Castles On The Sand Part 31

He gives me a dubious look but turns to his computer. "What is it?"

"Luke 15:11-32."

He types it into Google, then chuckles. "How appropriate."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Or in their case it would be a daughter, or both daughters even."

"What's that?"

"Famous parable about a son who is very disobedient, leaves home and lives it up, loses all his money and realizes he's a bad person. When he goes home, his father immediately forgives him. Ring any bells?"

"No, but okay." I get out my phone and call John. It takes five rings before he picks up. "Madison, hey."

"Do you have a moment?"

"Yep. I'm driving, so I might lose you, but what's up?"

"Tell me everything you know about the Parable of the Prodigal Son."

"You want the Seminary lesson?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's been a while, but let me think here. It's a parable, so it's kind of about how parents should treat their children, but it's also about how G.o.d treats us. The idea that no matter how far we've fallen, He's watching and waiting for us to come back to Him and He'll rejoice when that happens."

"Interesting."

"You just being polite?"

"No, I'm taking notes. Keep talking."

"What's this for?"

"I'm going to do... what was it you called it? Likening?"

"Um... okay. Well, let me think here."

Alex shows up right at five thirty and gives Siraj a wary look as he strolls up to the circulation desk. My boss only nods in his direction, though. "Madison, please don't do anything rash." To Alex's curious gaze, he says nothing.

I say goodbye to him and walk out with Alex.

"What's going on?" he asks, the moment the door swings shut behind us.

"Nothing. I just need to go talk to some people tonight."

"Who?"

"I'm going over to Kirsten's house and then the Beales'. It's nothing, really. Just helping them with family stuff."

He takes me by both shoulders, looks me in the eye, and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. Mr. Beale's been a jerk, but I can handle it-"

"Tell me everything."

I try to hide a smile.

"What?"

"You remind me of my brother. In a good way."

"He look out for you too?"

"Yeah, whether I want him to or not."

"So you going to tell me what's going on?"

I lay it out for him, the whole situation, how the Beales want to run me out of town, and how I don't want them to win.

Alex's expression gets more and more grave as I tell the story.

"I'll handle this," I say.

"Listen, not to put you down, but why do I think you might just try to give everyone a hug and fix matters that way?"

"It wasn't exactly what I planned."

"I'm coming with you."

"You don't have to-"

"I'm coming okay?"

"Fine," I say, "but no rocks. No smashing things."

This earns me a kiss, in public, where anyone can see.

Kirsten gives Alex a nervous look when she opens her front door. "Can I help you?"

I speak up before he can. "Come with me to see your parents."

"Are you nuts?"

"Please."

"You know my dad will just run me off the property with a shotgun, right?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. You heard about what happened with Kailie?"

She leans against the doorframe as if that sentence just sapped away all her energy. "I know you found her and she's in the hospital."

"CPS is involved now," says Alex.

I expect Kirsten to look confused at the abbreviation, but instead she looks up. "What? Why?"

"They think your parents endangered or neglected her or both."

"Well, I can answer that..."

"Listen," I say, "your dad's trying to make my mom and I leave town."

"So what's your plan here, Madison? My dad told me that he never wanted to see me again. He looks away if I pa.s.s him in the street. You think I can talk him out of bullying you?"

"I'm um, going to try to invoke a higher authority."

"What? Report him to the state? Or the fed? What?"

I don't dare say it aloud. It sounds too stupid, but I want to believe that it could work and I have to try. "Please?" I beg.

"Can your father resist blue eyes like those?" says Alex.

"Yes," says Kirsten, "but I'll come with you. You saved my sister's life. I guess I owe you one."

The three of us plus Kirsten's daughter, whom she carries on her hip, arrive at the Inn ten minutes later. I know it's the Beales' dinner time, which is why I also know they'll both be in the house. I knock and ring the doorbell three times before I get an answer a I also know they have a habit of not allowing interruptions at dinner.

Mr. Beale jerks the door open and stares out at us. "What do you want?"

I take a deep breath. Do this, I think. "Let us in."

He looks me over for a moment, then steps back and lets us past him, into the living room which has its furniture set up again, but is still missing most of its floor. Kirsten gives him a wide berth and turns to keep her child as far from him as possible. Alex looks him straight in the eye and Mr. Beale glares right back, so my first order of business, once we're all inside, is to step between Alex and Mr. Beale. I don't bother to sit down. I'd lose my nerve if I did. Kirsten goes by the window, bouncing her daughter gently.

I point at the cross st.i.tch of the Bible verses on the wall and will my hand not to shake. "I've always wondered about that, so I looked it up today."

Mr. Beale folds his arms across his chest.

"It's weird, because in that story, the father of the prodigal son is all happy when the son comes back. He was even standing out, watching and waiting for his son to return. Kirsten's here, and you don't seem to even care."

"Has she come to beg forgiveness?" asks Mr. Beale.

"Hmm," I say, "interesting. You read that parable lately? The son doesn't just ask for forgiveness. He asks for a job. A really low paid job. But clearly the forgiveness part is what you care about, not employing your daughter to help her pay the bills."

"Kirsten's never asked us for a job," says Mr. Beale.

"The son in the story asks for a job because he remembers his father as a good and just man who treats people well, so he'd rather be a lowly worker in his father's house than out in the world. See, the story is about a child learning the hard way that his father is a good man and that he was lucky to have such a parent." My courage starts to give, I feel it shift like sand being eaten away by the tide. "I think the moral of the story is, you don't get that ending unless you play your part."

"Well, thank you for that," says Mr. Beale, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

And my anger flares up, and with it, a second wave of confidence. "Listen, who are you to think you deserve any great blessings or whatever? Because that's why you have that on your wall, isn't it? It's because you think that story is about how no matter what you do to your daughters, it's their fault and they'll someday come to you and say, 'Gee, you were right, Dad. We're sooo sorry.' And you're going to cling to that belief even when trained professionals say that you need to re-evaluate your parenting style."

"I think that's enough," he says.

"Oh yeah? Well I don't care. Your thoughts aren't what I care about. I'm not here because you think I should be. I'm here because I know you're making a mistake, and you can pick on me all you want. You can drive me and my mom out of this town. I don't care. I am not your problem. You are. Even when I'm gone, your problems will still be here. Your daughter will still be in foster care and you'll keep doing the same stupid thing that put her there in the first place, too blinded by your own pride to catch a clue and grow up."

Alex's hand clasps my shoulder and Kirsten looks at me, agape.

I take a few deep breaths, but don't even try to calm myself down. My rage is the only thing between me and tears right now. Still, I do my best to keep my voice steady. "You are literally, one second away from a smile from your granddaughter if you'd just swallow your stupid pride and ask your daughter for forgiveness, because has it ever occurred to you, you're the prodigal son? You're the person who decided to live his life one way and took the consequences? You may have a nice home and money and all that, but when it comes to your family you might as well be sleeping in a pigsty, that's the kind of mess you made. Your daughters are the ones watching and waiting, ready to forgive you if you just ask."

Kirsten looks to the wall and I wonder if I spoke out of turn. Well, I know I spoke out of turn, but I wonder if she'll undermine me by just storming out.

I take another deep breath. "The state is also willing to help you if you are humble enough to ask. But if you keep acting like a bully, you'll lose it all. Completely. What's the point of having all this if you've got no one to share it with? If your daughters don't even call and you never know your grandchildren?"

Mr. Beale's jaw is set, and his face is turning a deep shade of red. He's about to explode with fury.

Behind me, I hear Alex shift his weight. I turn to see him pulling something out of his back pocket, but I grasp his hand to stop him and feel the rectangle shape of what I know is a metal business card holder between his fingers. "No," I mouth. When he doesn't stop trying to open it I say in a low voice, "I know what you're trying to do, but this isn't your fight."

"It isn't yours either," he whispers.

"I'm way closer to this than your grandfather ever was. But thank you."

"I think it's time you left," says Mr. Beale. And that's that. My last charge into the proverbial fortress has ended with me smacking into a stone wall. So much for thinking that the words of the Christian G.o.d would have any effect. It was stupid of me to even try. Desperate, really.

Alex tries to pry his business card holder out of my hand. I take it from him and hug it to my chest, confident that he won't reach there. We've only been dating for a few hours, after all. I need to find a way to retreat without looking like an idiot. My mind comes up blank there.

"Let's go," I say to Kirsten. "Sorry I-"

"Kirsten, wait," says Mrs. Beale. She steps into the room. I gather that she's eavesdropped from the dining room. "Wait, honey, don't go."

"Mom." She shakes her head.

"Honey, please... would you ever dream of forgiving us? Or... me? I'm sorry, all right? So sorry." Tears glisten in her eyes. "Please don't leave."

"Arlene," snaps Mr. Beale.

"Yeah, of course I would," says Kirsten. "If you acted like you even wanted me around. And Dad, lay off already."

"I agree," says Mrs. Beale. "Greg, go ahead and finish dinner by yourself if that's how you want to be." She picks her way across the torn up floor and holds her arms out to Kirsten, tears running down her cheeks.

As the two women hug, Mr. Beale's face turns a deeper shade of purple.

"Wow," I say, "you really don't like to lose, do you?"

Alex hooks his arm around my waist. "Let's go."

"The last person who picked on me regretted it every time," I say as he hauls me towards the door. "You should ask her about it, if you ever bother to talk to her. Name's Kailie."

Mrs. Beale takes Kirsten's toddler into her arms and coos at her.