The Breakthrough Read online

  Boone had to admit he had been surprised after knowing Margaret awhile to learn she had a dimension he’d been wholly unaware of. Staying overnight with the couple once, he’d discovered a whole shelf of Christian books and Bibles. And when he cautiously broached the subject with her at breakfast, she scolded Jack for having told her about Boone’s faith without telling Boone about hers.

  She leveled those expressive eyes at Boone. “You didn’t know I was raised like you? Church and Sunday school, VBS in the summers, Bible camp, the whole thing?”

  “No kidding?”

  “You’re wondering what happened?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you’re surprised?”

  Boone had shrugged and nodded.

  Jack had interrupted. “We don’t have time for this right now. Let us get past our case, and you two can have a prayer meeting or whatever it is you types do.”

  Before the conversation was dropped, Margaret had said, “You’re wondering how a Christian girl grows up to live in sin. Well, I want to talk about it, but I’m gettin’ the evil eye from my man here, so another time.”

  Boone hoped that maybe now would be the time. He was more curious than ever, given that since that last conversation, Margaret had left Jack, insisting she would see him only if he joined her at church—Community Life, the same church Boone and Haeley attended.

  Jack was clearly not interested in church. He hadn’t been to one since Boone’s first wife and son’s funeral. But apparently he never lost interest in Margaret. He wasn’t attending enough to put Margaret’s mind at ease, but Boone and Haeley had seen them there together often enough to know that Keller was making an effort. More than once Jack had confided to Boone, “I’m still not sure this is the right reason to go.”

  Haeley herself had a story similar to Margaret’s, minus the marriages, and that was likely what Jack wanted to pursue today. Boone knew he would not find Haeley eager to talk about her past.

  Boone and Haeley and Max were greeted in the lobby of Florence’s modest apartment building by the ancient doorman, Willie. “Miz Quigley’s expecting you,” he said, quickly standing. “I’ll buzz you up.”

  A minute later Haeley said, “Florence!” embracing the matronly, heavyset widow at her door. “It’s been too long.”

  Florence cackled, gathering Max into her massive arms. “Too long is right. Y’all are still goin’ to church somewhere, aren’t you?”

  “Of course; now stop that.”

  Florence peeked into the grease-stained bag Haeley had brought.

  “I’ll cook your burgers and dogs, but you don’t shop where I shop. This boy needs to be ’sposed to pigs’ knuckles, hocks, and trotters.”

  “Ewww!” Max said.

  “Don’t knock ’em till you try ’em, little one,” Florence said. “I ever fed you somethin’ you didn’t like? I ever try to feed you chitlins?”

  He shook his head.

  “A’ight then. You trust Aunt Flo. Your mama and daddy be getting regular barbecue. You be getting the real thing, just like Erastus used to make.”

  “We’ve got friends in the car,” Boone said, “so we’d better scoot.”

  Florence seemed to be having none of it, apparently eager to chat. “You’re goin’ to your former boss’s, you say? He a brother?”

  Boone nodded.

  “Then they ought to be serving the real thing too, but I bet they’re tonin’ it down for you.”

  “I hope so!” Boone said. “Pigs’ knuckles?”

  “I promise you, one of these days I’ll get some down you, and you’ll change your mind.”

  Boone drove, Jack sat next to him, and the women sat in the back.

  As he pulled out of the parking lot, Boone noticed a navy four-door Buick sedan parked down the street. It would have made little impression on him but for its age—at least thirty years old—and the out-of-state plates. South Carolina. As he passed it he couldn’t help memorizing the tag. DLJ 725.

  “Erastus was her husband, Hael?” Boone said.

  “Yes. Talks about him all the time. He was a CTA driver. Died way too young. Diabetes. Just coming up on retirement, and they had all kinds of plans.”

  “That’s awful,” Margaret said.

  “Worse was that her two teenage boys fell in with gangs after that,” Haeley said. “Both died in the streets.”

  “Such a wonderful person,” Boone said, “She doesn’t seem bitter. That’s a tough life.”

  “Says it all drove her back to her faith,” Haeley said. “She finally quit asking why and started asking what’s next? Feels like she’s supposed to serve people.”

  “So, speaking of why,” Jack said, wrenching himself around to face Haeley, seatbelt straining, “can I jump right in?”

  She laughed. “What if I say no?”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” Margaret said.

  “I just gotta know what you ever saw in that DeWayne Mannock character.”

  Boone glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Haeley blanch.

  “Jack, no!” Margaret said. “Unfair. We’ve all got regrets. Just leave it alone.”

  “No, now I’m really curious. I mean, Haeley, you and I have worked together, been friends. You know I think you’re special. But Mannock, really? I s’pose you’ve had this conversation with Boones, but did the guy have one redeeming quality? Looks, personality, brains, a soft spot for kids or dogs? Was he smart, funny, have a business sense? Anything?”

  Boone noticed Margaret gaze out the window as if she wanted no more to do with this. Haeley appeared to be trying to fashion a response.

  Jack said, “I read his deposition transcript. He’s a sleazebag, a liar, a—”

  “All right!” Haeley snapped. “Listen, this is all from a very brief period of my life I don’t like to talk about. At church we like to say it’s under the blood. Know what that means?”

  Jack shrugged. “I wouldn’t have if this one hadn’t forced me to go with her, but yeah, I do. Seems a little convenient, sticking old mistakes under the blood, but if it works for you—”

  “Jack!” Margaret said, suddenly engaged again. “Let her answer.”

  Jack raised his brows and gazed back at Haeley. “The floor is yours. Tell me what could have possibly attracted you to that white trash.”

  “All right,” Margaret said, “now I need to let Haeley talk, but you happen to be in love with white trash.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jack said. “You have a little redneck in you, but you’re a far cry from white trash.”

  “He was convenient,” Haeley said.

  “Convenient?”

  “Listen, Jack, you’re one of my favorite people in the world. And though I don’t owe you any explanations, and I’d like to think a true friend wouldn’t ask for one, I’m going to talk about this one last time. Then if you ever ask me about it again, not only am I not going to answer, but I’m going to be angry with you. Understood?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Now, hear me, I’m not blaming what I did on anyone else. I could say my too-strict parents drove me to this, but no, I own it. Other people were raised the way I was, and they didn’t rebel. They became better for it, and they’re raising their kids healthier. That’s what I want to do too, but that’s not what I chose when I was young and stupid.”

  “Is that enough, Jack?” Boone said. “This is supposed to be a fun day.”

  “It’s all right, Boone,” Haeley said. “Let me get through this for Mr. Nosy Badge, and then I’ll be forever done with it.”

  “Mr. Nosy Badge!” Jack said, chortling. “I need to get that onto my business card!”

  “Maybe they can give you a nose pin for your uniform,” Margaret said.

  That made Boone laugh.

  “So here’s the bottom line,” Haeley said. “DeWayne carried himself like an athlete, had some old sports stories. He wasn’t what I would call handsome, but he looked okay in a rough sort of way. I didn’t like hi
s booze breath, his smoking, his personality, any of it. But before I found out what he was really like, I had already turned my back on everything I knew. He showed me attention, and he was everything I wasn’t. No rules, no standards, did what he wanted, and didn’t care what anybody else thought.

  “Was that attractive? In a sick way, yeah. I was someone I had never been, so part of me hoped my parents would find out and be horrified. And they were. That God let a beautiful son come out of all that ugliness is just a miracle.

  “As soon as DeWayne knew I was expecting, that’s the last I heard from him or even about him until he was deposed for the case. Tell you the truth, I couldn’t believe all it took was a pregnancy to get rid of that bum. Till that night, what was it, Boone, ten days ago or so?”

  “So that’s it?” Jack said.

  “That’s it. It wasn’t about him; it was about me. And it seems like a million years ago, yet not long enough; know what I mean?”

  “I do,” Margaret said.

  “Thanks for being a good sport,” Jack said. “Sometimes I get curious and—”

  “Tell me about it,” Margaret said. “Now I’d love for you two to stay friends, so can you leave it alone now?”

  “Forever?” Haeley said. “Please.”

  “Just one more question . . .”

  “Jack!” Margaret said.

  “You promised,” Haeley said.

  “I just gotta know. Am I really one of your favorite people in the world?”

  “Well, you were, but now you’re going to have to reapply, and the decision of the judges will be final.”

  As Boone neared the Galloways’ modest bungalow, Margaret said, “I owe Boone a conversation too.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “’Course I do. I know you’re curious, and I promised. Trouble is, I need permission to do it in private. I mean, not private private, but just the two of us, maybe just sittin’ apart from everybody else later this afternoon. Jack, you or Haeley got any problem with that?”

  “Fine with me,” Jack said. “I’ve heard it all before and didn’t like it then. You sure you want to bore him with this?”

  “It won’t bore him, Jack, ’cause he’ll understand it.”

  “I understand it. I just—”

  “Don’t like it; yeah, we got that. You don’t like it because you lost something you liked. Now you’ve got to play your cards right.”

  “I’m curious too,” Haeley said, “but Boone can tell me later, if it’s all right with you.”

  “I’d never tell a spouse to keep anything from the other,” Margaret said.

  4

  Surprise

  “Will you watch this with me, Aunt Flo?” Max said.

  “Sure, honey. Everything’s in the oven and will be for a coupla hours. What you watching?”

  “SpongeBob,” he said.

  “We watched that before, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah! I like it.”

  “Me too. It’s silly, but I like it.”

  Florence had just settled in next to Max when her intercom buzzed. She rocked her way off the couch and waddled over to it.

  “I’ll pause it,” Max said.

  “No, no, I seen this part. You go ahead. I’ll just be a second.” Florence mashed the button. “Yes?”

  “Yes, ma’am, young fella down here in the lobby to see you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Says it’s a surprise.”

  “I’m not ’specting no surprises, Willie. And I’m busy.”

  “That’s why they’re surprises, ma’am. ’Cause you’re not expecting ’em. Should I let him up?”

  “What’d I just say? Don’t you be lettin’ strangers up in here. What he look like? He from my church?”

  She could hear the young man in the background. “No, sir, but tell Mrs. Quigley I got her name and address from her pastor.”

  “What’s he want?”

  “Maybe if you could just come down and talk to him . . .”

  “All right, but it’s got to be quick.”

  Florence made her way back to Max. “You be all right here for a minute? I’m gon’ lock the door, and you don’t open it to anybody, hear? I got my key, and I’ll be right back.”

  In the lobby Florence found a sunburned young man with a buzz cut and wearing Army fatigues tucked into spit-shined boots. He approached smiling and held out his hand. She slowly offered hers but left it limp as he shook it.

  “And who might you be?” she said.

  “You don’t see the resemblance, ma’am?”

  “To who?”

  “To my sister, ma’am. I’m Alfonso Lamonica, but you may call me Al.”

  Florence cocked her head and studied him. “Haeley never told me ’bout no brother.”

  Alfonso laughed. “She wasn’t supposed to, ma’am. I was on a classified assignment. Did she ever ask prayer for an ‘unspoken request’?”

  “Many times! That was for you?”

  “Reckon it was, ma’am.”

  “I’ll be! Now stop with the ma’am stuff, will ya? Making me sound old. I’m Florence, but you can call me Aunt Flo if you want to.”

  “I’ll stick with Florence, ma’am, for now. I just wanted to tell you that Haeley does not know I’m back from Afghanistan, and—”

  “Now just hold on. Maybe you’re who you say you are, and maybe you ain’t. You got any proof a who you are?”

  “Of course, ma’am—Florence.”

  Alfonso produced a South Carolina driver’s license and a military ID. Florence took the ID and held it next to his face. He smiled.

  “You wasn’t smiling when this was taken.”

  “I wasn’t too happy,” he said, and appeared to force a comical frown. It matched the picture.

  “Well, welcome home,” Florence said. “And thank you for your service. What can I do for you?”

  “Tell you what I’d like more than anything else in the world, ma’am. I’d like to meet my first and only nephew, and I’d like you to shoot a picture of him and me I can send to Haeley. Then, just about the time she’s getting it, I’ll be at her door.”

  Florence grinned. “That sounds like a wonderful surprise. You know where she lives?”

  “Oh, yes. I went by there, hoping to surprise everybody at once and meet her husband, but they were gone. She’d written me about her church, so I tried there and met the pastor, Reverend Waters. He told me where to find you.”

  “How much time you got? We’re gonna eat here in a little while, and I’d love you to join us.”

  “That’d be wonderful, ma’am. Florence. When will Haeley and Boone come and get Max?”

  “Tomorrow. Mid-mornin’, I believe.”

  “That would be even a better time for me to surprise her!”

  “I’d love to see that.”

  As they headed toward the elevator, Alfonso nodded to Willie. “Nice to meet you, sir, and thanks so much for your assistance.”

  “Yes, sir,” Willie said, saluting.

  Max didn’t seem to have moved a muscle when Florence entered her apartment again, Alfonso hidden behind her ample frame. “You ever see a real army man, Max?” she said.

  “Huh-uh,” he said, eyes still on the screen.

  “Well, pause that thing and c’mere.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Obey orders, young man,” Alfonso said, and Max jumped. The soldier laughed.

  Max paused the video and slowly approached as Alfonso emerged from behind Aunt Flo. The little boy’s eyes were wide. “You’re a real army man?”

  “I’m a Ranger, sir,” Alfonso said. “You know what that means?”

  Max shook his head.

  “Well, you will in a while. Aunt Flo has invited me to dinner, and at dinner I’m going to tell you lots of stuff you never knew. Do I look like anybody you know?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “No, sir.”

/>   “No, sir, you don’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You don’t look like Daddy.”

  “How about Mommy?” Florence said.

  Max kept staring. “Maybe a little.”

  “Well, your mom is my big sister,” Alfonso said. “You know what that makes me?”

  “Her brother?”

  Alfonso and Florence threw their heads back and roared.

  “It makes me your uncle, little buddy. Do you have any other uncles?”

  Max squinted. “Yes! My new dad has two brothers. He told me I’m a forever Drake and they’re my forever uncles.”

  “Well, there you go. I’m your third uncle then. Put her there.” Alfonso thrust out his hand, and Max shook it. “You need a firmer grip there, soldier. Let me feel it!” Max squinted and seemed to be working at it. Alfonso dropped to one knee. “Oh, now you’ve done it! You’re too strong!”

  Max beamed. “You want to watch SpongeBob?”

  “Do I! And maybe after dinner we can all go play. Is there a park nearby?”

  “There is!” Florence said. “You wanna do that, Max?”

  “Do I!”

  5

  Feast

  Boone had always been impressed by how regal Fletcher Galloway looked in a suit or in uniform. A big black man with a good-size middle, he knew how to camouflage it, and he carried himself with solemnity and grace.

  That was a contrast to the host who greeted the two couples from the grill across the tiny, fenced-in backyard. Today Fletch wore a sun-faded Cubs cap too small for his head and hair longer than he had ever worn it on the job. A cooking apron covered his polo shirt, his retirement belly testing the limits of both. The ensemble was completed with plaid Bermuda shorts that looked as if they could apply for statehood and flip-flops tucked between the toes of black dress socks.

  “Don’t laugh!” he called out, waving a spatula. “Had her way, I’d be wearin’ a big ol’ chef’s hat. Feel fool enough as it is.”

  Dorothy, a handsome woman in her late sixties wearing fashionable shorts and a plain white top, opened the gate at the end of the driveway that led into the yard. The women embraced her, but when Boone approached, she shot up an open palm and said, “Uh-uh, you ’member what I said. I’m talking only to the women. You can talk to the hand.”