Part 10

Day 37

"Ahh, Jon," said Dr. Polkiss. "What can I do for you. What's this you got here?"

"Uhh ... My two weeks' notice," said Jon sheepishly.

" ... Oh," said Dr. Polkiss.

"I, umm. Well, technically it's 13 days' notice, because Dr. Chandakar wants me to start Monday after next, but I wasn't able to get in touch with him until yesterday, so..." Jon shrugged. "I got it together as fast as I could. I've actually never written a two-weeks'-notice before, I hope it's okay."

Dr. Polkiss had the letter out and was glancing over it. "It doesn't really have to contain anything except a statement that you're getting out ... There aren't actually any rules for it, besides the traditional ones for all business writing ... Spelling and punctuation and all that. And you seem to have used those..."

"In what? Is he writing a novel?" Stephanie Leyton swept in, looking (like she always did) as though she'd just stepped in from a glamour magazine. She peered over Dr. Polkiss' shoulder. " ... Oh." She sighed. "Well, I knew we were going to lose you eventually. You've got a lot to offer, you're wasting yourself here. Our loss, someone else's gain. Where're you going?"

Jon explained the job offer Brandon had suggested. "So I got in touch with the person he suggested—Dr. Aaron Chandakar—and he did in fact have the sort of opening which had been described. They're understaffed and ready to expand. There's a lot more chances for promotion—"

"And raises," Dr. Leyton said.

"—yeah, and raises," said Jon. "And, what with prices going up and Caitlyn to think about ... She's doing the scholarship runaround, but ... Well, suffice it to say that extra money would be really nice right now. And it's never too early to start saving. We've been talking about maybe having to get another car ... We might have to move at some point ... You know, a place of our own, instead of having to rent or lease..."

"There might be an addition to the family," Dr. Polkiss said.

"Oh God, don't talk about that," Jon exclaimed.

"Well, it's what marrying is for, right?" said Dr. Polkiss.

"Yeah, but ... Christ. I'm not even twenty-five yet," said Jon. "And Caitlyn just turned 21 two days ago. And our bank accounts aren't nearly in the ... If it happened..." He thought about Chamberses, to whom it had happened. They were surviving, yes, but that was about the best that could be said for them.

"Better invest in birth control then," said Stephanie. "They say birth control is expensive, but you know what's more expensive? Baby."

"True enough," said Jon.

"God, it's so crazy," Stephanie said. "Here you are, neither of you twenty-four, and you're already starting to think about kids and, and buying your own house, and ... My God. I'm thirty-two and I'm not even to that point in my life."

"Well, if you wanted to get your own place," Jon started. "I mean, the housing market is a mess right now, so..."

"No, it's not that," said Stephanie. "I just ... God, I dunno. I remember when Caitlyn could come in here, and I would look at the two of you together and think, 'What the hell is wrong with this mom? Doesn't she know real, honest, genuine love when she sees it? How could you not be happy that your kid had found that?'"

"Well, attempting to link 'sanity' with 'Caitlyn's mom' leads to a lot of frustration," said Jon.

"I know, but ... I mean, you know? It's not easy to find someone who's gonna ... Who will work towards that with you. I mean, I know for a fact that if Caitlyn said she wanted ... I dunno, if she wanted to move to Chicago or something ... You'd work with her towards that. I mean, maybe you'd try to talk her out of it first, but, assuming it was a smart move, then ... You'd support her. You care about what she thinks, what she wants ... You share her dreams."

"Why, Stephanie," said Dr. Polkiss. "I hadn't known you went in for the romantic stuff. Whatever happened to 'Single, independent and proud of it'?"

"I know, I know," said Stephanie, shaking her head. "And it's still so much easier to be single, to not have to ... To not have someone constantly hounding you over when you're coming home, and why didn't you do the dishes, or have to kick his ass about leaving the toilet seat up, or ... Or any of that. But at the same time ... I mean, who do you fall back on? Who's going to look after you? When you're down, or when you're sick, or ... Who's gonna put a smile back on your face?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"Well, Stephanie..." said Dr. Polkiss. " 'Single, independent and proud of it' doesn't have to be a permanent decision. You still have time to change your stripes."

"I know, but ... Where's the guy, you know?" Stephanie said. "All I get is just ... You know, one-night stands. And then people who're ... I mean, you ask them where they're going tonight, and they get all defensive, like, 'What business is it of yours, why do you care where I'm going?' And I'm thinking, 'Well, if I didn't care before, I sure do now.' You know, people who ... People who don't..."

"Who don't want to be tied down," said Dr. Polkiss.

"Kinda like you?" said Jon, smiling at her.

"Well..." said Dr. Leyton. "I mean, yes, there are things I don't want to be bothered about. But there are others that ... I mean, it's not all-or-nothing, you know? There are things I want to be able to do where my husband says, 'Okay, that's fine, don't worry—'"

"'Husband'??" said Dr. Polkiss.

"Well, yeah, that's where it's going, isn't it?" said Stephanie.

"Perhaps, but you've never expressed any such desire before," said Dr. Polkiss.

"Doesn't mean it isn't there," said Stephanie. "And besides, like I've ever met a guy who was even vaguely right for it."

"Fair enough," said Dr. Polkiss, who had been grumbling (quietly) about Stephanie's tastes in men for as long as Jon had known them. "Go on."

"Well, I want ... God, I dunno. I mean, how come you can't find a guy that isn't co-dependent and isn't commitment-phobic? Isn't there someone in between? Either they're all over your business or they don't want to be bothered."

"Those guys do exist," said Dr. Polkiss. "Jon, for instance."

"Yeah, well, no offense, Jon, but I don't think you and I would work out," said Stephanie. "You're still too far on the 'co-dependent' side for me."

"Fair enough," said Jon, grinning. "Stephanie, it sounds like you just have to find the right guy. You can't be the only person out there who wants part-freedom, part-independence. You just gotta find the others who are like that."

"Oh, right," said Stephanie, whose tone of voice made clear her opinions of success for such an endeavour. "Where?"

"Well, not bars, for one," said Dr. Polkiss. "Not clubs. Well, maybe clubs, but in general those places are filled with people from your former lifestyle—which you just said isn't right for you anymore."

"Where?" Stephanie said, sounding desperate.

"The gym maybe?" Jon said. "At least, people there are likely to be a little more serious."

"Yeah, but, they're all married," Stephanie protested. "They all come in with their wives or their girlfriends."

"All?" said Dr. Polkiss. "You can't find a single one who isn't tied down somehow?"

"Well, maybe not all..." Stephanie said.

"Then there's hope," said Dr. Polkiss simply.

"But ... God, I'm so old! And compared to you guys ... I mean, here's Jonathan, getting married at..."

"Well, Jonathan's a special case," said Dr. Polkiss. "Peggy got married when she was twenty-nine. I got married when I was thirty-three, and even back then that was a pretty normal age for it. You've still got a year to go, even by old-fogey standards like ours." He grinned. "Just because it hasn't happened yet, doesn't mean it never will."

Stephanie shook hair back from her face, sighed and nodded.

When he had a spare moment, Jon sent Caitlyn an e-mail: I need to remember, every day, to be thankful that I found you. He knew it would make her smile to read it, and that made it worth doing.

Nothing much happened at work—the same parade of people, the same procession of cavities and bad flossing and halitosis—but as Jon packed up, he remembered that today was Tuesday, and that they were supposed to head off to this week's installment of the Larson college group. He wasn't sure he was looking forward to it. The first week's meeting and discussion had been very good, of course, but was that going to be a fluke? No matter how much exposure he had to Caitlyn's idea of a good church (and, to be fair, it was quite a good one in his experience), he could never be entirely trustful of an organized religion or its governing members. He had heard too many preachers say too many stupid things in the name of their faith.

He knew he was being reluctant, of course. If part of being a Christian was to be open to new experiences, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. That didn't generally stop him from trying other things in life—Brandon's job suggestions, the GEA fiasco, new things in bed with Caitlyn (especially those)—but when it came to the church, he was curiously conservative, and he knew himself too well to be able to lie about it. For some reason, I'm just not comfortable there. And I don't know why.

When he got home, he found Caitlyn curled up on the couch, working her way through a textbook. This was sight enough to drive all other thoughts from his head. She was dressed in dark canvas pants and a sleek woolen sweater, warm but still molded to her curves. Her dark hair curled around one ear, making commas against her pale skin. She was beautiful to his eyes, more beautiful than anything else he had ever seen, and it was a scary and exciting thing to know that this girl, this woman, was entrusted now to his care.

I need to remember, every day, to be thankful that I found you.

Something in his gaze must have tickled her. She looked up. "What?"

The moment was gone. Jon shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing important."

"Long day?"

"Too long." Any day away from you is too long.

"Well, there's leftovers in the fridge, so if you wanna take a nap or something before we go—"

"I love you," he said, unable to hold the words in any longer.

Caitlyn blinked, and then gave him a wry smile. "Well, good thing, because if not, it'd be rather inconvenient to be married."

"I love you, Caitlyn."

"I love you too, Jon," said Caitlyn, still with that wry smile, "but I'm starting to wonder if you got enough sleep last night."

Jon wasn't sure what he had been trying to accomplish, but he was quite sure this wasn't it. He wobbled back and forth for a minute, trying to decide whether to push any further, and then gave up and went to check his e-mail. Presently Caitlyn put aside her text and broke out the leftovers; dinner happened, and they talked as normal, and Jon didn't give any more thought to it. It wasn't until much later that he realized in his brain what his heart had already known: that he had been looking for some sign of love or affection; some indication that, if he asked, she would put the book down and come say hello. And that, for the first time in their marriage, she hadn't.

Nonetheless, from some instinctive understanding of the situation, Jon didn't push her, and the conversation was light but meaningless until they got to the Larsons' house and the meeting started.

Though he had only been there once before, Jon felt a strange sense of homecoming. Part of it was that the home was so inviting—the home, and the people who lived there. Alice Larson greeted them both—greeted him—like a long-lost friend, and her husband was scarcely less welcoming. And many of the "kids" greeted them the even more warmly—Max Lapinski, Missy Sloane, Alisa Bergen. Jon wasn't entirely sure what he'd done to befriend them to such a level. Or was this just how they greeted everyone? Jon, who had grown up primarily in the company of his sister's cats, was still acclimating to the kind of people who preferred dogs.

Caitlyn's family keeps a dog. And yet Caitlyn ... Look at her. She hasn't taken to all this hugging and air-kissing and stuff either. Heck, I think I'm more comfortable with it than she is. Of course, they don't do the air-kissing thing on me. Jon had never understood that gesture in the first place.

It was a warm but frantic five minutes, of course, as everyone got back in touch with everyone and caught up on recent events. Everyone wanted to know how he was doing, what had happened since the last meeting, as if it had been months and not seven days. Long-lost friends is right. I wonder how this came about? He'd never met any group or organization that greeted in quite this particular manner. Certainly Max and Alisa and Missy and Pastor Larson and Alice Larson all felt that nothing special had happened to them this week. Jon wasn't sure that anything special had happened to him either—at least, not anything really worth saying. The weird little ... incident ... earlier today, for instance: how could he broach it, when he wasn't really sure what had happened—or, for that matter, that anything had happened at all? Even so, at the rate Caitlyn and my lives have been going recently, maybe we'll be glad of this attitude next week.

The one person he wasn't really glad to see was Harold Cheng. Something about this man just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be visible out of the corner of one's eye for one moment, and the next have gone away again. Was he lurking, stooping—trying to find some moment in which to swoop in?

And sure enough: a moment came in which Caitlyn was deep in conversation with Missy, and Jon looked away for a second to see who else was there. And he caught eyes squarely with Harold, who looked astonished to be noticed.

Jon made a split-second decision to give it a shot. "Hi, Harold. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Harold. "I've just been, you know. Working."

"Oh? I thought you were in school."

"No, I'm like you," said Harold. "Older. I work at a software company in Belham Falls."

"They have software companies here?" said Jon. "This isn't the Silicon Valley."

"Not many, but they're here," Harold said. "I mean, have you seen the housing prices? Not everyone can afford to be based there."

"Fair enough," said Jon, who was well aware of how far his luxuriant receptionist's salary would actually take them in a monetary crisis.

"I had to do this piece of coding today," Harold said. "I'm not sure who was in charge of it earlier, but the logic was ... I mean, he had contradictions everywhere. I think he rewrote half of his functions differently in different places. This one time I..."

And Jon listened in mounting horror, realizing that when he had asked him, 'How are you, ' Harold had taken it seriously.

Do people do that? Does everyone do that? No, of course not. The others—most people—had said a few words about their own lives, and Jon (taking the hint) had said a few words about his; and then they had picked up something interesting from whatever had just been said, and run with that. Asking 'How are you?' was a way of allowing each person to establish a potential topic of conversation. You weren't supposed to take it seriously.

But isn't that misleading? Why should we ask how the other person is doing if we don't actually care—or, rather, if that isn't the answer we want them to give?

But no one else does it. They all know it's misleading. They know that 'How are you?' is a code, a way of saying something that isn't the words themselves. They understand the, what, the social context? The clues? They aren't fumbling over it. They aren't making social faux pas. They aren't ... Awkward.

Pastor Larson was standing in the middle of the room, attempting to gather everyone to order. "If we could all sit down ... Excuse me, everyone, if we could please all..."

"Thanks, Jon," said Harold, with a smile, "you're a really good listener," and sat down on the other side of Caitlyn.

Jon, numb, sat down too. Caitlyn took one look at him, leaned in and said, "What?" Jon shook his head. The thought that Harold was now going to treat him as a friend had rendered him temporarily mute.

"Hello, everyone," said Pastor Larson. "Thank you all for coming. This is the second meeting of our college group, hopefully the second of many. I see we have some new faces today; why don't we start by going around the circle and introducing ourselves."

The new people were, by and large, folks who either hadn't heard about the college group or hadn't been able to make it last week. There were quite a few of them, but the group did not seem to have increased appreciably in size. Jon wondered who had decided not to come again. He wondered if, had he not been married to Caitlyn, he would've been one of those drop-outs.

"The Scripture we've chosen to discuss today is one of the most famous in all the Bible: Matthew, chapter 25, verses 31-45." The coordinates meant nothing to Jon, but there was enough response from many of the group members—Caitlyn included—that he realized it must be something famous. And once the Bibles were passed out and cracked open, he saw why. "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these... "

"A profound statement," said Pastor Larson, "with profound consequences. Every follower of Jesus, from the Apostles on down, has known that Jesus was calling us to do something very different with our lives, to live in a very different way than we had lived before. 'Love your neighbor, ' yes, but ... What else? What do you think Jesus means by this passage? Who do you think he was referring to; who do you think he was describing as 'the least'?"

They split into groups, as they had the week before. Jon was pleased that Harold was on the seam: he was divided into one group, Caitlyn into the next. Of the other two in their four-person group, one was Max Lapinski; the other, Lauren Schachter, was one of the new people. She was heavy, but not unpleasantly so, with a big smile.

"So," she said. "Scripture."

"Yep, the Bible," said Max Lapinski. "The good ol' Holy Book. The Word of God."

"Good advice to all the world, at the very least," said Jon.

"Amen," said Max.

"But strange advice, too, at times," said Caitlyn. "Imagine what the disciples must've thought when they heard this. 'We're supposed to do what-now??'"

"Christ had a habit of that," Max said. "Remember the parable of the prodigal son? Kid comes back, having wasted half of his father's fortune, and we're just supposed to welcome him back in? It took me a long time to understand that story."

"God works in mysterious ways, they say," Lauren said. "To which my answer is, 'Duh!—don't you read the Bible?'"

"So anyway, the least," said Caitlyn. "They whom we are supposed to serve. Who are they?"

"Well, what does the Bible say?" Lauren said. "I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was naked and you clothed me; I was homeless and you took me in."

"I was a stranger and you took me in," Caitlyn corrected, her finger already tracing the passage.

"I was sick and you tended me?" Max said.

"Yeah," said Caitlyn. "And, I was in prison and you visited me."

"Well, there's some of 'em right there," said Lauren with a wide grin. "The least, to whom we are supposed to minister."

"So, hungry people—ain't got any shortage of those," Max said.

"Give me your tired and your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," Jon recited out of some dim memory.

"Obviously, if you want people who are in prison, you could go to a prison," Max said. "If you want someone sick, you could go to a hospital."

"Obviously," said Lauren. "And the homeless ... Well, check your local street corner. If they're out of stock, check the next one."

"Ha! There we go! We've got it sorted!" said Max.

Jon glanced at Caitlyn, and she met his eyes. Jon was pleased that she agreed with his assessment: that there was more to it than this. Max was a sophomore in college, Lauren a freshman; They're young, Caitlyn's gaze seemed to say. Give them time.

" ... No, that can't be it," said Max. "There's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that."

"Yeah, it's never that simple," Lauren agreed. "It's not just always the most obvious places."

"A friend of mine..." Caitlyn began. "My friend Brandon once said that people who wear masks are also the ones most likely to be deceived by them. Those of us who ... Who are hiding the truth about ourselves—or have things we don't want seen—those are the very people who are least likely to notice when someone else is acting the same way."

"That's ... That's really interesting," said Lauren, sounding intrigued.

"Yeah, but, what does it have to do with this?" Max said.

"It relates because all of these ... these afflictions, for lack of a better word ... All of these afflictions might be right in front of us," Caitlyn said. "We don't see them, because they don't look all, you know, all stereotypical—because the person is hiding them. But they're there."

Jon saw where this was going. "When we hear about what Christ is saying—people who are hungry, or unclothed, or imprisoned—we all think, 'Oh, that could never happen to me. Those are things that happen to other people. Those are things that happen to other countries.' And ... I think we can rule that out. I think the point is that that's not true. These things are as real to us today as they were in Christ's time."

"It's only that they've gone underground," Caitlyn said. "But that makes it all the more important to fight them, because most people won't even notice they're there."

Lauren and Max exchanged looks, and then turned almost as one to regard the two of them.

" ... What?" Caitlyn said.

Lauren shrugged. "Well ... Every now and then, you guys prove you're married." She was smiling.

Jon felt a flush on his cheeks. He didn't need to look at Caitlyn to know hers were probably the same.

When the groups reconvened, the discussion went essentially the same direction it had in their circle, which Jon commented on during the drive home. "I guess we figured out where it was going."

"Yeah, that 'the least' are all around us," Caitlyn said. "That if we keep our eyes open, we'll see them. It's not a bad idea, really. It's a reminder that the people we're called to minister to aren't just, you know, 'out there.' They're here too."

"If we can find them," Jon said.

"Aren't they right under our noses?" Caitlyn said. "Isn't that what we figured out?—that they're everywhere, just hiding? All of us—I mean, heck, Jon, you took me in."

Jon was silent.

"I was a stranger, and you invited me in." Her hand covered his on the center console. "At Meredith's wedding, Jon. I was ... I was alone, and frightened, and feeling so ... Unloved. Like nobody in the world would ever want to ... Like nobody in the world did love me. I was unknown to everyone and outside everything. I was a stranger. And you... Saw, and even though I was the least, you invited me in."

His hand turned palm-up. Their fingers intertwined.

"That's what it's about. That's what we're called to do. Surely you of all people can understand that."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

"I think what it really is," she said, "is that—is that we're supposed to look at everyone around us, and ask ... You know, 'How are they hungry? How are they thirsty? How are they naked or homeless or imprisoned? And how can we help them?' You know?"

Jon knew. It was why he had majored in Psychology; why Christianity called to him; why, when he had sat down with a shivering girl named Caitlyn Delaney at a wedding and heard her story, he had begun to love her in those very moments. There is a world of suffering out there—so many hurts and pains and fears to be addressed. Everyone has their burdens. Too much for any one person to heal. But whatever comes my way, whoever happens to stray before me ... That's who I'm called to treat with. I can help—and, even more than that, I must.

He squeezed her hand. "We can do it," he said. "Together, we can do it."

They smiled at each other in the shifting light.

"And ... There is someone right under our nose," she said. "Someone who needs help.

"Okay," he said, smiling. "Who?"

"Harold."

"What?!"

"You heard me," said Caitlyn. "Jon, look at him. He's friendless and alone. Did you see the way he latched onto you?" In the darkness of the car her eyes still seemed to catch the light. "He has no one to listen to him, no one to befriend him. He's like I was. Doesn't that ... Doesn't that make you feel anything?"

He's not nearly as attractive as you are. "He's not nearly as well-mannered as you are. Caitlyn, I ... Jesus."

"You're not supposed to just say that, Jon."

"Look, Caitlyn, you know why he doesn't have friends? You know why everybody ignores him? It's because he's desperate. He's desperate and he's lonely. And people can smell that. They don't wanna touch him with a ten-foot pole! Because if they do, they know he's gonna glom onto them. He will latch on and he won't let go. Is that what you want, Caitlyn? Do you want to be his only friend?—the person who's in charge of all his happiness?"

"First off, Jon, who says I'm in charge of all his happiness? If a time comes when he wants too much from us, then I'll tell him we're busy and that we don't—"

"Ha. You? Caitlyn, when have you ever been able to turn people down? You drove four hundred miles to play for free at the wedding of someone you don't even like just because someone asked you."

"That's besides the point. And second, no, I don't wanna be his only friend: I want to do what Christ calls us to, which is help him reach the point where we're not his only friends, because he can go out and make more."

"Christ calls us to put ourselves in a lousy position?"

"Christ calls us to do good works!"

"Christ calls us to do stupid works, more like." He knew the instant he said it that he should've kept his mouth shut, but by then it was too late. Besides, he couldn't help what he thought was true. "Caitlyn, trying to help Harold Cheng is a mistake. He'll hurt our feelings, he'll use us, he'll be a constant annoyance, and once he feels better he'll go off and leave us with nothing."

"Turn the other cheek."

" ... Can be suicidal."

"Jon, it's not going to lose us that much."

"It's not the loss, it's the principle of the thing. What good does it do to cripple ourselves, to drag ourselves down with this?"

"We're fulfilling the word of God! We're showing our faith!"

Jon had no answer to that. Or at least, none he could say out loud.

Caitlyn heard it anyway. "And you don't think that's worth doing. Do you."

"Caitlyn," he started.

"You don't think it's important to act as a Christian in this case."

He wanted to answer, but their turn came up, and for a few moments he was busy parking the car and dogging it down; and by the time he was done, she was already gone up the stairs. He did think it was important to act as a Christian—yes, maybe even in this case. But he didn't think turning the other cheek meant deliberately shooting yourself in the foot ... Did it?

When he got into the apartment she was digging blankets out of the closet.

"I'll sleep on the couch," she said. "It's my fault. I'm the one having the disagreement. You shouldn't have to get exiled for that."

"Wait, the ... You ... What?"

"We had a fight, didn't we?" She didn't turn to face him. "Our very first fight."

It was. Even though they'd dated for eighteen months, they'd never raised their voices like this. Jon felt a draining sensation in his guts. "This wasn't a..."

"We found something we couldn't agree on," said Caitlyn in a businesslike voice. "Something we just have to agree to disagree about. Doesn't that sound like a fight to you?"

Jon felt the world in a dizzying swing under him. He latched on to the first coherent thought to bob his way. "I didn't ask you to sleep on the couch."

She gave him a bleak look. "I did."

Jon stared at her for a few more seconds, and then, ever obedient to her wishes, crossed to the bedroom and closed the door. Finally it occurred to him that she didn't want to be near him tonight.

Automatically he checked his e-mail and put some sleeping clothes on—it was the first time he was wearing them in months, since there was normally a beautiful woman in bed with him, one who loved him just as much as he loved her. It wasn't even his bed; it was Caitlyn's. She had slept in it for years before now. Who was he to be occupying it while she tossed and turned on the canvas couch? He didn't belong here. Not without her.