by RJ Martin
“So what else did you guys say about me?”
“That you’re like the coolest guy we’ve ever known and we need to stop talking about you so much and try to find our own way to be as amazing as you.”
“I deserved that.” I did too. I was being paranoid and conceited, two traits not at all useful to a future servant of JC’s. The tote board dinged twice.
“What’s really got me knotted up is how do I ask Hank and Sally for three hundred dollars to go away, and do something I do here all the time for free?”
“Then maybe we don’t go, big deal.”
“Your folks already said yes?”
“If they can look like good parents and not have to do anything, Jim and Carol are all over it.”
A pair of headlights swept over us both. I jumped toward their source like a moth to a porch light. Jace’s money-screaming car stopped at the end of the driveway. It was the same Teutonic brand as Rusty’s sweet ride, but this long, imposing sedan wasn’t a good fit for him, too grown-up and stuffy. His hard-top convertible was still in the shop. Parts had to be ordered from Stuttgart.
“Are you spying on your sister?” Chad used his best secret-agent voice and flipped off the light. “Better do it right.”
“That’s not funny.” I knew I had to shut the shade and stop looking, but as long as Rusty was out there, I was transfixed. “I just don’t want her to get into trouble again.”
“Very noble.” Chad sounded like my mother all of a sudden and just as unconvinced as her when using that tone. The car’s interior light went off, and I could just make out Rusty and Angie in the front seats. She leaned over to his side and tried to choke him with her tongue. Rusty said we looked alike. If I grew my hair, I could be her now, there in the car.
“Jonah.” Chad put a hand on my shoulder. “This is starting to get creepy.”
“Get off!” His touch made me jump even more than when Father Svi caught me in church looking up at JC. I spun free, fell against my dresser, and sent my pietà replica tumbling to the floor. JC’s mother lost her head just as mine came in the room.
“What’s going on in here?” Mom flipped on the light as she burst in without knocking. When neither Chad nor I answered, she figured most of it out on her own. Mom went where we’d been, saw what we’d seen, and promptly lowered the shade.
“Something smells good.” Chad changed the subject before it was broached.
“You’re staying for dinner?” Mom asked, as if already expecting a yes.
“He can’t tonight,” I answered for him. My whole body tingled like some invisible layer had been stripped off it. Chad knew I was staring at Rusty. It was as close as I’d ever been to coming out. Now I wanted him to leave.
“No, thanks.” Chad helped sell my lie. “I’m going out for dinner.” Maybe he wanted to walk back coming on to me as much as I did his reason for thinking I might be interested.
“I’m home,” Angie announced to anyone within earshot and then retreated into her room.
“Doesn’t your mother work nights?” Carol Darvis worked at the mega-box store off the interstate just outside town. Every day she left before Chad got home from school, and she would still be asleep when he went back again in the morning. He might go days without seeing her.
“My dad is taking me out for burgers.” Chad didn’t look at me anymore as he scooped up his backpack. “Later, Jonah,” he said once he was already out in the hall.
“How could you be so rude?” The front door hadn’t even closed all the way before Mom started.
“He’s going out, you heard him.” The focus of her ire should’ve been my spying on Angie and Rusty. Instead she came down hard on me for not inviting Chad for tuna casserole and iceberg lettuce salad?
“I also know Jim Darvis.” Mom sat on the edge of the bed. “If he is taking Chad anywhere, it’s for takeout at the drive-through.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Because for you kids it’s a treat.”
“I’m not Tragic and Magic.”
“Stop calling them that.”
“Fine. I’m not a little kid like Mark and Luke.”
“All the more reason you should know better.” We all knew Chad’s home life wasn’t much of one really. His older brother James had met a girl at college and moved with her to California. They didn’t ever come home and were not too jazzed about anyone coming to visit them. Chad and his folks had no idea why they were shunned, but they were. His parents reacted not by doubling down on Chad but folding. Maybe they figured it was easier than being rejected like that again.
“I can’t bring him back, Mom.” I pretended to focus on my book.
“Chad is your friend, Jonah.” She grabbed the doorknob, and I braced for the big finish. “He’s always been and for that he deserves better than what he got here tonight.” She left with me feeling like total crap. Way to go, Mom!
“What up, Jonah?” Angie strolled in and fell across my bed. “In trouble again?”
“How was your date?” I got a whiff of him from her sweater and switched to mouth breathing, or I might’ve stuck my nose right against it.
“My fallen angel.” Angie reached back and patted my cheek.
I swatted away her hand. “You wish.”
“What about you?” She sat up and smiled in her sneaky way. “What do you wish for?” For the first time in my life, I didn’t have an instant answer. Then I remembered at that moment going on retreat was my officially sanctioned number one desire. Mom was off-limits for now, and because of it, Dad was too. I looked over at the plastic JC on the wall as he just started to glow in the shadows. Be not afraid. I would make it happen.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“ARE YOU still feeling under the weather?” Father Dom kissed his stole and rehung it alongside the many-colored vestments in the closet. Today he wore green, and that meant ordinary time, which was churchspeak for kind of off-season. Lent was coming and that meant purple. I wonder how many people even notice this stuff.
“No, Father, I’m fine.” I just want you to leave so I can put a pocketful of Savior back in the tabernacle.
“I won’t need you to lock up today.” Father Dom put a mug of tap water into the microwave in the sacristy. “I’ve got a young couple coming in for a wedding.”
“Do I know them?” Holy Redeemer was a healthy parish but not by any measure large. Chances were I might at least know the family.
“Summer people.” Even our pastor used the slang. He had a slight hint of disdain in his voice. “At least they’re Catholic, I hope.” Couples had to pay to marry at our church and, if not from our parish, the price was a lot higher. Weddings and funerals helped pay the bills when collections were not enough. The half dozen Monday morning hypocrites in the pews had already departed and the electric hum of the microwave filled the sudden angel’s passing quiet. I stalled and tried to figure a way to get the hosts put back today, before I surrendered to its being impossible. Since Angie had found the baggie of JC and I promised to return it, I had this irrational fear at any moment I’d be stopped by some twenty-first-century supersecret inquisition. They’d flash crucifixes like they were badges; I’d be searched and then excommunicated.
“Your mother must be waiting.”
“She’ll honk.”
Father Dom scowled. I glanced toward the window, mad at myself for ratting her out to our priest. If anyone heard or not, I knew the pastor probably thought it was disrespectful to be tooting a horn outside JC’s house.
“It’s not that cold.” I surrendered to another day of carrying stolen hosts and slid on my puffy coat. It made me sweat in the thawing air, but it still wasn’t warm enough for me to go without it either. “I’ll wait outside. Bye, Father.”
“Jonah.”
I turned back and saw Father Dom already had his thick right hand up, ready to bless me unasked. I felt like a jerk for not waiting for it. If Father Svi and I had a mutual case of the creeps, Father Dom was my biggest fan. Ba
ck at Holy R School, he would sometimes take me out of class himself, and we’d walk across the parking lot together to the church before I’d serve at a holy day Mass or funeral.
His love of Italian food was well known in the parish and Father Dom was constantly bombarded with lasagnas, baked ziti, and all kinds of cheesy pasta dishes. The result was our pastor was heavy even for his large frame. After those weekday masses, Father Dom—his full name was Dominick Napoli—would lumber more than walk, tired from being on his feet. Between loping strides he’d explain the reason for a particular holy day. Why they were important and most other Christian denominations just had Sunday. Being Catholic meant more commitment and therefore more reward. We were luckier too, because we had the saints to inspire us as well as JC. After a funeral Father Dom walked even slower, if that was possible, and told me things like death is a part of life and not to be feared. Grief is an expression of love. All kinds of stuff I saw as prep work for what I’d already told him I wanted: to serve God and his son.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“This coat is really warm.” I assumed he meant my sweating, but I could tell by the way he suddenly studied my face, that was not what he meant.
“You’d come to me if something was bothering you?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You don’t have to be in the confessional to tell me anything in confidence.”
“It’s all good, Father, really.”
“You’re a teenager, Jonah.” He stirred instant coffee into a cup. He always made it too strong, and it took a while to get the brown chunks to dissolve. He drank it black too. “At your age it’s never all good.”
“Thanks, Father.” I smiled and nodded. I couldn’t lie to him. I just wouldn’t talk instead. I never said anything too real in confession either, like being gay. I didn’t think it was a sin anyway. Instead I focused on minor battles with Angie, being jealous of summer people, or my occasional resentment because the twins’ health meant going without a lot of the things other families had. Today was no exception. I didn’t think he’d be too understanding about me stealing Communion and pretending to be a priest for three years by giving the sacrament to my brothers. Or how I shunned Chad for being gay when I was too. Or how I thought about my sister’s boyfriend. Or that I promised to stop doing it until I saw him again.
The squeal of my mother’s tires and subsequent splashing through a puddle brought the awkward moment to an end. The weirdness was all mine, that I knew. Father Dom was being great, a kind of old-movie, on-the-ball priest every parish wanted. We were lucky to have him; the only reason we did was….
The goose honks came before I could get the door open. “Sally Gregory, goddamn it,” Father Dom muttered, and his sphere-shaped head turned red like it was transforming into the planet Mars. Hence the reason he was shepherd in our desolate world: our pastor had a bit of a temper.
“It’s my fault, Father. I dawdle sometimes. After you or Father Svi leave, sometimes I go back inside and light a candle and start praying,” I babbled in defense of my mother. “The doors are locked, and I don’t always hear when she knocks. She doesn’t like leaving the twins in the car alone not even for a couple of seconds. They’re that age where they get into everything.”
“Ten Our Fathers, and you need to not keep your mother waitin’ anymore.” When ticked off, Father Dom’s old neighborhood dialect slipped out. He dropped g’s from the end of some words and the th sound he replaced with a d in other ones. It was like our pastor came off like a capo in JC’s mob.
“Yes, Father.” I didn’t plan on confessing anything, but when Father Dom got hot under his clerical collar, he’d stay that way for a while. Last year he gave a homily about how the parish where he grew up back in Brooklyn was poorer than ours, but people still gave to the church. Forge stood up and challenged him. He said people gave what they could. Father Dom turned even redder then than now, and he really let Forge have it. In front of everyone, he told Forge to take maybe one night a week off from “watchin’ da game” at Big Bart’s. “Or try buyin’ fewer lottery tickets and you’ll have some-din’ for the collection plate.” As much as the locals hated the summer crowd they still forked over cash every week to try to become one of them.
Forge walked out and some people made a point of getting into the other line at Communion so as not to risk more of our pastor’s wrath. The following Sunday we had a visiting priest some said was from the diocese office. Father Dom spoke about humility, and the crowd applauded. Since then he’d been mellower, but everyone had seen his dark side and didn’t forget it.
“Your mother has endured a lot these last few years and deserves my praise and prayers.” The red drained from his face almost as fast as it had appeared. “Let’s go say good morning.” Father Dom walked me outside and made a point of talking to her about the twins’ health, how things were going with Mémé, and it was a wonderful thing she’d done agreeing to our grandmother’s living with us. He visited so many lonely elderly people and it was heartbreaking. He counseled that Angie was a beautiful young woman and that could be a challenge. He hoped to see my mother at Mass more often but understood her hectic life. Dad went more than Mom because he attended every Sunday I was serving and that was a lot.
Mom’s usual hostility to the church faded whenever she got a little face time with Father Dom, and today was no exception. She forgot the twins needed to be at school, me too, and whatever she had planned after that. She asked if there was a prayer for an early spring and said he should avoid Mémé’s cooking while on his diet. Father had a gift of making everyone feel important, and I wanted to be like him someday when I was a priest. It bothered me I didn’t tell him about being gay, but I figured he wouldn’t know what to say, and it would just complicate things for him and me. Besides, sex was out of the question for me, so why bother?
“WHAT WAS that about?” My mother drove slow and steady across the parking lot from Holy R Church to school like there were orange cones on either side of her car.
“I thought you had a nice talk.”
“Why today?” Nothing got past her either.
“He doesn’t like your honking.”
“Jonah,” Mark started.
“Why doesn’t he like Mommy honking?” Luke finished.
“He’s lucky I still do this every morning.”
“Mommy?” Luke leaned between the seats and led off this time.
“Why is he lucky?” Mark followed.
“It’s only one week a month.” The other acolytes and I traded off. Truth, I was there more often because some kids dropped out all of a sudden, and I would always be the fill-in.
“Maybe he should pay for the gas.”
This the twins found hilarious. “Good one, Mom,” Mark said through a snot-laced cackle.
“Mom, good one,” Luke chimed in. They inverted each other’s sentences sometimes too—the only thing creepier than when they finished them for each other.
“We give him money,” Luke said. He’d been there for Father’s famous tirade too.
“Sit back.” They did.
“I promised him (JC too) that I wouldn’t keep you waiting anymore.”
“Good, but he shouldn’t be guilting you into it.”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s what they do,” Mom said through pursed lips.
“Then why do you let me come here?”
“It’s important to you.”
“Then you should be supportive.” I pointed at her. I’d never done that before.
“If you ever do that again, I will break that finger, you hear me?”
The twins stopped playing. Things had gotten serious all of a sudden.
“I’m sorry.” I sat back, slid my hand into my pocket, and pushed the JC baggie even deeper.
“Me too.” She handed me my doughnut.
“The retreat is next weekend.”
“How much?” I could see Mom’s knuckles tighten on the wheel.
“Transportation, room, food, it’s all included.”
“Jonah.”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“What’s retreat?” Mark said.
“That’s not realistic, sweetie.”
“When the army runs away,” Luke replied.
“You said you know it’s important.”
“Don’t make me talk about M-O-N-E-Y in front of your brothers.”
“They’re going to have to learn someday how poor we are.”
“Mommy?” came from Mark.
“Are we poor?” Luke finished.
“Is Jonah running away?” Mark asked now.
“Would you two shut up!”
“Jonah!”
“I’m sorry.” I undid my seat belt and practically fell into the backseat to rub heads and give hugs before either of my brothers could melt down. If they got upset, they could start to wheeze, so I reached behind me, and without saying anything Mom handed me an inhaler. I shook it up and took a deep breath so that both my little brothers knew they should too. Puff, puff and they were back to grinning and looking out at their school.
“Sister is waiting, Mommy.”
“Let her.”
“Mom.” It was my turn to caution.
I almost knocked over my hot chocolate climbing back up front, but my mother got a grip on at least something that morning. She knew why I’d snapped at them. We were paying a price for them—and gladly twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes a day—but every so often….
“Are we ready to get on with our day?” Mom asked us all.
“Yes!” My brothers liked school.
I just nodded as Mom stopped a little short in front of the main entrance. Sister Helen was already coming outside, but my mother gave the horn a good shot anyway and then another.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE GABFEST and subsequent battle outside the church resulted in my being even later than usual. I slid into homeroom relieved to see Mrs. Ng and the order she represented had returned. To thine own self be true was written on the blackboard. “Welcome, Jon-ah.” Mrs. Ng stopped her lecture to greet me, something she didn’t usually do, and that was fine with me. “Are you feeling better?” She wiped chalky fingers on tweed slacks that would be covered in the stuff by the end of the day. Public school had fancy wipe boards now. I wondered if their teachers got marker on their hands. Which was worse? “I was afraid you were still sick today.”