“Or the story of Job? Job was a devout believer and one day Satan told God that Job was only a believer because his life was so good. God gave the devil permission to ruin Job’s life. Job’s sons are killed, his farmland destroyed, his cattle slaughtered. His body is infected with oozing boils and excruciating illnesses. And through all this pain, Job contends that we can not accept the good things from God and refuse the bad. He refuses to turn his back on God and in return God ultimately empowers him with an even more blessed life than he had known. People say this story shows why we must be obedient to God, do what he says. But that’s not the real reason. Think about these two stories. What do you think the point is?”
Brendan had forgotten how creepy this guy seemed or how his large hand had felt like it was crushing his shoulder. The story of Abraham and Isaac grabbed him and he imagined how scared the kid must have been when his father tied him up and prepared to kill him. He imagined what Job must have felt when everything he valued died and his body became a breeding ground for all sorts of horrible diseases. Brendan hated having a cold, never mind boils spewing puss all over his body. Yet, in those stories, Brendan also found a common link, like a jigsaw puzzle piece that fit in two puzzles.
“God can do whatever He wants,” Brendan said.
The man’s gray eyes softened. “You are a perceptive boy. And very special, no doubt.” The eyes hardened again, like a coating hiding something on the inside. “God can do whatever He wants, and His will is often unfair.”
Capricious, Brendan thought.
“He may demand a sacrifice and then rescind it or He may take and take whatever He wants before ever giving something back. He may never give anything back. He can be cruel, unjust. He took your sister. That was cruel, perhaps unfair. But perhaps she was a sacrifice God demanded. Do you think it’s possible that God has a plan so complex that we can never possibly understand it?”
The bowling ball slipping from his hands, the shattering windshield, the car smashing the tree, the bumper stickers on the back: EDITORS DO IT FOR MONEY.
“God takes,” the man continued, “but He does give. You just have to ready your heart to receive. There is much more to tell you about His power and the great works of Jesus Christ the Empowered, of course. But there is no point unless you think there is a possibility that your sister did not die in vain, that there was a reason for her death, for her sacrifice. Do you believe in that possibility?”
He didn’t need a moment to answer: “Absolutely.”
The man stood, draped an arm over Brendan’s shoulders.
A few minutes later, the man was on the floor near Delaney’s coffin, blood slicking across his face as Brendan’s father punched him again and again until two people dragged him off.
4
They were in Paul’s car, speeding away from the funeral home when Paul finally told him what had been going on at school all week.
“She’s one psycho bitch.”
“What happened?”
“I thought you were nuts, saying that shit about her mother, the blood and whatever, but you must be telling the truth.”
Was Sasha walking around school in all black waving a bottle of blood and shouting how her mother had cursed Tyler Williams for raping her in his car Friday night? Maybe she posted the newspaper article about Delaney’s death on the bulletin board next to the announcements about track practice and the PTO Bake Off and scribbled on it that her death was only the beginning. More blood would spill until Tyler admitted what he did and begged forgiveness. Then she’d sever his penis and store it in a jar in her basement where she and her mother worshipped their evil gods.
“What is it? What is she doing?”
Paul laughed, turned to him. “She says you two are in love.”
“What?” He actually meant to say, What are you fucking joking because you better be, but the shock limited Tyler to one-syllable exclamation.
“Yeah, man. She’s been walking around all week saying you and her are true love and shit. She’s got a heart up in her locker with your picture on it from last year’s yearbook. At least that’s what the girls been saying. She’s whacked out. She walks around with a stupid smile on her face and, ha ha, she’s already talking about prom. You guys are getting a stretch limo, I hear.”
“Bullshit. This is a joke, right? Trying to lighten my mood?”
“I wish I was. She’s nuts. She told Patti Holt that you practically proposed to her on Friday and she just couldn’t resist how sweet you were.”
“Did she say we … you know.”
“Fucked? Not exactly, but people are putting things together. You’re not there to defend yourself, so the rumor mill churns and churns. By next week, everyone will think you two got married in Vegas or something.”
“What is up with her?” He was staring out the window, vaguely aware that Paul was driving toward Sky View Estates. “You taking me home?”
“Your father got beers?”
“Maybe. Why?”
Paul laughed again. “You think he’ll notice we take a few?”
Tyler said he doubted it considering how out of it his dad was, but they couldn’t drink them all and get drunk; he had to go back to the funeral home before the viewing ended. There was some kind of coffin-closing ceremony or something.
“Of course.”
At the gate, Tyler nodded to Michael the weekday guard and he pressed a button to open the gate. Did Michael know about Delaney? Did he even care? The community was as empty and lifeless as usual. Some of their neighbors were at the funeral home but most of these people were strangers. Even if they read the obituary page, they probably didn’t realize the dead girl used to live among them.
Paul downed half of one Sam Adams in a single gulp. Tyler sipped his beer, which tasted bitter like it had been sitting past its freshness date. He didn’t care too much for beer; it reminded him of fat guys who ate pork rinds. Whenever he and Paul wanted to get really trashed, they hit up Value Liquor, where the ninety-year-old woman who owned the place never checked ID and they could buy a bottle of Wild Turkey Rare Breed and then slip off into the woods and finish it between the two of them. Dad probably knew of these occasional drink trips to the woods, he’d have to be stupid not to smell the whiskey burning off Tyler’s tongue, but he never said anything.
“Everybody is asking me what you have to say,” Paul said and belched.
“What do you mean? She’s nuts. We’re not in love, we’re not going out, we’re not anything. We fucked but that’s it. A one-time thing. That’s all. Better not even spread that around, though. Just say I took her on a date but she weirded me out and we never did anything and now she’s out of her skull.”
“Nobody is going to rag on you for fucking her. She’s alright. Except for that snaggletooth. I’ll tell them you duct-taped her mouth shut just to be safe, didn’t want to get mauled.”
“What does she think is going to happen?” Tyler was thinking aloud. “I’ll come back and say, ‘yeah, we’re together’? She think it’s going to be beautiful with roses and shit. And prom? What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“You sure can pick ‘em.”
“You told me to go for it.”
“Yeah, but not to make her fall in love with you.”
Tyler sipped his beer, smiled. “What can I say? I’m just that good.”
“Yeah, right. More like that desperate.”
Tyler touched his face where the blood had splattered… . sack rice … luff chide … “It could be worse. She could be spouting all that rape shit. That’d be worse. Right?”