Abby wondered what Margaret thought about that.
Abby sat across from Father Morgan in his office. His curtains were closed and it was cool and dark and he was telling Abby that Gretchen was completely normal.
“I wouldn’t take all the credit,” he said. “But I spoke with her
parents and it certainly seems to have helped get her back on track.”
“That’s the thing,” Abby said. “She’s not on track.”
Father Morgan smiled.
“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” he agreed. “But the cover does give you a pretty good indication of what’s inside. And I’d say Gretchen’s cover looks a heck of a lot better than it did.”
It had taken Abby a while to realize that there was one person who’d talk about Gretchen as much as she wanted: Father Morgan. He was way too involved in students’ lives, he thought he knew everything, and all you had to do was make an appointment.
Now, sitting there in Father Morgan’s office, she knew she’d made the right decision. White and brown nubby curtains were drawn over his only window, leaving the room dim and safe. The furniture was nice furniture from a house, not the harsh office furniture that filled the rest of the school. Instead of yellow-painted cinderblock walls, Father Morgan’s office was lined with bookshelves filled with titles like Understanding Your Teenager and Living a God-Focused Life. And he loved to talk.
“Gretchen is happy and social,” Father Morgan said. “She’s been an absolute joy in all our interactions and there is no shadow upon her as far as I can tell. You know what that says to me, Abby?”
He waited for an answer, so she finally fed him his line.
“No, sir.”
“You’re scared of losing your friend,” he said and then smiled.
Abby looked at her knee. She inhaled, shaking her head.
“When she was sick,” Abby said, “she told me that people could look fine on the outside but be evil inside. Like satanists.”
Or her parents.
Father Morgan’s smile disappeared, and he stood up and came around his desk. He pulled a chair closer to Abby.
“Abby,” Father Morgan said, “I know how it is to be a young person. There are all these reports of satanic cults everywhere, sacrificing babies. Geraldo Rivera’s doing a two-hour special on them next week. Of course you feel these things deeply, and they upset and influence you. But they’re not real.”
“Then what are they?” Abby asked.
“They’re . . .” Father Morgan waved one hand around in the air. “. . . metaphors. Ways of dealing with information and emotions. Adolescence is a complicated time, and some really bright people think that when the adult emerges, it’s like you’re being taken over by a different person. Almost like being possessed. Sometimes parents, or friends, get hurt when a loved one changes. They look around for something to blame. Music, movies, satanism.”
He leaned back and flashed a smile.
“So you think Gretchen is possessed?” Abby asked. “Like she has a demon inside of her?”
His smile flicked off.
“What?” he said. “No, it’s a metaphor. Abby, do you know the story of the Gadarene madman?”
“Is he a satanist?” Abby asked.
“In the Bible,” Father Morgan continued, “Jesus goes to Gerasa, and when he gets there a man approaches him who is possessed by demons. He’s been shunned and forced to live in the graveyard, which is as bad as it gets in Bible times. And when Jesus asks him what’s wrong, the man says he’s possessed by an unclean spirit. Jesus asks its name and it says, ‘My name is Legion.’ Does that sound familiar?”
Abby shrugged. Her family didn’t go to church, but she thought she’d heard something like that in a horror movie.
“So Jesus expels the demons and puts them in a bunch of nearby pigs,” he says. “And the pigs run off a cliff and die and the man is cured. He’s free. But everyone in the village is upset and they ask Jesus to leave. You see?”
“Poor pigs,” Abby said.
“Poor pigs,” Father Morgan agreed. “But do you see the bigger point?”
“That no one ever thanks you for trying to save them?” Abby said.
“That the people in that village needed the Gadarene madman to be sick,” Father Morgan said. “That way they could project all their problems onto him. They blamed him for everything: too much rain, too little rain, their kids staying out past curfew, cows dying. As long as he was sick, they could point to someone who wasn’t them and say, ‘That’s his fault. He’s possessed by Satan.’ And when Jesus cured him, they didn’t know what to do. They were at a loss.”
Abby was not following this logic.
“You think there isn’t anything wrong with Gretchen,” she said.
“I’m saying maybe you need something to be wrong with Gretchen,” Father Morgan said. “Sometimes the hardest thing for us is when the sick person gets better.”
“Why?” Abby asked.
“Because then we have to deal with ourselves,” he said, looking at her meaningfully and letting his words sink in.
A rap at the door broke the mood. Father Morgan put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up and opened the door. Gretchen stood there.
“Hi, Father M,” she said, smiling.
“Come on in,” he said. “I was just wrapping up with Abby.”
“What are you doing here?” Abby asked, staring at Gretchen. Standing behind her was Glee.
“I’m in vestry,” Gretchen said. “And Glee wants to join. What are you doing here?”
Before Abby could answer, Father Morgan answered for her.
“She’s still worried about you,” he said. “She just wanted to check in with me.”
Gretchen stepped into the room.
“I feel great,” she said, but her voice was too bright and hard.
“Now,” Father Morgan said, “if I recall correctly, you two shouldn’t be spending time together. So Abby, why don’t you skedaddle.”
As Abby got up to go, she eased past Gretchen in the door, and Gretchen made eye contact and smiled.
“I’d love to have been a fly on the wall,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you must be saying about me.”
The next day, the exorcist arrived.
Missionary Man
“When you’re worried and stressed out, when you feel like everyone hates you and your parents just don’t understand. When the world keeps coming at you and pushing you down and down, you’ll finally hear a still, small voice inside your head. No, it doesn’t mean you’re ready for the funny farm. That voice is God, and he’s speaking to you, and he’s saying, ‘Dude, I’ve got this.’”
Then the enormous young man lying shirtless on the stage floor gritted his teeth while his musclebound brother brought down a sledgehammer and smashed the cinderblock resting on his abs. It exploded into gray powder, and the football players in the audience cheered ironically.
“Praise God!” the shirtless guy shouted, leaping to his feet. “Sometimes God lets you hit rock bottom to show you that he is the rock at the bottom!”
Everyone in the auditorium hooted and cheered. Abby couldn’t tell if the five guys onstage understood that they were being laughed at, or if they thought they were being laughed with. She sunk down lower in her seat. She just wanted assembly to be over.
The Lemon Brothers Faith and Fitness Show was the funniest thing ever to hit Albemarle Academy. Five enormous meat potatoes strutted across the plastic-covered stage, popping their biceps, striking poses, and praising God. In the audience, the utter insanity of it all was blowing everyone’s minds.