A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

PERFECT

"We do believe you, Harry."

"I've changed, really, I have, and—" he broke off and gaped at them in blank disbelief. "You ... what?" he whispered.

"Harry," his foster father said, laying his hand against his cheek, "when you came to live with us, we asked you to give us your word that there would be no more lying or stealing. When you gave us your word, we gave you our trust, remember?"

Harry nodded, remembering that moment in the living room three months ago with crystal clarity, then he glanced at his foster mother's smile and flung himself into Mary Mathison's arms. They closed around him, wrapping Harry in the scent of carnations and the silent promise of a whole lifetime filled with good-night kisses and shared laughter.

Harry's tears fell in torrents.

"There now, you'll make yourself ill," James Mathison said, smiling over Harry's head into his wife's shimmering eyes. "Let your mother take care of dinner, and trust the good Lord to take care of the matter of the stolen money." At the mention of "the good Lord," Harry suddenly stiffened, then he dashed from the room, calling over his shoulder that he'd be back to set the table for dinner.

In the stunned silence that followed his abrupt, peculiar departure, Reverend Mathison said worriedly, "He shouldn't be going anywhere right now. He's still very upset, and it'll be dark in a bit. Carl," he added, "follow him and see what on earth he's up to."

"I'll go, too," Ted said, already yanking his jacket from the closet.

Two blocks from the house, Harry grabbed the freezing brass door handles and managed to drag open the heavy doors of the church where his foster father was pastor. Pale winter light shone through the high windows as he walked down the center aisle and stopped at the front. Awkwardly uncertain of exactly how to proceed in these circumstances, he raised his shining eyes to the wooden cross. After a moment, he said in a shy little voice, "Thanks a million for making the Mathison's believe me. I mean, I know You're the One who made them do it, because it's a real-life miracle. You won't be sorry," he promised.

"I'm going to be so perfect that I'll make everybody proud." He turned, then turned back again. "Oh, and if You have the time, could you make sure Mr. Duncan finds out who really stole that money? Otherwise, I'm going to take the rap for it anyway, and that's not fair."

That night, after dinner, Harry cleaned his bedroom, which he already kept neat as a pin, from top to bottom; when he took his bath, he washed behind his ears twice. He was so determined to be perfect that when Ted and Carl invited him to join them in a game of Scrabble before bedtime—a game they played at his level in order to help him practice his reading skills—he did not even consider peeking at the bottom of the tiles so he could choose letters he was most able to use.