “Shit!”
She pulled her hands out of the dishwater and sucked on the top of her thumb which had been sliced by the knife she was washing. Soap and blood assaulted her taste buds as she pulled her hand away from her mouth and studied the cut. It was deeper than she would have liked but did not look like it required sutures. She grabbed a towel, held it against the stinging wound, and went to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Amanda, are you alright?”
“Yes,” she answered not bothering to hide her irritation. “I sliced my thumb doing dishes.”
There was a pause on the other line. “How did you do that?”
Her voice was toneless. “The phone rang.”
Daniel apologized and asked if she would mind if he went out with Brian, not failing to hint at the possibility of his friend’s wife maybe knowing someone who would consider becoming a donor. She rolled her eyes at the thought, even though she knew he was trying to help. “Michelle may know someone. You know her father is the mayor and it is an election year.”
“How could I forget?”
Daniel sighed. “You remember we’re going to dinner with Brian and Michelle on Friday?”
Amanda glanced at the calendar on the wall above the phone. The date had been circled as if it needed to be emphasized with the time and location written in Daniel’s neat, block script. “The time and place are noted.”
She said a few more words, answering his questions about how the meeting went then told him she’d see him when he came home if she wasn’t in bed. Her thumb continued to throb as she hung up the receiver when there was a knock on the door. Her annoyance simmered on the surface as she threw it open and glared at the intruder. “Hello, Dr. Blake,” a young boy stammered. “I was wondering if I could collect for the paper?”
Amanda rubbed her forehead. “Of course, Keith. Just a moment.”
She closed the door partway and grabbed her wallet. She counted out a few bills and then emptied the small jar of loose change she and Daniel would collect for Keith’s tip money. As always, the boy’s face lit up when he was paid. “Thank you, Dr. Blake. You give the best tips.”
Amanda nodded and shut the door. She set the lock and then went back into the kitchen. The suds in the sink had diminished to a murky coating on the surface and the water had cooled considerably. It didn’t matter since she wasn’t looking forward to resuming the task. Instead, she pulled out the last of the leftover pot pie and put it on the stove. She stirred the solid mass when it began to soften to distribute the broth before going back into the refrigerator to grab what she wanted to make a sandwich. Afterward, she turned off the light and settled in her chair.
The furnace’s rumbling purr kicked into life and set out to take the chill from the air. Outside, Amanda could hear a note of winter in the wind’s shriek. She shuddered and pulled a shawl off of the hassock and wrapped it around her shoulders. The pot pie warmed her, where the shawl and heater could not reach. The pulse in her thumb had settled to a dull ache. She would cover it before she went to bed unless it bothered her while reading.
She picked up her copy of The Stand and opened it, wondering what Flagg was up to and if Nadine was closer to getting out of her comatose state after her night of passion in the desert outside of Las Vegas. The sound of turning pages soothed her as she fell deeper within its depth. A small bead of mustard from her sandwich dropped onto the print and was wiped away with little regard as Nick found the package in a closet during a meeting. She was saddened by his departure the first two times she read the book and now was no different. Amanda looked up, contemplating how she would have kept Nick alive for the rest of the story and which one she would rather have had blown up. Harold was out of the question, being food for the buzzards, which was more than what his character deserved. Maybe Fran?
Amanda looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was close to eleven. She marked her place and put the book back on the end table. She got up and stretched as a sizable yawn threatened to split her head. Almost dreamlike, she gathered her dishes and took them into the kitchen. She pulled the plug in the sink and listened as the water was sucked down the drain. Amanda moved the remaining dishes around and added hers to the pile. The pain in her thumb had diminished, yet she still covered it with a band-aid and took some acetaminophen. Afterward, she went upstairs to their room. She got undressed and into bed and didn’t hear it when Daniel joined her after midnight.
