PART 2

"We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing;

"He chastens and hastens his will to make known;

"The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing,

"Sing praises to his name: He forgets not his own."

#

They sang. He sang. And as they did he closed his eyes and let the words of the hymn wash over him. There was something about a hymn, something about the voices of the congregation singing, clumsy and off key sometimes, with singing with meaning, that always brought him calm.

He preached then, and they listened.

On Thursday it will be Thanksgiving. It is a recent holiday but not a recent idea. As we gather we must remember this idea foremost. We must take stock and give thanks for what we have, for who we have. Because who we have is more important, really, than what. Things, you know, may pass. But people are sacred and they are eternal, because they are a part of each of us. We are blessed by God with loved ones and we must all be willing to love them and accept them, without reservation. And we must give thanks, also, for their love, for their unconditional love of us.

This I command you, Christ said before the crucifixion: Love each other as I have loved you.

Annie, in the front row, watching him. He tried to read her face, her gaze. Was she hearing him? Don't you see, my dear wife, that we above all others need to show unconditional love? Don't you see that we have to find Lucy and love her, that we need to love all our children despite their flaws? You said this once, to me. Remember? Remember the girl whose parents had rejected her because she was pregnant? Remember what we told them? When did we become so judgmental that we stopped believing that?

#

He stood outside the church. One by one the parishioners passed him, spoke their platitudes. He wondered how many of them were lying.

Because they were not blind, and they had noticed that Lucy was gone. They were not deaf, and they knew that the explanations they had been given were at best incomplete and at worst were lies.

Matt, Mary, Simon. Not a word. Ruthie and a smile.

And Annie. Her face was hard, rigid. Eric felt himself tense.

Nothing.

That night his father came.

* * *

Eric was sitting, alone in his office, when the doorbell rang. He sat alone in his office in the house a lot these days; it was easier to escape there and pretend to be working than to go out and be with any of them. From time to time he thought about taking one of the kids, just one of them, out to a movie or something, and then talking to them. He should be able to talk to them, shouldn't he? He was good at talking, at listening. It was his job.

But here it was different.

Why? Why can't you talk to your own kids anymore?

What would I say to them? Your mother hit me and I am afraid of her?

The doorbell.

He rose to answer it.

Dad. The Colonel.

The same face, the same half smile, the knowing expression.

"Dad?"

"Hello, son."

"I thought you were spending Thanksgiving in --"

His father shook his head. "No. Your mother is visiting her sister. I'm here to help."

"Help?"

"Seems like you need it, so I'm here. Are you going to invite me in?"

This had happened before, a few years ago. Things had been crazy and somehow the Colonel had known, had appeared unannounced and had helped to get things under control. He knew about Lucy, of course; Michaels had suggested they contact all the relatives right after Lucy had left, in case she went to them.

Eric stepped back. "Of course."

The Colonel stepped inside. They watched each other for a moment.

"So then," the older man said, "what's the latest news on Lucy?"

Eric almost mentioned New Mexico, didn't. Sound traveled in this house.

"Nothing," he said.

The Colonel nodded. "I see."

#

It began then, one by one. His father going to each of the kids, to Simon first, then to Mary, then to Ruthie. Matt was out, at the library, so he would come later. And as the Colonel went to them, Annie came to him.

"Eric? What's he doing here?"

"He said he had come to help."

"Help with what?"

Eric paused, spoke then.

"Lucy."

Annie drew in a sharp breath, her face hardening. After a moment she spoke again.

"You get him out."

"Annie --"

"You get him out, Eric! Do you hear me?"

Eric saw her fists clench. He fought down the urge to back away.

Then Annie turned, walked out without a word. He collapsed into his seat.

"Oh, God," he moaned softly.

He had never been able to say no to his father. Never. Julie had, once in a while, but she had been the girl and different rules applied to her than to him, and even then Julie had faced his stern discipline when she had said no. This had been unspoken in his boyhood, but real. A son obeys his father, because his father knows best.

And the Colonel knew best. Always. Eric remembered all the talk about having a level head, about keeping your cool even under fire. That's how you became a man.

I've tried, God. I've tried. I've tried with Annie. I've tried to be the reasonable one, the one who keeps things calm. But I just don't know if I can do it anymore.

I just don't know.

* * *

Annie tried to stop from shaking with rage and fear.

It was the balance. Keeping things just right, just the way she should be. Keeping her household, her family. Because that was all of it.

But it was all falling apart now. That man was here. He was Eric's father, but he didn't respect Eric. He never had. And he had never respected her either; she had had to snap at him before, when he had told her how to be a mother.

And now he was here. He was talking to her children. What was he saying?

No, it was wrong. He was wrong.

And Eric wouldn't do anything. The words came quickly, suddenly.

I have to do something I have to do something but what can I do?

Keep control. You have to keep control.

I can't. Everything is wrong.

The day ended and another began.