"Dad, I'm sorry, but I've got to have my say." He
turned toward Bart, who had risen to his feet. "Now,
you listen to me, little brother." His strong hands
released the joy stick to clench into fists. "I believe in
God . . . but I don't believe in religion. Religion is
used to manipulate and punish. Used in a thousand
ways for profit, for even in the church, money is still
the real God."
"Bart," I implored, so afraid he'd harm Jory
again, "it's time we all headed upstairs."
Bart had paled. "No wonder you sit there in that
chair if you believe what you just said. You are being
punished by God, just as Joel says."
"Joel," sneered Jory. "Who the hell cares what
an old fool like Joel says? I'm punished because some
stupid idiot wet the sand! God didn't pour down rain
to do that. A garden hose took God's place, and that's
why I'm in this chair and not where I belong. As soon
as possible, I'm leaving here, Bart! I'm forgetting
you're my brother, whom I've always tried to love and
help. I'm not going to try again."
"Hooray for you, Jory!" cried Cindy, jumping
to her feet and applauding.
"STOP!" I yelled, seizing Cindy by the arm
while Chris grabbed her other arm and we dragged her
away from Bart. Still she twisted and fought to free
herself. "You damned freaky hypocrite!" she yelled
back at Bart. "I heard at your birthday party that you
do your share of using the local brothel . . ."
Thank God the elevator door closed behind us