“Find him!” The dean’s voice pierced the stillness; the plastic casing of the receiver echoed the violent reconnection to the phone base throughout the large office. He got up from his desk and rejoined the other men.

  She peered through her large glasses as her gaze circled the room; her breathing seemed labored as her tiny frame expanded and shrank with each breath. She sat rigidly, her hands resting on her lap and clasped together in a vise-like grip. She felt dizzy, nauseated, worried sick actually, like a patient in the hospital awaiting the dreaded news of a debilitating illness. She watched as the three men stood in a circle and whispered as if she wasn’t even in the room, as if her presence and her plight were not even the reason they were all here. The planning continued without her as she sat in silence, watching the dean of the university, the head of security, and the sheriff’s deputy discuss how best to handle the situation with her son, Max.

  She always assumed her first visit to the university would be graduation day, a scenario she had played out in her mind many times. Not being one for crowds or strangers, even the thought of that day several years away made her anxious. But being here now, for this reason, was much worse. She led a simple life as a homemaker, a wife of a preacher, and proud mother, but this was far from it, and she felt so out of place that the weight of those feelings almost crushed her. This was not her life, and she didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be anywhere―not in this time.

  How could she turn back the clock? How could she go back to a better time, just one year ago when Max was still in high school, and alter the future? What could she do or say that would make her son change his course of action, the action that led to her being here today in this stifling office surrounded by those in authority in whose hands the fate of her son might rest? She wondered if she had ignored the signs. It was all clear looking back: the secrecy, the obsession, the way Max had seemed to change right before her very eyes.

  ***

  “Are we living in the end times? Maybe we are. Throughout history, people have always believed we are living in the end times. But are these things you should concern yourself with?” Reverend Maxwell pounded his fist on the podium. He did this often when he wanted to drive a point home. The sudden impact reverberated throughout the small church, causing those who had let the sermon lull them into a sullen trance to suddenly jump. Now everyone was alert.

  The reverend tilted his head forward to peer out over his reading glasses giving everyone a perfect view of his bald head. Only a trimmed area of white strands, which encircled the lower portion of his head like a horseshoe, gave testament to a head once full of hair. He was not a large man by any standards, but his broad, muscled shoulders and burly arms not only revealed a lifetime of manual labor but gave the contours of his robes a formidable appearance as he stood behind the podium.

  “Why are we so obsessed with predicting the second coming of Christ?” the reverend continued. “Matthew, Chapter 24, verse 36 says that no man or even the angels in Heaven know the day and hour of the coming of the Son of Man. It only tells us to be ready, to have our house in order. That’s what we should be concerned with.”

  Max sat in the first pew―stoic and unflinching―closely beside his mother as he watched his dad intensely. Johnny Maxwell, whom the kids at school called “Max,” had been sitting in that same spot beside his mom practically since he was born. The hard oak planks were as comfortable to him as a person’s favorite recliner. Now eighteen years old and about to graduate high school, Max had become accustomed to his dad’s tactics. And the sermons, which had so mesmerized him as a child, now seemed to recycle over time, sermons with ideas with which he didn’t always agree. At home, he and his dad debated their differences, sometimes for hours, but here in church he played his role. In his neatly pressed jacket and perfectly straight tie, his hands cupped over each knee, only the occasional blinks of his eyes suggested life.

  The sunlight of this bright spring day pierced the small stained-glass windows on the east wall of the building, casting distorted replicas along the back wall above his dad’s head, which resembled pastel abstracts. After a final prayer, the five-person choir, six counting the lady playing the organ, concluded the service as their voices harmonized with the measure of the organ’s pitch in perfect unison.

  When it was over, Max shook hands as he mingled around the small sanctuary of The Life of Christ non-denominational church in Parker, Ohio, where his dad had been pastor for the last twenty years. Congregation members filed out of the tightly enclosed pews to either talk with one another or make their way to the front entrance. After the customary greetings, Max took his place between his mom and dad as the congregation made their way out the front doors, each stopping to shake the reverend’s hand and compliment his sermon.

  Max towered above his mom who was only five feet even. Her tiny frame and her simple ankle-length, straight-hanging dress added to the effect. With her large glasses and her hair pulled up, which is how she always wore it for church, she had the appearance of a much older woman.

  Max also trumped his dad’s five-feet-seven-inch frame. At almost six feet and a measly one hundred and fifty pounds, he was what the old-timers referred to as “skin and bone.” His slender, chiseled face was accessorized by his steel blue eyes and short black hair, which was always parted neatly on the side. His bright smile seemed to stretch all the way across from one jaw to the other, his slight overbite making the front two teeth partially cover the lower row.

  After the last person had left the building, his father looked over to him. “You better go take care of Mrs. Johnson.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You coming home for lunch?” his mom asked.

  Without looking back as he strolled down the brick steps that led up to the entrance of the church, Max gave a thumbs up. “That’s the plan.”

  Mrs. Johnson was waiting patiently at the foot of the steps; her gaze was straight ahead into nothingness as if there was an invisible object levitating in front of her that only she could see. She stood almost motionless, with only a slight sway as she held onto her cane, which made it hard to know if this was a purposeful rhythmic movement or if she had balance problems.

  “Ready to go?” Max came up beside her with his arm out for her to take.

  Mrs. Johnson took his arm and smiled.

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  There was a cool breeze blowing. It was a beautiful day, and the hardwood trees were a vibrant green and the wild flowers around the little church were in full bloom, giving the little two-acre lot a water-painting effect.

  Max led her to his truck, an older, faded-blue Ford Ranger, opened the passenger door, and assisted her as she got inside. The truck was eleven years old and the northern Ohio winters had bombarded the frame with enough salt to rust away the bottom panels, especially above the tires, until you could see through the brown crud of the outer frame. But with the odometer boasting over two hundred thousand miles, it still got him where he needed to go.

  This had become a regular Sunday event with Max ever since his dad had volunteered him for chauffeur duty. At seventy-seven years old, Mrs. Johnson’s husband had died several years earlier, and she had continued to drive herself to church until a year ago when she had a stroke and no longer had the physical ability to handle an automobile. Max had been picking her up and driving her to and from church for both the morning and evening service ever since.

  “You ‘bout to graduate?” Mrs. Johnson asked as they rode.

  “Yes, ma’am. Next Friday.”

  “Oh Lord, that’s wonderful,” she said as she patted Max on the arm. “Guess I gotta find a new ride to church.”

  Max smiled. “I’ll be here through the summer and then I’m attending Cedarbluff University in the fall. It’s not that far, so I’ll still be living at home. So, don’t worry, you’re stuck with me.”

  This brought a smile to Mrs. Johnson’s face. They talked along as usual as he drove through the small town of Parker, which began as a settlement back in the early 1800s. It consisted mostly of rural farmland with one short stretch that could be referred to as downtown, which consisted of Hurley’s Market, two convenience stores, one diner, an old opera house, and a Laundromat.

  Max pulled into the parking lot of Hurley’s Market, a small-town grocery store that had been here since Max could remember. As he turned off the truck, Mrs. Johnson handed him her food stamp card. This was part of the trip every Sunday; Max would go in and buy her the same groceries every week.

  “Be sure to get yourself something,” she added.

  “Okay, I will.”

  Max went through the store collecting the small number of items. He knew this routine well and knew where each item was, so it didn’t take long. The fact that he worked here as a stock boy and had put most of these items on the shelves didn’t hurt either.

  “Hey, Max. How’s Mrs. Johnson?” Mary Anne, a middle-aged cashier, asked as she began to total the groceries.

  “Good. She’s really good.” Max grabbed a small pack of gum by the register so he could show that he had gotten something for himself. He handed Mary Anne the card as she finished scanning everything and she swiped it through the machine.

  Beep.

  Mary Anne looked at Max with a humble expression. “There’s nothing on here.”

  “Again?” Max was surprised. “How is that possible?”

  “She gives it to her grandkids,” Mary Anne said. “They come in here and buy all kinds of candy and junk food and don’t even leave her anything for what she needs.”

  “Okay, how much is it?” Max pulled out his wallet. Looking inside, he realized he didn’t have the $29.45 total.

  Mary Anne apparently noticed that too. “Bob!” she yelled.

  The manager, Bob Mitner, a short, stocky, balding fellow in his early fifties, came to the register. Seeing Max and the groceries, he shook his head. He simply looked at Mary Anne with a wry smile and slight nod.

  Mary Anne completed the transaction and handed the receipt to Bob.

  “I appreciate it,” Max said to them both.

  Bob walked over to a small partitioned-off office and handed the receipt over the top. “Take this out of Max’s next paycheck.”

  An older woman popped her head up and grabbed the receipt. “Hey, Max. How’s Mrs. Johnson?”

  “She’s doing well.” Max carried the bag of groceries and headed toward the front door.

  Once he got back inside the truck, Mrs. Johnson asked, “Did you get yourself something?”

  Max held up the pack of gum and thanked her for buying them for him. He drove her home to what could be the only area of Parker that could be considered the bad part of town. There was very little crime, but the houses were older and a lot of them had been foreclosed and even condemned in the last few years. He helped her inside and then put away her groceries, making sure to check her refrigerator and cabinets for expired food.

  As he drove back home through the small town of Parker, Ohio, he also wondered how the future would affect him and his life. Cedarbluff was a Christian college near the Michigan state line a mere thirty miles from Parker. It was exciting to think of the new things that awaited him and a little scary at the same time. Needless to say, growing up in a town of four thousand people and being a preacher’s son meant Max so far had led a fairly sheltered life.

  Once he got home, he went upstairs to his room, changed clothes, came back down and went straight to the kitchen. He sat and ate a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich with his parents. His dad had also changed from his church clothes into jeans and a t-shirt. Only his mom still wore her Sunday dress since she had begun to make lunch as soon as they arrived home. After the blessing, it was common for them to eat in silence.

  “When’s your thing at the college?” his mom asked breaking the stillness.

  “Wednesday at noon.”

  “What will you be doing that day?” his dad asked.

  Finishing the last bite of his sandwich, Max wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin before speaking. “It’s called orientation. I will be assigned a student guide, and they will show me around campus like where the cafeteria, library, bookstore, and things like that are. Hopefully, it will be a pretty girl.”

  His mom smiled.

  His dad did not. “Are you finished eating?” he asked.

  Max nodded and, at his father’s request, followed him outside. They walked out to the small barn, which served more as a workshop since they had no animals. It had not been regularly maintained in many years, so you could barely make out the former red paint that covered its exterior walls. There were two doors that stayed open since the hinges were so rusted that it was feared they would just fall off if you tried to close them.

  Max was confused about where this was going and sensed his dad was worried about something. Once inside the barn, his dad motioned for him to take a seat on a large chunk of firewood that sat upright and then stood in front of Max with his hands in his pockets.

  “Uh… I wanted to talk to you… uh… well, about…”

  Max couldn’t help but smile at his dad. His dad, who spoke in front of people as a profession, and whom he had never seen at a loss for words, suddenly couldn’t begin to arrange his thoughts.

  “What’s up, Dad?”

  Mr. Maxwell looked down toward the ground as if that would help him know how to begin, as if he was not actually speaking to his son but still practicing. “You know, college life is different. You’re going to be meeting new people and experiencing new things. I read an article once that said that’s the most tempting time for a young person, and that most college kids experiment with drugs and stuff.”

  “Dad,” Max said interrupting his father’s speech. “You worry too much. I’m not really a peer-pressure-kind-of guy.”

  His dad smiled. “I know that. But you’re going to have new peers now and new pressures. Maybe drugs are not what I’m worried about, but maybe it’s more finding a young woman and falling for her and moving too quickly―that kind of thing. I know you haven’t experienced that yet but trust me when I say it’s easy to get carried away.”

  Trying to reassure his dad and soften the mood a little, Max offered a suggestion. “Don’t worry. I’ll always try to do what you would do.”

  His dad laughed out loud. “Now I’m really scared. I don’t think I’m the role model you seek. Always think about what He would have you do.”

  Even without his dad pointing upward, Max knew exactly what he meant. As they walked back toward the house, he patted his dad on the back. “I think that was a good talk. Don’t you?”

  His dad smiled; apparently glad it was over.

  Max went back in and grabbed his warehouse apron for work. As he drove to Hurley’s Market, he couldn’t help but wonder about what his dad had said. He had never even been on a date. He went to the senior prom because his mom encouraged him explaining he might regret not ever going. He went stag and never asked the first girl to dance. He didn’t know how. So, the thought of him meeting a girl in college might have scared his dad, but as much as he hoped it would happen, it terrified Max.