Gideon - 03 - Religious Conviction Read Online Free Page B

tortured two-year relationship we have acted like passionate pre-sexual-revolution teenagers who stopped at necking on her couch, or best friends who have taken care of each other in our darkest moments, but never lovers. Watching her hips tug against soft denim as she reaches down for a bottle of salad dressing, I am reminded again how sexy this woman still is at the age of forty-two. Tendrils of frizzy red hair hang past her elfin ears and frame her full mouth, which today is painted pink, like the azaleas soon to bloom in her front yard. When her eyes, this moment the color of blue-corn tortillas, flash with anger or delight, my heart pumps a little harder.
    “Smells great,” I say, edging over to the stove for a look.
    “Sarah cooked it,” Rainey says, grinning, as she turns around to face me. Her smile tells me that she adores my daughter; no surer way to a father’s heart. She has been good for Sarah. Having raised a daughter of her own, she is content to enjoy mine, and Sarah’s selfconfidence has blossomed with Rainey’s praise and encouragement Over the last two years their friendship has grown as steadily as Rainey’s favorite oak, which I can see budding outside the kitchen window. Rainey and I would surely be married by now if our own growth were as inevitable. If I dropped dead, I’d want Rainey to take Sarah. I have a sister, but we aren’t particularly close.
    We all laugh at this obvious lie. Nothing Sarah and I cook is more exotic than hamburger meat drowned in AI. sauce.
    “I made the salad,” Sarah says with a grin, taking Rainey’s teasing better than she would if it were coming from me.
    “Dad,” she adds solemnly, looking at my striped tie, “you dress like you’re the manager at McDonald’s.”
    I look down at my shirt. It is a decent enough Arrow.
    Orange stripes go with the tie. My pants, from Target, are gray.
    “What’s wrong with that?” I sputter. I thought I looked pretty good today. Sometimes I don’t match.
    Rainey surveys me.
    “The one downtown,” she says, nodding at Sarah.
    “What’s wrong with that?” I say. I know who they’re talking about. Clean, polite, efficient, he always looks presentable to me.
    “I take that as a compliment,” I say, preparing for the worst.
    “I’m sure you do,” Rainey says, winking at my daughter.
    “You’re a lawyer!” Sarah exclaims.
    “You ought to wear suits.”
    I do sometimes, but if I know I’m not going to court, I can’t bring myself to wear one. Suits I associate with weddings and funerals.
    “Having to go to work every day is bad enough,” I say, knowing my defense is falling on deaf ears.
    “I’m not going to make it any worse.
    That guy probably makes a fortune.”
    At the dinner table I move our main topic of conversation from my clothes to the Razorbacks, which is appropriate given the season of the year. How will the Razorbacks do in the NCAA basketball tournament? In the legends that surround the Kennedys, one that has stuck with me as the myths have accumulated is the story that among his other accomplishments, old Joe, the father of a president, an attorney general, and a U.S.
    senator, insisted that his children discuss world affairs at dinner. If table talk about geopolitics is a requirement of greatness, my daughter and I are doomed to the sticks.
    “The best thing that ever happened to the Hogs was moving to the Southeastern Conference,” Sarah pronounces buttering corn bread that is soft as cake.
    “Playing Kentucky, LSU, and Alabama has got to toughen you up a lot more than blowing out TCU and Texas Tech.”
    I bite into cucumber and lettuce and chew.
    “I miss playing Texas,” I say after I swallow.
    “God, we hated them.” How boring my life would be without the emotions of resentment and envy.
    Rainey, who is not a sports enthusiast but keeps up out of necessity, asks as she squeezes lemon into her iced tea, “Doesn’t it seem strange that even though nearly all the players are