When she said that, I looked away, down the street, to the end of the block, where cement dribbles out until it becomes the flat, dry brown of west Texas, stretching to the place where land meets clear blue sky, as far as the eyes see, just a hazy line on the horizon separating heaven from earth.
The smell of Neely’s tobacco soured in my stomach.
I thought of the Beatitudes. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. That had been the hunger in my life. What was hers?
For the first time, doubts about the wife crawled right into my head.
Charlene continued. “Do you know what I’m talking about when I say the word hunger, Mr. Neely? Have you ever felt like you’re starving? Have you ever looked in the mirror and all you see is a skeleton-that’s all that’s left of you, somebody you don’t even recognize because you’re so very, very hungry?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, courteous but firm. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well,” she said.
We waited for more. But she was done.
My hands were shaking. I’m a preacher, so I know what sin is, the tragedy of it, the way it corrupts a person and turns everything they love to dust. But still I was surprised how calm Neely was. Like he’d seen everything under the sun already.
I paid him for a week in advance, gave him Sammy’s Social Security number, and watched as he drove away. I wanted him to find something, and at the same time I was hoping he would not. The wife had scared me.
I went inside, ready to ask Charlene about all that she’d said, but she was hunched up in bed, blankets over her head.
“Charlene?” I said softly.
She didn’t respond. So I went away.
Neely returned two days later, with Chief, which surprised me. They came to the church. I saw them from the office window, and went outside to greet them, to invite them inside. Neely cleared his throat. He spit out the remainder of his tobacco juice before entering the building, left the cup outside on the sidewalk. I appreciated that.
“Have you already found him?” I asked as soon as we were inside my office. I had closed the door. Stacey’s a good church secretary, but there are things she doesn’t need to know.
It was Chief who answered. “We found him all right.” He had a stern expression on his face, which seemed to have calmed the winking-blinking facial tic.
“Well, where is he?” I demanded. “How is he? Is he okay? Is he in trouble? Did you bring him back to Andrews?”
“He was in Amarillo,” Neely said. “But he’s here now.”
We were still standing and I made a gesture to open the door. “Take me to him.”
“We have a warrant, Preacher,” Chief interrupted.
My hand paused on the doorknob. “What has he done?” I asked, so quick, my mind going to a thousand scenarios, knowing how it’s possible to get going downhill so fast, you can’t stop yourself even when you want to.
“It’s not what he’s done,” Neely said.
“Then what? Who? Me?”
“Your wife, it’s what your wife’s done.”
“What’s she done?” My preacher’s voice-usually sonorous and controlled-was soaring. “You have a warrant to arrest Charlene?”
“No, we have a warrant for your DNA,” Chief said.
“What? Why?”
“We can do it here,” Chief said, “or you can come on down to the station.”
“Let me see the warrant.” My heart was racing. I scanned the paper quickly, but it didn’t tell me anything that they hadn’t already said. “What exactly is going on?”
“Do you mind coming down to the station?” Chief asked, only he didn’t really ask, it was more like a statement. His mouth was bunched up, the lips pressed firmly together.
Neely’s face had never been expressive, but now it was a blank slate.
“Okay,” I said.
We stepped outside my office, the two men following me.
“I’m gone for the day,” I told Stacey. I could barely think for the questions swirling around like dust devils in my head.
There were four cars in the parking lot-mine, Stacey’s, Chief’s, and Neely’s.
“You’ll come with me,” Chief said.
“Front or back?” I asked, still wondering how much trouble I was in.
“Your choice,” he said.
I sat in front.
As we drove out of the parking lot, tires spinning in the gravel, I looked back at the small redbrick building with its white steeple and the wooden cross hanging over the door frame. Neely’s spittoon sat on the sidewalk, right in front of the sanctuary door.
The sky was Texas-style blue, expansive and deep, clouds scudding across its face. Usually, that sky reminds me of the wide, wide mercy of God. Today, it made me feel like anything could happen, anything at all.
As we walked through the station, I caught a glimpse of Charlene sitting in a small room as a police officer went inside. Another officer was sitting across from her, a tape recorder in his hand.
“… there was the cord wrapped around his neck…” I heard her saying.
The door closed and I lost sight of her.
And then there was Sammy, sitting in the hallway, his big frame impossible to ignore. He looked tired and dirty. He hadn’t had a haircut or a shave since he’d disappeared, and the beard and scruffy hair made him look like a man and a stranger.
Oh Sammy. My Sammy.
The breath caught in my throat.
“Sammy,” I called, my voice high and unnatural and cracking.
He looked up and our eyes met and again I was startled by their amber-green, so like his mother’s, so like mine. Samuel. My boy. The Lord heard.
Neely pushed gently from behind, and we stumbled into a small room. Chief hustled inside behind us.
“You really did find him,” I babbled. “And he looks all right, doesn’t he? Isn’t he all right?”
“He’s fine,” Neely said.
“Thank you, Lord,” I breathed. “Thank you.”
The last thank you was directed at Neely, who nodded in acknowledgment. He seemed like a decent man, even if he wasn’t explaining to me what was going on.
After they swabbed my cheek to get their DNA sample, Chief gestured to a chair, and I sat.
“When can I see my boy?” I asked. I felt like a small child, petitioning an arbitrary adult.
“Actually, we have some questions to ask you, if you don’t mind,” Chief said. The tic was back. It looked like a worm moving beneath the skin.
“Sure,” I said, “anything I can do to help. What are you looking for, anyway? Why did you need my DNA sample?”
“We don’t think Sammy is yours,” Neely said.
I stood then, leapt to my feet. “No,” I said. “No, no, no! Sammy is mine, has always been mine.”
Had Charlene? Could Charlene?
I have a hunger, she’d said. Sometimes it’s all I can do not to give in to it.
And do you? Give in to it? Neely’d asked.
One time, she’d said. But only once.
“Charlene is a good woman,” I insisted. “A faithful woman, 100 percent. It’s not even possible, what you’re saying, that she would’ve-” I choked on the words.
And then I grew spitfire angry.
“All right,” I snapped. “Fine. It happens all the time. Maybe he’s my son, maybe he isn’t.” My face was growing red. “But even if he isn’t my son, adultery is a matter for the church, not the police. Sin is the Lord’s work.” It would have been a comfort to stand behind a pulpit and shout down the voices that whispered evil all around me. But here I was, weak and vulnerable in the face of something I didn’t expect. “I don’t see how this is any of your business,” I said.
I glared at the two silent men standing in front of me.
And suddenly, they both looked uncomfortable.