Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [96]
“Well, I doubt that, but who knows? You just might. If you do, then you know what is available to you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t? I’m here at your request. What do you want to talk about?”
“I hear Russ isn’t coming, even though he promised.”
“Don’t start with that now, Deke. He never promised that. In fact, he made quite clear—”
“Whatever. So I got to die alone.”
“That is your choice.”
“You got plans for New Year’s Eve?”
“Of course, but I am here to serve you, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“To tell you the truth, Henry, I’d rather call you that than ‘the Deacon.’”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You know me too well.”
“I don’t know you the way your Maker knows you. And in spite of everything—”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Your time is running out, Henry.”
Trenton moved away and shook his head. “You think I don’t know how much time I have?”
“Of course you do. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry. You said something out of line, and you’re sorry. You’re standing here in front of a man who is unforgivable, and you’re—”
“Don’t ever say that, Henry. When you say you’re unforgivable, you besmirch the name of God Himself. Forgiveness is His job, not ours.”
Trenton was silent for more than a minute, and while it was awkward, Thomas felt he should wait the man out.
Finally Trenton lifted his eyes. “So you’ll be with me tomorrow night?”
“As you wish.”
“You will do as I wish?”
“Certainly.”
“I don’t want you to bring your Bible.”
“Are you sure?”
“You think I haven’t thought this through? Yes, I’m sure. That’s what I want.”
“May I bring my heart?”
“What?”
“I have hidden His Word in my heart, so I will bring those Scriptures.”
“Whatever. I just don’t want to hear any of them, all right?”
“If that is still your wish at the end, I will reluctantly honor it.”
“Count on it.”
35
Addison
Brady picked up his cornball Burger Boy smock and cap at Stevie Ray’s and began the long walk to the fast food place. His festering trip-wire rage abated somewhat as he tried his well-honed lying on himself. He would turn on the charm, lay out a sad story for the shift supervisor about why he’d had to miss work, assure him he would call if it ever happened again, and beyond that, tell him he was ready for more responsibility, like supervising.
By the time he arrived, shivering and embarrassed by the road-salt residue on his shoes, Brady had convinced himself he could pull this thing off. He would be more conscientious, make more money, pay down his debts, and start over in his quest to get out of the cursed Touhy Trailer Park.
His supervisor for that shift was Red, a usually perky, pudgy, late-twenties guy with a sandy crew cut. He didn’t appear so chipper just now. “Well, look who decided to finally show up.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, sir. I gotta talk to you.”
“Just turn in your uniform,” Red said. “I’ve already cut this for you.” The man held out a check for just under fifty dollars.
“You kiddin’ me? I miss one shift and you can me?”
“I don’t want any trouble, Brady. Now let’s just trade and be done with this.”
“You got to hear me out first,” Brady said, taking and folding the check.
“We’re about to get busy. Make it quick.”
“Can we talk in private?”
“Just for a minute.”
They went into the cramped office behind the kitchen, and Brady sat. Red didn’t, which made Brady feel strange. He stared up at the supervisor. “I woulda called you; I really would have. But when I got word my uncle was near death, I just forgot everything else. I hitchhiked all the way to my aunt’s house, and we were taking care of him around the clock until his medicine kicked in. I’m really sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I hope he’s okay—that is, if you’re telling me the truth.”
“’Course I am. I owe you; I know that. I also want you to know that I like my work here so much that I want to commit myself to Burger Boy and make it full-time. I quit school, and I quit my job as foreman at a paving company because I want to prove I’m serious about getting onto a management track