Riven by Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

protected his brother this way?
    But no. He could never admit that to Peter. And Brady had no intention of changing his own ways. He just had to be more careful, that’s all. He felt like a wimp for confessing to Tatlock, but he had at least bought himself a little time to pay back the money.
    Brady stretched out on his back in the darkness, his hands behind his head. Even with everything he had been going through and worrying about, still he had succeeded in memorizing pages and pages of the Birdie script. He enjoyed impressing Nabertowitz, and knowing everyone else’s lines really helped his own performance. Maybe by pulling this acting thing off he could hide the person he really was, at least enough to pave the way for Peter not to follow his example.
    Brady felt comfortable in his skin, comfortable with his look. Some said there was no future in it, that everybody in the park lived for Friday nights when they could start a hard weekend of partying and booze and dope and then try to recover in time to keep financing that life on an hourly wage somewhere. How did people like the Norths do it? It couldn’t be that they had just been born into better lives. Brady was determined to create the same kind of existence for himself, doing whatever he had to do, short of going to college and getting a so-called good job.
    As he drifted toward sleep, Brady shook off the shame of having been caught. He looked forward to the next day—well, not to school, but to rehearsal. And after that he would visit Alejandro at Dennis Asphalt again.
    Oldenburg
    “I’ve been wanting to talk to Ravinia,” Grace said, slumped on the couch next to Thomas. “I’ve wanted us both to talk to her. But what do we say? She knows how we would feel about her and Dirk. And by now she has to know we know. If she thinks these people are treating us shamefully because of her, she won’t feel responsible. She’ll just be angry and want to strike out at them.”
    “It would be hard to blame her. Now, Grace, please rest. It’s clear you’re not well, and I need you to be strong.”
    “Oh, I’m strong enough, and I won’t sleep anyway—not until we know what’s going to happen here.”
    “Nothing’s going to happen here. You know I won’t agree to discipline in this case, especially under Paul Pierce.”
    “You don’t have to tell me that. You’d do that over my dead—”
    “Don’t even say that, sweetheart.”
    “You know what I mean. I need to know, and I mean tonight, whether the people are going to let this stand.”
    “How do we do that?”
    “Call someone. Call Ernie.”
    Thomas rummaged in a kitchen drawer for the church directory, but as he reached for the phone, it rang. It was Jimmie Johnson.
    “So you’ve had your meeting?”
    “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “You knew about this?”
    “Yes. I wish I could have stayed for it, but my trip couldn’t be avoided. Is it true you told Pierce you wanted him and his wife out of the way, out of leadership?”
    “Just the opposite, Jimmie. Do you have time to hear my side of it?”
    “Sure, but let me tell you why you’re not going to win this one, Thomas.”
    “No chance?”
    “None, and here’s why. We get these squabbles all the time, and it’s always an old pillar’s word against the new guy. The denomination used to investigate and hold hearings, but with our local autonomy policy, our findings and our decisions have no teeth. We went through this with the previous two guys there, and Pierce skated through both of them. Too many people in that church are on his payroll—or I should says his sons’, given that Paul is so-called retired—so no one stands up to him. It’s a losing proposition. Best I can do is give you a letter that says we believe you are without fault here, which might help in your next slot.”
    Thomas sighed. “I can’t believe it’s all fallen apart so quickly. We really thought we’d found the right fit here.” He outlined for Johnson the