“Do you even believe in God, Dad? I’d really like to know.”
“Of course I do. In my own way.” He licked the corners of his mustache and seemed to zone out for a couple seconds. From across the room, I saw Kylee pass through the main dining room and into the kitchen without so much as glancing in our direction. “I believe He’s necessary as a source of hope in most people’s lives. I know I wouldn’t want to live in a socialist country where people look to the government for answers instead.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about Him. Before the divorce, or after, I don’t remember you saying one word about God or religion.”
“Rest assured, I have my own ideas about a higher power. It hasn’t always been a smooth relationship between us, though. When I was a younger man, I faced some difficult times that led me to seek the truth in His word. The Old Testament, especially, provided me with a great deal of clarity about what it means to be a man and to live in this world. But it seemed like every time I came close to getting serious about my faith, He’d send a message that would make me question the whole thing.”
“I don’t know what that means, send a message.”
“Well, for example, when I was twenty-six, maybe a little older, a friend of mine talked me into accompanying him to a late night service at a megachurch up near Folsom. Everyone was worried about the state of the world then, and new congregations were springing up all across California. We get into the church, which is packed corner to corner with something like two thousand people, and the minister gets up and starts sermonizing all about redemption and salvation and so forth. But what really struck me was that he wasn’t the typical kind of minister you would expect to find in that part of the country. He was well-dressed and well-spoken, and he seemed to have had something like a real education, not like some of these hick preachers who have only read the Bible and elementary school readers in the entire course of their lives. And the stuff he talked about, I swear, it sent a chill down my spine. Here was a minister I had never seen before, and it was like he was preaching directly to me. He didn’t just talk about spiritual matters, but about wealth and property as well. He went on for I don’t know how long about how God rewards the faithful with money and success in this life, not just paradise in the other. That was the whole theme of his sermon, more or less, and I got to say it really hit a nerve with me then. There I was, a young man trying to make a name for himself, and it was like the minister knew in advance that I was coming and designed the sermon for me in particular. I tell you, it was an earth-shaking experience for me, to say the least. I didn’t think I’d ever be the same again. In fact, halfway through the service, I turned to my friend and said, from this day on, I’m turning my life around. I even had tears in my eyes if you could believe it.”
“Okay. So what happened?”
I heard an abrasive tone in my voice that Dad must have picked up on as well. He had been in a much better mood since he started reminiscing about the sermon, but now he narrowed his eyes and adopted the same accusatory grimace as before.
He said, “I was feeling lighter than air when I came out of the church into the parking lot. I felt so good, in fact, I wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of me. There was a flat piece of wood, like a broken two-by-four, just lying on the ground in the middle of the lot. It had a long nail sticking out the end of it, and of all the people who were coming outside at that moment, I was the one who just happened to step on it.” Dad reached for his glass again, forgetting that it was empty. He stared longingly into the cold cylinder, then slammed it down hard on the table. “The nail went all the way through my foot and I collapsed on the ground from the shock of the pain. My friend helped me up and drove me to the hospital, but first I just sat there on the asphalt with the nail sticking out the top of my shoe, sensing that this too was a message intended specifically for me. I looked up at the night sky and said, ‘Really? This is what I get? This is all the love you have to show me after I decided to give my life to you?’ My friend tried to get me to go with him to church again after that, but I’d been put off by the whole experience. I know they say God works in mysterious ways, but there’s a fine line between mystery and callousness.”
My mouth opened slowly as I tried to comprehend the logic of Dad’s testimonial. “If you really believe God was out to get you that night, why do you still believe in him? Why bother?”
Dad shrugged. “He’s our Father in heaven. He deserves our respect.”
At last Kylee emerged from the kitchen and came over to see how we were doing. Without a word, Dad and I both held out our glasses to signal for another round.
I booked a room for six nights at the Blossom Road Motel in Tulare. I told the manager I would make it day-to-day if I wound up needing to stay any longer. After the eighth night, he leaned his pockmarked and sallow face over the counter and asked if I wanted him to look into more permanent arrangements in the area. I told him, “Don’t bother. I’m only staying around here as long as I have to. So this will do just fine.” Which isn’t to say the Blossom Road was equal in comfort and amenities to the Caravan or other establishments of that sort. Not even close, really. (The US-era linens were so yellow-brown with wear that a coffee stain would barely stand out against the bed sheets, and the shower, so called, was something better suited for hosing down pigs at a livestock auction than for cleaning a human body.) Still, I wanted to keep a low profile this time through. Klyee could always be trusted to keep her mouth shut when it mattered, and to come straight away when I called. She didn’t take our professional relationship for granted; there was history there, and besides, any night she was with me she could count on making far more than she ever would from tips alone. She had grown fatter and more morose over the years, but I still paid her a decent rate every time. In general, women could be got and gotten rid of fairly cheaply in the valley, but one you could trust was an investment worth holding on to.
She turned to me once with the morning light streaming through the curtains and said, “How many more nights you gonna want me for? I need to let the shift manager know when I’m coming back to work.” She lay on her side with the blanket stuffed between her thighs, her skin bright and doughy from the heat of the room. She had a large tattoo stretched across the back of her shoulder. Supposedly it meant “hope” in Chinese, but considering the sort of life she led, she would have been better off with any random character copied from a takeout menu.
I said, “My guy’s going to be here soon with the information I’ve been waiting for. You should leave before he gets here. I’ll call later in the week if I’m still around.”
“You gonna be all right on drinks till then?”
“I don’t know. How many jars do we have left?”
She rolled onto her opposite side and peered over the side of the bed, at the small washtub loaded with chilled Mason jars and clouded ice cubes from the machine next door. Trails of sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She raised her head and said, “Three and a half. Maybe three an a quarter.”