Chapter 1, part 1: Joy Ride

The black convertible sped down the freeway toward Newport Beach. Exhilaration and fear mixed in my stomach as I gripped the steering wheel. Would I get away with this?

“Wow! I can’t believe your dad let you borrow his new Miata!” my best friend Alicia said from the passenger seat next to me. Her silky straight black hair whipped around her face. “I feel like we’re on a joyride!”

“Yeah, well … he did!” I lied.

Though I’d begged, Daddy wouldn’t even let me take the car for a test drive around the block, let alone a drive to the beach on a school night. But he was out of town at a sales recognition event and it was Mom’s Bible study night.

The keys to the Miata had been just laying there on Daddy's dresser. You’d think if he didn’t want anyone driving it, he’d have put them away somewhere safer, right? I couldn't resist.  I figured we’d be back before Mom got home, and neither of my parents would be the wiser. My sister, Kirsten, just one year my junior, was sworn to secrecy, and I had made sure nine-year-old Ruth had no idea what was going on.

“You’re so lucky, Giselle,” Alicia said. “You have like, the perfect family. I think you’re the only one in the whole school whose parents are still together.”

“I guess.”

No family was perfect, I knew. Mine definitely wasn’t, even if from the outside we met all the standards of a happy Christian family. Daddy was hardly home, and he pinched every penny when he was. I didn’t see why, he was getting his Top Sales award this week in Hawaii and we seemed to have plenty of money for things HE wanted, like this Miata or our new house in the hills above Citrus Valley.

Then there was Mom, always nagging me about everything. If I got a B, she’d wonder why it wasn’t an A. If I wore my hair up, she’d say how much prettier it was down. Kirsten and Mom bickered constantly, and Ruth was off in her own little dreamland half the time. And me … well, I had a few private habits I wasn’t too proud of. The Gottlieb family was far from perfect, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I talked about with anyone. Not even my best friend.

“What do you want to do when we get there? How about a walk around the FunZone?” Alicia asked.

“Don’t know if we have time,” I said. It was already 7:45. The drive down had taken longer than I had planned. Mom usually got home from Bible study at 9:00, but I wanted to be back home by 8:30 just to be on the safe side.

“What do you mean, no time? I thought your curfew wasn’t ‘til ten on school nights?”

Alicia didn’t have a curfew. Her mom worked two jobs to keep the two of them in an apartment in the Citrus Valley school district. It seemed like Alicia could do whatever she wanted.

I scrambled to think something plausible to tell Alicia. Studying to do? No, we both had the same classes and she’d know there wasn’t much homework assigned today. What a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive, Mom’s voice rang in my head.

“Um, actually, my dad doesn’t really know about me using the car.”

“So this really is a joyride! Look at you Giselle, taking a walk on the wild side for once.”

We passed a yellow “End Freeway” sign, and I took my foot off the gas and let the car coast in anticipation of the traffic signal ahead. I deeply inhaled, enjoying the unmistakable salty tang in the air. Soon we’d be at the beach.

The light turned green before we reached the signal to cross Pacific Coast Highway. Though there were a few cars waiting for the light, my lane was clear. I pushed the pedal to the floor and shifted into gear, sailing into the intersection. I’d imagined the Miata would be a blast to drive, but this beat all expectations. I felt like a beautiful babe from an action movie, the one the hero falls in love with. If only the boys at school could see me now.

Who was I kidding? They’d see frizzy brown hair made wilder by the whipping wind, and a body that was nothing to write home about. I’d never even had a boy notice me, let alone had a boyfriend. They all just thought of me as a pal. Why couldn’t I have inherited Mom’s big bust or Dad’s fair Austrian good looks?

Alicia grabbed my arm. “Giselle, look out!”

A car on Pacific Coast Highway was running the red light. By instinct, I slammed on the brakes, but we were going too fast. Slowing down put us directly in the car’s oncoming path instead of keeping us out as I thought it would.

Tires screeched. Brakes squealed. Airbags deployed on impact, and the Miata spun sharply left. Alicia’s screams fell eerily silent. Would we ever stop spinning? White powder from the airbags stung my eyes.

Chapter 1, part 2: Aftermath

Finally the car stopped moving. Alicia slumped in her seat, oddly still.

Warm liquid trickled down my face. I cautiously felt for the source and winced as my right hand found the gash from where my glasses had smashed into my brow bone. I unlatched the seatbelt, ignoring the ache in my left arm. I had to help Alicia.

I couldn’t see any obvious injuries. But that didn’t mean there weren’t any. What if her neck was broken? Had I paralyzed my best friend, or worse?

I gently touched her forehead. “Alicia?”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she straightened up in the seat.

“Thank God!” I said. My whole body started to shake.

“Giselle? Why didn’t you speed up?” Alicia’s voice was as shaky as I felt.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows that when a car is heading for you like that you floor the gas to try to get away. Didn’t you see it coming?”

I hadn’t, at least not until too late. I’d been too busy with my pathetic fantasies. I’d endangered Alicia’s life, both our lives. How could I have been such an idiot, such a careless driver?

“I don’t know, I don’t know. Oh, Alicia, I’m so sorry.” I started to cry, as condemnation rained down on my soul.

I was an awful driver. I shouldn’t even be allowed on the roads. And I was a thief to boot. What a rotten miserable selfish daughter I was, sneaking around and taking what didn’t belong to me. Mom always prayed each morning before I left for school, that God would keep me safe from reckless drivers. And now I was the reckless driver. God hadn’t kept me safe this time. But why would He, when I had done everything wrong? And when Daddy came home …

I groaned. “How am I going to face my dad?”

Sirens signaled the arrival of an ambulance and California Highway Patrol car. Suddenly we were at the center of a whirl of activity. EMTs helped us from the car and assessed our injuries. I caught my first glimpse of the damage to the Miata. The left back side was smashed in, the rear axle bent. Where was the other car, the one that hit us?

As the EMTs worked on us, the CHiPper interviewed several witnesses about the crash. All too soon it was my turn. I was going to be found out.

The CHiPper introduced himself as Officer Green. “Miss Gottlieb is it? I don’t want you to worry or get nervous. Given that this is a hit and run, it’s pretty clearly not your fault. But I have to ask a few questions just as procedure.”

“I’ll do my best. It all happened so fast.”

“You look pretty shaken up. Tell you what, I’ll follow up with you at the hospital. We need to start clearing the road anyway.” Officer Green put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Just try to remember, these things happen. It’s not your fault.”

Not my fault? He might believe that, but I knew better. He didn’t know I had taken the car without permission, or that I slammed on the brakes just when I should have been speeding up.

At the ER, they quickly confirmed that Alicia and I had no major injuries and sent us to the lobby to wait for our parents to pick us up. Officer Green came and went. He phrased all the questions as statements with a “Isn’t that right?” at the end, so that all I had to do was say yes or no.

Mom walked in, looking regal with her long silver hair flowing in soft waves down around her shoulders. “I came straight here as soon as I got the call.” She hurried to me and enveloped me in a hug, then pushed me away and shook me by the shoulders. “How could you scare me like that?”

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I said and fell into her embrace again, sobbing. “The car, it’s totaled. I don’t know how I’m going to face Dad.”

Mom stroked my hair back from my forehead like she always did when I was upset or sick. “It was just your grandfather’s old beater. I never liked you driving around in that heap anyway,” she soothed, tipping up my chin to kiss the wispies at my hairline.

“No, Mom. Opa’s car is still at home.” I pulled away and hung my head. “I was in the Miata.”

“The Miata? But how did—”

“I took it. I snuck in your room and found Daddy’s keys. I thought I’d have it back before anyone found out.”

“Giselle Gertrude Gottlieb! That’s not like you. You’ve always been my good girl. No, wait, that’s shaming, and I don’t do that anymore. Sorry. Can I try again?” She took a big breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for being honest now, that took courage. But I’m not the one you wronged. You have to call your father and confess.”

“Can’t I wait until he gets home next week?” I whined. Up until a few months ago, it might have worked too. But ever since Mom started taking some positive parenting courses to help her deal better with Kirsten, she had a new backbone.

"Kind and firm, Millie. You can do this,” she said to herself. She handed me her cell phone, her green eyes glittering with determination. “You will make the call now. It will be better if he has time to process all this before seeing you.”

I shuddered wondering what would happen if he didn’t have time to process it. I’d seen Daddy angry before, but never at me. I knew he held grudges, gave the silent treatment. Would he ever forgive me? “I can’t. I don’t know what to say.”

“Very well. You can think of what you’d like to say on the way to drop off Alicia.” She turned to my friend, comfort in her smile and a hug in her voice. “Sweetie, your mom couldn’t get off her shift at the diner, and she asked me to get you home. She really wishes she could be here.” Her demeanor hardened again as she turned back to me. "And as soon as we get home, young lady, you’re going to call your father in Hawaii and tell him what you did.”

Chapter 2, part 1: Confession

All too soon Mom and I were winding our way through the hills toward our home. As we walked in the door, the old grandfather clock in the entryway struck midnight, echoing in the cathedral ceilings of the living room. Further beyond, the flicker of the TV dimly lit the sleeping forms of Kirsten and Ruth on the leather sofas in the family room.

Mom led me to the living room and pressed her cell phone into my hand.

“It’s so late. Can’t this wait until morning?” I asked in a last ditch effort to put off the inevitable.

“It’s only 10 in Honolulu. Enough excuses. You need to make this right tonight.”

“Do you have to stand there and watch me do it? You’re making me nervous.”

“Fine. I trust that you’ll tell him the whole truth. I’ll give you some space. I’ll be helping the girls to bed. I want you to come find me when you are done. We still have a lot to talk about.”

I trudged up the stairs and down the hall to my room as though going to my execution. I sat on the edge of my four poster bed, then stood again. I couldn’t say something like this sitting down. I found Daddy’s cell number in the list of contacts and hit send. While it rang, I paced in front of the window, studying the twinkling lights of the city below. Just when I was getting my hopes up that he wasn’t going to pick up, I heard his voice come on the phone.

“Millie? Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?”

“Daddy, it’s me, Giselle.”

“Giselle, what a nice surprise to hear your voice! Miss me?”

“No. I mean, yes, I do miss you, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“What’s up, kiddo? You sound upset.”

“I was driving to the beach with Alicia—”

“On a school night?”

“I did my homework first. We were almost there when someone ran a red light and hit me.”

“Oh my God! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Daddy. But …”

“But what?”

“Your Miata.” The tears edging my voice finally spilled out.

“What about my car?” He said warily.

"That’s what was in the accident. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I wanted to drive it, and Mom—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore. Let me talk to your mother. Now.”

In the hall outside my room Kirsten and Ruth stumbled past me to their shared room, still half asleep. I found Mom tidying up in the family room and handed the phone back to her. I sank down onto the couch, hugging knees to chest. Mom took the phone around the corner into the kitchen. She was speaking too low for me to make out any words, but it didn’t sound good.

After a few minutes, Mom returned the phone to me with a scowl. She sat in an armchair opposite me, arms folded.

“Daddy? I’m so sorry.”

“It seems to me, Giselle, that you’re only sorry that you were caught. Not only did you take my car without permission, but you lied about it, trying to blame your mother.”

“I didn’t!” No wonder Mom looked so mad. She trusted me to tell the whole truth, accept responsibility, and now it looked like I tried to weasel out of it.

“Don’t you dare argue with me. I heard you with my own ears. Your mother and I have decided that you will need to pay $500 toward the repair of the car. I really should make you pay for all of it, but then you’d be in debt the rest of your life. Instead you will pay for the difference in my insurance premium this year, and work in my office this summer. Two hours a day. For free.”

“Where am I going to get that kind of money?” I protested.

“Get a job, sweetie. I’d already had one for two years when I was your age.”

“I was planning to get a job this summer to help pay for college.”

“Well, then just think how nice it will be to already have one.”

When I hung up with Daddy, Mom said in a steely voice. “Go to bed now, Giselle. I need to sleep on this before I can talk about it calmly.”

Chapter 2, part 2: Fix-It Mom

I groaned at the sound of the alarm the next morning. A mind swirling with guilt and worry had made sleep elusive. Sore from the accident, I hesitated to get out of bed.

Mom knocked on my door and came in. “Gigi, honey, how are you feeling this morning?”

“Not that great.”

“You look exhausted. How about you stay home from school today? We can talk about what happened, and then I’ll drive you over to Blessed Redeemer. I set up an appointment for us to meet with Pastor Jim.”

“The youth pastor? Why? Do we have to?” I looked up to Pastor Jim and his wife. They were always telling me what a great girl I was, that they hoped their toddler would turn out as well as me one day. It was flattering, but it made me uncomfortable too, like any second they would find out how wrong they were about me. If we went to his office with a real problem, he’d see me as just another one of the troublemakers. He’d start asking questions and then he’d find out my most shameful secrets.

“I’m worried about you, sweetie. Taking the car like that was so unlike you. You’re smarter than that. I’m concerned it was a cry for help.”

Mom went to help Kirsten and Ruth finish getting ready for school.

After they left, I drew a hot bath to soak my aching muscles and think. I slid down, letting my hair swirl around me in the water. The water covered my ears, blocking out all noise. I closed my eyes, imagining that I were floating in space.

Why had I taken Daddy’s car? Maybe it was a cry for help after all. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been truly happy. There was so much pressure to conform, to measure up, to excel but not stand out too much. No matter what I did it, it was never enough. I wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t pretty enough. I’d never be a model. My breasts were too small. My hair too frizzy, my glasses too nerdy, my zits too disgusting.

I wasn’t friendly enough. I’d never be popular. I was too quiet, too serious. Too much of a goody good. The popular girls intimidated me and fascinated me at the same time. I stammered and froze up whenever I tried to interact with them. Except for Alicia and my lab partner Quan, I didn’t have any real friends. I’d never been to any of the school dances. I wanted to at least go to senior prom, but no one had asked yet.

Academics were my strong suit, but lately even that had been a disappointment. Mom said as smart as I was that there was no reason why I shouldn’t be the valedictorian or at least salutatorian. I studied as hard as I could, but graduation was closer every day and I was still only 7th in my class.

And then there was church. The word grace was preached from the pulpit and taught in the classrooms of the Lutheran elementary school I’d attended, but in real life it seemed meaningless. If we were saved by grace and not by works, why did youth group feel like a competition to show who was the most “on fire” for God? Faith seemed measured by how regular your quiet time was, how much you prayed, how much you witnessed, or how many mission trips you had been on. Part of me wanted to do those things, but I never could keep up with it, and every time I missed a day, I felt like a huge failure. What kind of Christian was I to break one of the ten commandments and disobey my parents?

The water drained out of the tub, leaving me cold. I lay there shivering, feeling like I deserved some sort of punishment. What was wrong with me? Was I depressed or something? How pathetic would that be. It’s not like I had any real problems. What did I have to be depressed about?

I threw on jeans and a plain black tee shirt and headed downstairs, hair still dripping. Mom walked into the kitchen from the garage just as I sat down at the table with a bowl of cereal.

“Black again? Never mind. Ready for our talk?”

I nodded. I’d rather skip this part, but there was no getting out of it.

“First of all, I need you to apologize to me for lying to your father last night.”

“It was all a big misunderstanding, Mom. You’re probably not going to believe me, but I didn’t lie to Daddy. At least not intentionally. I was trying to explain that you were gone, that’s all.”

“I see. He assumed you were trying to say I gave you permission. I’ll clear that up with him when he gets home. Now, the real issue: why did you do it, honey?”

“I don’t know.” The pity party I had in the bathtub didn’t seem relevant anymore. Besides, Mom would never understand.

“What is really going on with you, Gigi? Is this about a boy? Are you having sex?”

“What? Where did that come from? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I didn’t think so, but I just had to ask. Of course, girls just don’t have the sex drive that boys do at your age. I used to hope my first child would be a boy, because I had so much fun having an older brother growing up. But these days I’m glad not to have a son. Did you hear about the Jacobs’ oldest boy? Got a 15 year old girl pregnant.”

Failed again, on two counts. Not only not the boy she’d hoped for, I was one of the freakish girls who did have a sex drive. I may not have had any opportunities, but I sure thought about it a lot.

I listened to her lecture and gave the responses I knew she wanted to hear, something I’d been doing all my life.

“I’m glad we had this talk,” she said at last. “It’s time to head over to the church office. Is there anything else you need to talk about?”

All my bathtub reflections came rushing back, but I couldn’t find a way to put them into words. All I could manage was, “Mom, what if I’m not the good girl you think I am?”

“Oh, honey. It’s not about labels. I’m sorry that you think in those terms. I wish I had learned all this positive parenting stuff when you were small—I would have done things so differently. I used to say ‘good girl’ to you all the time, didn’t I? But you need to know right now, there’s no such thing as a ‘good girl.’ You can make good or bad decisions, or really I guess I should say healthy or unhealthy choices, but it doesn’t change who you are. You’re my daughter and I love you. Always.”

“Aw, mom. You have to say that.”

Mom stood. “I don’t have to. In fact, I should say it more often.” She glanced at her watch, stood and put a hand on my shoulder. “C’mon. We really do have to go now. Let’s not keep Pastor Jim waiting.”

Chapter 3, part 1: Pastor Jim

Pastor Jim welcomed us warmly to his office. Mom quickly summarized the accident and her concern that it signaled something ominous about me and my future.

“Mrs. Gottlieb, do you mind if I talk privately with Giselle?”

“Of course not. I have some business to attend to in the school office anyway.”

As soon as Mom left, Pastor Jim leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. “Whoa, your mom is pretty worried about you, huh?”

“I guess.” I braced myself for the next question. Here came the part where he would discover my deepest darkest secrets.

“Well, I’m not worried about you one bit. She’s scared because she loves you, but I don’t think what you did means anything. You’re a great kid, but even great kids make mistakes. I know I had my share of them. It doesn’t mean you’re on the road to perdition. You’re not a troublemaker. So what’s your punishment?”

I thought I’d be relieved that Pastor Jim hadn’t wanted to pry further to diagnose what was wrong with me, but instead I felt a little disappointed. Couldn’t he see how much I was hurting inside?

“I have to get a job to pay for part of the damage to the car and the increase to my dad’s insurance premium.”

“Hmmm … I might be able to help you with that. How’d you like to work for me?”

“Really? That would be amazing.”

“I could use a part-time secretary to help me maintain my files, make calls to organize youth activities and do general stuff around the office here. You’re pretty responsible. How does $10 an hour sound?”

“A whole lot better than minimum wage at McDonald's! You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“I’m the lucky one to get someone as bright as you helping out around here. You can start Monday.”

Pastor Jim led me out of the office.

“You can stop worrying, Millie. She’s still the same great kid. You want to tell her the good news, Giselle?”

“I told Pastor Jim I needed a job and he said I can work for him!” I beamed.

“What an answer to prayer,” Mom said. “As soon as we got here I started to think bringing Giselle down here had been an overreaction and waste of your time. While you were in there, I prayed it would come to some purpose.”

“How amazing to see God will work all things for good!” Jim exclaimed.

“Yeah, um, that’s cool,” I said lamely.

“Thanks again for your time, Jim.” Mom shook his hand warmly.

“No problem,” Jim said, then shook my hand. “See you at youth group on Sunday, Giselle?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be introducing the new college intern. I think you’re going to really like her.”

I was only half listening. I couldn’t wait to get home and bring Alicia up to date.

Chapter 3, part 2: Guilt at Every Turn

As soon as we got home, I took the cordless phone to my room called her.

“How are you today?”

“I’m actually feeling OK. The painkillers they gave me at the hospital are pretty awesome. How about you? You’re still alive so I guess your dad must not know yet.”

“Oh, he knows all right. My mom made me call last night and tell him everything.”

“Whoa, she’s hard core. So what’s your punishment?”

“I have to pay a portion of the damages and the bump in his insurance. But, I lucked out. The youth pastor at my church said I could work for him, so it’s all covered.” I knew it wasn’t just luck. Why didn’t I ever talk about God with Alicia?

“That’s cool. Hey, not to change the subject, but before the accident on Thursday I was planning to ask you about your plans for prom.”

“No one’s asked me,” I said.

“I know, but I thought maybe I could talk you into just going ahead and asking someone yourself. It would be so awesome for you to double date with me and Chet.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promised, trying to think of who I’d dare to ask.

***

Sunday morning we went to church and Bible class like we did every week. Blessed Redeemer Lutheran Church was a large brick building with Gothic spires and huge stained glass windows imported from Germany by the founding members at the turn of the century. Normally I enjoyed the ritual pomp and circumstance of the high liturgy and tried to take notes on the sermon, but today I found it hard to concentrate.

Instead I indulged in some games I’d invented to pass the time in my childhood days when my attention span didn’t match the length of the service. After counting the neatly spaced rows of light bulbs that dotted the ribs of the vaulted ceiling, I hunted for fairies and elves in the patterns formed by the swirl of creamy specks in the maroon carpet. 

Finally I turned my attention to the windows, which each depicted scenes from the life of Christ. I tried to remember each story. The one there with Jesus crouching and writing something with his finger in the dust. In the background, angry looking bearded men wore robes and tunics. A woman cowered nearby. I remembered this one well. The story of the woman caught in adultery. “Go and sin no more,” Jesus would say to her after all her accusers left.

The story was always presented as an example of God’s wonderful grace, but today it struck me that God’s grace had a catch. Could anyone really go and sin no more? Or was it another impossible standard? Is that what having faith really meant? What hope was there left then for me, who sinned over and over?

Kirsten and I walked together from the sanctuary to the old parsonage, where the youth group met for Sunday School. Kirsten squeezed onto one of the many multicolored thrift store sofas crammed in the living room between her best friend Heidi and her boyfriend Charlie. I awkwardly looked around for an open spot and finally just sat on the floor.

Most everyone there went to the Lutheran high school, while my parents had sent us to public school after eighth grade. I may not have made many friends at Citrus Valley High, but at least I wasn’t a total outcast like I had been at Blessed Redeemer Elementary. Even though I had grown up with them, I was never very close with the girls in my class, and three years at separate schools hadn’t made the heart grow fonder. Whenever I was around them I felt as awkward and unlovable and excluded as I ever did in junior high.

Pastor Jim introduced the new intern, Jolene. She had the most perfect blond ringlets and a broad apple-cheeked smile. It was how I dreamed of looking.

“Since we finally have a male and a female on staff, today we’ll be covering a topic I’ve been wanting to tackle for a long time now: sex. Girls, you stay here and guys, you come with me upstairs.”

Jolene gave the same basic overview of human sexuality I’d heard in high school health class. She talked about boundaries with boyfriends and how far was too far. She had us write down questions so she could read them anonymously and answer them for everyone. There were a lot of uncomfortable giggles, but we were hanging on her every word.

“Okay, last question. ‘What about fantasies or mutual masturbation? Is that ok?’” Jolene read from one of the slips of paper. She paused to think before answering. “Here’s my opinion. Sex is sex is sex, whether it’s in our mind or simulated, alone or with another person. If you touch yourself, repent,” she said. “Confess to God and then go and sin no more.  It may not be specifically addressed in the Bible, but it does say: He says ‘Be perfect as I am perfect.’  The standard is nothing less than absolute chastity. Sex saturates our media, so it wouldn’t be surprising if any of you girl struggle in this area. Right now, you can give it to God and he will empower you to make better choices. Pray with me.”

I made a vow to God then and there that I wouldn’t touch myself or fantasize ever again.

Chapter 3, part 3: Prospects

Daddy came home late Sunday night, and left for his office earlier than usual. Was he avoiding me?

Mom drove Kirsten and I to school. Mom didn’t want me to drive for the next week, which was fine by me. I didn’t trust myself behind the wheel for the moment anyway.

Quan was already there when I walked into AP Biology a few minutes before the bell rang. A cowlick at the top of his head fought against the side part he customarily wore in his spiky black hair.

“Where were you on Friday?” he asked.

“Alicia and I got into a car accident on Thursday night.”

“Oh my God. What happened?”

“A drunk driver ran a red light and hit my back bumper, and then took off.” No point in mentioning the fact that it was my dad’s car, or that I could have avoided the wreck if I weren’t such a lousy driver.

“I never would have known you were in an accident. You look fine. Is Alicia all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine.” I pointed to the small adhesive bandage above my eyebrow. “This is my only real injury. It could have been much worse.”

“Wow, St. Christopher must have been protecting you.”

“Who?”

Quan pulled out a pendant on a gold chain from under his button-down shirt. “He’s the patron saint of safe journeys.”

“I didn’t know you were Catholic. This might be racist, but I figured all Asians were Buddhist or something.”

I’d always seen Quan as just a friend, especially in light of that verse about being unequally yoked. But he was Catholic, that changed everything. If he was a Christian like me, maybe I could at least go to a dance with him, even if he wasn’t really my type physically.

“Some Vietnamese are Buddhist, but my grandparents were converted by French missionaries before they came to the US. Do you go to church?” he asked. “What religion are you?”

On closer inspection, Quan was cute in his own way. On the short side, but definitely good looking. “My family is Lutheran,” I answered.

“What’s that?”

“It’s similar to Catholic in a lot of ways, but we don’t pray to saints or Mary or anything like that.” What it would be like to kiss him?

“I don’t pray to her, but she is an important part of my relationship with God.”

“That’s interesting.” I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy trying to remember if Quan already had a date to the prom. Maybe no one had ever asked me to a dance, but then I’d never asked anyone either. What did I have to lose? “Quan, I don’t mean to change the subject, but are you going to the prom?”

“Why, you want to go together?”

“Why not?”

****

A few weeks later, I sat on a barstool at the edge of the kitchen counter, drooling over the gorgeous photos of the campus of one of my top college choices: Westmont, a conservative Christian school up the coast in Santa Barbara County. UCLA and the local Cal State campus rounded out my list.

My paternal grandmother, Oma, worked in the kitchen rolling out the dough for an apple strudel on the counter of the island. She was staying with my sisters and me while Mom and Daddy were on a cruise to Baja California. 

“You’re growing up so fast, liebchen,” Oma said.  “College already!  Tell me, though, why should you need to look at all those pretty magazines?  I always thought you would go to Elk River.”

Elk River College was the alma mater of my dad’s brothers and both his parents. Oma always spoke of it as if it were the nation’s premier faith-based institution, a place where true followers of Christ received the most rigorous training for their hearts, souls and minds.  From my earliest childhood, Oma painted a picture of the place with her words, doing her utmost to tempt me, her favorite granddaughter, to one day be brave enough to journey from sunny Citrus Valley back to the snows of ancestral Ohio.  She liked to quote a sentence from their promotional materials: “Perched on a gorge overlooking the rushing rapids of its namesake waterway, the awe-inspiring beauty of the campus beckons students to come contemplate the majesties of the Lord.” 

It did sound amazing, but between the distance and high cost, I had written off attending there as unrealistic. The academic and alumni scholarships they were offering would barely cover room and board.

“That would be wonderful, Oma.  But it’s so expensive, just like Westmont.  They raised tuition again this year, can you believe it?  I’d love a Christian education, but I don’t want to end up with tons of debt. Daddy thinks I should go to Cal State Citrus Valley like he did, but lately I’m leaning more toward UCLA.”

Oma muttered a mild German oath.  She applied the rolling pin to the strudel dough with renewed vigor.  I already knew her opinions of the depravity of California state schools and could read on her face the effort she made to restrain herself from giving another lecture on the subject.   

Abruptly, the motion of her powerful forearms came to a halt.  “So, my alma mater is too expensive, is it?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.  “Perhaps you won’t care that it’s so kostspielig if I pay the tuition? Room and board won’t leave you with much debt.” 

“Oh, Oma! I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Who’s asking?  I insist. It’s a gift of love, an investment in the Kingdom of Heaven.  I know God will bless you there, like he did me, like he did your uncles. I only wish meine kleine Franz had gone there too. But then, he wouldn’t have met Millie, and I wouldn’t have you, liebchen, would I?” 

I knew it would be no use arguing with her.  Not that I wanted her to take back an offer like that.  After all, Oma had always held out Elk River as the epitome of college perfection, and I wasn’t about to talk myself out of a nearly free education. 

I ran across the kitchen and threw my arms around her stout body.  It surprised me how fragile she felt in my arms.  Her spine jutted up in knobby ridges between the sharp outline of shoulder blades.  When I let go, I saw moisture shimmering in Oma’s eyes. 

“Tears of joy, liebchen,” she said quickly in response to my look of concern.  “I only wish your dear Opa could be here to witness this day.”  At my prompting, she told me again of how they met and married during their time at Elk River. 

When Mom and Daddy got back from vacation, Oma insisted that we accompany her to set up a trust for my education.  “I may be joining your Papa in heaven sooner than you think,” she said over Daddy’s protestations.  “Elk River was good for me, it will be good for Giselle, too.” 

“We can’t protect her from the world forever, Mama,” Daddy said.  I noticed that he never spoke directly to me the whole time.

Neither one of them had any idea of the ways the world had already found me. A close-knit and accountable Christian community like the one Oma described at Elk River seemed custom-tailored to save me from myself.