Kicking Eternity

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 18

Cal sat in his ‘89 Celebrity Wagon and drummed his fingers against the chalky paint under the surfboard racks. In the distance, Raine bowed her head as though she were praying over a boy in a Spiderman T-shirt that looked older than the kid was. The boy lifted his head and wiped one eye with the back of his wrist. Raine hugged him. Nearby, a girl slapped Drew high five and took off after her cabin mates.

Drew shared something with Raine he didn’t—ministry. That torqued him, but what could he do about it? He was barely holding together his newfound spirituality, much less helping anyone else.

Twenty minutes later, Dad lumbered out of his easy chair to shake Raine’s hand. Mom stretched an arm out to Raine, an arabesque. Mom’s jean capris and oversized T-shirt made her look ten years younger than Dad who had gone grey sometime when Cal wasn’t looking.

Dad launched the inquisition, and Cal settled into the couch cushions to enjoy the show. He should have brought Raine home weeks ago. This was going to be better than the last time he brought home straight A’s—in fifth grade.

“This is a treat, Cal bringing a girl home,” Dad said. “So, what are you going to do with your degree?”

Cal squeezed Raine’s hand where it lay on the sofa between them.

“I’m going to Africa to teach orphans the Bible.”

Dad’s brows lifted a fraction. And Mom fumbled and nearly dumped a plate of brownies into Raine’s lap. He kept the smile from his face. What had Mom expected, a surfer girl who went by the name of Thrasher?

Mom’s face broke into a smile like she’d been saved for the second time.

He clunked his feet on the coffee table beside a stack of Mom’s Dance Magazines and slid his arm around Raine. He listened to Mom and Dad pull out the pieces of Raine’s story like magicians’ scarves, each more beautiful than the last.

Raine got up to help Mom clear away the dishes.

“So, Cal, you quit running?” Dad’s voice knifed through his euphoria.

Running from God, Dad meant. He never should have let Raine get out of the room. He sat up, his parents’ expectations jumping on his back like a camp kid clamoring for a piggyback. Mom was all about how things looked on the outside. But he’d forgotten Dad’s laser beam into his soul.

“We’ve been talking.”

 “You and Raine?” Dad wasn’t going to let him fudge on this one.

“Me and God.”

“Oh?”

He threw Dad a bone. “Scriptures I learned as a kid are coming back.”  Let’s hope that satisfies him. He didn’t want his fledgling faith dissected, especially in front of Raine. He could hear the water running in the kitchen and snipets of Raine and Mom’s conversation.

Dad rubbed his chin. “Is this ‘talking’ to please Raine?”

So much for not getting dissected. “I’m going in the direction you want me to go. Leave it at that.”

“Remember Jonah.”

How could he forget? Dad had it in his head he was running from God’s “call” like Jonah had. It was always like this. No matter what spiritual strides he took, they were never enough. What was the point in moving toward God when it only meant amping up the pressure? 

Raine and Mom walked back into the room, and he let his breath out. “We have to get back to camp.” He stood.

Mom’s eyes shot to his.