ANOTHER JOAN?

Chapter 7 Protecting Debbie

"Jane! Jane!" called Adam, running up. "Are you OK?"

"I think so," said Joan, rubbing her backside. "Except I think I've got my phobia back. If I ever get NEAR another horse, just slap me, OK?"

Polly was unapologetically grazing on the park grass. As far as Joan was concerned, she could do that forever -- except for the fact that Joan had to return the mare to Maggie Begh.

"Maybe it's a matter of chemistry," suggested Adam with a straight face. "Added to what happened to Luke, maybe Girardis and horses don't mix. Like oil and water."

"Debbie, where are you?" called a forceful female voice. A well-dressed woman in her thirties came into view from the trees, followed by an insignificant-looking man of roughly the same age. "Why are you so near the street? Where are the Voysons? And who are these people?"

"This is Adam and Jane Rove," Debbie piped up. "They're friends of mine."

Debbie probably intended for that remark to be reassuring, but of course it had the opposite effect. No parents wanted their daughter to be "friends" with grownups whom they knew nothing about, and the O'Briens scrutinized the Girardi-Roves as if they were a pair of dubious insects. Suddenly Mr. O'Brien's expression softened.

"I recognize you," he said. "You were the artist at the church, painting that picture of Rome, right?"

"Yes," said Adam.

"And YOU look familiar too," mused Mrs. O'Brien, gazing at Joan. "Oh! That painting in the church atrium. Joan of Arc."

"Yes, I was the model for that."

The church connection seemed to calm the O'Briens somewhat. Mrs. O'Brien seemed to reach a decision. "My husband and I are eating at Olive Garden tonight. Care to join us?"

It sounded hospitable, but Joan could see through that. The O'Briens wanted to size them up. But if Adam and Joan could convince them that their intentions were honorable, then she could have an entrée to Debbie. "Yes, thank you."

"6:30. Debbie, come along. We're going to turn in your horse at the stable and go home. We have things to talk about."

"Yes, Mom," said Debbie, clearly not looking forward to the talk. She got up on her rented mount for the final ride.

"Just a moment," said Joan. She hated to say the next sentence, but her sense of honor required her to give Debbie credit. "My horse ran way with me just now, and Debbie calmed it down so that I could get off safely. That's a brave daughter that you have."

"Thank you, maybe too brave. Let's go." The parents walked away, their daughter riding behind them.

"That was awkward," Adam said. "I mean, do I look like a sexual predator to you?"

Joan took one look at her husband and burst out laughing. "It was just the circumstances. If we're careful, this may turn out to be to our advantage. Adam, will you take Polly under control and take her to meet Maggie when she comes to pick her up? I'm going to find the park washroom, and be sick for a while."

On reaching home, Joan showered off the sweat and dressed in a more formal pair of pants. She really wanted to redo her hair after her wild ride, but lacked the time; she compromised by pulling it back in a pony-tail. Appearances could be everything.

At the start of the dinner things seemed less tense than Joan had feared. Apparently the O'Briens had contacted Father Ken, who had vouched for the young couple. The only negative that the priest knew about the couple was Adam's panic on their wedding day, which scarcely implied too much aggression. Joan was glad she didn't go to confession.

As Joan had noted, Adam's usual passivity seemed reassuring to the O'Briens. Joan herself, pretending not to know that she was being examined, tried to chat. Fortunately she had a built-in conversation piece, talking about their recent trip to Europe. She left out the weird parts, like discovering her dying great-great-aunt.

The topic turned to horses, not surprisingly given this afternoon's misadventure. Joan winced but tried to sound philosophical. "I've always had bad luck with horses. Two years ago, I visited a stable and got bit by a tick. Ended up coming down with Lyme Disease."

"Oh, dear, that sounds horrible," said Mr. Brian.

"Yeah." Inspiration struck Joan. "At one point I had hallucinations, which I mistook for religious visions. Fortunately, Adam straightened me out. I mean, I DO believe in a God, but why, out of billions of people in the world, would He want to visit an ordinary girl in a little Maryland town?"

The O'Briens stared at each other. As Joan intended, they saw the parallel with their daughter.

Finally the couple felt secure enough to discuss their own situation. "It was an honor to be promoted by my company, but the transfer came at the worst possible time for Debbie," said the mother. "Months away from school, yet too late to sign her up for most summer activities. And both of our jobs keep us away from home a lot. We worry about her during the day. The counselor at the church says she thinks she can get Debbie into a program even though it's in its last weeks, so that's a load off our minds."

"Mrs. O'Brien, let's be frank. I know that you invited Adam and me because you were suspicious of us, and I understand that. A, um, relative of mine had a bad experience in her youth, and she advised me to always be careful." Joan was NOT going to say outright that her mother had been raped; that was something Helen did not want discussed. "In fact, I'm a bit surprised you let her ride in the park alone."

"It wasn't planned that way. She was supposed to ride with a neighboring woman and her daughter. But the daughter fell ill and Deborah didn't find out until she reached the park. She should have called us, but apparently she thought she was safe on a horse; that she could always gallop away from danger. But she lacks the sophistication to see through strangers with a plausible line. We've grounded her for a while to teach her a lesson. However I'm convinced now that you're honest."

That's good -- except that if she finds out I'm related to Sister Lily, she may decide there are too many suspicious coincidences. As far as she knows, Adam is an artist they happened to bump into twice, and I'm just Adam's wife, and a really bad horsewoman.

To Joan's relief, Mr. O'Brian spoke up. "My dear, perhaps the Roves can help us--".

The O'Brians had left Debbie with another neighbor during the dinner. Now they were willing to let Joan talk to her, trying to convince her that she wasn't getting visits from Jesus. She had been working her way towards this opportunity for almost a week, but was not entirely sure how to use it.

"Debbie," she said tentatively, "I'd like to talk to you. I understand that you have a Friend--"

"You mean Jesus. Nobody believes me," whined Debbie.

"Oh, I believe you." Joan rejected immediately the possibility that Debbie was delusional. She had met enough messed-up girls in Crazy Camp to know the difference. "I just don't believe Him. That it is Him. Just because people say that they're good, or religious, is no reason to believe them. There are such things as hypocrisy and outright deceit."

Joan wished that Grace or Luke was doing this. They were both natural skeptics, Grace because she didn't trust people, Luke because it was part of his scientific philosophy. Joan's mind didn't work that way.

"Oh, I know that," said Debbie, clearly annoyed at being patronized. "Like the guy that ran the Maryland branch of my Mom's company. They thought he was so brilliant, then they found that he was cooking the books. That's why Mom was sent here."

"But you're certain that your Friend is the real thing?"

"Oh, yeah. He told me things about his life that a lot of people don't know or get wrong. Like, the Pharisees were friends of his. They didn't argue because they were mad at each other, they did it because it was customary for rabbis to challenge each other back then."

Joan was rattled. One of her Jewish friends -- Glynis, she thought -- had made exactly the same point once, that the "arguments" reported in the gospel may really have been traditional Talmudic debates, derived by the Greek tradition of the Socratic dialogue. How on earth had Debbie's mysterious visitor known THAT?

Trying to conceal her misgivings, Joan said," Just because his story is plausible and detailed doesn't mean it's true. There's no way to check what happened two thousand years ago, is there? Your Friend could say anything--"

Debbie lost her temper. "Oh, why should I listen to YOU? You're barely a grownup, and you're so dumb that you let your horse run away with you. What are you and your husband up to? Spying on me?"

Since that was exactly what Joan had been doing, albeit with good intentions, Joan was at a loss for an answer. Encouraging skepticism while covering up things herself was beyond Joan's skills. This interview had failed. Walking to the door, Joan said, "I'm just trying to protect you. Maybe, a few years from now, you'll understand that. I just hope it isn't too late then."

Alone, out of Debbie's sight, Joan started to cry, with accumulated frustration and embarrassment.

I've really screwed up this mission, haven't I?

Or is it really a mission? God never told me to intervene. I just thought--

What the hell is going on here?

TBC