Free Sins of the Fathers by James Scott Bell

university level. Maybe especially people who taught at the university level. And Brad had laughed, being a graduate of UC Berkeley and knowing full well that the hallowed halls of higher learning were rife with a brand of theism that birthed cancer in the soul. “I believe I had Satan for freshman biology,” Brad used to say. “He used to grade us with a pitchfork.”
    Now she wasn’t laughing. Maybe these theologians and academics had a point. Maybe this whole Christianity thing was an exercise in denial.
    She didn’t say so to Brad, of course. He’d worry and start yapping about getting some counseling, and she just couldn’t handle that right now. She did not want his strength, rooted as it was in a doctrine she could not confirm. She did not know what she wanted.
    She knew she didn’t want to go to church that Sunday. It was too soon, and she didn’t want everybody coming up to her with hugs and wishes and tears and offers of dinner and anything else they could do. She wanted to be alone with her grief.
    But Brad insisted in his gentle but firm way that she go. And a very small part of her thought, Okay, I ’ ll give God a chance, but he better not blow it this time. He could have saved Matthew, and he didn ’ t .
    2.

    The church stood on a hillside north of the Valley, just off the 118 freeway. And from the looks of things, it was a pretty popular place.
    Cars streamed into the parking lot. Lindy, holding her Starbucks in hand like it was a magic back-from-the-dead elixir, hoped Roxy would be able to find a spot without bending a fender. She was so excited about seeing her guy, she was giddy.
    Lindy hadn’t been sure what to wear and settled on her closing-argument suit, a dark blue pinstripe ensemble with skirt and coat, very conservative. She needed juries to believe there was a little conservatism inside her, especially by the end of her trials. The conservative image was usually a tough sell, but at least she could dress the part.
    The auditorium was getting packed quickly. Roxy, wearing more makeup than usual and dressed in, of all things, a dress, gazed around the crowd like a meerkat.
    “I don’t see him.”
    Lindy smoothed her blouse. “No hurry.”
    “You seem a little anxious.”
    “Anxious? I look anxious?”
    “Like a CEO on 60 Minutes. ”
    “I’m in foreign land here.”
    “We don’t eat our young.”
    A nice-looking young man with wavy blond hair handed Lindy a program and showed a row of white teeth.
    “Welcome,” he said. He looked about twenty.
    “Thanks,” Lindy said.
    The young man pointed to Lindy’s Starbucks cup. “Want me to take that for you?”
    “You try, I’ll bite your arm off.”
    The smile disappeared.
    “Kidding,” Lindy said. “Here, I’ll kill it for you.” She downed the remainder and handed the guy the cup. He took it and hurried off, as if he couldn’t wait to pass out programs in another part of the lobby.
    “Friendly joint,” Lindy said.
    Roxy almost jumped in the air. “There he is!”
    A lean man of around thirty, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, white slacks, and leather sandals, headed toward them. His smile, seen through a clipped brown goatee, seemed genuine enough.
    “This is Travis Kellman,” Roxy said.
    He shook Lindy’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”
    “Life is about risk,” Lindy said.
    They settled into some seats, Travis sitting on the other side of Roxy. A pretty good band played up on the stage. All right. Not so bad. And then everybody stood up and started singing the words displayed on a big screen.
    Lindy stood up so as not to draw attention. She just listened. It was pretty weird, all this singing. People were really into it, clapping and swaying. Their enthusiasm was nothing like the singing in church she’d seen in the movies, with people holding hymnals and trying real hard to sound interested.
    Then it was time for the preaching. The pastor’s name, according to the bulletin, was Clark Bennett. And when he got up to