Riven by Jerry B. Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page A

what Brady did.
    If he was to be any kind of a role model and wanted anything good for Peter, Brady knew he ought to quit smoking, stealing, lying, being a bum. He ought to study, change his look, get a real job. But it was too late. He wasn’t sure his grades would qualify him for a role in the musical even if he somehow landed one.
    Brady dug the script out of his bag. Was Nabertowitz right? Should he entirely change his look and avoid what Hollywood called being typecast? That would shake up the school, wouldn’t it? Not that he was known by more than a few, but it would be noisy if a guy like him suddenly became normal, an actor with a whole new look.
    When the bus rolled into the trailer park, Brady was deep into the script of Bye Bye Birdie. He had heard of the old movie with Dick Van Dyke and Ann-Margaret, but he had never seen it. Musicals were hardly his thing. But now he was reading fast, imagining himself in the role of the father.
    As he reached the front of the bus, still reading, the kid in the back hollered, “Checkmate!”
    Brady spun and glared, and the kid and his friends looked away, snickering. Brady considered charging back there and drilling the kid with his fist, but the bus driver—an older version of himself—growled, “Don’t do it. Not worth it.”
    Brady was still fuming as he trudged along the asphalt. It was unlikely his mother was home yet, and he hated the idea of Peter being there alone, but something in the script drew him, and he wanted to get through it. The sun was fading, so he stopped under a streetlamp and read fast.
    By the time he was three-fourths of the way through the pages, he knew. Typecast or not, Conrad Birdie was his part. Nabertowitz said he had already cast it, but that probably meant he had some preppy trying to affect a look. Brady already had the look, the attitude, the swagger. The father’s role was fun and grumpy and maybe had a little more meat, and even the manager had way more to offer. But Brady knew he wasn’t ready for a lead like that. Maybe someday.
    If Nabertowitz could be believed, all that would be left the next day would be bit parts. Even the father would likely have been cast, unless the director was saving it for him. Well, Clancy Nabertowitz was in for a surprise. Brady headed for the trailer with a spring in his gait that hadn’t been there for months. Soon he was actually jogging.
    Glad to see his mother was not there yet, he burst inside, lit a cigarette, and hollered for Peter. “Get your jacket! We’re going shopping!”
    “For what?”
    “You’ll see. Now hurry.”
    While Peter was shutting down his video game and getting his coat on, Brady went to his car-fund stash and pulled out two hundred dollars.
    “Hitchhiking again?” Peter said.
    “Yeah, but just into Arlington.”
    Oldenburg
    By the time Thomas and Grace finally returned to the parsonage and sat sipping tea, he was exhausted. “Amazing what they’ve done here,” he said.
    “Most of these people seem wonderful, Thomas.”
    “Most?”
    “I’m not blind or deaf, dear,” she said, “and neither are you. Paul Pierce is going to wear you out. You’d better start setting your boundaries now.”
    Thomas nodded. “This is unusual, though. I’m like the old circuit-riding preachers. I wonder what they did about church politics. Someone had to run the places while they were away.”
    “Paul doesn’t just want to run this place. He wants to run the whole circuit. Maybe you ought to get Jimmie Johnson in your corner before Paul makes a mess of everything.”
    “How would that look? All of a sudden Paul hears from headquarters? No, I’ve got to face this—and him—myself. It may not be pretty, but you’re right; I have to do it soon.”
    They sat in silence.
    Grace smiled at him. “Kind of nice not to have a telephone ringing all the time, isn’t it?”
    He nodded. “But we’ll need one before long.”
    “Tomorrow soon enough?”
    “Really, Grace? That’s