Word Gems: Soulmate, Myself: The Perfect Mate: novel

Prologue
When I was seventeen, my life changed forever.
I know that there are people who wonder about me when I
say this. They look at me strangely as if trying to fathom
what could have happened back then, though I seldom bother to
explain. Because I've lived here for most of my life, I don't
feel that I have to unless it's on my terms, and that would
take more time than most people are willing to give me. My
story can't be summed up in two or three sentences; it can't
be packaged into something neat and simple that people would
immediately understand. Despite the passage of forty years,
the people still living here who knew me that year accept my
lack of explanation without question. My story in some ways
is their story because it was something that all of us lived
through.
It was I, however, who was closest to it. I'm fifty-seven
years old, but even now I can remember everything from that
year, down to the smallest details. I relive that year often
in my mind, bringing it back to life, and I realize that when
I do, I always feel a strange combination of sadness and joy.
There are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and
take all the sadness away, but I have the feeling that if I
did, the joy would be gone as well. So I take the memories as
they come, accepting them all, letting them guide me whenever
I can. This happens more often than I let on.
It is April 12, in the last year before the millennium,
and as I leave my house, I glance around. The sky is overcast
and gray, but as I move down the street, I notice that the
dogwoods and azaleas are blooming. I zip my jacket just a
little. The temperature is cool, though I know it's only a
matter of weeks before it will settle in to something
comfortable and the gray skies give way to the kind of days
that make North Carolina one of the most beautiful places in
the world. With a sigh, I feel it all coming back to me. I
close my eyes and the years begin to move in reverse, slowly
ticking backward, like the hands of a clock rotating in the
wrong direction. As if through someone else's eyes, I watch
myself grow younger; I see my hair changing from gray to
brown, I feel the wrinkles around my eyes begin to smooth, my
arms and legs grow sinewy. Lessons I've learned with age grow
dimmer, and my innocence returns as that eventful year
approaches.
Then, like me, the world begins to change: roads narrow
and some become gravel, suburban sprawl has been replaced
with farmland, downtown streets teem with people, looking in
windows as they pass Sweeney's bakery and Palka's meat shop.
Men wear hats, women wear dresses. At the courthouse up the
street, the bell tower rings. . . .
I open my eyes and pause. I am standing outside the
Baptist church, and when I stare at the gable, I know exactly
who I am. My name is Landon Carter, and I'm seventeen years
old.
This is my story; I promise to leave nothing out.
First you will smile, and then you will cry-don't say you
haven't been warned.

Chapter 1
In 1958, Beaufort, North Carolina, which is located on the
coast near Morehead City, was a place like many other small
southern towns. It was the kind of place where the humidity
rose so high in the summer that walking out to get the mail
made a person feel as if he needed a shower, and kids walked
around barefoot from April through October beneath oak trees
draped in Spanish moss. People waved from their cars whenever
they saw someone on the street whether they knew him or not,
and the air smelled of pine, salt, and sea, a scent unique to
the Carolinas. For many of the people there, fishing in the
Pamlico Sound or crabbing in the Neuse River was a way of
life, and boats were moored wherever you saw the Intracoastal
Waterway. Only three channels came in on the television,
though television was never important to those of us who grew
up there. Instead our lives were centered around the
churches, of which there were eighteen within the town limits
alone. They went by names like the Fellowship Hall Christian
Church, the Church of the Forgiven People, the Church of
Sunday Atonement, and then, of course, there were the Baptist
churches. When I was growing up, it was far and away the most
popular denomination around, and there were Baptist churches
on practically every corner of town, though each considered
itself superior to the others. There were Baptist churches of
every type-Freewill Baptists, Southern Baptists,
Congregational Baptists, Missionary Baptists, Independent
Baptists . . . well, you get the picture.
Back then, the big event of the year was sponsored by the
Baptist church downtown-Southern, if you really want to
know-in conjunction with the local high school. Every year
they put on their Christmas pageant at the Beaufort
Playhouse, which was actually a play that had been written by
Hegbert Sullivan, a minister who'd been with the church since
Moses parted the Red Sea. Okay, maybe he wasn't that old, but
he was old enough that you could almost see through the guy's
skin. It was sort of clammy all the time, and
translucent-kids would swear they actually saw the blood
flowing through his veins-and his hair was as white as those
bunnies you see in pet stores around Easter.
Anyway, he wrote this play called The Christmas Angel,
because he didn't want to keep on performing that old Charles
Dickens classic A Christmas Carol. In his mind Scrooge was a
heathen, who came to his redemption only because he saw
ghosts, not angels-and who was to say whether they'd been
sent by God, anyway? And who was to say he wouldn't revert to
his sinful ways if they hadn't been sent directly from
heaven? The play didn't exactly tell you in the end-it sort
of plays into faith and all-but Hegbert didn't trust ghosts
if they weren't actually sent by God, which wasn't explained
in plain language, and this was his big problem with it. A
few years back he'd changed the end of the play-sort of
followed it up with his own version, complete with old man
Scrooge becoming a preacher and all, heading off to Jerusalem
to find the place where Jesus once taught the scribes. It
didn't fly too well-not even to the congregation, who sat in
the audience staring wide-eyed at the spectacle-and the
newspaper said things like "Though it was certainly
interesting, it wasn't exactly the play we've all come to
know and love. . . ."
So Hegbert decided to try his hand at writing his own
play. He'd written his own sermons his whole life, and some
of them, we had to admit, were actually interesting,
especially when he talked about the "wrath of God coming down
on the fornicators" and all that good stuff. That really got
his blood boiling, I'll tell you, when he talked about the
fornicators. That was his real hot spot. When we were
younger, my friends and I would hide behind the trees and
shout, "Hegbert is a fornicator!" when we saw him walking
down the street, and we'd giggle like idiots, like we were
the wittiest creatures ever to inhabit the planet.
Old Hegbert, he'd stop dead in his tracks and his ears
would perk up-I swear to God, they actually moved-and he'd
turn this bright shade of red, like he'd just drunk gasoline,
and the big green veins in his neck would start sticking out
all over, like those maps of the Amazon River that you see in
National Geographic. He'd peer from side to side, his eyes
narrowing into slits as he searched for us, and then, just as
suddenly, he'd start to go pale again, back to that fishy
skin, right before our eyes. Boy, it was something to watch,
that's for sure.
So we'd be hiding behind a tree and Hegbert (what kind of
parents name their kid Hegbert, anyway?) would stand there
waiting for us to give ourselves up, as if he thought we'd be
that stupid. We'd put our hands over our mouths to keep from
laughing out loud, but somehow he'd always zero in on us.
He'd be turning from side to side, and then he'd stop, those
beady eyes coming right at us, right through the tree. "I
know who you are, Landon Carter," he'd say, "and the Lord
knows, too." He'd let that sink in for a minute or so, and
then he'd finally head off again, and during the sermon that
weekend he'd stare right at us and say something like "God is
merciful to children, but the children must be worthy as
well." And we'd sort of lower ourselves in the seats, not
from embarrassment, but to hide a new round of giggles.
Hegbert didn't understand us at all, which was really sort of
strange, being that he had a kid and all. But then again, she
was a girl. More on that, though, later.
Anyway, like I said, Hegbert wrote The Christmas Angel one
year and decided to put on that play instead. The play itself
wasn't bad, actually, which surprised everyone the first year
it was performed. It's basically the story of a man who had
lost his wife a few years back. This guy, Tom Thornton, used
to be real religious, but he had a crisis of faith after his
wife died during childbirth. He's raising this little girl
all on his own, but he hasn't been the greatest father, and
what the little girl really wants for Christmas is a special
music box with an angel engraved on top, a picture of which
she'd cut out from an old catalog. The guy searches long and
hard to find the gift, but he can't find it anywhere. So it's
Christmas Eve and he's still searching, and while he's out
looking through the stores, he comes across a strange woman
he's never seen before, and she promises to help him find the
gift for his daughter. First, though, they help this homeless
person (back then they were called bums, by the way), then
they stop at an orphanage to see some kids, then visit a
lonely old woman who just wanted some company on Christmas
Eve. At this point the mysterious woman asks Tom Thornton
what he wants for Christmas, and he says that he wants his
wife back. She brings him to the city fountain and tells him
to look in the water and he'll find what he's looking for.
When he looks in the water, he sees the face of his little
girl, and he breaks down and cries right there. While he's
sobbing, the mysterious lady runs off, and Tom Thornton
searches but can't find her anywhere. Eventually he heads
home, the lessons from the evening playing in his mind. He
walks into his little girl's room, and her sleeping figure
makes him realize that she's all he has left of his wife, and
he starts to cry again because he knows he hasn't been a good
enough father to her. The next morning, magically, the music
box is underneath the tree, and the angel that's engraved on
it looks exactly like the woman he'd seen the night before.
So it wasn't that bad, really. If truth be told, people
cried buckets whenever they saw it. The play sold out every
year it was performed, and due to its popularity, Hegbert
eventually had to move it from the church to the Beaufort
Playhouse, which had a lot more seating. By the time I was a
senior in high school, the performances ran twice to packed
houses, which, considering who actually performed it, was a
story in and of itself.
You see, Hegbert wanted young people to perform the
play-seniors in high school, not the theater group. I reckon
he thought it would be a good learning experience before the
seniors headed off to college and came face-to-face with all
the fornicators. He was that kind of guy, you know, always
wanting to save us from temptation. He wanted us to know that
God is out there watching you, even when you're away from
home, and that if you put your trust in God, you'll be all
right in the end. It was a lesson that I would eventually
learn in time, though it wasn't Hegbert who taught me.
As I said before, Beaufort was fairly typical as far as
southern towns went, though it did have an interesting
history. Blackbeard the pirate once owned a house there, and
his ship, Queen Anne's Revenge, is supposedly buried
somewhere in the sand just offshore. Recently some
archaeologists or oceanographers or whoever looks for stuff
like that said they found it, but no one's certain just yet,
being that it sank over 250 years ago and you can't exactly
reach into the glove compartment and check the registration.

But my friends and I didn't quite see it that way. In our
minds, one Jamie Sullivan was plenty.
I was thinking about all this while Jamie stood in front
of us on the first day of drama class, and I admit that I
wasn't much interested in seeing her. But strangely, when
Jamie turned to face us, I kind of got a shock, like I was
sitting on a loose wire or something. She wore a plaid skirt
with a white blouse under the same brown cardigan sweater I'd
seen a million times, but there were two new bumps on her
chest that the sweater couldn't hide that I swore hadn't been
there just three months earlier. She'd never worn makeup and
she still didn't, but she had a tan, probably from Bible
school, and for the first time she looked-well, almost
pretty. Of course, I dismissed that thought right away, but
as she looked around the room, she stopped and smiled right
at me, obviously glad to see that I was in the class. It
wasn't until later that I would learn the reason why.

Chapter 2
After high school I planned to go to the University of
North Carolina at Chapel Hill. My father wanted me to go to
Harvard or Princeton like some of the sons of other
congressmen did, but with my grades it wasn't possible. Not
that I was a bad student. I just didn't focus on my studies,
and my grades weren't exactly up to snuff for the Ivy
Leagues. By my senior year it was pretty much touch and go
whether I'd even get accepted at UNC, and this was my
father's alma mater, a place where he could pull some
strings. During one of his few weekends home, my father came
up with the plan to put me over the top. I'd just finished my
first week of school and we were sitting down for dinner. He
was home for three days on account of Labor Day weekend. "I
think you should run for student body president," he said.
"You'll be graduating in June, and I think it would look good
on your record. Your mother thinks so, too, by the way."
My mother nodded as she chewed a mouthful of peas. She
didn't speak much when my father had the floor, though she
winked at me. Sometimes I think my mother liked to see me
squirm, even though she was sweet.
"I don't think I'd have a chance at winning," I said.
Though I was probably the richest kid in school, I was by no
means the most popular. That honor belonged to Eric Hunter,
my best friend. He could throw a baseball at almost ninety
miles an hour, and he'd led the football team to back-to-back

couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I had
to admit, Jamie had a pretty good sense of humor. I smiled
and gave her my word.

Chapter 3
As a general rule, Southern Baptists don't dance. In
Beaufort, however, it wasn't a rule that was ever strictly
enforced. The minister before Hegbert-don't ask me what his
name was-took sort of a lax view about school dances as long
as they were chaperoned, and because of that, they'd become a
tradition of sorts. By the time Hegbert came along, it was
too late to change things. Jamie was pretty much the only one
who'd never been to a school dance and frankly, I didn't know
whether she even knew how to dance at all.
I admit that I also had some concerns about what she would
wear, though it wasn't something I would tell her. When Jamie
went to the church socials-which were encouraged by
Hegbert-she usually wore an old sweater and one of the plaid
skirts we saw in school every day, but the homecoming dance
was supposed to be special. Most of the girls bought new
dresses and the boys wore suits, and this year we were
bringing in a photographer to take our pictures. I knew Jamie
wasn't going to buy a new dress because she wasn't exactly
well-off. Ministering wasn't a profession where people made a
lot of money, but of course ministers weren't in it for
monetary gain, they were in it for the long haul, if you know
what I mean. But I didn't want her to wear the same thing she
wore to school every day, either. Not so much for me-I'm not
that cold-hearted-but because of what others might say. I
didn't want people to make fun of her or anything.
The good news, if there was any, was that Eric didn't rib
me too bad about the whole Jamie situation because he was too
busy thinking about his own date. He was taking Margaret
Hays, who was the head cheerleader at our school. She wasn't
the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but she was nice in
her own way. By nice, of course, I'm talking about her legs.
Eric offered to double-date with me, but I turned him down
because I didn't want to take any chances with Eric teasing
Jamie or anything like that. He was a good guy, but he could
be kind of heartless sometimes, especially when he had a few
shots of bourbon in him.
The day of the dance was actually quite busy for me. I
spent most of the afternoon helping to decorate the gym, and
I had to get to Jamie's about a half hour early because her
father wanted to talk to me, though I didn't know why. Jamie
had sprung that one on me just the day before, and I can't
say I was exactly thrilled by the prospect of it. I figured
he was going to talk about temptation and the evil path it
can lead us to. If he brought up fornication, though, I knew
I would die right there on the spot. I said small prayers all
day long in the hope of avoiding this conversation, but I
wasn't sure if God would put my prayers on the front burner,
if you know what I mean, because of the way I'd behaved in
the past. I was pretty nervous just thinking about it.
After I showered I put on my best suit, swung by the
florist to pick up Jamie's corsage, then drove to her house.
My mom had let me borrow the car, and I parked it on the
street directly in front of Jamie's house. We hadn't turned
the clocks back yet, so it was still light out when I got
there, and I strolled up the cracked walkway to her door. I
knocked and waited for a moment, then knocked again. From
behind the door I heard Hegbert say, "I'll be right there,"
but he wasn't exactly racing to the door. I must have stood
there for two minutes or so, looking at the door, the
moldings, the little cracks in the windowsills. Off to the
side were the chairs that Jamie and I had sat in just a few
days back. The one I sat in was still turned in the opposite
direction. I guess they hadn't sat there in the last couple
of days.
Finally the door creaked open. The light coming from the
lamp inside shadowed Hegbert's face slightly and sort of
reflected through his hair. He was old, like I said,
seventy-two years by my reckoning. It was the first time I'd
ever seen him up close, and I could see all the wrinkles on
his face. His skin really was translucent, even more so than
I'd imagined.
"Hello, Reverend," I said, swallowing my trepidation. "I'm
here to take Jamie to the homecoming dance."
"Of course you are," he said. "But first, I wanted to talk
with you."
"Yes, sir, that's why I came early."
"C'mon in."
In church Hegbert was a fairly snappy dresser, but right
now he looked like a farmer, dressed in overalls and a
T-shirt. He motioned for me to sit on the wooden chair he'd
brought in from the kitchen. "I'm sorry it took a little
while to open the door. I was working on tomorrow's sermon,"
he said.
I sat down.
"That's okay, sir." I don't know why, but you just had to
call him "sir." He sort of projected that image.
"All right, then, so tell me about yourself."
I thought it was a fairly ridiculous question, with him
having such a long history with my family and all. He was
also the one who had baptized me, by the way, and he'd seen
me in church every Sunday since I'd been a baby.
"Well, sir," I began, not really knowing what to say, "I'm
the student body president. I don't know whether Jamie
mentioned that to you."
He nodded. "She did. Go on."
"And . . . well, I hope to go to the University of North
Carolina next fall. I've already received the application."
He nodded again. "Anything else?"
I had to admit, I was running out of things after that.
Part of me wanted to pick up the pencil off the end table and
start balancing it, giving him the whole thirty seconds'
worth, but he wasn't the kind of guy who would appreciate it.
"I guess not, sir."
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
"No, sir."
He sort of stared at me for a long time, as if thinking
about it.
"Why did you ask my daughter to the dance?" he finally
said.
I was surprised, and I know that my expression showed it.
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
"You're not planning to do anything to . . . embarrass
her, are you?"
"No, sir," I said quickly, shocked by the accusation. "Not
at all. I needed someone to go with, and I asked her. It's as
simple as that."
"You don't have any pranks planned?"
"No, sir. I wouldn't do that to her. . . ."
This went on for a few more minutes-his grilling me about
my true intentions, I mean-but luckily Jamie stepped out of
the back room, and her father and I both turned our heads at
the same moment. Hegbert finally stopped talking, and I
breathed a sigh of relief. She'd put on a nice blue skirt and
a white blouse I'd never seen before. Fortunately she'd left
her sweater in the closet. It wasn't too bad, I had to admit,
though I knew she'd still be underdressed compared with
others at the dance. As always, her hair was pulled up in a
bun. Personally I think it would have looked better if she'd
kept it down, but that was the last thing I wanted to say.
Jamie looked like . . . well, Jamie looked exactly like she
usually did, but at least she wasn't planning on bringing her
Bible. That would have just been too much to live down.
"You're not giving Landon a hard time, are you?" she said
cheerfully to her father.
"We were just visiting," I said quickly before he had a
chance to respond. For some reason I didn't think he'd told
Jamie about the kind of person he thought I was, and I didn't
think that now would be a good time.
"Well, we should probably go," she said after a moment. I
think she sensed the tension in the room. She walked over to
her father and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't stay up too
late working on the sermon, okay?"
"I won't," he said softly. Even with me in the room, I
could tell he really loved her and wasn't afraid to show it.
It was how he felt about me that was the problem.
We said good-bye, and on our way to the car I handed Jamie
her corsage and told her I'd show her how to put it on once
we got in the car. I opened her door for her and walked
around the other side, then got in as well. In that short
period of time, Jamie had already pinned on the flower.
"I'm not exactly a dimwit, you know. I do know how to pin
on a corsage."
I started the car and headed toward the high school, with
the conversation I'd just had with Hegbert running through my
mind.
"My father doesn't like you very much," she said, as if
knowing what I was thinking.
I nodded without saying anything.
"He thinks you're irresponsible."
I nodded again.
"He doesn't like your father much, either."
I nodded once more.
"Or your family."
I get the picture.
"But do you know what I think?" she asked suddenly.
"Not really." By then I was pretty depressed.
"I think that all this was in the Lord's plan somehow.
What do you think the message is?"
Here we go, I thought to myself.
I doubt if the evening could have been much worse, if you
want to know the truth. Most of my friends kept their
distance, and Jamie didn't have many friends to begin with,
so we spent most of our time alone. Even worse, it turned out
that my presence wasn't even required anymore. They'd changed
the rule owing to the fact that Carey couldn't get a date,
and that left me feeling pretty miserable about the whole
thing as soon as I found out about it. But because of what
her father had said to me, I couldn't exactly take her home
early, now, could I? And more than that, she was really
having a good time; even I could see that. She loved the
decorations I'd helped put up, she loved the music, she loved
everything about the dance. She kept telling me how wonderful
everything was, and she asked me whether I might help her
decorate the church someday, for one of their socials. I sort
of mumbled that she should call me, and even though I said it
without a trace of energy, Jamie thanked me for being so
considerate. To be honest, I was depressed for at least the
first hour, though she didn't seem to notice.
Jamie had to be home by eleven o'clock, an hour before the
dance ended, which made it somewhat easier for me to handle.
Once the music started we hit the floor, and it turned out
that she was a pretty good dancer, considering it was her
first time and all. She followed my lead pretty well through
about a dozen songs, and after that we headed to the tables
and had what resembled an ordinary conversation. Sure, she
threw in words like "faith" and "joy" and even "salvation,"
and she talked about helping the orphans and scooping
critters off the highway, but she was just so damn happy, it
was hard to stay down for long.
So things weren't too terrible at first and really no
worse than I had expected. It wasn't until Lew and Angela
showed up that everything really went sour.
They showed up a few minutes after we arrived. He was
wearing that stupid T-shirt, Camels in his sleeve, and a glop
of hair gel on his head. Angela hung all over him right from
the beginning of the dance, and it didn't take a genius to
realize she'd had a few drinks before she got there. Her
dress was really flashy-her mother worked in a salon and was
up on all the latest fashions-and I noticed she'd picked up
that ladylike habit called chewing gum. She really worked
that gum, chewing it almost like a cow working her cud.
Well, good old Lew spiked the punch bowl, and a few more
people started getting tipsy. By the time the teachers found
out, most of the punch was already gone and people were
getting that glassy look in their eyes. When I saw Angela
gobble up her second glass of punch, I knew I should keep my
eye on her. Even though she'd dumped me, I didn't want
anything bad to happen to her. She was the first girl I'd
ever French-kissed, and even though our teeth clanked
together so hard the first time we tried it that I saw stars
and had to take aspirin when I got home, I still had feelings
for her.
So there I was, sitting with Jamie, barely listening as
she described the wonders of Bible school, watching Angela
out of the corner of my eye, when Lew spotted me looking at
her. In one frenzied motion he grabbed Angela around the
waist and dragged her over to the table, giving me one of
those looks, the one that "means business." You know the one
I'm talking about.
"Are you staring at my girl?" he asked, already tensing
up.
"No."
"Yeah, he was," Angela said, kind of slurring out the
words. "He was staring right at me. This is my old boyfriend,
the one I told you about."
His eyes turned into little slits, just like Hegbert's
were prone to do. I guess I have this effect on lots of
people.
"So you're the one," he said, sneering.
Now, I'm not much of a fighter. The only real fight I was
ever in was in third grade, and I pretty much lost that one
when I started to cry even before the guy punched me. Usually
I didn't have much trouble staying away from things like this
because of my passive nature, and besides, no one ever messed
with me when Eric was around. But Eric was off with Margaret
somewhere, probably behind the bleachers.
"I wasn't staring," I said finally, "and I don't know what
she told you, but I doubt if it was true."
His eyes narrowed. "Are you calling Angela a liar?" he
sneered.
Oops.
I think he would have hit me right there, but Jamie
suddenly worked her way into the situation.
"Don't I know you?" she said cheerfully, looking right at
him. Sometimes Jamie seemed oblivious of situations that were
happening right in front of her. "Wait-yes, I do. You work in
the garage downtown. Your father's name is Joe, and your
grandma lives out on Foster Road, by the railroad crossing."
A look of confusion crossed Lew's face, as though he were
trying to put together a puzzle with too many pieces.
"How do you know all that? What he'd do, tell you about
me, too?"
"No," Jamie said, "don't be silly." She laughed to
herself. Only Jamie could find humor at a time like this. "I
saw your picture in your grandma's house. I was walking by,
and she needed some help bringing in the groceries. Your
picture was on the mantel."
Lew was looking at Jamie as though she had cornstalks
growing out of her ears.
Meanwhile Jamie was fanning herself with her hand. "Well,
we were just sitting down to take a breather from all that
dancing. It sure gets hot out there. Would you like to join
us? We've got a couple of chairs. I'd love to hear how your
grandma is doing."
She sounded so happy about it that Lew didn't know what to
do. Unlike those of us who were used to this sort of thing,
he'd never come across someone like Jamie before. He stood
there for a moment or two, trying to decide if he should hit
the guy with the girl who'd helped his grandma. If it sounds
confusing to you, imagine what it was doing to Lew's
petroleum-damaged brain.
He finally skulked off without responding, taking Angela
with him. Angela had probably forgotten how the whole thing
started anyway, owing to the amount she'd had to drink. Jamie
and I watched him go, and when he was a safe distance away, I
exhaled. I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath.
"Thanks," I said mumbled sheepishly, realizing that
Jamie-Jamie!-was the one who'd saved me from grave bodily
harm. Jamie looked at me strangely. "For what?" she asked,
and when I didn't exactly spell it out for her, she went
right back into her story about Bible school, as if nothing
had happened at all. But this time I found myself actually
listening to her, at least with one of my ears. It was the
least I could do.
It turns out that it wasn't the last we saw of either Lew
or Angela that evening. The two glasses of punch had really
done Angela in, and she threw up all over the ladies' rest
room. Lew, being the classy guy he was, left when he heard
her retching, sort of slinking out the way he came in, and
that was the last I saw of him. Jamie, as fate would have it,
was the one who found Angela in the bathroom, and it was
obvious that Angela wasn't doing too well. The only option
was to clean her up and take her home before the teachers
found out about it. Getting drunk was a big deal back then,
and she'd be looking at suspension, maybe even expulsion, if
she got caught.
Jamie, bless her heart, didn't want that to happen any
more than I did, though I would have thought otherwise if
you'd asked me beforehand, owing to the fact that Angela was
a minor and in violation of the law. She'd also broken
another one of Hegbert's rules for proper behavior. Hegbert
frowned on law-breaking and drinking, and though it didn't
get him going like fornication, we all knew he was deadly
serious, and we assumed Jamie felt the same way. And maybe
she did, but her helper instinct must have taken over. She
probably took one look at Angela and thought "wounded
critter" or something like that and took immediate charge of
the situation. I went off and located Eric behind the
bleachers, and he agreed to stand guard at the bathroom door
while Jamie and I went in to tidy it up. Angela had done a
marvelous job, I tell you. The puke was everywhere except the
toilet. The walls, the floor, the sinks-even on the ceiling,
though don't ask me how she did that. So there I was, perched
on all fours, cleaning up puke at the homecoming dance in my
best blue suit, which was exactly what I had wanted to avoid
in the first place. And Jamie, my date, was on all fours,
too, doing exactly the same thing.
I could practically hear Carey laughing a squeaky,
maniacal laugh somewhere in the distance.
We ended up sneaking out the back door of the gym, keeping
Angela stable by walking on either side of her. She kept
asking where Lew was, but Jamie told her not to worry. She
had a real soothing way of talking to Angela, though Angela
was so far gone, I doubt if she even knew who was speaking.
We loaded Angela into the backseat of my car, where she
passed out almost immediately, although not before she'd
vomited once more on the floor of the car. The smell was so
awful that we had to roll down the windows to keep from
gagging, and the drive to Angela's house seemed extra long.
Her mother answered the door, took one look at her daughter,
and brought her inside without so much as a word of thanks. I
think she was embarrassed, and we really didn't have much to
say to her anyway. The situation pretty much spoke for
itself.
By the time we dropped her off it was ten forty-five, and
we drove straight back to Jamie's. I was really worried when
we got there because of the way she looked and smelled, and I
said a silent prayer hoping that Hegbert wasn't awake. I
didn't want to have to explain this to him. Oh, he'd probably
listen to Jamie if she was the one who told him about it, but
I had the sinking feeling that he'd find a way to blame me
anyway.
So I walked her to the door, and we stood outside under
the porchlight. Jamie crossed her arms and smiled a little,
looking just as if she'd come in from an evening stroll where
she'd contemplated the beauty of the world.
"Please don't tell your father about this," I said.
"I won't," she said. She kept on smiling when she finally
turned my way. "I had a good time tonight. Thank you for
taking me to the dance."
Here she was, covered in puke, actually thanking me for
the evening. Jamie Sullivan could really drive a guy crazy
sometimes.

Chapter 4
In the two weeks following the homecoming dance, my life
pretty much returned to normal. My father was back in
Washington, D.C., which made things a lot more fun around my
house, primarily because I could sneak out the window again
and head to the graveyard for my late night forays. I don't
know what it was about the graveyard that attracted us so.
Maybe it had something to do with the tombstones themselves,
because as far as tombstones went, they were actually fairly
comfortable to sit on.
We usually sat in a small plot where the Preston family
had been buried about a hundred years ago. There were eight
tombstones there, all arranged in a circle, making it easy to
pass the boiled peanuts back and forth between us. One time
my friends and I decided to learn what we could about the
Preston family, and we went to the library to find out if
anything had been written about them. I mean, if you're going
to sit on someone's tombstone, you might as well know
something about them, right?
It turns out that there wasn't much about the family in
the historical records, though we did find out one
interesting tidbit of information. Henry Preston, the father,
was a one-armed lumberjack, believe it or not. Supposedly he
could cut down a tree as fast as any two-armed man. Now the
vision of a one-armed lumberjack is pretty vivid right off
the bat, so we talked about him a lot. We used to wonder what
else he could do with only one arm, and we'd spend long hours
discussing how fast he could pitch a baseball or whether or
not he'd be able to swim across the Intracoastal Waterway.
Our conversations weren't exactly highbrow, I admit, but I
enjoyed them nonetheless.
Well, Eric and me were out there one Saturday night with a
couple of other friends, eating boiled peanuts and talking
about Henry Preston, when Eric asked me how my "date" went
with Jamie Sullivan. He and I hadn't seen much of each other
since the homecoming dance because the football season was
already in the playoffs and Eric had been out of town the
past few weekends with the team.
"It was okay," I said, shrugging, doing my best to play it
cool.
Eric playfully elbowed me in the ribs, and I grunted. He
outweighed me by at least thirty pounds.
"Did you kiss her good-night?"
"No."
He took a long drink from his can of Budweiser as I
answered. I don't know how he did it, but Eric never had
trouble buying beer, which was strange, being that everyone
in town knew how old he was.
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, tossing me a
sidelong glance.
"I would have thought that after she helped you clean the
bathroom, you would have at least kissed her good night."
"Well, I didn't."
"Did you even try?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"She's not that kind of girl," I said, and even though we
all knew it was true, it still sounded like I was defending
her.
Eric latched on to that like a leech.
"I think you like her," he said.
"You're full of crap," I answered, and he slapped my back,
hard enough to force the breath right out of me. Hanging out
with Eric usually meant that I'd have a few bruises the
following day.
"Yeah, I might be full of crap," he said, winking at me,
"but you're the one who's smitten with Jamie Sullivan."
I knew we were treading on dangerous ground.
"I was just using her to impress Margaret," I said. "And
with all the love notes she's been sending me lately, I
reckon it must have worked."
Eric laughed aloud, slapping me on the back again.
"You and Margaret-now that's funny. . . ."
I knew I'd just dodged a major bullet, and I breathed a
sigh of relief as the conversation spun off in a new
direction. I joined in now and then, but I wasn't really
listening to what they were saying. Instead I kept hearing
this little voice inside me that made me wonder about what
Eric had said.
The thing was, Jamie was probably the best date I could
have had that night, especially considering how the evening
turned out. Not many dates-heck, not many people,
period-would have done what she did. At the same time, her
being a good date didn't mean I liked her. I hadn't talked to
her at all since the dance, except when I saw her in drama
class, and even then it was only a few words here and there.
If I liked her at all, I told myself, I would have wanted to
talk to her. If I liked her, I would have offered to walk her
home. If I liked her, I would have wanted to bring her to
Cecil's Diner for a basket of hushpuppies and some RC cola.
But I didn't want to do any of those things. I really didn't.
In my mind, I'd already served my penance.
The next day, Sunday, I was in my room, working on my
application to UNC. In addition to the transcripts from my
high school and other personal information, they required
five essays of the usual type. If you could meet one person
in history, who would that person be and why? Name the most
significant influence in your life and why you feel that way.
What do you look for in a role model and why? The essay
questions were fairly predictable-our English teacher had
told us what to expect-and I'd already worked on a couple of
variations in class as homework.
English was probably my best subject. I'd never received
anything lower than an A since I first started school, and I
was glad the emphasis for the application process was on
writing. If it had been on math, I might have been in
trouble, especially if it included those algebra questions
that talked about the two trains leaving an hour apart,
traveling in opposite directions at forty miles an hour, etc.
It wasn't that I was bad in math-I usually pulled at least a
C-but it didn't come naturally to me, if you know what I
mean.
Anyway, I was writing one of my essays when the phone
rang. The only phone we had was located in the kitchen, and I
had to run downstairs to grab the receiver. I was breathing
so loudly that I couldn't make out the voice too well, though
it sounded like Angela. I immediately smiled to myself. Even
though she'd been sick all over the place and I'd had to
clean it up, she was actually pretty fun to be around most of
the time. And her dress really had been something, at least
for the first hour. I figured she was probably calling to
thank me or even to get together for a barbecue sandwich and
hushpuppies or something.
"Landon?"
"Oh, hey," I said, playing it cool, "what's going on?"
There was a short pause on the other end.
"How are you?"
It was then that I suddenly realized I wasn't speaking to
Angela. Instead it was Jamie, and I almost dropped the phone.
I can't say that I was happy about hearing from her, and for
a second I wondered who had given her my phone number before
I realized it was probably in the church records.
"Landon?"
"I'm fine," I finally blurted out, still in shock.
"Are you busy?" she asked.
"Sort of."
"Oh . . . I see . . . ,"she said, trailing off. She paused
again.
"Why are you calling me?" I asked.
It took her a few seconds to get the words out.
"Well . . . I just wanted to know if you wouldn't mind
coming by a little later this afternoon."
"Coming by?"
"Yes. To my house."
"Your house?" I didn't even try to disguise the growing
surprise in my voice. Jamie ignored it and went on.
"There's something I want to talk to you about. I wouldn't
ask if it wasn't important."
"Can't you just tell me over the phone?"
"I'd rather not."
"Well, I'm working on my college application essays all
afternoon," I said, trying to get out of it.
"Oh . . . well . . . like I said, it's important, but I
suppose I can talk to you Monday at school. . . ."
With that, I suddenly realized that she wasn't going to
let me off the hook and that we'd end up talking one way or
the other. My brain suddenly clicked through the scenarios as
I tried to figure out which one I should do-talk to her where
my friends would see us or talk at her house. Though neither
option was particularly good, there was something in the back
of my mind, reminding me that she'd helped me out when I'd
really needed it, and the least I could do was to listen to
what she had to say. I may be irresponsible, but I'm a nice
irresponsible, if I do say so myself.
Of course, that didn't mean everyone else had to know
about it.
"No," I said, "today is fine. . . ."
We arranged to meet at five o'clock, and the rest of the
afternoon ticked by slowly, like the drips from Chinese water
torture. I left my house twenty minutes early, so I'd have
plenty of time to get there. My house was located near the
waterfront in the historic part of town, just a few doors
down from where Blackbeard used to live, overlooking the
Intracoastal Waterway. Jamie lived on the other side of town,
across the railroad tracks, so it would take me about that
long to get there.
It was November, and the temperature was finally cooling
down. One thing I really liked about Beaufort was the fact
that the springs and falls lasted practically forever. It
might get hot in the summer or snow once every six years, and
there might be a cold spell that lasted a week or so in
January, but for the most part all you needed was a light
jacket to make it through the winter. Today was one of those
perfect days-mid-seventies without a cloud in the sky.
I made it to Jamie's house right on time and knocked on
her door. Jamie answered it, and a quick peek inside revealed
that Hegbert wasn't around. It wasn't quite warm enough for
sweet tea or lemonade, and we sat in the chairs on the porch
again, without anything to drink. The sun was beginning to
lower itself in the sky, and there wasn't anyone on the
street. This time I didn't have to move my chair. It hadn't
been moved since the last time I'd been there.
"Thank you for coming, Landon," she said. "I know you're
busy, but I appreciate your taking the time to do this."
"So, what's so important?" I said, wanting to get this
over with as quickly as possible.
Jamie, for the first time since I'd known her, actually
looked nervous as she sat with me. She kept bringing her
hands together and pulling them apart.
"I wanted to ask you a favor," she said seriously.
"A favor?"
She nodded.
At first I thought she was going to ask me to help her
decorate the church, like she'd mentioned at homecoming, or
maybe she needed me to use my mother's car to bring some
stuff to the orphans. Jamie didn't have her license, and
Hegbert needed their car anyway, being that there was always
a funeral or something he had to go to. But it still took a
few seconds for her to get the words out.
She sighed, her hands coming together again.
"I'd like to ask you if you wouldn't mind playing Tom
Thornton in the school play," she said.
Tom Thornton, like I said before, was the man in search of
the music box for his daughter, the one who meets the angel.
Except for the angel, it was far and away the most important
role.
"Well . . . I don't know," I said, confused. "I thought
Eddie Jones was going to be Tom. That's what Miss Garber told
us."
Eddie Jones was a lot like Carey Dennison, by the way. He
was really skinny, with pimples all over his face, and he
usually talked to you with his eyes all squinched up. He had
a nervous tic, and he couldn't help but squinch his eyes
whenever he got nervous, which was practically all the time.
He'd probably end up spouting his lines like a psychotic
blind man if you put him in front of a crowd. To make things
worse, he had a stutter, too, and it took him a long time to
say anything at all. Miss Garber had given him the role
because he'd been the only one who offered to do it, but even
then it was obvious she didn't want him either. Teachers were
human, too, but she didn't have much of an option, since no
one else had come forward.
"Miss Garber didn't say that exactly. What she said was
that Eddie could have the role if no one else tried out for
it."
"Can't someone else do it instead?"
But there really wasn't anyone else, and I knew it.
Because of Hegbert's requirement that only seniors perform,
the play was in a bind that year. There were about fifty
senior boys at the high school, twenty-two of whom were on
the football team, and with the team still in the running for
the state title, none of them would have the time to go to
the rehearsals. Of the thirty or so who were left, more than
half were in the band and they had after-school practice as
well. A quick calculation showed that there were maybe a
dozen other people who could possibly do it.
Now, I didn't want to do the play at all, and not only
because I'd come to realize that drama was just about the
most boring class ever invented. The thing was, I'd already
taken Jamie to homecoming, and with her as the angel, I just
couldn't bear the thought that I'd have to spend every
afternoon with her for the next month or so. Being seen with
her once was bad enough . . . but being seen with her every
day? What would my friends say?
But I could tell this was really important to her. The
simple fact that she'd asked made that clear. Jamie never
asked anyone for a favor. I think deep down she suspected
that no one would ever do her a favor because of who she was.
The very realization made me sad.
"What about Jeff Bangert? He might do it," I offered.
Jamie shook her head. "He can't. His father's sick, and he
has to work in the store after school until his father gets
back on his feet."
"What about Darren Woods?"
"He broke his arm last week when he slipped on the boat.
His arm is in a sling."
"Really? I didn't know that," I said, stalling, but Jamie
knew what I was doing.
"I've been praying about it, Landon," she said simply, and
sighed for the second time. "I'd really like this play to be
special this year, not for me, but because of my father. I
want it to be the best production ever. I know how much it
will mean to him to see me be the angel, because this play
reminds him of my mother. . . ." She paused, collecting her
thoughts. "It would be terrible if the play was a failure
this year, especially since I'm involved."
She stopped again before going on, her voice becoming more
emotional as she went on.
"I know Eddie would do the best he could, I really do. And
I'm not embarrassed to do the play with him, I'm really not.
Actually, he's a very nice person, but he told me that he's
having second thoughts about doing it. Sometimes people at
school can be so . . . so . . . cruel, and I don't want Eddie
to be hurt. But . . ." She took a deep breath, "but the real
reason I'm asking is because of my father. He's such a good
man, Landon. If people make fun of his memory of my mother
while I'm playing the part . . . well, that would break my
heart. And with Eddie and me . . . you know what people would
say."
I nodded, my lips pressed together, knowing that I would
have been one of those people she was talking about. In fact,
I already was. Jamie and Eddie, the dynamic duo, we called
them after Miss Garber had announced that they'd be the ones
doing the roles. The very fact that it was I who had started
it up made me feel terrible, almost sick to my stomach.
She straightened up a little in her seat and looked at me
sadly, as if she already knew I was going to say no. I guess
she didn't know how I was feeling. She went on.
"I know that challenges are always part of the Lord's
plan, but I don't want to believe that the Lord is cruel,
especially to someone like my father. He devotes his life to
God, he gives to the community. And he's already lost his
wife and has had to raise me on his own. And I love him so
much for it. . . ."
Jamie turned away, but I could see the tears in her eyes.
It was the first time I'd ever seen her cry. I think part of
me wanted to cry, too.
"I'm not asking you to do it for me," she said softly,
"I'm really not, and if you say no, I'll still pray for you.
I promise. But if you'd like to do something kind for a
wonderful man who means so much to me . . . Will you just
think about it?"
Her eyes looked like those of a cocker spaniel that had
just messed on the rug. I looked down at my feet.
"I don't have to think about it," I finally said. "I'll do
it."
I really didn't have a choice, did I?

Chapter 5
The next day I talked to Miss Garber, went through the
audition, and got the part. Eddie, by the way, wasn't upset
at all. In fact, I could tell he was actually relieved about
the whole thing. When Miss Garber asked him if he'd be
willing to let me play the role of Tom Thornton, his face
sort of relaxed right there and one of his eyes popped back
open. "Y-y-yes, a-a-absolutely," he said, stuttering. "I-I-I
un-un-understand." It took him practically ten seconds to get
the words out.
For his generosity, however, Miss Garber gave him the role
of the bum, and we knew he'd do fairly well in that role. The
bum, you see, was completely mute, but the angel always knew
what he was thinking. At one point in the play she has to
tell the mute bum that God will always watch out for him
because God especially cares for the poor and downtrodden.
That was one of the tip-offs to the audience that she'd been
sent from heaven. Like I said earlier, Hegbert wanted it to
be real clear who offered redemption and salvation, and it
certainly wasn't going to be a few rickety ghosts who just
popped up out of nowhere.
Rehearsals started the next week, and we rehearsed in the
classroom, because the Playhouse wouldn't open their doors
for us until we'd got all the "little bugs" out of our
performance. By little bugs, I mean our tendency to
accidentally knock over the props. The props had been made
about fifteen years ago, when the play was in its first year,
by Toby Bush, a sort of roving handyman who had done a few
projects for the Playhouse in the past. He was a roving
handyman because he drank beer all day long while he worked,
and by about two o'clock or so he'd really be flying. I guess
he couldn't see straight, because he'd accidentally whack his
fingers with the hammer at least once a day. Whenever that
happened, he'd throw down the hammer and jump up and down,
holding his fingers, cursing everyone from his mother to the
devil. When he finally calmed down, he'd have another beer to
soothe the pain before going back to work. His knuckles were
the size of walnuts, permanently swollen from years of
whacking, and no one was willing to hire him on a permanent
basis. The only reason Hegbert had hired him at all was
because he was far and away the lowest bidder in town.
But Hegbert wouldn't allow drinking or cursing, and Toby
really didn't know how to work within such a strict
environment. As a result, the work was kind of sloppy, though
it wasn't obvious right off the bat. After a few years the
props began to fall apart, and Hegbert took it upon himself
to keep the things together. But while Hegbert was good at
thumping the Bible, he wasn't too good at thumping nails, and
the props had bent, rusty nails sticking out all over, poking
through the plywood in so many places that we had to be
careful to walk exactly where we were supposed to. If we
bumped them the wrong way, we'd either cut ourselves or the
props would topple over, making little nail holes all over
the stage floor. After a couple of years the Playhouse stage
had to be resurfaced, and though they couldn't exactly close
their doors to Hegbert, they made a deal with him to be more
careful in the future. That meant we had to practice in the
classroom until we'd worked out the "little bugs."
Fortunately Hegbert wasn't involved with the actual
production of the play, because of all his ministering
duties. That role fell to Miss Garber, and the first thing
she told us to do was to memorize our lines as quickly as
possible. We didn't have as much time as was usually allotted
for rehearsals because Thanksgiving came on the last possible
day in November, and Hegbert didn't want the play to be
performed too close to Christmas, so as not to interfere with
"its true meaning." That left us only three weeks to get the
play just right, which was about a week shorter than usual.
The rehearsals began at three o'clock, and Jamie knew all
her lines the first day there, which wasn't really
surprising. What was surprising was that she knew all my
lines, too, as well as everyone else's. We'd be going over a
scene, she'd be doing it without the script, and I'd be
looking down at a stack of pages, trying to figure out what
my next line should be, and whenever I looked up she had this
real shiny look about her, as if waiting for a burning bush
or something. The only lines I knew were the mute bum's, at
least on that first day, and all of a sudden I was actually
envious of Eddie, at least in that regard. This was going to
be a lot of work, not exactly what I'd expected when I'd
signed up for the class.
My noble feelings about doing the play had worn off by the
second day of rehearsals. Even though I knew I was doing the
"right thing," my friends didn't understand it at all, and
they'd been riding me since they'd found out. "You're doing
what?" Eric asked when he learned about it. "You're doing the
play with Jamie Sullivan? Are you insane or just plain
stupid?" I sort of mumbled that I had a good reason, but he
wouldn't let it drop, and he told everyone around us that I
had a crush on her. I denied it, of course, which just made
them assume it was true, and they'd laugh all the louder and
tell the next person they saw. The stories kept getting
wilder, too-by lunchtime I'd heard from Sally that I was
thinking of getting engaged. I actually think Sally was
jealous about it. She'd had a crush on me for years, and the
feeling might have been mutual except for the fact that she
had a glass eye, and that was something I just couldn't
ignore. Her bad eye reminded me of something you'd see
stuffed into the head of a mounted owl in a tacky antique
shop, and to be honest, it sort of gave me the willies.
I guess that was when I started to resent Jamie again. I
know it wasn't her fault, but I was the one who was taking
the arrows for Hegbert, who hadn't exactly gone out of his
way the night of homecoming to make me feel welcome. I began
to stumble through my lines in class for the next few days,
not really even attempting to learn them, and occasionally
I'd crack a joke or two, which everyone laughed at, except
for Jamie and Miss Garber. After rehearsal was over I'd head
home to put the play out of my mind, and I wouldn't even
bother to pick up the script. Instead I'd joke with my
friends about the weird things Jamie did and tell fibs about
how it was Miss Garber who had forced me into the whole
thing.
Jamie, though, wasn't going to let me off that easy. No,
she got me right where it hurts, right smack in the old ego.
I was out with Eric on Saturday night following Beaufort's
third consecutive state championship in football, about a
week after rehearsals had started. We were hanging out at the
waterfront outside of Cecil's Diner, eating hushpuppies and
watching people cruising in their cars, when I saw Jamie
walking down the street. She was still a hundred yards away,
turning her head from side to side, wearing that old brown
sweater again and carrying her Bible in one hand. It must
have been nine o'clock or so, which was late for her to be
out, and it was even stranger to see her in this part of
town. I turned my back to her and pulled the collar up on my
jacket, but even Margaret-who had banana pudding where her
brain should have been-was smart enough to figure out who she
was looking for.
"Landon, your girlfriend is here."
"She's not my girlfriend," I said. "I don't have a
girlfriend."
"Your fiancée, then."
I guess she'd talked to Sally, too.
"I'm not engaged," I said. "Now knock it off."
I glanced over my shoulder to see if she'd spotted me, and
I guess she had. She was walking toward us. I pretended not
to notice.
"Here she comes," Margaret said, and giggled.
"I know," I said.
Twenty seconds later she said it again.
"She's still coming." I told you she was quick.
"I know," I said through gritted teeth. If it wasn't for
her legs, she could almost drive you as crazy as Jamie.
I glanced around again, and this time Jamie knew I'd seen
her and she smiled and waved at me. I turned away, and a
moment later she was standing right beside me.
"Hello, Landon," she said to me, oblivious of my scorn.
"Hello, Eric, Margaret . . ." She went around the group.
Everyone sort of mumbled "hello" and tried not to stare at
the Bible.
Eric was holding a beer, and he moved it behind his back
so she wouldn't see it. Jamie could even make Eric feel
guilty if she was close enough to him. They'd been neighbors
at one time, and Eric had been on the receiving end of her
talks before. Behind her back he called her "the Salvation
Lady," in obvious reference to the Salvation Army. "She would
have been a brigadier general," he liked to say. But when she
was standing right in front of him, it was another story. In
his mind she had an in with God, and he didn't want to be in
her bad graces.
"How are you doing, Eric? I haven't seen you around much
recently." She said this as if she still talked to him all
the time.
He shifted from one foot to the other and looked at his
shoes, playing that guilty look for all it was worth.
"Well, I haven't been to church lately," he said.
Jamie smiled that glittery smile. "Well, that's okay, I
suppose, as long as it doesn't become a habit or anything."
"It won't."
Now I've heard of confession-that thing when Catholics sit
behind a screen and tell the priest about all their sins-and
that's the way Eric was when he was next to Jamie. For a
second I thought he was going to call her "ma'am."
"You want a beer?" Margaret asked. I think she was trying
to be funny, but no one laughed.
Jamie put her hand to her hair, tugging gently at her bun.
"Oh . . . no, not really . . . thank you, though."
She looked directly at me with a really sweet glow, and
right away I knew I was in trouble. I thought she was going
to ask me off to the side or something, which to be honest I
thought would turn out better, but I guess that wasn't in her
plans.
"Well, you did really well this week at rehearsals," she
said to me. "I know you've got a lot of lines to learn, but
I'm sure you're going to get them all real soon. And I just
wanted to thank you for volunteering like you did. You're a
real gentleman."
"Thanks," I said, a little knot forming in my stomach. I
tried to be cool, but all my friends were looking right at
me, suddenly wondering if I'd been telling them the truth
about Miss Garber forcing it on me and everything. I hoped
they missed it.
"Your friends should be proud of you," Jamie added,
putting that thought to rest.
"Oh, we are," Eric said, pouncing. "Very proud. He's a
good guy, that Landon, what with his volunteering and all."
Oh no.
Jamie smiled at him, then turned back to me again, her old
cheerful self. "I also wanted to tell you that if you need
any help, you can come by anytime. We can sit on the porch
like we did before and go over your lines if you need to."
I saw Eric mouth the words "like we did before" to
Margaret. This really wasn't going well at all. By now the
pit in my stomach was as big as Paul Bunyan's bowling ball.
"That's okay," I mumbled, wondering how I could squirm my
way out of this. "I can learn them at home."
"Well, sometimes it helps if someone's there to read with
you, Landon," Eric offered.
I told you he'd stick it to me, even though he was my
friend.
"No, really," I said to him, "I'll learn the lines on my
own."
"Maybe," Eric said, smiling, "you two should practice in
front of the orphans, once you've got it down a little
better. Sort of a dress rehearsal, you know? I'm sure they'd
love to see it."
You could practically see Jamie's mind start clicking at
the mention of the word orphans. Everyone knew what her hot
button was. "Do you think so?" she asked.
Eric nodded seriously. "I'm sure of it. Landon was the one
who thought of it first, but I know that if I was an orphan,
I'd love something like that, even if it wasn't exactly the
real thing."
"Me too," Margaret chimed in.
As they spoke, the only thing I could think about was that
scene from Julius Caesar where Brutus stabs him in the back.
Et tu, Eric?
"It was Landon's idea?" she asked, furrowing her brow. She
looked at me, and I could tell she was still mulling it over.
But Eric wasn't about to let me off the hook that easy.
Now that he had me flopping on the deck, the only thing left
to do was gut me. "You'd like to do that, wouldn't you,
Landon?" he said. "Helping the orphans, I mean."
It wasn't exactly something you could answer no to, was
it?
"I reckon so," I said under my breath, staring at my best
friend. Eric, despite the remedial classes he was in, would
have been one hell of a chess player.
"Good, then, it's all settled. That's if it's okay with
you, Jamie." His smile was so sweet, it could have flavored
half the RC cola in the county.
"Well . . . yes, I suppose I'll have to talk to Miss
Garber and the director of the orphanage, but if they say
it's okay, I think it would be a fine idea."
And the thing was, you could tell she was really happy
about it.
Checkmate.
The next day I spent fourteen hours memorizing my lines,
cursing my friends, and wondering how my life had spun so out
of control. My senior year certainly wasn't turning out the
way I thought it would when it began, but if I had to perform
for a bunch of orphans, I certainly didn't want to look like
an idiot.

Chapter 6
The first thing we did was talk to Miss Garber about our
plans for the orphans, and she thought it was a marvelous
idea. That was her favorite word, by the way-marvelous-after
she'd greeted you with "Hellooooo." On Monday, when she
realized that I knew all my lines, she said, "Marvelous!" and
for the next two hours whenever I'd finish up a scene, she'd
say it again. By the end of the rehearsal, I'd heard it about
four zillion times.
But Miss Garber actually went our idea one better. She
told the class what we were doing, and she asked if other
members of the cast would be willing to do their parts as
well, so that the orphans could really enjoy the whole thing.
The way she asked meant that they really didn't have a
choice, and she looked around the class, waiting for someone
to nod so she could make it official. No one moved a muscle,
except for Eddie. Somehow he'd inhaled a bug up his nose at
that exact moment, and he sneezed violently. The bug flew out
his nose, shot across his desk, and landed on the floor right
by Norma Jean's leg. She jumped out of her chair and screamed
out loud, and the people on either side of her shouted, "Eww
. . . gross!" The rest of the class started looking around
and craning their necks, trying to see what happened, and for
the next ten seconds there was total pandemonium in the
classroom. For Miss Garber, that was as good of an answer as
she needed.
"Marvelous," she said, closing the discussion.
Jamie, meanwhile, was getting really excited about
performing for the orphans. During a break in rehearsals she
pulled me aside and thanked me for thinking of them. "There's
no way you would know," she said almost conspiratorially,
"but I've been wondering what to do for the orphanage this
year. I've been praying about it for months now because I
want this Christmas to be the most special one of all."
"Why is this Christmas so important?" I asked her, and she
smiled patiently, as if I'd asked a question that didn't
really matter.
"It just is," she said simply.
The next step was to talk it over with Mr. Jenkins, the
director of the orphanage. Now I'd never met Mr. Jenkins
before, being that the orphanage was in Morehead City, which
was across the bridge from Beaufort, and I'd never had any
reason to go there. When Jamie surprised me with the news the
following day that we'd be meeting him later that evening, I
was sort of worried that I wasn't dressed nice enough. I know
it was an orphanage, but a guy wants to make a good
impression. Even though I wasn't as excited about it as Jamie
was (no one was as excited as Jamie), I didn't want to be
regarded as the Grinch who ruined Christmas for the orphans,
either.
Before we went to the orphanage for our meeting, we had to
walk to my house to pick up my mom's car, and while there, I
planned on changing into something a little nicer. The walk
took about ten minutes or so, and Jamie didn't say much along
the way, at least until we got to my neighborhood. The homes
around mine were all large and well kept, and she asked who
lived where and how old the houses were. I answered her
questions without much thought, but when I opened the front
door to my house, I suddenly realized how different this
world was compared with her own. She had a shocked expression
on her face as she looked around the living room, taking in
her surroundings.
No doubt it was the fanciest home she'd ever been in. A
moment later I saw her eyes travel to the paintings that
lined the walls. My ancestors, so to speak. As with many
southern families, my entire lineage could be traced in the
dozen faces that lined the walls. She stared at them, looking
for a resemblance, I think, then turned her attention to the
furnishings, which still looked practically new, even after
twenty years. The furniture had been handmade, assembled or
carved from mahogany and cherry, and designed specifically
for each room. It was nice, I had to admit, but it wasn't
something I really thought about. To me, it was just a house.
My favorite part of it was the window in my room that led to
the porch on the upper level. That was my escape hatch.
I showed her around, though, giving her a quick tour of
the sitting room, the library, the den, and the family room,
Jamie's eyes growing wider with each new room. My mom was out
on the sun porch, sipping a mint julep and reading, and heard
us poking around. She came back inside to say hello.
I think I told you that every adult in town adored Jamie,
and that included my mom. Even though Hegbert was always
giving the kinds of sermons that had our family's name
written all over them, my mom never held it against Jamie,
because of how sweet she was. So they talked while I was
upstairs rifling through my closet for a clean shirt and a
tie.
Back then boys wore ties a lot, especially when they were
meeting someone in a position of authority. When I came back
down the stairs fully dressed, Jamie had already told my mom
about the plan.
"It's a wonderful idea," Jamie said, beaming at me.
"Landon's really got a special heart."
My mom-after making sure she'd heard Jamie correctly-faced
me with her eyebrows raised. She stared at me like I was an
alien.
"So this was your idea?" my mom asked. Like everyone else
in town, she knew Jamie didn't lie.
I cleared my throat, thinking of Eric and what I still
wanted to do to him. It involved molasses and fire ants, by
the way.
"Kind of," I said.
"Amazing." It was the only word she could get out. She
didn't know the details, but she knew I must have been boxed
into a corner to do something like this. Mothers always know
stuff like that, and I could see her peering closely at me
and trying to figure it out. To escape her inquisitive gaze,
I checked my watch, feigned surprise, and casually mentioned
to Jamie that we'd better be going. My mom got the car keys
from her pocketbook and handed them to me, still giving me
the once-over as we headed out the door. I breathed a sigh of
relief, imagining that I'd somehow gotten away with
something, but as I walked Jamie to the car, I heard my
mother's voice again.
"Come on over anytime, Jamie!" my mom shouted. "You're
always welcome here."
Even mothers could stick it to you sometimes.
I was still shaking my head as I got in the car.
"Your mother's a wonderful lady," Jamie said.
I started the engine. "Yeah," I said, "I guess so."
"And your house is beautiful."
"Uh-huh."
"You should count your blessings."
"Oh," I said, "I do. I'm practically the luckiest guy
alive."
Somehow she didn't catch the sarcastic tone of my voice.
We got to the orphanage just about the time it was getting
dark. We were a couple of minutes early, and the director was
on the phone. It was an important call and he couldn't meet
with us right away, so we made ourselves comfortable. We were
waiting on a bench in the hallway outside his door, when
Jamie turned to me. Her Bible was in her lap. I guess she
wanted it for support, but then again, maybe it was just her
habit.
"You did really well today," she said. "With your lines, I
mean."
"Thanks," I said, feeling proud and dejected at exactly
the same time. "I still haven't learned my beats, though," I
offered. There was no way we could practice those on the
porch, and I hoped she wasn't going to suggest it.
"You will. They're easy once you know you all the words."
"I hope so."
Jamie smiled, and after a moment she changed the subject,
sort of throwing me off track. "Do you ever think about the
future, Landon?" she asked.
I was startled by her question because it sounded . . . so
ordinary.
"Yeah, sure. I guess so," I answered cautiously.
"Well, what do you want to do with your life?"
I shrugged, a little wary of where she was going with
this. "I don't know yet. I haven't figured that part out. I'm
going to UNC next fall, at least I hope so. I have to get
accepted first."
"You will," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Because I've prayed for that, too."
When she said it, I thought we were heading into a
discussion about the power of prayer and faith, but Jamie
tossed yet another curveball at me.
"How about after college? What do you want to do then?"
"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I'll be a
one-armed lumberjack."
She didn't think it was funny.
"I think you should become a minister," she said
seriously. "I think you're good with people, and they'd
respect what you have to say."
Though the concept was absolutely ridiculous, with her I
just knew it came from the heart and she intended it as a
compliment.
"Thanks," I said. "I don't know if I'll do that, but I'm
sure I'll find something." It took a moment for me to realize
that the conversation had stalled and that it was my turn to
ask a question.
"How about you? What do you want to do in the future?"
Jamie turned away and got a far-off gaze in her eyes,
making me wonder what she was thinking, but it vanished
almost as quickly as it came.
"I want to get married," she said quietly. "And when I do,
I want my father to walk me down the aisle and I want
everyone I know to be there. I want the church bursting with
people."
"That's all?" Though I wasn't averse to the idea of
marriage, it seemed kind of silly to hope for that as your
life's goal.
"Yes," she said. "That's all I want."
The way she answered made me suspect that she thought
she'd end up like Miss Garber. I tried to make her feel
better, even though it still seemed silly to me.
"Well, you'll get married someday. You'll meet some guy
and the two of you will hit it off, and he'll ask you to
marry him. And I'm sure that your father will be happy to
walk you down the aisle."
I didn't mention the part about having a big crowd in the
church. I guess it was the one thing that even I couldn't
imagine.
Jamie thought carefully about my answer, really pondering
the way I said it, though I didn't know why.
"I hope so," she said finally.
I could tell she didn't want to talk about it anymore,
don't ask me how, so I moved on to something new.
"So how long have you been coming to the orphanage?" I
asked conversationally.
"Seven years now. I was ten years old the first time I
came. I was younger than a lot of the kids here."
"Do you enjoy it, or does it make you sad?"
"Both. Some of the children here came from really horrible
situations. It's enough to break your heart when you hear
about it. But when they see you come in with some books from
the library or a new game to play, their smiles just take all
the sadness away. It's the greatest feeling in the world."
She practically glowed when she spoke. Though she wasn't
saying it to make me feel guilty, that was exactly the way I
felt. It was one of the reasons it was so hard to put up with
her, but by then I was getting fairly used to it. She could
twist you every way but normal, I'd come to learn.
At that moment, Mr. Jenkins opened the door and invited us
in. The office looked almost like a hospital room, with
black-and-white tiled floors, white walls and ceilings, a
metal cabinet against the wall. Where the bed would normally
have been, there was a metal desk that looked like it had
been stamped off the assembly line. It was almost
neurotically clean of anything personal. There wasn't a
single picture or anything.
Jamie introduced me, and I shook Mr. Jenkins's hand. After
we sat down, Jamie did most of the talking. They were old
friends, you could see that right off, and Mr. Jenkins had
given her a big hug as soon as she'd entered. After smoothing
out her skirt, Jamie explained our plan. Now, Mr. Jenkins had
seen the play a few years back, and he knew exactly what she
was talking about almost as soon as she started. But even
though Mr. Jenkins liked Jamie a lot and knew she meant well,
he didn't think it was a good idea.
"I don't think it's a good idea," he said.
That's how I knew what he was thinking.
"Why not?" Jamie asked, her brow furrowed. She seemed
genuinely perplexed by his lack of enthusiasm.
Mr. Jenkins picked up a pencil and started tapping it on
his desk, obviously thinking about how to explain himself. In
time, he put down the pencil and sighed.
"Even though it's a wonderful offer and I know you'd like
to do something special, the play is about a father who
eventually comes to realize how much he loves his daughter."
He let that sink in for a moment and picked up the pencil
again. "Christmas is hard enough around here without
reminding the kids of what they're missing. I think that if
the children see something like that . . ."
He didn't even have to finish. Jamie put her hands to her
mouth. "Oh my," she said right away, "you're right. I hadn't
thought about that."
Neither had I, to tell you the truth. But it was obvious
right off the bat that Mr. Jenkins made sense.
He thanked us anyway and chatted for a while about what he
planned to do instead.
"We'll have a small tree and a few gifts-something that
all of them can share. "You're welcome to visit Christmas
Eve. . . ."
After we said our good-byes, Jamie and I walked in silence
without saying anything. I could tell she was sad. The more I
hung around Jamie, the more I realized she had lots of
different emotions-she wasn't always cheerful and happy.
Believe it or not, that was the first time I recognized that
in some ways she was just like the rest of us.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out," I said softly.
"I am, too."
She had that faraway look in her eyes again, and it was a
moment before she went on.
"I just wanted to do something different for them this
year. Something special that they would remember forever. I
thought for sure this was it. . . ." She sighed. "The Lord
seems to have a plan that I just don't know about yet."
She was quiet for a long time, and I looked at her. Seeing
Jamie feeling bad was almost worse than feeling bad because
of her. Unlike Jamie, I deserved to feel bad about myself-I
knew what kind of person I was. But with her . . .
"While we're here, do you want to stop in to see the
kids?" I asked into the silence. It was the only thing I
could think to do that might make her feel better. "I could
wait out here while you talk to them, or go to the car if you
want."
"Would you visit them with me?" she asked suddenly.
To be honest, I wasn't sure I could handle it, but I knew
she really wanted me there. And she was feeling so down that
the words came out automatically.
"Sure, I'll go."
"They'll be in the rec room now. That's where they usually
are at this time," she said.
We walked down the corridors to the end of the hall, where
two doors opened into a good-size room. Perched in the far
corner was a small television with about thirty metal folding
chairs placed all around it. The kids were sitting in the
chairs, crowded around it, and you could tell that only the
ones in the front row had a good view of the thing.
I glanced around. In the corner was an old Ping-Pong
table. The surface was cracked and dusty, the net nowhere to
be seen. A couple of empty Styrofoam cups sat on top of it,
and I knew it hadn't been used in months, maybe years. Along
the wall next to the Ping-Pong table were a set of shelves,
with a few toys here and there-blocks and puzzles, a couple
of games. There weren't too many, and the few that were there
looked as if they'd been in this room for a long time. Along
the near walls were small individual desks piled with
newspapers, scribbled on with crayons.
We stood in the doorway for just a second. We hadn't been
noticed yet, and I asked what the newspapers were for.
"They don't have coloring books," she whispered, "so they
use newspapers." She didn't look at me as she spoke-instead
her attention was directed at the kids. She'd begun to smile
again.
"Are these all the toys they have?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yes, except for the stuffed animals. They're
allowed to keep those in their rooms. This is where the rest
of the things are kept."
I guess she was used to it. To me, though, the sparseness
of the room made the whole thing depressing. I couldn't
imagine growing up in a place like this.
Jamie and I finally walked into the room, and one of the
kids turned around at the sound of our steps. He was about
eight or so, with red hair and freckles, his two front teeth
missing.
"Jamie!" he shouted happily when he saw her, and all of a
sudden all the other heads turned. The kids ranged in age
from about five to twelve, more boys than girls. After twelve
they had to be sent to live with foster parents, I later
learned.
"Hey, Roger," Jamie said in response, "how are you?"
With that, Roger and some of the others began to crowd
around us. A few of the other kids ignored us and moved
closer to the television now that there were free seats in
the front row. Jamie introduced me to one of the older kids
who'd come up and asked if I was her boyfriend. By his tone,
I think that he had the same opinion of Jamie that most of
the kids in our high school had.
"He's just a friend," she said. "But he's very nice."
Over the next hour, we visited with the children. I got a
lot of questions about where I lived and whether my house was
big or what kind of car I owned, and when we finally had to
leave, Jamie promised that she'd be back soon. I noticed that
she didn't promise I would be with her.
While we were walking back to the car, I said, "They're a
nice bunch of kids." I shrugged awkwardly. "I'm glad that you
want to help them."
Jamie turned to me and smiled. She knew there wasn't much
to add after that, but I could tell she was still wondering
what she was going to do for them that Christmas.