Chapter Twenty-Three
Marshall
Sean leaned forward in the booth with a business-like air. A glass of lemon-water sat on the table in front of him. Every few minutes, he would take a sip before resuming his speech.
Removing his glasses from the pocket of his shirt, he said, “I suppose we should start with the bad news. Last night I combed every word of this contract, and it’s airtight. I can’t help but feel grudgingly impressed with whoever wrote it because it’s legal in all points.”
“What does that mean?” asked Sam, reaching for Lori’s hand.
“It means that as the new owners of the strip mall, they are entitled to that money,” said Sean. “If you don’t want to be evicted from the premises, I’m afraid you don’t have any choice but to pay them.”
Lori stared down at the table, looking dazed, while Sam smoldered with indignation. “I’m not paying them the money,” she said again and again. “I’m just not.”
“Do you know how much we could do with that money?” asked Lori. “We could buy a small house.”
“There are so many other things we could do with the money, besides giving it to that creepy church,” said Sam. “Not that it matters, because we don’t have it.”
“Do you have any way of getting the money?” asked Sean. There was a newly serious tone in his voice. “Maybe applying for a government loan? They love to help out small businesses.”
“We need the money by the end of this week!” Sam shouted. Under the circumstances, no one at the table seemed upset that she was raising her voice, though a woman sitting behind us glared in disapproval. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way we could raise that money in four weeks, let alone one. Barring a miracle, it looks like we’ll need to start seeking out new accommodations.”
“And you know,” said Lori, “maybe that’s not the worst thing.”
“Given who’s moving in next door, maybe not. But it’s a major hassle, and like you said, it feels like we only just started getting settled in. Now, whenever the bakery starts to prosper, I’m going to worry that we’re about to be booted from the premises and have to pitch tent elsewhere.”
“Especially given that SCHOP seems to be taking over more and more of the town,” said Lori.
Sean nodded. “She’s right about that: I did some research last night, and it seems they’ve recently bought the old warehouse on Fifth Street with the intention of turning it into a ‘university’ for their college-aged members. Unaccredited, natch. And a second strip mall on the west end of town where they’re setting up what they call their ‘children’s training facilities.’”
“Are they raising up like a child army?” asked Sam, looking horrified. “You ought to research the legality of that. There has to be some kind of law against turning half the town into their private religious compound.”
At the word compound, Lori shuddered and turned pale.
“Unfortunately,” said Sean, “I can’t see that anything they’ve done is against the law. All their purchases and land acquisitions have been made legally, and the First Amendment protects the right of minority religious movements to practice their faith. Trying to shut the church down would be a massive violation of their constitutional rights. In the case of the Branch-Davidians, the government didn’t object to their beliefs as such but to the fact that they were stockpiling weapons, ostensibly for the purpose of launching a violent revolution.”
“I remember my parents telling me about that,” I said quietly. “Just up the road from where we lived, and it was all anybody could talk about. It was chaos.”
“Despite the rhetoric,” said Sean, “I don’t see any evidence that SCHOP is planning on overthrowing the U. S. government. They talk about leading a revolution, but it’s just talk. Or, if you press them about it, they’ll say it’s a spiritual revolution.”
“That’s not what they mean.” Sam shook her head in disgust. “I’ve seen him on TV talking about it. Everyone who’s not a part of his church is going to die.”
No one was feeling particularly hungry by the time our waiter came around to take our orders. I ordered a La Hacienda sampler of nachos, taquitos, and quesadillas, which I split with Lori, while Sean bought a ten-piece plate of Buffalo wings and Sam bought a Mr. Pibb.
“You sure you don’t want to eat anything?” asked Lori in a concerned tone. “I’m probably not going to finish eating all my taquitos if you want them.”
“I’m fine,” said Sam with a shake of her head. “I might make myself some quinoa when I get home.”
“I was just thinking,” said Lori, dipping a chip into the queso, “do you remember those Frank Peretti books we used to read when we were kids? This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness?”
“God, I haven’t thought about those books in forever! I used to think they were so good. Though, to be fair, the only other books I had read in that genre were Left Behind.”
“They were much better than Left Behind. Frank Peretti actually writes instead of just typing. I was just thinking this whole situation is starting to remind me of a Peretti book.”
“You mean how a weird cult is slowly taking over an entire town?” Sam replied. “And only two or three people seem to be paying attention, and everyone else is oblivious?”
“Did you ever read those books, Marsh?” Lori asked me.
“Yeah, we had a few of the kid’s books in our living room. I’d pick one up every now and again when I was bored and had nothing better to do. I remember really enjoying The Tomb of Anak or whatever. And The Door in the Demon’s Throat.”
“Dragon’s Throat,” said Sam with a faraway look. “It’s been ages.”
“Yeah, and do you remember Ted Dekker?” asked Lori. “I used to love him!”
“Dekker was actually legit. I feel like he deserved better than being shunted into the Christian fiction ghetto.”
We went on talking excitedly about VeggieTales and Steven Curtis Chapman and Adventures in Odyssey while we waited for our checks. Lori began to feel more at ease as she reminisced about what she called her “misspent youth,” though I could tell that the subject of the bakery wasn’t far from her mind. As we were walking out to her car, I paused and rested a reassuring hand on her arm.
“Listen, no matter what happens, we’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of that.”
Lori came forward and pulled me into a warm hug. It was the first time we had touched since our ill-fated date, and my body ached with the memory. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without your moral support over the past couple days. It means more to me than all the legal and financial help you’ve offered, just to know that you’re here and that you’re looking after me. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I’m really glad to have lost that bet. I won a good friend.”
I froze, wondering if she was trying to suggest that we were only friends. Sensing the tension in my body, Lori took a step back and stroked my arm. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s nothing—I’m just being an idiot, like always.”
“Well, you know you can tell me. You don’t have to keep everything hidden away.”
“I know,” I said tersely. “Thanks.”
But my chilly response only seemed to increase her sense of unease, and she bid me good night in front of Sam’s car, looking dissatisfied. I walked back into the restaurant wondering if anything in love could ever go right, or if we were both going to be unhappy forever.
I found Sean still sitting in the booth finishing the last of his Buffalo wings and drinking Sam’s Pibb, which she had given to him before she left.
“I know we’ve met a couple times,” he said, “but that’s the first time I’ve ever had the chance to sit down and have a real conversation with Lori.”
“And?”
“And she’s really intelligent. If you do end up together, you’re going to have your hands full keeping up with her. You might need to go back to school.”
“Well, we can worry about that later. In the meantime, I think there might be something we can do to help her and Sam. Do you mind if I come over tomorrow night?”
Sean shrugged. “I’m not doing anything. And it feels good to finally be putting my legal expertise to use.”
“You know if you wanted to, you could do this every day?”
“I suppose that’s true.” He sipped his Pibb thoughtfully. “But then think of all the music that might never exist. Can you imagine if Springsteen had gone into law?”