Tunnel Vision by Gary Braver

than her own “spiritual” date? Fourteen years ago, on a warm Sunday in May, she had announced that she wanted the day off just to hang around the house and not work, not to do chores, not do things for other people—just a day to and for herself. The weather was beautiful, and under the delft blue sky the lake looked like liquid sapphire. All she desired was to languish on the deck with a good book. The Red Sox were playing a home game, so she sent her husband and son to Fenway Park. But on the way home, their car was hit head-on by a drunk driver, and her son and husband were killed. While the faith of her Christian upbringing kept her from total despair, she could never reconcile that loss or the hideous irony of losing her family on Mother’s Day.
    “His mother dismisses that,” Elizabeth said. “The rumor is that he might have written a paper on religion and found an Aramaic recording on the Internet and committed it to memory.”
    “So you’re skeptical, too.”
    “Yes. A lot of people were convinced that Jesus was present and was speaking through him. Except that the faithful are always seeking miracles and find them in unlikely places. Their yearning made him a spiritual figure.”
    “And maybe he is.”
    “And maybe it’s wish fulfillment,” she said, thinking that she’d kill to know there was an afterlife and that her child and husband were all right.
    “Did you know he had an older brother who was murdered?”
    “Yes, but I was not about to mention that.”
    “What would you have said if you were?”
    “That we both were robbed of the happiness of watching a son grow up. That we can’t bring them back. But … you know the rest.”
    “Yes.”
    “I have no explanation for what I saw. He spoke in a voice that apparently wasn’t his and in words that could never have been.” She gazed out the window. Maybe twenty feet in the water sat two rock islets. When Kevin was young, those rocks were the humps of giant turtles that would sing to them while they picnicked under the magnolia as the setting sun enameled the lake in gold. They’d sit until the stars came out and tell stories until Kevin dozed off, her heart roaring with joy. Now those creatures were rocks in the water, and her heart merely pumped blood.
    “But this isn’t a case of bleeding statues or visions of the Virgin Mary,” Warren said. “We have a video of him speaking the words of Jesus. And from all reports he’s a nonbeliever who never enrolled in religion courses or wrote a paper on Jesus Christ. I see no other explanation. The young man was channeling the Lord.”
    “It’s pretty to think so, but remains to be seen.”
    “And we should do all we can toward that end.”
    “We are.”
    “I appreciate that, in spite of your skepticism,” he said.
    They were quiet for a moment. Then Elizabeth said, “I have some sad news. Tom Pomeroy had a heart attack the other night. You didn’t know him, but he was instrumental in our mission.” The Boston Globe article on Pomeroy was a glowing review of his accomplishments as a biophysicist, perfecting software for interpreting data produced by magnetic resonance imaging, making it possible to observe individual human cells. “He was a good man.”
    “I trust you’ll get on all right still.”
    “Of course, and thanks to your generous support.”
    “Dear Elizabeth, no one has ever accused you of being subtle.”
    And he handed her an envelope containing a bank check for $1 million.

21
     
    At nine thirty the next morning, the nurse came smiling into Zack’s room. “Some of your friends are here to visit. Think you’re up for it?”
    “Absolutely.” He felt better than he had yesterday, more lucid and stronger.
    A moment later, in walked Anthony, Damian, and Geoff. “If it isn’t Zack Van Winkle,” chortled Anthony Lawrence.
    “Hey,” Zack said, and greeted them all with hugs.
    “How’s the head?” Damian asked.
    “Better than it looks.” The headaches had