Chapter 23

I sat down behind the desk, and swiveled to the computer, and pulled up Vern's quick access stuff – my name for information about clients that I want to be able to get at quickly, without having to dig through the filing cabinet. I found the phone number, and turned to the phone, and dialed.

"Hello?" came his voice.

"Mr. Hitt, this is Darvin Carpenter."

"Yes?"

"It's about your daughter. She listened to your message ... and she wants to meet with you."

"She does?" He sounded incredulous, and I couldn't blame him.

"Yeah. When will you be free?" As I asked the question I looked at Al, and she nodded. I took it for a signal that anytime would work for her.

"I'm free right now..."

"Okay..." I thought of where his motel was, and places that would be midway, more or less. Then I realized that he didn't know Albuquerque very well, and I picked somewhere else. "You know the Wal-Mart on Eubank?"

"No."

"Okay, from where you are you go east to Eubank, turn left, and it's on the right just before the freeway. There's a 24-hour McDonald's there."

"I can find that."

"Okay, meet us there. We've got further to go, so you don't need to hurry." And I hung up before he could answer.

"That's a long way from here," Al said.

"Yeah, and I got money to burn. I'll take you."

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm your friend, Al. Don't tell me what I don't gotta do."

She looked at me for a moment. "All right, then. Thanks for the ride."

When I pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot and found a spot away from the building, since I like to walk and hate parking among other cars, it was just about 10. I had no idea what Vern was driving, so I didn't look for his car. Al and I dodged traffic and people who looked right at us and refused to yield even a little, and went through the grocery doors on the south end of the building's front. We peered in, and there was Vern, sitting alone at a table near the back with what looked like a cup of coffee in front of him.

Neither Al nor I wanted anything, so we walked between tables and sat down across from Vern. He looked up, recognizing me, and realizing who Al had to be though clearly he didn't recognize her. He didn't say anything, but just looked at her. I glanced over and saw that she was looking at him, and there was such compassion on her face that if I'd ever doubted what kind of a woman she was, I'd have lost those doubts.

"Hi, Daddy," she said, her voice soft. "You look ... you look old."

"You've changed too, Alison. You don't look old, but you look older than I thought you would."

She nodded. Her words when she spoke sounded accusatory, but her tone made it clear they weren't. "Where have I been, Daddy?"

He nodded too. "Alison, I came looking for you because there's something I need to do. I don't ask that you take me back into your life. I don't deserve that. I'm not going to try to be your father again. I forfeited that. All I want to do is tell you I'm sorry."

"They say that sorry doesn't feed the bulldog," she said.

"And it doesn't. I can't change what I did, Alison. I can't undo it. I can't make it right. All I can do is tell you that I'm more sorry than I know how to say."

Al looked at me, and then back at her father. And then she got up and went around the table and knelt down beside him, and put her arms around him. "I know you are, Daddy. I know you are."

I couldn't help myself – I shoved my chair back and stalked away. I stood outside the doors, feeling the chill of the shade even though I knew that where the sun was shining it was warm enough, and hated the turmoil inside me. I hated what Vern had done to his daughter – I hated it. Until this past week I'd have cheerfully told him off and sent him on his way and never thought twice about it. But now, though my loathing for child molestation remained, I was at war with myself, for one of my friends was at war with my worst features, though she didn't know it. By going to her father Al had brought me face to face with the fact that I wasn't acting like a Christian. Cecelia had made the point, and Al had made the point, and now it was right there, staring me in the face.

It was true – I had said that the Christian life isn't difficult but impossible. I had said that with God all things are possible. So why was it so impossible for me to do what I knew I had to do? Why did it make me almost physically ill to see Al doing what I knew I should be doing?

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned, and there she was. "Daddy's waiting for you, Cowboy."

"I can't go back in there."