Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [127]
“But I wanted her to think. I didn’t expect her to be so open-minded that she changed her bedrock views. I wouldn’t have respected that. But to at least acknowledge that people who disagree have brains and hearts and souls too—was that too much to ask?”
“There’s something to be said for simple faith.”
“I’m not just talking about that. And after all that vitriol, this next isn’t going to make sense, but just bear with me and let me get it out. Where I was going with all that frustration over Mom and the way she thinks—or doesn’t think—is that I have never once questioned her motives.
“All right, as a bratty teenager, I probably did. But not once since I left home have I doubted that Mom loves me and you and God, and that with her, what you see is what you get. Believe me, I’ve learned the hard way that there aren’t too many people you can say that about these days. But she’s pure gold.”
“When you talk of her like that, Rav, that’s the woman I recognize. That is the love of my life.”
And finally Ravinia broke down. “Don’t you see, Dad? I love her too! I have come to accept her just as she is—pure, selfless, loving, a servant. Maddeningly perfect. But look what’s happened to her. How does any of it make sense? If anyone deserves to be in that bed, becoming dependent on others for their very existence, it’s me! Don’t you ever question God? Look what He’s done to—okay, look what He’s allowed to happen to Mom, the love of your life.
“You have pledged your life to God, and this is what happens to your wife? I don’t get it, and frankly, I’m not going to get over it, Dad. How can I respect a God like that?”
“Please don’t say that, Rav. You know your mother and I believe we deserve nothing but death and hell, so anything short of that is a bonus. We have so much to be thankful for.”
Ravinia rose and stretched and took her cup and saucer back to the kitchen. “Thanks for hearing me out. I know it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but at least I feel like I can be honest with you.”
“You can. And you must know I’d like the opportunity to debate the point. . . .”
“Maybe someday. I’ve got to go.”
Serenity Halfway House | Addison
Brady had hoped Serenity, especially with a name like that, would look like the idyllic facilities he’d seen on TV and in movies. Maybe it would have a long, tree-lined road leading to a huge circular drive before a massive pillared colonial brick building. People in white coats would be strolling with bathrobed patients as they worked together to fix all that ailed them.
In fact, Serenity proved to be a three-story brownstone, though not the kind you’d see in the ritzier areas of New York City or Chicago. No, this was a rather stark structure with heavy-gauge steel screens on the doors and windows and a very shallow front lawn—if it even could be called that—of shrubs and sod, enclosed by a tall, heavy, black iron fence and locking gate.
As soon as the van rolled up outside, the driver chirped, “Welcome to your new home, gentlemen, and I wish each of you all the luck in the world.”
He leaped out to open the side door, and as Brady and the others got off, a couple emerged from the brownstone, went through a rather complicated procedure to unlock the gate, and held it open.
The man was tall and broad with a black goatee and curly hair to match. He wore a sleeveless denim jacket that exposed tattoos from his hands to his shoulders.
The woman was only a couple of inches shorter, also dressed in denim, and was robust with sandy blonde hair going gray.
They appeared to be in their early to midforties, and both were beaming. She did the talking. “Welcome, welcome, welcome,” she said, shaking each man’s hand. “I’m Jan and this is my husband, Bill. Introduce yourselves to him. I know even a broken-down old lady like me looks good to guys who have been locked up as long as you have, so I like to show off my guy and make it clear from the get-go that I’m not available.