Christina nodded. “I’m not surprised. You’ve always taken that parens patriae stuff very seriously.”
Ben set down his fork. “Christina, when did you trade in your French?”
“Huh?”
“Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve driven me nuts with the pidgin French you picked up in that extension course at TCC. But lately, you’ve gone Latin.”
She laughed unconvincingly “How odd.”
“Yes, very. And you’re dropping case names like they were common knowledge and arguing legal issues like—” He stopped. His eyes widened. “You’re going to law school, aren’t you?”
Christina remained perfectly still, a frozen smile on her face. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” He tossed down his napkin. “That’s what all this mystery has been about. Those classes you’ve been going to—it’s not some past lives nonsense. You’ve been taking classes at TU law school!”
Christina’s eyes lowered. “I suppose there’s no point in denying it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes lawyers aren’t all that pleased when their legal assistants try to … join them.”
“Ben Kincaid—the insecure sexist pig?”
“I’m not saying that. I just thought it might be … awkward.”
“Awkward? Awkward?”
“Yeah. Like now.” She pushed away her plate. “Me and my big mouth.”
“I don’t know why you’re acting this way.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why should I care that you’re going to law school?”
“See! I knew it would be like this!”
“Christina, I could care less if you go to law school. I just can’t believe you thought you couldn’t confide in me.”
“I thought it might make you uncomfortable. You know. Someone who used to work for you, on her way to becoming …”
“An equal?”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“What is this, nineteenth-century England? You can damn well go to law school if you want, damn it! I can’t stop you.”
She put her hands to her face. “I knew you’d be upset!”
“I can’t believe you thought I’d be upset!”
“But you are upset!”
“Yes, but not because you’re going to law school!” He stopped himself, realizing he was almost shouting. “I just didn’t think we kept secrets from each other. I tell you everything.”
“You do not.”
“Do too.”
“Really! Did you tell me you were writing a book?”
“Well … no. But I was going to.”
“Did you tell me about your father? Why he wrote you out of his will? Why he disowned you and said you weren’t his son anymore?”
“Well, that’s different.”
“Did you tell me your favorite TV show is Xena: Warrior Princess?”
“What?” He sat bolt upright. “It is not.”
“I found a tape full of Xena in the VCR in your living room.”
“That … isn’t mine.”
“Yeah, well, I put it in the drawer with all the other Xena tapes that aren’t yours.”
“Christina!”
“The point is, no one tells anyone everything.”
“No, the point is, you should have trusted me. The point is, we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. We shouldn’t—”
He stopped suddenly. What was going on here? They were starting to sound like—
He blinked. Now that was a disturbing thought.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Look, Christina, I don’t mind. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t even know you were interested in law school.”
“I didn’t know myself until about six months ago. After you decided you’d just up and stop practicing. Where did that leave me—a legal assistant with no lawyer? Then suddenly it dawned on me. Why should I be at the mercy of some lawyer all my life? Why should I be out of work every time he decides he wants to move or join a corporation or sing depressing folk songs in nightclubs? Why shouldn’t I be a lawyer myself? I’m smart.”
“You are smart.”
“So I took the LSAT, just to see how it went. Turned out I did pretty well. So I applied at TU. And lo and behold—I got in. Cleaned out my savings, but I got in.”
“So you’re in your first year. Miserable, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. This Socratic method bit really sucks.”
“It’s a rotten way to educate students,” Ben said, “but a great head trip for professors.”
“Yeah. That’s it exactly.” She slowly lifted her eyes. “So you’re not mad at me?
“Christina, you’re being ridiculous. Of course I’m not mad at you. I’m proud of you.” He winked. “And as soon as you get out of school, .I’ll give you a job.”
“Who are you kidding? When I get out, I’ll give you a job. And the paychecks will be a lot more regular, believe me.”
“Christina, I’m wounded to the quick.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what we lawyers do, isn’t it?”
Chapter 28
THE NEXT MORNING, Christina drove the van while Ben navigated. They took the Cherokee Turnpike south out of Tulsa, turned near the Port of Catoosa, and headed toward Claremore.
“This place is somewhere along the side of the road,” Ben said as he studiously pored over a map. “Before you get to Claremore, according to Gordo.”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Christina answered. “What’s the name again?”
“The Christian Purity Bible Camp.”
“Right. How could I forget?” She pulled into the left-hand lane. “And Denny is staying here?”
“So I’ve been told. Some people live there all year round.”
“They must be very pure.”
“Apparently.”
A few miles later, Ben pointed out the turnoff on the side of the road. Christina swerved over and drove down a dirt driveway barred by an iron gate. There was a speaker box beside the gate, with a big blue button beneath.
“Looks like they don’t let just anyone in here,” Christina commented.
“They wouldn’t stay pure long if they did.”
“Is anyone expecting us?”
“No. I was hoping we could just slip in and chat with Denny for a bit, then slip out again. Before we got contaminated with too much purity.”
“Right.” Christina reached out and pushed the blue button. A few moments later, the speaker box crackled alive.
“I hope you’re enjoying this beautiful day God has given us,” said the tinny female voice emerging from the box. “Welcome to the Christian Purity Bible Camp. How can we serve you?”
“We’re here to talk to one of your … er … campers.”
The box crackled. “I’m afraid we have to maintain the privacy of our members. Admittance is only granted to members and prospective members. Are you interested in joining us?”
Christina hesitated barely a second. “Yes, that’s right. We are.”
“Very well,” the voice in the box said. “I’ll open the gate. Please drive straight to the administration cabin at the end of the main road. I’ll meet you there. And of course, please refrain from taking any photographs along the way.”
Ben’s forehead creased. Did photography have a depurifying effect?
Christina pulled the van to the end of the road and parked. Ben opened the passenger-side door, hopped out, and found himself face-to-face with the woman behind the voice.
He froze, lips parted. “Buh—wha—I—”
She was an older woman, hair brown but flecked with gray. There were a few pronounced wrinkles in her face, but she was still healthy and attractive. She seemed friendly and relaxed, and yet her face bore a suggestion of sophistication. In fact, in many ways, she reminded Ben of his mother. Except for one minor detail.