Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lori
“I don’t know what I was expecting when I went into his office,” I told Sam, “but it wasn’t that. I’m actually kind of furious that he made me like him so much.”
I was seated at the front counter fidgeting idly with an empty napkin-holder. Sam had found me crying outside and led me back into the store. She now stood in the kitchen making me a strawberry and orange mango smoothie. Outside the sun was slowly setting, steeping the parking lot in a gray twilight.
My breathing was still shaky, and my hands trembled. I probably wouldn’t be over the shock of our conversation for another hour or more.
“I can almost understand why so many people like him now.” I raised my voice over the whirr of the blender. “He’s charming. He has a way of making you feel loved and cared for. And maybe it was just an illusion, but it felt utterly real at the moment.”
Sam murmured to let me know she was listening.
“He seemed to understand my ambitions—which is weird because we had never talked about them. He knew how important this job is to me, but it was more than that. It’s like he could sense my desperate longing for greatness, and he spoke to that.”
“It sounds like a lot of flattery, honestly,” said Sam. Placing the lid on my drink, she turned and handed it to me. “He’s using the same tricks on you that he uses on the rest of his followers. Now you can see why so many are susceptible to it.”
I sipped my drink eagerly, thinking. “You paint him in such sinister colors. And I get it; I was doing the same thing up until about an hour ago. But I’m beginning to wonder if maybe we’ve misjudged him.”
Sam froze where she stood and gave me a look of suspicion. “How?”
“I just mean, all we know about him is what we’ve seen on TV and read online. We’ve never actually attended one of his services. We’ve never talked to him face to face, until now. Maybe we’ve misjudged him.”
Sam grimaced uncertainly. “I don’t know about that, Lori. I’ve done some pretty extensive research on the guy, and he sounds shady. Plus, you’ve seen the effect he has on people like Alvin.”
“I think you could say the same about any politician or public figure.” I felt myself wanting to defend him. If the circumstances had been different—in another life, perhaps—we might have been friends. “I just feel so bad for every mean and terrible thing I’ve ever said about him.”
“He was that nice, huh?”
“He was genuinely kind. He took the time to listen, and he let me rant without throwing me out of his office. He even tried to encourage me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been starved for kindness in my life that an old man’s gesture of understanding reduced me to tears. I don’t know. I just know that I walked into that office prepared to do battle and walked out feeling like he had seen into my soul.”
“Wow, maybe I should go in there and talk to him,” said Sam.
“I’m serious, though. His beliefs might be weird and a bit off-the-wall, but after that conversation, I have no doubt that he’s sincere, and that he means well.”
“Huh.” I could tell Sam wanted to argue but didn’t think I was in the right emotional state. I had known her long enough now that I could tell by the look in her eyes what she was thinking, and she was thinking that in an hour or two, I would calm down and forget my strange new respect for Mr. Gustman.
“Anyway,” I said with a shrug, taking a sip of my drink, “it doesn’t solve any of our problems, but it made me feel a little better about losing our jobs. At least we’re not leaving the building in the hands of total monsters.”
“Was that ever true, though?” asked Sam. “Nobody’s a total monster. Even Hitler had his moments of humanity.”
I was still thinking of my response when I heard the roar of an engine. Peering through the window, Sam said, “Looks like your boyfriend is here, and—wow! He looks terrible!”
But before I could protest, Marshall came stomping in. It was hard to deny Sam’s assessment: a white bandage covered the back of his head, and dark rings surrounded both eyes. His face was the color of a plum that’s been out in the sun for too long and has started to spoil.
“Marshall?” I asked, as if not entirely sure it was him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, never better,” he said with fervor. He grabbed me by the wrists and pulled me close. “Listen, all your problems are over—all of them! Everything you were worried about, you can forget it.”
“What are you talking about?” I was beginning to feel nervous.
Sam regarded him warily from the other side of the counter. “Do you have a concussion?”
“I’m fine,” said Marshall. “Don’t worry about me. Listen: I’ve got the money, all of it.”
“What?” came two voices at once.
“How?” asked Sam.
Marshall smiled. “Mom decided she doesn’t need the barn rebuilt as much as she thought she did. She heard the bakery was in trouble, and she’s sending the money back. She asked me to give it to you. It’s yours, and you can do whatever you want with it. You can stay here, or you can relocate. It doesn’t matter. It’s your money!”
I was so surprised that for a moment, I stood there transfixed into silence. Then, not knowing what else to say, I threw my arms around him and drew him into a long hug.
“How am I ever, ever going to repay you for this?” I said low in his ear.
“Don’t even worry about it,” he said. His eyes gleamed in the half-light. “I can always make more money. I’m just thrilled that you’ll get to keep living your dream for a bit longer.”
I placed a hand on his chest, repressing a fierce urge to kiss him in front of my sister. I was practically dizzy with all the emotions of the last couple hours: first finding out that we were about to lose our jobs, then the shock and remorse of my visit with Pastor Gustman, and now this final surprise. It was all a bit much for a single day; it would have been a lot even spread out over a single week.
“Marshall,” said Sam, shaking her head fiercely, “your drinks are free until the end of time.”
“Seriously!” I exclaimed, placing a finger over his mouth when he began to protest. “I’d better not ever see you pulling out your wallet in this bakery. Whatever you want, it’s on the house.”
“Thanks,” said Marshall, smiling shyly. He seemed almost embarrassed by the warmth of our reception.
I reached up and brushed my hand against the back of his head. “Now are you ever going to tell us how this happened?”
He laughed. “I was actually planning on saving that story for dinner tomorrow night.” In a more serious tone, he added, “Would you like to go out for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Of course! What, did you think I was going to say no to that?”
“No, we’re a long way from me having to use card tricks to get you to go out with me,” said Marshall. “I’ll pick you up at your place, tomorrow at seven—but this time, you’re paying,” he added with a sly wink as he turned toward the door.
He was likely kidding, but there was no way I was letting him pay for our meal, not after what he had just done. He lingered in the doorway for a moment as though waiting to see if there was anything more to be said. There was much that I wanted to say, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.
“Well,” he said finally. “Good night.”
“Good night, Marshall.” That would have to do, for now. I followed him with my eyes as he crossed the darkening parking lot toward his truck.
“You’d better sex him good tomorrow night,” said Sam, and for once I didn’t argue.