Two hours later the Brooks van was gliding south on Interstate 95, headed toward Richmond.  The first hour of the trip down Route 3 from Culpeper to Fredericksburg before picking up the Interstate had been an adventure in itself, since this was their first real road trip in their new Ford Econoline van.  Bev had been riding in the front passenger seat while her husband drove, but then the kids had announced that they wanted to watch a DVD they had brought with them and she found that she wasn't quite adept at handling the floor-mounted player beneath her seat, especially since she had to bend over and look at it upside down while the van was moving.  So at Lake of the Woods, about twenty minutes into their trip, she had exchanged seats with their oldest son Jeff, who quickly got the DVD player working.  For the next half-hour or so the kids had thrilled to the derring-do of Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.  Well, at least, it had seemed to their father that that was what they had been doing, since as he drove he had been lost in thought about both the mysterious coded message from the night before that they had finally deciphered and the even more mysterious phone conversation that he had had earlier that afternoon with the clerk at the Budget Music store in Richmond.  As their van moved further south, he slowly became aware that the kids were no longer watching the movie but were instead entertaining themselves with their new cingular wireless phones, calling one another while sitting only two only feet away from one another and laughing at the resulting "echo" effect, which then became especially entertaining to them when Graham decided to use the cingular wireless network to transmit loud, rolling, echoing burps and belches to his siblings, who obligingly cracked up into hysterics both at the burps and at their echoes (the word "cingular" being left uncapitalized here because, after all, that's how the cingular wireless company markets themselves.  it gives their advertising a kind of e.e. cummings feel.  kind of.)

anyway (Oops.  Sorry.)

Anyway, realizing both that they would be in Richmond soon and that it was only fair that the kids be told what was going on, Michael turned his head briefly to his oldest son and said, "Jeff, pause the DVD and tell the others to turn off their phones.  Mommy and I need to tell you all something."

"Hey, guys," Jeff called back toward the back of the van as he hit the "pause" button on the remote control, "turn off your phones.  Mom and Dad want to tell us something."  After a few more seconds of play with the phones and Jeff's calling out to them again, the rest of the Brooks children finally shut off their phones and the van fell silent save for the muffled sound of the engine and the hum of the tires on the road.

"Guys," their mother began, "you're probably wondering why we're making this road trip to Richmond on the spur of the moment."

"Does it have to do with that secret message from last night?" younger Michael asked.

"Yes, it does," their father began to say.  "Mommy and I fig--"

"It's so weird that it would have the time and date of Kerry Livgren's conversion," Jeff interrupted.

His father blinked.  "How... how did you know that, Jeff?"  Neither he nor his wife had yet told the kids anything about what they'd found out.

"You let me read your copy of his autobiography Seeds of Change a few weeks ago," Jeff answered.  "It was in there."

"Well, yes," his father said.  "That string of numbers at the top do match the time and date of his conversion, as you said."

"And the third line meant 'water,'" piped up Graham.

"How'd you know that?" his increasingly perplexed father asked.

"Dad," Graham answered laughingly, "it only had five letters.  It was easy."

"And that funny line about pop being a climbed rogue was an anagram for that artist Guiseppe Arcim-what's-his-name," younger Michael said matter-of-factly.

His father suddenly hit the brakes and pulled into the service lane.  This was getting too weird.

"Now wait a minute, Michael," he said as he brought the van to a halt.  "How did you know that it was an anagram for Guiseppe Arcimboldo?"

"You let me have your original CD of Masque when you bought your remastered copy a few years ago," his son replied.  "I figured that 'we tar' meant 'water' and I remembered from the booklet that that was the name of the fish-man painting on the CD cover, so during library time I used the computer to find the painting and the artist.  Then I matched up the letters in his name."

"At least the last line made sense," Katherine said from the back of the bus.  "'Find Kerry Livgren.'  Only a doofus could miss that," she added, laughing.

"You mean, 'P.S.: Find Kerry Livgren,'" Emily corrected, relishing the chance to show that she was just as smart as her older brothers and sister.

"Yeah," Jeff laughed, "only an idiot would think that 'Find Kerry Livgren' was some kind of secret code, like 'Fry Kern Driveling.'"

"Who's 'Kern Driveling'?" Emily called out.  "And why would anyone want to fry him?"

All the kids broke up into hysterics at that as Michael looked back toward his wife in the seat behind him.  "Did you tell them anything?" he mouthed to her as the kids' laughter filled the van.

"No," she shook her head.  "They're smart kids."

Michael turned back to the steering wheel and slowly eased the van back into traffic, not sure whether to rejoice at his children's quick minds or to despair at how long it had taken him to figure out the same message.

"Well," he said, addressing his kids again, "anyway, we're going to Richmond because Mommy and I figured out that the message was pointing us to an original record album of Masque at a music store in Richmond."

"Oh, okay," Jeff replied from the passenger seat.

At least the kids didn't figure that one out before we did, Michael thought to himself as the kids went back to playing with their cell phones.  And no point just yet in telling them about that strange phone conversation with the clerk.

Bev sensed her husband's discomfort at having been shown up by his children.  "Don't worry, dear," she said, smiling.  "After all, everyone's brain starts shrinking once they turn twenty."

"And I read that men's brains shrink even faster than women's as they get older," young Michael added.  "So you're right on schedule."

"Ha-ha, very funny," his father replied only half-jokingly as the van continued down the highway.  "Hey," he suddenly called back after they had traveled a few more miles, "you guys didn't tell anyone at school about the message, did you?"

A chorus of No's filtered back to him from the rear of the van.  "Good," he said.

After a few more miles the van passed by the exits for the I-295 loop around Richmond and began running into heavier traffic.  Michael dropped his speed as they passed by various construction zones along the highway.  Signs pointing to exits for familiar street names from his time in seminary began to appear as they made their way closer to the city.

After a few more minutes they came to an especially familiar exit.  "Well," Michael said out loud to no one in particular, "at least I've got enough brains left to get us to Richmond.  Here's the exit for Chamberlayne Avenue."  The van slowed as it proceeded up the ramp.

"Dad," Jeff asked, "are we staying at the seminary again?"

"Yes," Michael replied, "I called before we left."  As an alumnus of Union Theological Seminary in Richmond, Michael could reserve a room for himself and his family (a whole floor of rooms, actually, if there were no campus events going on) in Thompson Hall for far less than the cost of a hotel room.  In fact, the previous year they had used campus housing as a centrally located "bed and breakfast" spot on their King's Dominion and Busch Gardens vacations.

A few minutes later the van reached the campus, and after Michael had secured the room keys from the Alumni/ae Office and driven to Thompson Hall and parked, the family poured out of the van and begain carting their belongings up to their room (a whole floor of rooms, actually, since there were no campus events going on).

"Okay, guys," Michael called out to his kids as he pulled his suitcase out from the back of the van, "we've got three rooms on the top floor, just like before, so you boys take one room, you girls the next and Mommy and I will take the third."

"Hey, Dad," Graham called out as he walked toward the building, "are we going to that record store tonight?"

"No, they're closed," Michael replied, closing the rear of the van.  "They open again tomorrow at noon.  But we can drive out there tonight just to make sure we can find it, and then we'll go eat dinner at the Robin Inn.  It's just a few miles from the store."

"Okay," Graham said, as he and the rest of the Brooks clan clambered into the building and up the stairs.
 

On the street, a car that had been parked by the side of the road near Thompson Hall since before Michael and his family had arrived started up and drove slowly down Melrose Avenue.  It stopped briefly at the intersection before turning right onto Chamberlayne Avenue and heading south toward downtown Richmond.
 
 

15

That night, in a room all to themselves, Michael and Bev rediscovered the passion and intimate wonder that had first attracted them to one another almost twenty years before.

But that's none of your business.
 
 

16

The next morning the Brookses (yes, that is the proper plural form) got up and enjoyed a wonderful breakfast of bacon and sausage omelets filled with diced tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, black olives, shredded cheese and bell peppers, along with stacks of homemade pancakes, in the kitchen in Thompson Hall.  They were the only ones staying in the building this weekend, so they had the kitchen (and the reading room and the TV room) all to themselves.

"That was a good idea to stop and buy all these breakfast fixings last night after dinner, honey," Michael said to his wife, who, besides being an excellent Speech-Language Pathologist and possessing a beautiful singing voice (both of which were made apparent back in Chapter 11), cooked a mean bacon and sausage omelet (among other delicious delectables).  "This is great."

"Yeah," younger Michael chimed in, "thanks for fixing this."

"Yes, thank you," the other kids added.

"Pass the orange juice, Dad," Jeff asked.  His father picked up the bottle and handed it to him.

"Here you go, Jeff."

"So, Daddy," Graham said, his mouth half full of pancake, "are we going out to that store first thing?"

"First thing," his father said, finishing off his cup of coffee, "we're going to help Mommy get all these dishes cleaned up."

"Aww," the kids complained lightly.

"Come on, now," their father chided them gently as he got up and carried his plate to the sink.  "It's only fair.  Besides, it'll only take a few minutes."

The kids spent the next few minutes raking and rinsing plates and standing them in the dishwasher before heading out the door.  Michael stood at the sink, scrubbing the cast-iron skillet in which his wife had made the omelets while she relaxed at the table with her cup of coffee.

"So when are we going to go out to the store?" she asked.

"They don't open 'til noon," Michael replied.  "I thought we could go out on the Quad and toss the Frisbee and the baseball to get some exercise.  I need it," he added, patting his belly, which had grown a noticeably fuller and rounder after almost twenty years of his wife's cooking.

"Well, you'd better run catch the kids," she said.  "I think they're heading over to Richmond Hall to play pool and ping-pong.  Go on; I'll catch up with you."

"Okay," he said as he finished drying the pan, which he then placed upside down in the sink.  He walked over and gave his wife a kiss, then headed out the door after their kids, who were indeed heading toward Richmond Hall, a few hundred feet or so away.

"Guys," he called after them, "Look at all this open space.  Let's go toss the Frisbee or the baseball out here."

"But we wanted to play pool where it's air-conditioned," Katherine yelled back.

"Yeah, and ping-pong, too," younger Michael added.

"We can do that later this afternoon when it's hot outside," their father shouted back.  "Let's get some exercise out here while it's still nice."

"Okay," they responded with varying degrees of enthusiasm and started walking back toward their father.
 

Presently the kids had retreived their and their father's baseball gloves along with a couple of balls from their rooms and were heading out toward the Quad, a large quadrangle of closely mowed grass surrounded on all sides by the offices, classroom buildings and dormitories that made up the UTS campus, which itself took up an entire block between Brook Road and Chamberlayne Avenue.  As they walked out from under the shade of the trees that lined the Quad's perimeter but before they could spread out to play, Michael called to his oldest son Jeff, who was walking a few feet to his left, tossed the ball into the air and said, "Think fast.  Hot potato."

His son startled for a moment before catching the ball in his bare hand.  He held on to it for a moment before his father repeated, "Jeff... hot potato."

"Oh, okay," Jeff said and tossed the ball gently toward Graham, who caught it in both hands before tossing it again toward both Katherine and Emily, who bumped together lightly as they both went for the ball.  After a moment of bobbling, Emily came up with it, which didn't please Katherine all that much.

"Hey," she said in an annoyed voice to her younger sister, "I was going for it."

"So was I," Emily replied innocently as she tossed it toward her brother Michael.

"That's no fair, Emily," Katherine complained.  "You should have tossed it to me next."

"Here, Katherine," her brother Michael said as he tossed it toward her.  She took a step forward and caught it.

"Remember, guys, it's a hot potato," their father said.  "Get it out of your hands as quickly as you can."

After a few minutes' practice the kids found themselves growing quite adept at catching and releasing the ball in one smooth movement, although there were still a few dropped balls among them.  They slowly began increasing the distance between themselves and moved out onto the sunlit Quad as their game of hot potato progressed into a proper game of catch.  Well, two games, actually, since Katherine and Emily couldn't throw a ball as far or as fast as their brothers or their father and needed to have a game of their own out of the line of fire.  The girls moved into the shade under a couple of trees while their brothers and father staked out the central area of the space, forming a line with Graham and his dad in the middle positions and Jeff and Michael on either end.

After a few minutes of pop flies and dropped balls Jeff called out, "Hey, Dad," as he slung a mean fast ball toward his father.

"Yeah?" Michael answered as the ball landed cleanly in his glove with a satisfying smack.  He turned to fire the ball to Graham.

"What do you think that last line of the message meant?  'Find Kerry Livgren'?" Jeff asked.

Michael turned back toward Jeff as Graham caught the ball.

"Well," he replied, "I'd spent so much time trying to figure out the 'mysterious' parts of the message that I hadn't done much with the last line.  I first thought it might be a coded message like the first three lines," he added, watching Graham's toss to younger Michael land in his glove, "but then I figured that it must mean what it says."

"But, Dad," Graham asked, catching his brother's toss back to him, "what does it mean to 'find Kerry Livgren'?  Are we supposed to go to his house?"

"That's what confuses me," his father answerd, catching Graham's toss.  "It's not like it's any big secret where Kerry Livgren lives.  Berryton, Kansas.  He and I even exchange e-mails from time to time, though not all that often," he said, turning and tossing the ball back to Jeff.  "'Finding' him, as the message said, wouldn't be that big a deal."

"Maybe," his son Michael called back from the other end of the line, "it's not literal.  Maybe it means to find him in a metaphorical sense."

"What do you mean?" his father called back to him, fielding Jeff's toss to him.

"Well," his middle son called back as Michael tossed the ball to Graham, "you've told us about his lyrics and how he became a Christian a long time ago and how it affected his music.  Maybe the message means to find him in some spiritual sense."

"Maybe so," his dad called back as Graham fired a fast ball to his brother, who jumped and caught it in the web of his glove.  "Though I still don't know what it would mean to 'find Kerry Livgren' in a spiritual sense.  It would be easier, as Graham said, just to go to his house."

"But, Dad," Jeff called out, laughing, "if he remembers those political parodies of his songs that you wrote years ago, he might kick you out."

"Aw, he liked 'em," Michael answered, chuckling.  "Well, most of them, anyway."

After another half hour of play, marked by numerous spectacular catches and not a few embarrassing "shoulda-hads" by all of the Brooks boys (father and sons alike), younger Michael asked, "When are we going to go to that store, Dad?  I'm getting hot."

"Soon, Michael," his dad said, checking his watch.  "It's almost eleven o'clock."  Then after looking around for a moment he said, "Say, where's Mommy?  I thought she'd be out here by now."

"There she is, Daddy," Katherine called out as she and Emily ended their game of catch and ran toward her.  Bev was walking toward them from Thompson Hall.

"Hey," she called out, "I went up and took a shower so I'd be ready to go."

"That's not a bad idea," her husband said.  "Come on, guys, it is getting hot.  Let's all go up and take showers.  We'll be ready to go to the record store right around opening time."

"Okay," the kids answered as they began making their way back to the dormitory, still tossing their baseballs back and forth as they walked.
 

On the other side of the campus, a car sat parked along Westwood Avenue, its occupant watching through a pair of binoculars as a family of seven made their way back toward Thompson Hall.