A New Novel by Gary Broughman
(Editor’s note: Each weekend we’ll publish one chapter of the new Christian novel Which One of You? here at Christian Heartbeat.)
Chapter Sixteen
“We’re going to need music,” I told John-John. Without being asked, he had taken over planning Mary’s memorial, moving the day from Saturday to Sunday and going so far as to make
suggestions for the service itself. He was stepping on my toes, but I let it
go. That’s John-John. That’s why he’s valuable to me. You can’t tell a horse to be a horse only when you need your wagon pulled.
He had asked me to meet him at the park overlooking the beach, across from the
club where Becky served drinks. The wind blew out of the northeast under a
cloudy sky, driving the high tide almost to the seawall. The access gate to the
beach was closed to cars. Still, a few visitors parked off-beach squeezed onto
the few yards of sand between the concrete wall and the foaming gray waters.
“We’re going to need some music,” I said.
“Let me work on that,” he answered. “There’s a gal who plays up the street here at that crazy wine bar -- you know the one
with hookah pipes, that does some spiritual stuff. I saw her once at a wedding
doing that song from Wizard of Oz.”
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow?”
“Yea, and I happen to know Mary loved that movie.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I know stuff. I don’t always remember how or why. I‘ll talk to Marc down at the hookah bar and get her number. She‘s got a guitar player -- a drummer too if we want him -- and her own amp.
Turn-key, you know.”
“That’s good John-John. I’ll want to talk to her too -- help choose the songs.”
I guess I shouldn’t complain. I needed a good fixer on my team and John-John was top rate. Still
is, as a matter of fact. In some ways he’s better than a wife -- except for that weather-beaten mug of his, which now
featured a jagged stitch line over his nose.
The one thing that bothered me is he had involved Sagan’s mom Becky. I could have gone directly to the club’s owner and asked about using his deck. I’m not sure why it bothered me. John-John said Becky was eager to help. Maybe I
wanted to protect Carolyn from her silly jealousy of Becky, or myself from
courting temptation. The truth is she stirred me in a way I wished she didn‘t. Was I still fighting off my high school failures, wanting a do-over on that
back seat scene in Roger’s car? I had to find some way to push back against these feelings, because as
long as Sagan was in my life she would be too. Good thing Carolyn had returned
home.
I had lots to worry about this week. Less than two weeks now and I’m tossed out of the parsonage. Jesus, I never had to look for a rental. I felt
myself slipping lower on the totem pole. The favored ones buy houses; they don‘t rent.
As we crossed the street to the bar, which John-John called “the deck,” he gave me his abridged course on house hunting: “You can always look in the paper, but I say pick a neighborhood you wanna live
in and drive ’round looking for rental signs. You find something that looks good and get the
number. And remember, everything’s negotiable. Lots of places on the market right now. Personally, I’d never buy a house. Who needs the headaches? Something goes wrong at my place,
bam, I call the landlord and it’s his problem. And since the housing bubble blew, you can rent for a song. If
the landlord don’t fix the problem, I’ll go somewhere else. Of course, no one likes movin’ but … nah, rentin’s the way to go -- ’specially at my age … I’d pay twice the price per month on a mortgage and never pay it off anyway. Yea,
look in the paper or drive ‘round. It‘ll work out. Not a problem, padre. When you find it, gimme a call and I’ll help you with the movin’. I know a guy with a stepvan I can borrow.”
So there it was, the John-John method for easy living: “Just drive ’round … not a problem … I know a guy … It’ll work out.” I had to smile. He seemed to pull it off, and more and more I was hoping I
could too. It hit me all of a sudden that John’s prescription wasn’t all that different from what Jesus said in Matthew, “… Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin,
yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory wasn’t clothed like one of these. … So don’t worry about tomorrow … today’s trouble is enough for today.”
So today, I’ll work on Mary’s memorial. Tomorrow I’ll look in the paper, or drive around in a neighborhood where I’d like to live. It would work out. I’d find something. And anyway, I had a feeling Carolyn was already working on the
shelter issue. She could live to 100 and she’d never buy into the John-John philosophy -- or what Jesus said. That kind of
thing may work for lilies of the field, but people need a roof over head.
We found the owner, Jerry, back in the kitchen making sure everything was ready
for lunch and followed him out into the main room as he talked with us and the
staff at the same time. Tables to be set with silverware. A bar to be stocked.
Beer, liquor, ice, soda, backups for the kegs if they should run out. “The Michelob Ultra is getting low,” a bartender called out. “… the Killian’s too.” No time for surprises once the action starts, he said, but then “with this weather today, who knows what we‘ll get. I always try to be optimistic,” he said with a smile.
He was pleased we asked him to help with the memorial. Thankful. Knew Mary;
knew her late husband. “Used to take my cars there back in the day,” he said. He was glad Becky came to him about it.
John-John tried to discuss some of the details like time frames and what we’d need, but Jerry was more interested in talking about Becky -- and Sagan.
“I have to tell you Reverend Waymire--”
“Just Dietrich,” I said.
“Alright, Dietrich. I have to tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for Sagan … and for Becky. You know, she’s worked for me ten years now. You hear that phrase thrown around, ‘he’s good people’ or ‘she’s good people’? Well, it’s overused. It ought to be saved for someone like Becky. She really is good
people.”
Jerry motioned us to a table and we all sat down, John-John leaving his chair a
few feet from the table. He seemed to sense when it was and wasn’t his time to be included.
Jerry fixed me with his eyes, like he was going to say something really deep. “What I wanted to tell you is Becky’s real special to me and honestly one of the genuine nicest people who ever
worked for me. In this business you learn to spot the phonies … she would do anything to help the other girls. If one of them has troubles at
home Becky is there with a shoulder … and the customers? They love her. The money she makes here -- double the
others! But what I’m getting at, the sad part, is she never seems to reach the happiness she
deserves. Not that she’s never happy. She just can’t keep it rolling. It always seems the weight of questioning if she’s doing right by the boy pulls her down … until you came into her life, Rev … Dietrich.”
Honest to God, I was enjoying his pat on my back. And, what he said about Becky
rang true. But I had no idea what he was leading up to -- if anything.
“It’s been a privilege, having Sagan with me,” I said.
“Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” he said. Jerry looked around to locate his crew and then glanced at John-John,
who had turned his chair so he could peer out over the bar and through the
glass at the frothy ocean. Becky had just arrived and was finishing the set up
chores with the other two bartenders. Jerry leaned in close, his thick forearms
on the table, and lowered his voice so his words wouldn’t be overheard. “I was sort of working my way toward telling you something, but maybe this ain’t the time. Let me just say, I’ve known Becky a long time -- back before she worked for me, back when I was a
bartender and she was a kid sneaking in on fake ID. Then, when she first came
to work for me there was a time when I thought, maybe … something might develop … but, you know, I’m a good bit older and … anyway, nothing came of it, except she’s always been my best bartender and … a good friend I care about. I hope someday she’ll get the right man in her life. As far as the boy goes, that man’s been you Dietrich, and I thank you for it.”
So he once had a thing for Becky, or maybe still does. Hard to blame him.
“As for Sunday, I’m glad to help. I hope if you need anything, at any time, you’ll give me a chance to pitch in. Not saying I got all the answers but I’d certainly try.”
John-John followed him outside onto the deck, and I watched them walk past the
tables to the east rail where the deck ended its reach over the sand. Two men
of the world taking care of business, taking care of details, which is what men
of the world do I guess. Me? I’m the man of the sanctuary forced to add “man of the world“ to my titles. I didn’t want to go too far with it. Useful as they are, there is no shortage of these “men of the world” types running around. But sanctuary men -- or women -- those of us who can
create true sanctuary? Few and far between.
Watching from inside, I imagined the setup for Sunday. John-John said he wanted
to put a couple of canopies out there to keep the rain off if it came, and the
sun’s heat if it didn’t. I told him I intended to dress up with a jacket and tie for the occasion. He
didn’t want me sweating in the sun. he wanted me to look cool and composed. I watched
them pointing and talking and guessed it was about running power out to the amp
and microphones, and how to secure the canopies.
