The First Ninety Days Ch. 06

"Cait, the thing lasts until like one in the morning," Jon said.

"And that's late for you," said Melinda, who routinely went to bed after Jon left for work.

Caitlyn drew him aside. "Jon, it'sfaith. I've been meaning to talk to you about it ever since we went to see Larry Pendleton, but we've been so busy. But now's as good a time as any. I think we need to spend some time developing your faith life."

"At twelve midnight," Jon said.

"It'sChristmas. Think about the meaning of that word.Christ's Mass. This is where our whole religionstarted, Jon. If you can't come to church on Christmas, what's the point?"

"It's not faith I have a problem with, it'sreligion," Jon said. "Churches have said some pretty stupid things over the years."

"It's hard to mess up Christmas," Caitlyn said. "Come on, Jon. I think it would be good for you."

What occurred to him, absurdly, was the blowjob.

It didn't have anything to do with Christmas, certainly; especially if you believed that Catholic dogma that the Virgin Mary never had sexual contact for her entire life (another thing Jon thought was stupid). What he remembered was the fear in Caitlyn's eyes, and the nervousness, and how she had gone on and done it anyway. What he remembered was how she had been willing to place his wants and needs above her own. What he remembered was how she had inconvenienced and maybe even endangered herself... Solely because she knew it would make him happy.

"Okay," said Jon. "Okay. But I warn you: it's late, and I'm tired. I'm not going to be able to engage as fully as I might have otherwise."

She kissed him on the cheek. "And I'm sure God will take that into account when He smiles down on you."

And that was how Jon found himself sitting in a hard wooden pew, crammed in (or so it felt) with about a thousand old ladies in winter wear that smelled alternately like mothballs or cat pee. He and Caitlyn seemed to be the only people there between the ages of 10 and 40, and the church waspacked.

Still, it was a pretty scene: the dais done up in garlands of evergreen with red bows, a life-size Nativity set in one corner, a Christmas tree in the other that must be almost as tall as the ceiling. Jon thought it nice, but Caitlyn seemed less impressed. "It's so gaudy," she said. "Like, I dunno, 'Look at us, we're faithful' or something. Haven't they heard that deeds speak louder than decorations?"

"If you don't like it, we could go somewhere else," said Mrs. Stanton, clearly disconcerted but intent on being obliging.

"Oh!" said Caitlyn, "no, no, I wasn't... It was just... It's not what I'm used to."

It wasn't what Jon was used to either. He had spent eight or nine years of his life here at this church, before his Catholic high school ended any thoughts or pretensions of religion in his life, and the preacher he remembered was much more of the fire-and-brimstone variety, an act he had alternately snored and choked over. Fortunately, that pastor had gone on to greener pastures (ones less denuded by fire and brimstone, probably), and his replacement was a much quieter man. He was balding and bespectacled, but still spry, and there was an air of kindness and wisdom about him—of godliness. And his message was one Jon did not remember hearing ever before in his life.

"When the decorations you see were proposed to me," he said, "they seemed a bit excessive, though still undoubtedly lovely. Which is not to say that we should not be thankful for our lovely and well-maintained church, because we should be. But we should also remember what Christ would have us do. The faith he called us to is not one of sitting quietly in pews in warmth and comfort and splendor. Christ would have us go out into the snow and minister to all his children. Christ would urge us, Go, go out, forget the comfort, forget the warmth and splendor. Those don't matter. What matters are the people out there who need your help.

"Christians have a bad reputation out in the world sometimes, and I can't say we're faultless. Within our walls hide many who use their holiness as a shield on their sins—or, even worse, a weapon with which to hurt others. They hide their sin behind Christmas trees... And sometimes, only a tree as large as ours will hide them. Well, there is nothing we can do about them, and they shall receive their comeuppance in the end—and I certainly have nothing against Christmas trees. This one is lovely, isn't it? But let us think of it, not just as a decoration, but as a reminder. What is it we might hide, behind the shield of our faith? What sins might we indulge in? And what are we doing here, here in our comfort and warmth and splendor?

"The Christmas tree should stay; it isus that should leave. Let us go out, and minister to those in need, and be such a beacon of love and light and peace and joy that those Christmas-tree Christians who would use our faith to hurt others are simplydrowned out. Let us be so loving that those false ones among us are rejected, not by ourselves, but by the others who come to see them for what they are.

"Christ taught us to love. To be kind, and patient, but above all to love. And I can think of no better birthday present to give him than to follow his example... From this world into the next."

Then he led the congregation in a rousing rendition ofHappy Birthday.

As they got ready for bed that night, Caitlyn said, "I think that was for us."

"What was? TheHappy Birthday?"

"No," she said. "The sermon."

Jon blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I think God was trying to tell us something," Caitlyn said. "I mean, look at what he talked about. The tree hiding sinners... The ones who use their faith against other people... That's my mother. And what did the pastor tell us? To go out, and love, and ignore them, and let our deeds speak for themselves and let their deeds speak for themselves, and let peoplesee. What he's saying is, If we love each other, and are good to each other as husband and wife, then... All this other stuff will work itself out. My mother will see. And... And she'll understand."

"No, no, wait, wait, wait," said Jon. "God... Is speaking... Tous."

"Yes," said Caitlyn, surprised. "Didn't you hear Him?"

"I heard a preacher, not God." He slid into bed next to her.

"I heard God speaking with a preacher's voice," said Caitlyn. "Didn't I tell you that God works through human hands?"

"Yes, but... God, speaking... Tous?"

Caitlyn frowned at him. "I thought Pastor Pendleton and I made more headway than this."

"You could have," Jon agreed, "but then we got distracted. And," he added, bending to kiss her, "I'm kind of getting distracted with you right now..."

She pushed him away, laughing. "That's not how we got distracted in the pastor's office."

"No, we started talking about your parents."

"Yes, and see how God just picked up where we left off with Him?"

"You're determined to see God in this, aren't you."

"If you're determined, you can see God in just aboutanything. Which is kind of the problem. George Bush saw God in making war on Iraq, and look what a fiascothat's been."

"So what if it's just coincidence," he asked.

"Where you see coincidence, I see God," she said. "And Jon... Look, your pastor could have preached onanything tonight. He could've talked about any million of things. But he didn't. He talked about sin, and hypocrisy, and how to defeat it. He talked about things that were directly relevant tous. God meant for us to hear those words, and to take counsel from them."

"Yes, but what about all the 998 other people in that room," Jon said.

"I don't know, maybe God had messages for them too," said Caitlyn. "But what they heard from Him doesn't matter. What matters is whatwe heard from Him, and what we decide to do about it."

Jon stifled a jaw-cracking yawn. Hewas getting distracted—but not by Caitlyn's body, sweet though it was. "Let's... Let's pick this up in the morning."

"Okay," said Caitlyn. "G'night."

"I love you."

He was going to kiss her, but he fell asleep halfway through it.

Day 17: Moving Day

Jon was awakened by the blazing trumpet of his cellphone. It was a number he didn't recognize—but on the clock was a number he did recognize, all too well; 9 AM. Way too early for Boxing Day. "Yeah umh hngh hello?"

"Hello?" said a disgustingly bright and chipper voice. "Is this Jon Stanford?"

"Mmm speaking."

"Jon, it's me, Christa!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's Boxing Day!"

"Oh. Oh, right."

"So, you forgot to tell us where you live. We're about an hour out right now, and we didn't want to get too lost. And we figured we'd better get there as early as possible to help you guys move."

"Mmmm right," said Jon. This whole conversation was moving a little too fast for his brain. He gave his address mechanically, and the person on the other end agreed to be there in an hour or so.

"Donwannageddup," Caitlyn murmured.

"Yeah," Jon agreed, sitting down on the bed.Who was that? Who's Christa? What did she mean about... —Oh!!! "Caitlyn! Caitlyn! That was the Cranes! They're on their way here right now!"

"Whuh?"

"We'removing today!"

"Whuh?" said Caitlyn. And then: "—Oh!!!"

They showered quickly, and Jon felt his sluggish brain beginning to catch up to speed. It was very late in the day, for a man who was used to rising at 6 AM, but Jon and Caitlyn had been invited to the Cassidy family Christmas dinner; Uncle Max and Aunt Velma and Lawrence and Heath had all been there, and Grandma and Grandpa Cassidy had hosted. Nothing was said as to the Delaneys and their presence or absence. Both Caitlyn and Jon had drunk a little too much—partially out of sheer nervous dread, partially out of sheer relief at the good company—and when they got home, the bed play had lasted several hours, their longest session by far, but quite a bit of which Jon did not actually remember. He didn't feel any worse for wear because of the wine, but he certainly feltslow.

He stepped out of the bathroom and surveyed his room. The place was a wreckage—some boxes sealed, others opened and half-packed, and some things (like his computer) not even dismantled yet. Suppressing a sigh, Jon reached for the nearest unsorted object.

When Caitlyn came out, she immediately pitched in, but after a moment she wandered over to the nightstand, where last night's crop of used condoms was resting. "Boy," she said, "we sure had fun last night, didn't we. How many times did we do it, anyway?"

"Umm... God, I don't remember... Three times, maybe?"

"Are you sure?"

He squinted back into the mists of dim memory. "Umm... Yeah, three times. 'cause, remember? I said, like,Third time's the charm, huh? And you said,If we need charms on our third try, then—"

"Jon, there's only two used condoms," said Caitlyn in a tight voice.

Then they dropped everything and went scouring around on the floor, behind the nightstand, under the bed, everywhere. They could find no trace of a third.

"Jesus," said Jon, mopping his face with his hands. "We just don't like contraception, do we."

"Jon..." said Caitlyn in a small voice. "The woman at the Planned Parenthood... She said the best time for a couple to have sex, if they want children, is a week before her period."

Jon saw where this was going. "Like now."

"Jon... What are we going todo?"

"First off... We have to get another morning-after pill. Second... We might have to break our lease, because that tiny apartment won't hold two people plus a baby..."

"No, we won't. The lease is up in June, remember? Even if I got pregnant right this second, the baby wouldn't be here until... August, maybe even September."

"Right, you're so right..."

"You're not thinking. Jon, I need you to be smarter than this. You should've known better than to go sticking that thing in me without a condom—"

"Me?? I was half-drunk.You were half-drunk. You didn't remember either! Who's supposed to be 'responsible for our bodies, ourselves'?"

She turned away from him. Suddenly, he felt absurdly guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's all right," she said. "It's not your fault. It's not my fault either. It was just an accident."

Jon grimaced. "One big fuck-all of an accident."

"Just... Good thing we didn't start doing thisbefore we got married, right? —I mean, imagine what it'd be like if we got marriedbecause I was pregnant."

Jon wondered about that. What would it have been like? Would it have happened at all? If Caitlyn had ever expressed interest in having sex with him, he would have tried to get her on The Pill in plenty of time to spare. How she would have hidden the pill packs from her mother, he had no idea.Maybe she would've found those instead. And then we'd be right back here, where we started—gunshot wedding, to make it impossible for them to keep us apart. Except we'd be a little ahead on The Pill schedule. Though, knowing our luck, probably not much more ahead.

Caitlyn was looking at him with an odd expression. "Whatwould you do if I were pregnant?"

Jon shrugged. "Marry you. And have the family we've always wanted to. Things would be tricky... But how is that any different from now?"

The smile on her face was like the sun.

When the doorbell rang, they hadn't gotten all that much more packed than when they'd started, and Jon realized with a guilty start that he might have forgotten to tell his parents of the impromptu plans. Sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Stanford looked a little startled at the advent of four college-age kids on their doorstep, all married and one with a babe at the breast, but they had gotten good at taking things in stride, and within moments Zach's easy charm and Christa's sunny disposition—not to mention little Laurelyn—had put them at ease, and they retired with the confidence that their son and daughter-in-law were in good hands.

"So," said Christa, rubbing her hands together. "How are we going to do this?"

"Well," said Jon, feeling acutely uncomfortable. "Most of my stuff is upstairs. It's, uh... We're not quite done packing yet."

"Of course not," said Zach, "no one ever is."

"Don't worry, we're good at this," said Christa, smiling. "We've had to move practically a household worth of stuff back and forth from Mount Hill to Greenfield every year."

"And who's fault is that," Zach asked her.

"Yours, Mr. I Can't Live Without My PlayStation," said Christa.

"Look who's talking, Mrs. I Can't Live Without My Hair-Dryer."

"And it's quite a hair-dryer," Meredith offered. "Once she shorted out the entire dorm with it."

Christa was quite red at this point. "Look, the point is, if you'll take us to where your stuff is, we'll start figuring out how to best load and pack it all."

Jon had finagled the use of his parents' minivan, and Brandon had a smallish SUV and Zach a pick-up truck fromhis parents, so there was plenty of room. The major problem was the actual packing. They weren't bringing a lot of Jon's furniture, just a desk and some chairs; and he had never needed much to sustain himself beyond a computer (both desktop and laptop for convenience), the Internet and some books. And of course he needed his clothes, his toiletries, things like that. He wasn't even takinghis PlayStation, though maybe he'd return for it one day. On Christa's orders he packed his underwear and socks in a laundry hamper and covered them with his towels; a second contained his computer and bathroom peripherals (packaged together because they weren't made of cloth), and a third his books (by far the heaviest). For his clothes, she poked holes in the bottoms of plastic trash bags and threaded the hanger loops through them, turning them into giant suit bags. The computer's monitor and tower were the only things that weren't packaged up somehow. And of course there were Caitlyn's two bags of clothes, plus assorted toiletries and harp paraphernalia, not to mention the lap Celtic and the full-size themselves. These were stowed carefully in the back of Jon's van.

While they were stripping the room in preparation for the move, Brandon held up something. "Hey, Jon, was there a reason this was in your pillowcase?" It was a used condom, half hanging out of its wrapper.

Jon and Caitlyn exchanged looks.

"Boy," Jon said, "we surewere half-drunk last night, weren't we?"

"You were," Brandon agreed. "Can I stop touching this now?"

When they were done and after Brandon's hand had been most thoroughly sanitized, most of Jon's things were still on the floor, and so the Cranes and Chamberses helped him sort them into "Throw Out," "Give Away" or "Try to Sell andThen Give Away" piles, with the very few "Keep"s remaining where they were. Quite a bit more ended up in the "Throw Out" and "Give Away" piles than Jon had anticipated, which he later attributed to the peer pressure of having his friends nearby.

"So, is that all you two are going to live on," Christa asked.

"No," said Jon, feeling a sinking dread in his gut. "There's a lot more at Caitlyn's place."

They lingered at the apartment unloading and setting up the few scant furnishings; the desk was placed in the bedroom, and it became clear that the Stanfords would need to buy some more furnishings (a dining table and chairs, a couch for the main room, perhaps a chest of drawers) and definitely some kitchen utensils and groceries. The harp was wedged very carefully in the corner, with fervent wishes for good sound-proofing in the walls. Jon's computer got into the Internet in a trice, much faster than any of them had anticipated, and he ceremonially read his new e-mail aloud before they went to lunch. The only message was a gibberish-laden offer to increase his penis size, which, subsequent to its oral recitation, was just-as-ceremonially deleted.

While they were eating, Caitlyn came to a realization, to judge by the hand she slapped to her forehead. "That reminds me, I wanted to talk to you about the conversation we had the other day. I wanted tofinish the conversation we had the other day."

Jon, who had been hoping she'd forget, said, "Oh."

"But we can't, now, not in company," said Caitlyn.

Jon, who had been hoping she'd feel that way, said, "Oh."

"What conversation," Meredith asked.

"It was about God," Caitlyn said.

"What about Him," Meredith asked.

"Whether He speaks to us," Caitlyn said.

"Oh, no question," Meredith said. "Constantly. Just, never in His own voice, only through the words and actions of others. We just have to be smart enough to recognize Him when we see him."

"That's part of the game, kinda," said Zach. "The game of life. Where, if you can keep an open mind and an open heart, you can hear God's voice. The game part comes in where you have to figure out what's God and what's Man and what's just gibberish. Which can be hard. But it'sfun, you know?"

"Why, what did God say to you," Christa asked.

Caitlyn related the sermon from the Christmas vigil. Jon was half-expecting her to get it wrong—religion just made him queasy like that—but she repeated it almost word-for-word, and then went on to give a summary of her interpretation. The others were nodding before she was half-way through.

"I think Jon's church is very lucky to have that pastor," said Christa.It's notmy church, Jon thought.

"I think that's definitely God," said Zach. "I mean, like you said, Caitlyn, that guy could've talked about anything or anybody for his Christmas vigil sermon. But no: he chose to talk about something directly applicable to your lives. I'd feel confident about calling that a message from The Big Guy."