“So what’s up with Nancy?” he asked.
“Well I heard she just had a baby. A little boy.”
“You heard? From Nancy?”
Teri tore through another pile of clothing. “Actually Dennis Winthrop called. He was Nancy’s boss. I don’t think you ever met him so you wouldn’t remember his name.”
“No.”
“Anyway, Demon Hunter—the animated feature Coventry Productions produced — has been nominated for a Silver Screen Award. Since I worked on the art direction, I was invited to the show tonight. It’s going to be broadcast live on television.”
“That’s great,” said Jack. “Are you going to get a trophy if you win?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Teri laughed. “I worked as a freelance assistant for the background artist. I’m lucky to be invited. I can’t wait to see Nancy. And Carla and Chandra, too.”
Jack stood up, embraced his wife. “Since you might be on television, why don’t you go out and buy something brand new to wear?”
“That’s silly, Jack. I’ve already decided on the black dress.”
“Good,” he smiled. “You look pretty hot in that.”
“You don’t mind, do you Jack?”
“Of course not. Kim and I can get take out pizza.”
“Great. But don’t get pepperoni. Kim’s a vegetarian again.”
Jack snorted skeptically. “Since when?”
“Since I cooked meat loaf last night.”
“Well, we’ll have a great time trying to spot you during the broadcast.”
Teri laughed. “Don’t blink then.”
Jack sat back down on the bed, yanked off his chukkas, and tossed them into the corner. Teri walked to the mirror, brushed the short locks of dark hair away from her face with her long fingernails and studied her features in the glass.
“One more thing,” Jack said, rising and heading for the bathroom and a quick shower. “lf you do win, don’t forget to thank your faithful and supporting husband in your acceptance speech.”
Teri smiled, catching Jack’s eye in the mirror. “You and Kim are always first on my list, Jack. You know that.”
4. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 8 A.M. AND 9 A.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
Although it was not nearly as spectacular as the famous Sierra Nevadas to the north, the San Gabriel Mountains and its surrounding national park had a more distinct advantage for the people of L.A. — it was only a thirty minute drive from the Glendale corridor. The San Gabriels were forested with oak, pine, and cedar and graced with clear streams, small lakes, waterfalls, and steep canyons perfect for fishing, hiking, and camping.
Several roads climbed into the 700,000-acre park, all of them twisting, steep and narrow, but the main route through the mountains was the Angeles Crest Highway. It rose steadily from La Canada Flintridge, eventually peaking at nearly eight thousand feet above sea level, before descending to an eventual end in the flat, blasted wasteland of the Mojave Desert.
Veering off a sharp curve in this highway was an unmarked road. At the end of the short, bumpy dirt path, flanked by tall pines, sat three wooden buildings, several picnic tables, a flagpole, and a half-dozen tents. This small no-frills campground had been established by two inner city churches in the late 1980s — the Lion of God Church in South Central, Los Angeles, and the Baptist Church School of Compton, a small Christian congregation operated out of a dilapidated storefront.
With a sharp cliff presenting perfect vistas of higher mountain peaks, they could give urban kids a few days of escape from the scorching heat of the city and fulfill their mission statement for all retreats: here the children could witness the glories of God as reflected in nature, rather than the sins and hubris of mankind cast in concrete; they could inhale the scents of plants and trees instead of smog; they could listen to birdsong, while they received biblical instruction, instead of the constant assault of subwoofers in gangbanger SUVs.
Nine of the kids who’d come for this particular retreat session — four boys and five girls between the ages of twelve and fourteen — were now seated around a pair of picnic tables. Breakfast had ended, the paper plates had been gathered up, and Reverend Landers, tall and reed thin with a hide like brown leather and white hair bristling over an expansive forehead, was leading them all in a goodbye prayer.
Fifty feet away, twenty-five-year-old Laney Caulder emerged from the camp’s largest building to stand on its porch. Squinting against the morning glare, the slender young African-American woman with long hair braided into a beautiful cascade of cornrows, looked away from the yellow sun blazing in the sky before covering her head with a baseball cap.
“Sure is gonna be hot down in the city. I almost hate to leave these mountains,” Laney said.
Behind her, a heavyset black woman in her late fifties rolled out of the building on an electric wheelchair.
“It’s hot all right,” Rita Taft observed. “But I can feel a chill in the wind coming off the highlands. Winter’s coming. In a couple more weeks the Reverend’s gonna have to close this place down till spring.”
The older woman scanned the distant mountains with tired eyes. Then, using a chin control to operate the wheelchair, she circled around to face the younger woman.
“Back when this place first opened up, back twenty years ago, you could see snow on the mountains every summer — even in July. But this year’s different. With the drought and all, there’s been no snow. Not one little flake.”
Rita paused, fixed her gaze on the younger woman. “I been thinking that maybe things are better without the white powder, if you know what I mean…”
Laney Caulder nodded. “It’s better.”
“So you’re telling me you ain’t gonna need that nasty snow no more, not even when you get back to the city? Back to that world and all its evil influences?”
The younger woman shook her head. “I’ve been off the drugs nine months now, free and clear. Thanks to you and the Reverend, I found me a better way. I’m not gonna backslide…”
Rita Taft’s grin lit up her round face. “God bless you girl. Keep it up and next year you can take over my job!”
Laney’s brown eyes opened wide. “I could never—”
“You said the same thing six months ago when the Reverend made you a camp counselor. Now you’re the kids’ favorite.”
“I sure do love ’em.”
A cloud of dust appeared above the trees at the end of the camp. A moment later the church van arrived to take the kids home. Laney glanced at the bus nervously, hesitant to leave.
Rita cleared her throat. “You have your cell phone. Don’t forget to call me when you get back to Compton,” she said. “And don’t fret. You’ll only be gone a few days. I’ll see you here next Tuesday when you come up with a fresh batch of kids.”
Laney stooped and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “Take care, Miss Taft, and make sure to remind Tyrell to recharge your battery or you’re gonna get stuck again.”
Rita jerked the chair forward playfully. “Go home, girl.”
Laney bounded off the porch and down to the bus — really a large van with four rows for passengers. Already the kids were climbing inside choosing seats. She circled around to the passenger door and climbed aboard. Thelma Layton, a mother of five with cocoa skin and short black curls, greeted her with a wide grin from behind the steering wheel. “Girl, you are gonna regret going back to that city. Hell has got to be cooler than Compton.”