The Trinity Game

“You’re coming back, though, right?” The fear in his voice was unmistakable, and genuine.

Daniel nodded. “To let you know what I decide, one way or another.”

“Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look! Here is the Messiah!’ or ‘There he is!’—do not believe it. For false messiahs and false prophets will appear and produce great signs and omens, to lead astray, if possible, even the elect. Take note, I have told you beforehand.”

—MATTHEW 24:23–25

Daniel sat on a red plastic chair in the Varsity Diner, reading his Bible. On the white Formica table, a Heavy Dog, large orange drink, fried apple pie…untouched.

“Hey sailor, come here often?”

Julia.

Daniel looked up. “How’d you find me?”

She sat, plopped a massive purse at her feet. “Your uncle called.”

“But how did he know—” Then he smiled, despite himself. “Chilidog.”

“Chilidog?”

“When I was a kid, he brought me here, probably a half dozen times a year, whenever he worked revivals in the area. Told him I was going for a chilidog.” He glanced down at the food. “You hungry?”

“Starving!” She smiled with her whole face.

He slid his tray across. “Can’t seem to work up an appetite.”

Julia picked up the Heavy Dog and dug in with great gusto, coming away with a red chili moustache. “Such a lady,” she giggled. “Napkin?”

Daniel took the paper napkin, warm from his lap.

Don’t do it…don’t you do it…

He reached across the table.

Do. Not. Do. It.

And wiped the chili off her mouth.

His heart set to racing. Something twinkled in Julia’s eyes, and as she took the napkin, it seemed her hand lingered on his longer than strictly required to make the exchange. His pants got tight. He became aware he wasn’t breathing, forced himself to resume.

“So,” Julia said, “who goes first?” She drank some orange, tore another chunk off the dog with her teeth.

“You’re eating, I’ll go.” He opened his Bible to the page he’d been reading. “Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look! Here is the Messiah!’ or ‘There he is!’—do not believe it. For false messiahs and false prophets will appear and produce great signs and omens, to lead astray.”

“Lemme guess: Jesus, right?”

“Yes, Jesus. Matthew 24:23.”

Julia chewed, swallowed, sucked orange drink through the straw again. “So?”

“It matches, 24:23. The billboard accident. He said it would come down at exactly twenty-three minutes after midnight, and it did. A day is twenty-four hours. Twenty-three minutes after midnight is 24:23.”

“Oh, sweetie,” her hand came to rest on his, “no, no, no. That way lies madness.” A smile, gentle and kind and perhaps a little worried. “Numerology? Please, I know you’re smarter than that. I mean it with love, but really, you can’t go down that road.”

I mean it with love? But that’s just a thing people say, and her tone was light.

“Yeah…I know. Just feeling a little desperate for answers, I guess.”

Her hand left his and picked up the fried pie.

“So how was the trip? What did your boss say?” She raised the pie to her lips.

“Careful with the fried pie, they’re blistering hot inside. My boss? Well, if you mean God, I’m still waiting for an answer. But if you mean my boss at the Vatican, I’m not willing to talk about it.”

“I thought we’d crossed that hurdle.”

“Didn’t mean it like that. I’m not willing to talk about it with anyone. I’m trying not to even think about it.”

Julia abandoned the fried pie, picked up the drink. “Take a walk with me?”

They strolled along North Avenue, past Grant Field, and up Cherry Street, into the Georgia Tech campus, all lush green trees and stately brick buildings, a world apart from the insanity taking place only blocks away.

“Been playing phone-footsie with Liz Doherty—Trinity’s gatekeeper—for the last couple days,” said Julia. “You know, laying out all the reasons I should be the one to interview him: I broke the story, my coverage has been fair, I’m a hometown gal…have to admit, I was tempted to tell her I was a friend of yours, but I couldn’t allow myself to play that card without talking to you first. Anyway, my phone rings an hour ago, and it’s him. Not his people, Trinity himself. Wouldn’t agree to a sit-down, not yet, but said you were at the Varsity, and he was worried about you.”

“How’d he know you even knew me?”

“No idea.”

Daniel took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him, get you inside for a meeting.”

Julia stopped walking. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to. I will. He can’t hide forever, and you’ll be fair.”

“Thanks,” her smile like an embrace. “How’s he doing with all this? He sounded a little rattled on the phone.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with him,” said Daniel, “but I don’t like what I see.” He cleared his throat. “I came back here against orders, burning bridges, and what did I find? A world gone mad, a million worshipers outside Trinity’s door, and Trinity playing it for all it’s worth, raking the money in and bragging about it. He says he now believes, and he seems to mean it, but his actions betray him. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

“People don’t change overnight. He says he’s changing, maybe he is. Maybe it’s another con. You can deal with that disappointment—you’ve done it before—but how would you deal with having walked away, never knowing for sure?”

They continued up Cherry, turned right onto the redbrick path to Tech Tower. Young men and women sat on the grass, in the shade of old oaks, alone and in groups, with backpacks and laptops and cell phones, studying, joking, flirting.

Another life. A youth he could’ve had, had he made a different choice.

“There’s a bench,” said Julia, “let’s sit.”

He kissed her. Just grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard on the mouth. She tightened at first, but then softened into him, and their mouths opened and he pulled her closer, pulling their bodies tight.

It was heaven.

And heaven tasted like chilidog.

Julia jerked her head away. “Stop!” She shoved him back, hard. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I—uh, I…You kissed me back.” A lame defense, but it was all he had.