wasn’t sure if she was referring
to note taking or cussing. I shook my head.
“Okay, so Lizzie, why don’t you
tell everything that’s on your mind, and let’s see what we can do.”
I was barely a sentence into it
when Angela interrupted to ask my father’s name. I told her. Angela’s wide
mouth shifted to one side while she pondered it. “Why do I know that name?”
“I don’t know, he’s kind of a big
wheeler-dealer. He owns a real—”
“—estate firm,” Angela finished. “Okay,
right.” Angela noticed my story had stalled. “Go on, sorry to butt in.”
She let me get a few more lines
into it, then asked, “Isn’t he the big Christian?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I guess.”
“No, I mean Big Christian ,”
Angela repeated, her hands flashing with the words. “Didn’t he have that ad on
TV?”
I blushed. How embarrassing she
remembered.
AIMES REALTY, the promo went —YOUR
GATEWAY TO HEAVENLY HOMES. Hi, folks, I’m Richard Aimes, owner of Aimes
Realty, and I’m here to tell you that Noah wasn’t the only one charged with
keeping all God’s little critters safe from the storms outside. Here at Aimes
Realty we take seriously our mission to put you into the home of your dreams.
Remember, all creatures great and small, the Lord our God, He made them all,
and He made Aimes Realty the number one broker four years running so we could
find you that Garden of Eden you’re looking for . . .
Who wrote that drivel? Although my
father denied it, I’m guessing he did. The ad didn’t last too long. It didn’t
bring in any new business, and in fact may have cost my father some of his
secular clients. Suddenly all of his customers were afraid he would talk Jesus
to them.
“Yeah,” I said, “that was him.”
Angela gave a husky chuckle. “Excellent.
Go on.”
She let me finish this time. I
waited while she caught up on her notes.
“But you’ve never seen them,” she
said, “directly, I mean.”
“No, unless you count wrestling in
their underwear.”
“He’s said in front of you they
were going to take a shower together?”
“Yes.”
“But your brother never said if
anything happened.”
“Well . . . he implied it.”
Angela looked over the top of her
reading glasses. “That’s not good enough. You see that, don’t you?”
“No . . .”
She removed the glasses and leaned
back in her chair. She intertwined her fingers over her lumpy belly, then
thought better of it. “You mind if I smoke?”
I shook my head even though I
preferred she didn’t. But I didn’t feel I could refuse this woman anything,
not when she was just about to tell me what my future held.
“You see . . .” She paused to take
a drag. “The reason why those cases you have in your file have worked so well
is those men were willing to testify about what happened to them. It
wasn’t someone saying what they saw happen to someone else—you get it?”
“Yes.” Already my soul was
shriveling. Bad news was on the way.
“It takes a boy, or a girl, or a
grown man or woman saying, ‘This is what he did to me . He did it this
time and this time, and here’s where we were, and—you get the picture.”
I stared at my hands. “Yeah.”
“But,” Angela said cheerily, “let’s
talk about the rest of this. You said he touched you too, right?”
“Yeah, but not like Mikey—”
Angela held up her hand. “I don’t
want to hear about Mikey right now. Mikey isn’t a fact yet—not unless he comes
in here and tells me so.”
“No, I can’t ask him—”
“Okay, so let’s put him aside for
now.” She pointed her cigarette at me. “You, I want to talk to. Are you sure
he only touched you that one time?”
“When he ran his hands over me?
Yeah, that was it. I mean, there was this other time when he just stroked my
back—”
“Okay, tell me about that.”
I did.
“Did he ever say anything to you?”
she asked.
to note taking or cussing. I shook my head.
“Okay, so Lizzie, why don’t you
tell everything that’s on your mind, and let’s see what we can do.”
I was barely a sentence into it
when Angela interrupted to ask my father’s name. I told her. Angela’s wide
mouth shifted to one side while she pondered it. “Why do I know that name?”
“I don’t know, he’s kind of a big
wheeler-dealer. He owns a real—”
“—estate firm,” Angela finished. “Okay,
right.” Angela noticed my story had stalled. “Go on, sorry to butt in.”
She let me get a few more lines
into it, then asked, “Isn’t he the big Christian?”
“What? Oh, yeah, I guess.”
“No, I mean Big Christian ,”
Angela repeated, her hands flashing with the words. “Didn’t he have that ad on
TV?”
I blushed. How embarrassing she
remembered.
AIMES REALTY, the promo went —YOUR
GATEWAY TO HEAVENLY HOMES. Hi, folks, I’m Richard Aimes, owner of Aimes
Realty, and I’m here to tell you that Noah wasn’t the only one charged with
keeping all God’s little critters safe from the storms outside. Here at Aimes
Realty we take seriously our mission to put you into the home of your dreams.
Remember, all creatures great and small, the Lord our God, He made them all,
and He made Aimes Realty the number one broker four years running so we could
find you that Garden of Eden you’re looking for . . .
Who wrote that drivel? Although my
father denied it, I’m guessing he did. The ad didn’t last too long. It didn’t
bring in any new business, and in fact may have cost my father some of his
secular clients. Suddenly all of his customers were afraid he would talk Jesus
to them.
“Yeah,” I said, “that was him.”
Angela gave a husky chuckle. “Excellent.
Go on.”
She let me finish this time. I
waited while she caught up on her notes.
“But you’ve never seen them,” she
said, “directly, I mean.”
“No, unless you count wrestling in
their underwear.”
“He’s said in front of you they
were going to take a shower together?”
“Yes.”
“But your brother never said if
anything happened.”
“Well . . . he implied it.”
Angela looked over the top of her
reading glasses. “That’s not good enough. You see that, don’t you?”
“No . . .”
She removed the glasses and leaned
back in her chair. She intertwined her fingers over her lumpy belly, then
thought better of it. “You mind if I smoke?”
I shook my head even though I
preferred she didn’t. But I didn’t feel I could refuse this woman anything,
not when she was just about to tell me what my future held.
“You see . . .” She paused to take
a drag. “The reason why those cases you have in your file have worked so well
is those men were willing to testify about what happened to them. It
wasn’t someone saying what they saw happen to someone else—you get it?”
“Yes.” Already my soul was
shriveling. Bad news was on the way.
“It takes a boy, or a girl, or a
grown man or woman saying, ‘This is what he did to me . He did it this
time and this time, and here’s where we were, and—you get the picture.”
I stared at my hands. “Yeah.”
“But,” Angela said cheerily, “let’s
talk about the rest of this. You said he touched you too, right?”
“Yeah, but not like Mikey—”
Angela held up her hand. “I don’t
want to hear about Mikey right now. Mikey isn’t a fact yet—not unless he comes
in here and tells me so.”
“No, I can’t ask him—”
“Okay, so let’s put him aside for
now.” She pointed her cigarette at me. “You, I want to talk to. Are you sure
he only touched you that one time?”
“When he ran his hands over me?
Yeah, that was it. I mean, there was this other time when he just stroked my
back—”
“Okay, tell me about that.”
I did.
“Did he ever say anything to you?”
she asked.
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