Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [67]
In truth, that sounded great. Not that there was anything so special about that Friday. But for the first time in years, it signaled the end of Thomas’s workweek, and it nearly made him want to dance. He and Grace could enjoy a casual dinner, take a walk, watch the news, read the paper, talk, whatever they wanted. And then Saturday was wide open. He could handle all the chores a normal husband handled, things Grace always had to take care of before.
She had always insisted that he use his first day off to crash after all the weekend church activities and the second to just read and study. Thomas had never been idle, but he welcomed this new season of life where he could really be a fully functioning partner to her. The first thing he was going to do was scour the classified ads for a used desk.
When he emerged from the bedroom, Grace was curled at one end of the couch, looking eager to hear whatever he had to say. She patted the cushion next to her and he settled in.
“Learned a little more today,” he said. “Like every day. Gladys has really been helpful.”
“She sounds wonderful. I like that type. Wish I could get to know her.”
“She’s got a passel of kids, and her husband loves to cook—owns a barbecue place, in fact. She lives for the weekend. It’s church all the time for them. She’s big into the music program.”
“Should we look into her church one of these weekends?”
Thomas laughed. “I suggested that. Told her we wanted some recommendations. She implied that you and I probably would not be comfortable in her church.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because of the part of town it’s in. And because it’s almost 100 percent black.”
“You told her, didn’t you, that we went to college in Chicago and we’re not afraid of black people?”
“I did. She said, ‘Well, I have lots of friends who would be afraid of you!’ When we got serious, she said she had to admit that she was ashamed of some of her brothers and sisters there. She said there can be as much racism from within her community as without. Said she’s seen members get up and move to another pew when visiting white people sit down.”
“No! Really?”
“I was surprised too. She told me she’d sure welcome us, but did we like three-hour services, dancing in the aisles, people being slain in the spirit, nurses on call, all that?”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Well, I mean, I appreciate their passion and I love their music. . . .”
“Gracie, listen to yourself. Their this and their that? That sounds awful.”
“You know what I mean. Still, I’d love to meet her, even if maybe she’s right about us and her church.”
Thomas told her how Gladys had been so helpful in the office that he almost considered her his surrogate boss. “I report to Warden LeRoy, but he’s gone so much, and when he is there, I don’t want to bother him. But Gladys knows everything anyway and seems happy to help.”
“Like with what?”
“Well, today I finally got clearance on six of nine requests for a visit. Two of the inmates wanted private meetings, which were turned down and changed into just a stand-up outside their cells, and three were turned down because they didn’t convince the reviewers they were sincere.”
“But you saw six? That’s a good start.”
“Yeah, but every time I visit one of these guys, I come back with more questions. They all want something. No one just wants counsel or prayer or teaching. They all have an angle.”
“And you’re finding it hard to say no.”
“I have learned to tell them that I’ll have to check on things. It’s nice to be able to hide behind that for a while. I tell them I’m still learning and that I don’t want to promise anything I can’t deliver. That’s what I meant about Gladys. She told me to stop worrying so much, that there are rules to protect me and that’s all there is to it. I don’t have to apologize or wonder. I’m protected by what’s called ‘administrative regulations,’ which is what staff can and cannot do. No matter what anybody asks for, begs for, pleads for, whines for, finagles for, my hands are tied