Devoted Read Free Page B

Dad allows me to spend a little time on the computer on Sunday evenings.
    â€œNot much,” I say. I have a few more appointments to set and that’s it.
    â€œI’m going to bed then,” he says, walking over and patting me on the shoulder. “Don’t stay up too late.”
    â€œYes, Dad, of course,” I answer.
    It’s been three years since I started working on the computer for the family business, and Dad is often so tired he dozes off while he’s sitting up with me. Sometimes he’s so exhausted he allows me to work alone. Tonight, although he’s sleepy, I can still feel his watchful eyes on the screen as he stands over me, as if he’s debating whether he should leave me alone. I let my fingers hover over the keys as though they’re itching to get back to work. Finally, he nods and leaves, flipping off the light in the hallway as he makes his way down to his bedroom.
    It’s so rare that I find myself alone in my house that for a second I just sit there, listening to the sound of my own breathing and the air conditioner cycling on. I’m sure it’s wrong to feel this way, but this moment of solitude feels pleasant. Delicious, even. The light from the computer screen shines onto my fingers, making them look like skeleton hands tapping on the keyboard.
    I finish up the work I need to do, and I open up a search engine. I’ve done this before when Ruth or my mom or dad can’t be sitting next to me watching me work. I usually look up questions that come up during school lessons or when I’m reading our ancient encyclopedias. I confess there was a not-so-small part of me that was hoping my dad would go to bed early this evening, and I look at the blank search screen and run my tongue back and forth on the back of my teeth. My father’s words from a few hours before have been playing over in my brain. “‘He that walketh with wise men shall be wise, but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.’”
    James Fulton was a fool. That’s why he had to go to Journey of Faith. Does that mean he’s now wise? I know it didn’t make him happy—at least he didn’t seem happy this morning. But his happiness isn’t the point. His submission to God is what’s important. If you care about being happy, about pursuing pleasures of the flesh, maybe that makes you a fool. But I’m not looking for the same material James was caught looking at. I don’t think I’m being a fool.
    I stare at the long blank rectangle of the search engine and the blinking cursor sitting inside of it, winking at me. My heart outpaces the cursor three beats for every wink. I lean back and look over my shoulder and down the hall. No light shines out from under my parents’ bedroom door. I peer up at the ceiling. No noises echo from the bedrooms upstairs.
    With a touch so light I’m surprised it works, I type four words.
    Lauren Sullivan Clayton Texas

 
    3
    I’m not just rereading A Wrinkle in Time , I realize, I’m breathing it. Breathing the familiar, comforting smell of the used paperback’s yellowed pages, a scent more delicious than Ruth’s from-scratch chocolate-chip cookies. I’m at one of my favorite parts, when Mrs. Whatsit announces that there is such a thing as a tesseract.
    Ruth pokes at me with the eraser end of her pencil.
    â€œI can’t figure out this problem, Rachel,” she says. “Can you help me?”
    I hide A Wrinkle in Time under my notebook and lean over Ruth’s math workbook. She’s struggling with some basic multiplication problems.
    â€œThis isn’t too tricky,” I tell her, and I pick up her pencil and make a few marks. “See? Like this.”
    Ruth purses her lips at me. “You make it look easy.”
    â€œRachel goes too fast,” announces Jeremiah. He and his twin, Gabriel, are working at the other end of the table, quizzing each other on their