Respecting Privacy

In the process of piling the clothes on top of Shawna's dresser to fold, Stevie jostled the desk, causing the computer's mouse to move. As she matched and folded athletic socks, Stevie surveyed the list of names on the screen. She recognized all of them— Shawna's friends from school or church—except one: someone by the name of Rik. Stevie stopped folding to study the screen. Is this Rik a boy or a girl? Why hasn't Shawna mentioned him or her? Is this someone or something she doesn't want me to know about? Stevie had always respected her children's privacy, but it wasn't until after their seventeen-year-old's fatal overdose that they found the paraphernalia hidden in the back of his closet. Stevie was convinced that, had she and Jon been less concerned about Dougie's privacy and more attentive to the subtle danger signs in his behavior, they might have been able to help him, to save him.

Hopefully It's a Phase

Stevie assured herself often that her daughter Shawna was still going through a dark phase over the death of her older brother. The incident of rebellion at the camp almost two weeks earlier and Shawna's harsh words and attitude afterward were another expression of it, Stevie was convinced. She could hardly deny her daughter a period of grief and confusion, considering the depression she herself had suffered, but sneaking out of camp in the middle of the night to meet strange boys bordered on self-destruction. Shawna's cutting retorts during the ride home went beyond anything that could be considered "normal" disrespect. Once the children's weekend with their father was over, Stevie had grounded Shawna for a month—except for school, of course—but it had not softened her daughter's surly attitude so far. Glancing around at the worldly images decorating the room, Stevie prayed that Shawna's phase would pass soon, for both their sakes.

I'm Not a Child

Stevie was a successful advertising salesperson for a popular L.A. radio station. As a one-person operation, she did it all: negotiate contracts, write copy, generate graphics, produce radio spots. At this moment Stevie stood in her daughter's room and sighed. Besides being perpetually cluttered, the room was plastered with posters of rock groups and bare-chested young "hunks" from the movies and TV. Even the screen-saver glorified the popular music industry.

Stevie much preferred the pictures of horses, puppies, and kittens that had decorated Shawna's room in her preteen years. But Shawna was a teenager now, and the current room decor was much better than what she had first requested: to paint the room black and red and display posters of some of the morally questionable bands and personalities she claimed to like. Even with the concessions, however, Shawna continued to complain that she was being treated like a child.

The Opponent

"Juanita Dunsmuir's concerts can and do make an impact getting people to vote for her" insisted a staff adviser, " because they reach people deeply. Plus, "Wealthy friends in the entertainment industry have anted up big-time to support one of their own. Folks are mesmerized by Juanita the entertainer. Then she sings about freedom and tolerance and plants the thought in their heads that nobody has the right to determine right and wrong for anyone else. By the end of the evening she has people believing that Dan Bellardi plans to turn North California into a forty-five-thousand-square-mile prison camp where the population is told what to believe, what to think, and how to behave. And the people at the concerts tell their friends."

Coleman King, Daniel's longtime friend and policy advisor, said, "I don't think we need to worry about Juanita Dunsmuir. The majority of the people in North California live up here because they just don't like it in the south. They don't like the pace and pollution and crime of the big cities. They believe in moral values, right and wrong, truth and justice. That's why they backed us to create a new state. If we communicate our vision clearly, patiently, and with dignity—and we all know that Daniel is supremely capable of doing just that—the voters in our new state will support us."

Entertaining Blip

Robert Johnstone, a solidly built ex-Marine whose wife had died of cancer four years earlier, was locked onto an election victory like a high-tech missile on an enemy munitions store. He would deliver Daniel Bellardi to the governor's chair. He had kept his news from the rest of the staff so his chief could hear it with them. "Ms. Dunsmuir has gained a little on us, Senator," he said. "It's not a large gain; only a couple of points this week, no more than a blip. But it's the first time since the polls began that she's topped 35 percent and dropped us below 60. However, a liberal like Juanita Dunsmuir shouldn't be within 25 points of us."

"What caused the blip? Any ideas?" asked Daniel. "It's the concerts," Angie Calderone cut in, "I've said this before, and I'll say it again: Juanita Dunsmuir is an entertainer." "She was an entertainer," interjected Daniel's appointment secretary. "What she is now is a Hollywood-has-been-turned-marijuana-grower who's running scared that we're going to close down her operation. She knows that the liberal laws of California still apply here until the new legislature changes them. When we reverse the legalization of marijuana, she'll be out of a job."

Staff Meeting

One by one, the casually dressed staffers, four men and a woman, climbed the narrow spiral staircase at the rear of the houseboat and joined Daniel and Patricia on deck. Their hosts greeted them cordially and offered chilled California wine or iced sun tea. Hard liquor was never served in the Bellardis' home or aboard their houseboat, nor did the couple approve of staff members who indulged. Substance abuse at the highest levels of government in California had precipitated the legalization of marijuana and accelerated the moral disintegration of the big cities, Bellardi often argued with his inner circle. "We in North California will not only separate ourselves from such practices, we will distance ourselves from them, and it all begins with us." Staffers joked among themselves that Bellardi's campaign was probably the driest campaign in the history of American politics. Most of them, sharing the Bellardis' views, were proud of that claim.

Daniel tolerated little small talk at his staff gatherings. No matter what anyone said about his lead in the polls, he was not taking the campaign for granted. Shortly after the entree was served, conversation at the large round table under the canvas canopy turned to business with Daniel's familiar words, "Robert, get me up to speed."

The North and the South

Daniel Bellardi often referred to himself as "the former state senator from the former state of California" and was a man who was known for doing the right thing. The resolution he introduced to realign California into two separate states, approved by the California legislature two years earlier, received the approval of Congress.

The senator was both proud of his accomplishment and humbled that God had blessed his efforts to reduce the mega-state of California to two locally governed entities. He had separated the peaceful, conservative north from the overpopulated, polluted, morally corrupt south and was clearly the front-runner to become its first elected governor.

For Daniel Bellardi, the seemingly clear path to the governor's office was a rewarding by-product of his tireless, prayerful efforts to establish North California as a political and social haven for decent, God-fearing people throughout his former state. He would spend the months between now and November seeking the office most analysts agreed was his to claim. Though one minor opponent had emerged, the campaign, the senator had been assured, was merely a formality.

Kids’ Rights

Shawna's thoughts now wandered as her mother drove on in silence. Shawna didn't believe Destiny at first. She thought about something Destiny had said: "You don't have to take any junk from your parents. If they hassle you about grades or going out with guys or staying out late or anything, you just tell them to lay off, that they're harassing you. If they don't leave you alone, you can just leave. And they can't do a thing about it. It's the law now, but parents and teachers don't want kids to hear about it."

The worldliest girl in camp was either totally nuts or she was on to something. And if she was on to something, Shawna was going to find out about it and take advantage of it. Her thoughts raced: Mom is majorly ticked, and she's going to ground me for life or take away my TV and phone or harass me in some other way. But if Destiny is right, Mom won't get away with it. The first thing I have to do when I get home is find out if Destiny is right.

Worldly Influence

Pressed to do so, Shawna would reluctantly have agreed that her display of nonchalance over the potential danger of her actions was a snow job as well. She had seen the horrific stories on TV: abduction, ritual abuse, rape, mutilation, murder. She had attended the funeral of a classmate who had foolishly decided to walk home from the mall one night instead of calling her parents for a ride. Then, last night, Shawna had sensed the inner warnings and, with Destiny's encouragement, had cavalierly decided to ignore them.

Destiny had influenced Shawna more than she was ready to admit, even to herself. Destiny told of experiences that rivaled Shawna's secret fantasies: experiments with booze, boys, and recreational drugs—even titillating dabblings in the occult. Shawna assessed that she was smarter than Destiny, but she envied—even coveted—the girl's worldly wisdom.

Mom Wouldn't Understand

Had Shawna objectively assessed the tense exchange of words with her mother since leaving camp, she would have been forced to admit to the series of lies on her part. One of them was insisting she wasn't hungry. Now, with a long ride home ahead of her, Shawna wished she had skipped the hunger strike and vented her stubbornness some other way.

Her mother had invited her to talk about what happened last night, and she had coldly refused. In reality, there was a part of Shawna that yearned to tell her mother everything: her clever escape from the cabin; the halting experiment with marijuana and her stupidity at wasting most of a joint; the approval she felt from Destiny; the raw excitement, the rush of imminent danger, and the ultimate relief she sensed in the space of only a few minutes. These were the things she would tell a trusted friend about last night. Shawna wanted her mom to be a friend with whom she could share her experience without fear of judgment. But she was afraid her mom would look past the experience to deal with the wrong like a mother, not like a friend. So Shawna kept it all inside.

Looking to Kill

Chako had driven in and out of several neighborhoods looking for the address Eugene (Rattler) scribbled down from the phone book. "There it is," Eugene said. He was darkly pleased at the number of windows facing the street. It would be impossible, he determined, to pump a full clip from his .45 into the house without hitting someone. Either Jon Van Home, his wife, Stephanie, or maybe even a kid—it didn't really matter to Rattler. Somebody in this house was going to pay for messing with the De Sotos at the rec center.

Seeing the gun, Chako said, "It's broad daylight, man. There are people on the street. This is bad timing, dude." Just then, a boy was walking from the targeted house to the driveway. It had to be Van Horne's kid, Eugene decided. A lethal burst from the .45 and the kid wouldn't have a chance. And Jon Van Horne—wherever he was—would wish to God he had never crossed or humiliated the De Sotos. But Chako's warning made sense. He would do the deed someday soon, but not with the whole neighborhood watching.