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Porter was like a character in a comic strip; a six foot scone in a thought balloon hovered over his car. Oliver collected his mail. Gifford Sims of The First Fundamentalist Hospital was interested in talking with him. There were a couple of bills. A Thanksgiving invitation from Amanda. "Mother and Paul are coming. Heather has been asking about you." Sunday morning was cold and windy.
Auditors were coming from national headquarters, and the trial balance was off by $185,000. Dan was hoping to find the problem before they arrived. It was a lot of money. Oliver wondered if it had been stolen. Was there a First Fundamentalist embezzler? He concentrated until lunch time, leaving his office only once. Suzanne drove out at noon, and he left five minutes later.
I also remembered two occasions during my own youth when I had eaten little or nothing for approximately a month each without realizing that I was "fasting." And doing this had done me nothing but good. Once when I was thirteen my mother sent my "little" brother and I to a residential fundamentalist bible school.
I have a masters in communication from Columbia and a PhD. The students were trained to go out and do the Lord's work, but they were only getting one point of view in their education. The books in the curriculum dealt with science from a fundamentalist point of view, presenting arguments as though they were objective and unbiased.
She told him funny stories about Harley, who ran the local U-Haul franchise and was forever hitting on her for a date. She liked Harley. "He can fix anything." He was a Fundamentalist in good standing. "If they can put up with Harley, they can put up with me," she said. Their relationship remained intensely physical.
Oliver waited at the beach, walking back and forth in front of the driftwood log. After half an hour, he poured a cup of coffee from the thermos. Steam curled up and was blown away. He had an interview the following day at the Fundamentalist hospital; he ought to iron a shirt. Wear a tie? Francesca appeared, walking with long strides. "Hi," she said.
How different it all was from the harsh red angularities of Mars! He was outside, breathing deeply, inhaling the perfumed air with delight. This was the only heaven; beyond that far-flung immensity of planetary orbs was hell! He, Hilary Grendon, the carefree, smiling skeptic of old, was a Fundamentalist now.
"I asked her what was sick, and she said it was her hair. Her hair was sick. I wish my hair was that sick. I hope she doesn't go and do something foolish." "I like your hair," Oliver said, setting off the flashing "creep" sign. The phone rescued him. "I'd better get to work." "First Fundamentalist Hospital," Molly said, her gorgeous drawl following him around the corner.
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