Michael Koryta - The Prophet

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ve never understood why you were with him, so I guess it’s reasonable that I don’t understand why you won’t leave him.”

“I was with him,” she said, “because when he told me he loved me, he meant it. And you know what, Adam? Back then, it felt like something. It felt like enough.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m…” she stopped, shook her head again, and waved her arm around at the house, and him. “Now I’m this. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“For you not to have to ask that damn question, Adam.”

“Huh?”

She shook her head. “Forget it.”

“No. What?”

“You just do what you want. I’m curious to know what it will be. Have been for a while.”

“Meaning?”

“You want me to be with him, Adam? With Travis?”

“Of course not. It is what it is. I deal.”

“You deal.”

He nodded.

“If you don’t want me to be with him,” she said, “why not ask me to leave?”

I believe my trouble and your trouble shook hands, Brian Fallon sang, and Adam snapped off the music.

“That’s not my decision, Chelsea. You married him. You want to leave him? Then do it. You haven’t so far.”

“And you haven’t asked.”

“I’m supposed to, what, propose divorce? You want me down on one knee? Do I take the ring off your finger, is that the tradition?”

“Forget it, Adam.”

He started to argue. Started to say that, no, he wouldn’t forget it, they needed to finish this conversation, needed to understand each other, needed to finally put into words all the things that should have been said long ago but never were.

Instead, though, he let her go.

28

GHOSTS AND GOSSIP FLOATED like vapors around Kent on Monday. He heard the names—Rachel, Adam, Marie—in flickering whispers and then they were gone as he turned to face the source, everyone looking away or offering awkward encouragement: Hang in there, Coach.

He was used to attracting attention from the students as he passed through the halls, those who were impressed by him or those who wanted to impress peers by showing their contempt for the football coach. Today was different, though. The teachers almost as bad as the kids. Several who had expressed no interest in the team before stopped him to talk about the upcoming game. Others who usually would have settled instead for quick nods and averted eyes.

That afternoon he left a message for Dan Grissom, the minister who had joined him on the speaking visit that included Clayton Sipes, asking for a call back. It came quickly.

“I’m trying to verify my own memory, Dan,” Kent said.

“What does that mean?”

“Do you remember my encounter with Clayton Sipes this summer?”

“I do,” Dan said, low-voiced, steady, the way he always was.

Kent closed his eyes and said, “Did I taunt that man, Dan?”

“ Taunt him?”

“Yes. He was… challenging me. And I’m just trying to remember what I said. I can remember it all fine from my perspective, but I need yours. I need some objectivity.”

“You didn’t taunt him,” Dan said. “I would not use that word, no.”

“Well, what word would you use? I know that you told me to be careful with him. I remember you saying that, it’s vivid, because you’d never said that about anyone else before.”

“Yes. That’s true.”

“Why did you with Sipes, then?”

“I didn’t like the way your exchange went.”

“On which end?”

“Both. He was disturbing. I won’t deny that; I’d been around him before and he’d exhibited the same behavior then. But with you… he, well, I’d say he got a little more intense.”

“I used the same word today with the police. When you told me to be careful, though, I had the sense that you thought I’d already made a mistake. I’m looking for honesty, Dan. This guy may have killed a girl, and he may have sent me a letter about it. Don’t worry about my feelings. Tell me the truth.”

“I thought you’d made a mistake, yes.”

Kent nodded as if Dan could see him.

“But I thought you made a mistake as a minister, as a witness, not in any sort of dangerous way. When I told you to be careful with him, I meant that your response was too combative. It’s a fine line, what he asked you to tread, and I just thought… I thought it was indicative of a problem you might have in the future. You want to show firm faith, but quiet strength, I think. That’s a personal opinion. And with Clayton Sipes, you treated it more like…”

“Like what?” Kent prompted.

“I was looking for a better word, but what I was going to say was a trophy. You asked if you taunted him, and the answer is no. But you carried your faith like a chip on your shoulder. I don’t fault you for that. Responding to aggressive questioning about your faith is hard. I just saw no gain to the way you approached it with Clayton. You just held firm ground.”

“I should have yielded?”

“No. You should have engaged. Tried to find a better dialogue. These were the thoughts I had at the time, and they were relating to your ability to make an impact, Kent. That’s all. What you’re wanting to know now, I’m afraid, is whether you could have brought this down upon yourself in some way. Whether your response to Clayton Sipes that afternoon makes you responsible for something he might have done afterward. No, Kent. No. Don’t let your mind go down that road. It’s treacherous ground.”

“All right.”

“You’ve done good work,” Dan said. “Don’t lose sight of that. You’ve done good work.”

It was the same message Kent had for his team after every season-ending loss.

Rodney Bova was home when Adam dropped by, answered the door with a nervous expression and kept it cracked just enough for conversation.

“What’s the problem?” Bova said.

“I’m hoping there isn’t one.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because it’s my job. You’ve got a preliminary hearing this week. Going to make it?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Good,” Adam said. “I can’t afford to have anything go wrong. I’m crossways with the police myself right now, actually.”

“I saw that,” Bova said, and Adam watched him very carefully, looking for any sign that he’d been informed that his Mansfield connection was of interest in the Rachel Bond homicide investigation. There didn’t seem to be one. This was good. This was critical.

“Feeling your pain, in other words,” Adam said. “First time I’ve been in this situation. You doing all right otherwise? You need anything?”

“What I need is for my attorney to prove that somebody set me up.”

“Any luck with that?”

“Finding out who did it? No. Not yet.”

Adam gave that a thoughtful look, as if he were really brooding over the problem, and leaned against the wall, gazing up the street.

“Issue is, why would someone have the desire to bring this kind of trouble to you? I mean, this thing, it’s not fooling around. A pretty serious takedown attempt. And for what?”

“I have no idea.”

“Regardless of whether you’ve got an idea, you’re going to have to create one, right? You can’t just sit back and plead for mercy, Rodney. The judge doesn’t listen to that sort of shit. What you need to do is put pressure on the prosecution. Create a sense of doubt. Then maybe they drop the charges. I’ve seen that happen a hundred times.”

Now Bova was interested. “How?” he said. He’d opened the door a little wider.

“Suspects, Rodney. Suspects. Who do you know who’s been in trouble? Who can you use to distract the police from yourself?”