For the entirety of the two-hour drive to Templeton that Friday, I thought about Kurt, I thought about Pamela, and I thought about the baby who would soon be born. Put up for adoption or not, I didn’t want my grandchild knowing that his real father went to prison. Still, Theresa Singer’s words were plastered like wallpaper in my mind. I couldn’t shut them out, no matter how hard I tried to think of other things. And the part of my conscience that seemed to have gone numb through all of this, well, it was suddenly awake, kicking and screaming. You can only stifle God’s Spirit so long. This was not a gray area. This was black. Dark black.
Once again, I drove past Jodi’s house and straight out to the orchards. Once again, I followed the sound of the men at work. They saw me coming before I got there and stood watching my approach.
Monte smiled. “The last time you turned up here unexpectedly, we found out you were about to be a grandmother. I’m wondering what news today’s visit might bring.”
As much as I wanted to laugh, or at least smile, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I started to cry.
“I’ll, uh, I’ve got a couple of things to take care of in the barn.” Monte disappeared on the quad, leaving me alone with my son.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Are you still thinking about the adoption?”
“No, Kurt, I’m not. I wish that were what this is about, but it’s not.”
“What then?”
“I haven’t been completely honest with you. In fact, I downright lied.”
“About?”
“You asked me if there was anything else in your stuff when I unpacked it. I said no, but that’s not true. There was one more thing.” I looked at him through my tears. “There was a Louisville Slugger there, too.”
His head drooped. “I guess I’m not surprised. The memory flashes are coming more often now, and they’re getting more intense. I’ve tried to convince myself all that was just a nightmare, but deep inside I know better. I think I’ve always known. It was real.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I was never going to tell you. I was going to let you get on with your life without ever knowing for sure.”
“What made you change your mind?”
I wanted to stop right there, never continue the conversation. But I did. “Someone else has been arrested for the murder.”
His head jerked up. “Who?”
“His name is Gary Singer.”
He gave a half snort as he looked down and began to study his own foot as it plowed a track in the dirt. “I guess that doesn’t surprise me. If it weren’t for the fact that I know he didn’t do it, I’d have written him in as the most likely candidate.”
Once again I thought of the unfairness of trading the already reformed citizen standing before me for a man that even a former addict considered less-than. I began to doubt my resolve, but then I saw Gary Singer’s mother’s face.
“I’ve tried to convince myself that he doesn’t matter, that it’s okay for him to be in jail because he probably deserves it for some other crime he never got caught for. But, Kurt, I can’t let his mother spend the rest of her life believing that she is the cause for all this.”
He nodded. “I know you’re right. It’s just …” He looked at the land around him. “I really thought I was going to make it.”
I grabbed him by the face. “And you still can. Get out of here. Now. Head to Mexico or Canada or wherever it is they won’t find you.” This idea came from somewhere deep inside me, and was spoken before I’d even realized I’d actually thought it. But I liked the idea. A lot. It left us with hope. “I’ll go to the police on Monday. That will give you two full days to get to somewhere else besides here. I want you to make something of the life you’ve just started to build, and you can’t do that if you’re locked up in a prison cell.”
He looked me in the eye for the space of ten seconds, then slowly started to nod. “I know a guy who does good fake papers. I could probably get some ID and a passport and get out of here.”
“Do it. That’s what I want you to do.” Maybe I wouldn’t be able to see him, but at least he wouldn’t be in jail. I could lie in my bed at night and know that somewhere my son was living free.
“Where is it?”
There was no need for me to pretend I didn’t know what “it” he was asking about. I looked him directly in the eyes. “I burned it.”
“Burned it?” He smiled, almost despite himself. “Gotta say, Mom, there’s a wild side to you I never knew existed. Who would have guessed something that wholly illegal was in your repertoire.”
“Yeah, well, when it comes to protecting my kids, I’ve found out there’s not much I won’t do.”
“I guess you had to find that out the hard way.” He continued to watch his foot plow across the dirt. “What made you burn it?”
“The Bible says, ‘As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’ Your transgressions have been forgiven in Christ’s eyes. I didn’t see the reason to bother with anyone else’s opinion.” I reached my hand up and cupped my son’s cheek. “The person who swung that bat no longer exists. He died the day you went into rehab. The real you emerged from the drugged-out shell you used to inhabit, and once again became the person you were before all that. A person who deserves a chance at life.”
“Are you going to tell the police that you burned it?”
“I think I’ll have to. I can’t exactly produce the thing, and I suppose they’ll want to know the reason for that.”
He nodded. “Won’t that get you in trouble?”
“Probably. Lacey said destruction of evidence would likely be a misdemeanor, so maybe it won’t be that bad.” I didn’t tell him what else she’d said about obstruction of justice and accomplice after the fact. I wanted him to leave here with as free a conscience as possible. “Kurt, I have to tell the truth, but you don’t need to face this. Get out of here while you can.”
He nodded slowly. “If you’re sure that’s what you want me to do.”
“I’m sure.” And I was. It was the only thing that kept me going.
Two days later I sat in church, wondering if it would be my last time to ever worship here. Who knew what next week would bring? I might be locked up somewhere, or at the very least ostracized from this group of people. I smiled and hugged everyone on my way in the door, feeling tears sting my eyes as I squeezed just a little tighter. These people had been such a support for me, so much a part of my life, but I knew it would all change when they found out what a sham I’d been putting on all these years. And what else could my life have been except a sham, if I was willing to do something as terrible as I had done?
We sang some songs, but I barely listened. My lips moved, and sounds came out—at least I think so—but my mind was somewhere far away. When Pastor Maddox began the sermon, I had no idea what he was saying. Somewhere in the middle of it, though, I began to hear snatches of phrases, occasional words that caught my attention. Things like “pretense” and “being less than transparent.” Well, those things all applied to me. I’d been pretending to be so many things for so many people for such a long time. I supposed that one slip made the next easier.
At the very end of the service, he called for anyone who wanted to come kneel at the altar and pray to please come forward. I couldn’t hold myself in my seat. I rushed forward, certain every eye was on me, wondering what dark secrets I had that brought me up here so quickly. I knelt there with tears running down my face, thinking how far I’d let myself slide. I’d been so busy trying to be brave and “Christian-like” in front of all these people that I’d managed to completely shut God out of the deal. I buried my face in my hands and prayed like I hadn’t in weeks. I had been silent before God, thinking He wouldn’t notice what I was doing. Well, now I was going to come clean.
After a period of time passed, I have no idea how long, I opened my eyes. I was shocked to see at least a hundred people also kneeling at the altar. Were all these people here because they, too, had felt the pretense in their lives? Was it possible that I was not as alone in all this as I supposed?
I stood and returned to my seat. Other than Ruth Ann Sparks, who reached out to pat my shoulder as I returned to my seat beside her, no one seemed to notice that I had gone forward. I could detect none of the knowing stares that they all now knew what a fake I was. Other people slowly returned to their seats, until only a dozen or so remained at the altar.
Ken Maddox walked to the podium and looked out toward the congregation. “And Alisa Stewart, director of our women’s ministries, will be leading us in our closing prayer.”
I looked up in shock. Closing prayer rotated among staff members, and I’d never before lost track of my turn. Until now. I certainly did not want to go to the microphone, to say a prayer in front of everyone—today of all days. Not at all. Somehow, though, my feet did not seem to understand this, because before I could stop them, I found myself standing at the podium. I looked out at the congregation, row after row of people, who just a moment or two before had confessed their sins before God. Every person out there probably thought they had a terrible secret. Well, they had nothing on me.
“Dear Father, you are a mighty and perfect God, perfectly holy. Unfortunately, people who do your work, well, we’re not.” I thought about my resignation letter, tucked safely in my purse. I would give it to Ken on my way out, but now was not the time for all that. “God, as you know, I have been living a lie for a long time now. I’ve pretended to be stronger and more in control than I am, because I felt like that’s what I was supposed to do. Forgive me. Forgive us all. Amen.”
I looked down at so many faces that were familiar to me. People I had counseled, people I had put on my bravest face for. I returned to my usual seat for perhaps the very last time. The life that I had always known, the one I had spent so much effort cultivating … it was over.