First Daughter - Eric van Lustbader [92]
"It's comforting to have faith, to know there's a plan."
Schiltz nodded. "Indeed it is."
"So if something bad happens—like, for instance, your nineteen-year-old daughter running her car into a tree and dying—you don't have to think. You can just say, well, that's part of the plan. I don't know what that plan is, I can't ever know, but, heck, it's there, all right. My daughter's death had meaning because it was part of the plan."
Schiltz cleared his throat. "That's putting it a bit baldly, but, yes, that's essentially correct."
Jack set aside the raw-tasting bourbon. He'd had more than enough liquor for one night.
"Let me ask you something, Egon. Who in their right mind wants a fucked-up plan like that?"
Schiltz clucked his tongue. "Now you sound like one of those missionary secularists."
"I'm disappointed but hardly surprised to hear you say that." Jack made interlocking rings on the table with the bottom of his glass. "Because I'm certainly not a missionary secularist."
"Okay. Right now because of Emma's death you're cut off from God."
"Oh, I was cut off from that branch of thinking a long time ago," Jack said. "Now I'm beginning to think there's another way, a third alternative."
"Either you believe in God or you don't," Schiltz said. "There's no middle ground."
Jack looked at his friend. They'd spent so many years dancing around this topic, holding it at bay for the sake of their friendship. But a line had been crossed tonight, he felt, from which there was no turning back. "No room for debate, no movement from beliefs written in stone."
"The Ten Commandments were written in stone," Schiltz pointed out, "and for a very good reason."
"Didn't Moses break the tablets?"
"Stop it, Jack." Schiltz called for the check. "This is leading us nowhere."
Which, Jack thought, was precisely the problem. "So what happens now?" he said.
"Frankly, I don't know."
Schiltz stared into the middle distance, where a couple of dateless women who had given up for the night were dancing with each other while Elvis crooned "Don't Be Cruel."
His eyes slowly drew into themselves and he focused on Jack. "The truth is, I'm afraid to go home. I'm afraid of what Candy would do if she found out, afraid of the disgrace I'd come under in my church. I can tell you there are friends of mine who'd never talk to me again."
Jack waited a moment to gather his thoughts. He was mildly surprised to learn that whatever anger he'd felt toward Egon had burned itself out with the bourbon they'd thrown down their throats. The truth was, he felt sad.
"I wish I could help you with all that," Jack said.
Schiltz put up a hand. "My sin, my burden."
"What I can offer is another perspective. What's happened tonight is a living, breathing test of your iron-bound faith. You live within certain religious and moral lines, Egon. They allow for no deviation or justification. But you can't fall back on any religious fiction. God didn't tell you to have an affair with Ami, and neither did the devil. It was you, Egon. You made the conscious choice, you crossed a line you're forbidden to cross."
Schiltz shook his head wearily. "Would Candy forgive me? I just don't know."
"When I saw her earlier tonight, she told me in no uncertain terms just how strong your love is for each other. You've been through bad patches before, Egon, and you've managed to work through them."
"This is so big, though."
"Candy's got a big heart."
Schiltz peered at Jack through the low light, the beery haze. "Have you forgiven Sharon?"
"Yes," Jack said, "I have." And that was the moment he realized that he was telling the truth, the moment he understood why her unreasoning outburst had cut him so deeply.
Jack cocked his head. "So who are you now, Egon? You see, I can forgive what you've done, I can look past the part you play, the lies you've maintained, and still love the man beneath, despite your betrayal of Candy and Molly—and of me, for that matter. You're my friend, Egon. That's what's important in life. Friends