Sinner Among Puritans

He preferred the kind of day it was outside-depressingly overcast, with a turbulent late fall rain noisily pounding on the aluminum and window glass exterior of his earthly retreat, a motor home. Although Charlie lived in an elegant conventional home, in the old-money part of the city just off downtown Rivertown, this was the place he came to think, many times to brood. He sat in the warmth of the original sofa issued with this rubber-tired behemoth, which was once used by him as a temporary home. He used the recreational vehicle, RV as he called it, for periodic trips as well. Charlie was onboard, feeling almost protected by the wall of wind and rain falling outside. This substitute home sat unmoving, save the buffeting by the wind. It was plugged into electric and phone lines as it sat at the Grayson RV Park.

He was approaching old age, an accomplishment for anyone, especially with Charlie's history of risking his life. Old injuries from a fast life, and several accumulated health problems had to be managed daily. Although his conditions were not life-threatening, the effective therapies were tiresome and difficult to maintain. With youth long behind, he was moving into uncharted waters, including the possibilities that could challenge the senior years, such as ill health, nursing homes, and, God forbid, Alzheimer's. Unlike his high school senior prom titled "Stairway to the Stars," Charlie wondered what themes of hope remained. He knew it was necessary to shake off the depression he frequently found himself in. The front-line trenches of criminal prosecution had wearied him, and now belonged to the younger and more daring-the less knowing. His multiple careers had been important to him, too important. He failed to realize that what he thought so important would eventually not be there for him.

From the time he was a child, Charlie had possessed a quality he never understood, but was able to capitalize on. People, especially females, wanted to hold him, squeeze him, and, after he had grown up, wanted more of him. Never again would some of the nicest girls lower their almost impenetrable guard to say, "Oh Charlie, I love you, I want you, I need you." How could he ever hope to replace the excitement of those moments?

Charlie Brentwood was no genius, but he realized the importance of understanding the past, especially the undigested part needing resolution. Leaving the past behind was necessary in order to free him for the present. There wasn't time to waste on the blurring of the future with endless tasks, for tomorrows were becoming fewer. He would have to use his wits more than ever, and not blindly expend time that an overachiever inevitably does. A keen intuition and dogged determination had allowed him to play most any game he wished. Charlie had experienced being a child entrepreneur, knew the glories of being on a championship basketball team and playing the trumpet in a fine high school band. As he moved along in time he was graduated from the Illiana College of Business, one of the top professional schools in the country, became a commercial pilot, an Army officer, a race car and dump truck driver, a successful businessman, and, finally, an attorney. All of these successes would ultimately prepare him for unexpected purposes.

Past conflicts, tragedies, and disappointments needed resolution. His way was to tally up the pros and cons of a situation, not unlike weighing things in the judiciary. With most of the doors of opportunity closed behind him, he saw an advantage in his static situation. He could assess things more easily, much like an accountant taking a snapshot of a business at any given moment by using a balance sheet. When Charlie Brentwood looked at the negative side of his own balance sheet while in his depressed state, a hopeless image emerged. His mood swiftly changed. His eyes wandered toward the state-issued revolver holstered on the coffee table nearby, a loaded black Colt .38 Police Special. He had foreboding thoughts, similar to those he recently experienced standing at a curb as a large truck rumbled by. With just a little movement on his part, life's agonies, some of them unspeakable, could end.

Could not an ever-loving and forgiving God, whom he had come to know, see such a destructive mortal act that he now contemplated as forgivable? Charlie raised his head from his now drenched palms, crying out, "Have I not been to hell already, to hell over and over?" He begged for redemption. In this short time, he could not see or feel anything but hopeless despair. Charlie Brentwood was no longer master of his will. He was but a wretch reaching toward the peace of oblivion.

The phone rang twice before the sound penetrated his tormented brain. Instinctively, he moved toward the nearby kitchen phone, setting the cylindrical piece of black steel down on the kitchen counter, wondering what he really would have done had the phone not jolted him. Maybe the unthinkable? The rasp of the phone redirected his state of mind, as though an electric current had surged through his numb body and across the surface of nerves like shock therapy.

Never knowing who might be calling, he formally answered, "Charlie Brentwood, may I help you?" The reply was bright and perky. "Hi, Dad; it's Suzie." Suddenly his life took on new importance at the sound of his daughter's voice. Fighting off the urge to say, "How is my baby?," he quickly reminded himself that she was thirty-seven years old, married, with two children, a boy and a girl. He answered, "How are you, sweetheart?" Her crisp reply that she was just fine was the type of reassuring comfort every parent hoped to hear when a child called. Charlie still missed Suzie's daily presence and suffered a chronic form of "empty-nest syndrome."

"What are you doing, Dad?" she asked. Charlie replied to Suzie, "Not much, just taking it easy. Suzie said, "I just wanted to check on you before we went out this evening." Seattle has many fine restaurants and she and her husband, David, enjoyed dining out. Noting the earlier hesitation in his voice, she asked, "Are you okay?" "Yes," he replied. "Are you sure?" "Yes, darlin', I am." Suzie had no idea of the possible benefit of her call, however she felt better by his reassurances. "Dad, I have to go. Catch you later. Have a good weekend. Call you again soon. Bye for now." They both softly hung up, and Charlie's spirits lifted immeasurably.

Her call made him realize how irrational he had been, how he fell into depression without looking at the other side of the balance sheet. Suzie had always been on the bright side of the ledger. He had this special affinity for her. Charlie thought this must be similar to what mothers have for sons, something only the Creator understood. Suzie would always have this special place in his heart, and they both knew it. She was an exceptional human being, much like her mother.