Living Proof, стр. 11

She eyed him. “Then how do you know it’s there?”

“I feel weirdly … unsettled,” he said, struggling to explain, “like I can’t be myself in my own life.”

Her skepticism took on a tinge of worry. “Are you trying to tell us something?”

“I’m trying to understand something.”

His father looked dubious. “You’re a bit young for a midlife crisis. Is it something to do with your job?”

“I—I think so. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Honey, you’ve got the best job around,” his mother said. “You know that.”

Trent almost rolled his eyes. Just because a job had the society-approval stamp didn’t make it automatically fulfilling or fun. And maybe that was part of the problem.

“What higher calling could there be?” his father chimed in. “If they had had the department up and running back when I finished school, I would have worked there in a heartbeat.”

“I know that, Dad. You tell me all the time,” Trent said, trying to keep his voice even. His father was an accountant who had once dreamed of being a policeman, though he hadn’t the courage. Trent could see that his own job would have been his dad’s perfect compromise between protecting others and inviting danger. “Hey, I changed careers,” Trent said. “Why can’t you?”

His father smiled. “It’s enough that I can watch you succeed there. Father Paul told me just this morning that the big man—Dopp, right?—well, he told Father that he’s real happy with your work lately.”

His mother beamed, while Trent gave a tight smile. “That’s great, but it still doesn’t solve my problem.”

“Oh, Trent,” she said, “everyone feels restless sometimes. Do you think you’re just overthinking it?”

“Maybe I’m not thinking enough,” he said quietly.

A mischievous smile spread across her face. “I know what the problem is. You need a girlfriend, that’s all.” She paused, treading carefully. “You do want one, don’t you? You haven’t had one in ages.”

He looked at her with exasperation. “I didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

“You know what you should do,” his father said. “Come home and talk to Father Paul. He’s always helped you.”

His mother nodded. “Whenever I doubt something, I know it’s time to get closer to God.”

Trent knew she was right, but her advice troubled him more. Trying to get “closer to God” had felt like a futile exercise to him ever since his crisis of faith three years ago, from which he had never fully recovered.

He had been working at Newsday and was becoming increasingly disillusioned with the Catholic Church after a series of sex scandals involving local priests. He was overcome by conflict, as if he were stuck at the bottom of a deep chasm between the ideals he was raised to believe and the reality he reported on every day. If God was the ultimate leader of the Church, how could He have let it get so out of hand?

That painfully uncertain time reminded him of his childhood frustration with God, the incident when he first experienced grave disappointment. The memory was vivid, and one of his earliest.

*   *   *

His back was to his house; he was crouching in its slanted shadow, fanning his palms over the prickly grass. One of the blades, he knew, was alive. It had jumped, nudged by the unwitting touch of his hand. The grasshopper’s legs rubbed together like a chorus of zippers, taunting him to follow. He inched his feet toward the sound, but it faded when he reached a tree with low branches. The early-morning sun splintered through the leaves and he sat back, lifting his face toward the warmth. Behind a cluster of leaves, a patch of red caught his eye. He stood up and craned his neck to see the robin.

“Hi, little birdie,” he said, waving a chubby hand. It chirped and jumped to a closer branch. He stared at it, mesmerized by its breathless twitter.

“Trent!” his mother’s voice called from the doorway to the backyard. “What are you doing? We’re about to leave. Trent Aidan Rowe!”

He stood immobile, focusing only on one sound. His mother hurried over the patchy grass toward him, pinching her fitted black slacks at the knees.

“You’re making Mommy ruin her clothes. C’mon, we’re going to be late for church.”

Trent did not turn to look at her.

“What are you doing out here, honey? Let’s go.”

“Mama, what is the birdie saying?”

“It’s saying you need to come inside with me so we can go. We have to leave in five minutes.”

He did not move.

“Hello?” his mother said, putting a hand on his shoulder and whirling him around. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young man.”

“I’m not going,” he muttered, glaring up at her.

“Of course you’re going.”

She grabbed his hand and started to pull him toward the house. He stayed rooted to the ground.

“Okay, Trent. We don’t have time for this. Why don’t you want to go?”

He stared at the ground. “Because I hate God.”

His mother’s eyes widened and she put her hands on his shoulders. “You must never say such an evil thing. Look at me. That is very, very wrong. Why would you ever say that?”

“Because He took Grandpa away. And you told me to pray for him but God didn’t listen. So now I hate Him.”

His mother took a deep breath and knelt down to his level. She seemed about to scold him again for his impiety, but then her expression softened. “Honey, I know it’s hard for you to understand why Grandpa had to go away with God, but God knew it was the right time to take him, and we have to trust His decision.”

“Why do we have to?”

“Because God knows what is best for everyone.”

“Even me?”

“Yes, sweetie, especially you. He is always taking care of all of us.”

“But what about Grandpa?”

“He took Grandpa to a much better place, and you will see him again one day if you are a good boy. I know you will be.”

Trent was quiet for a moment.

“So if I go to church, God will let me