by RJ Martin
“The Mass is ended, go in peace.” Father Dom made the sign of the cross, but not everyone in the pews did. Some tried, except it looked like it was their first time ever. Mrs. Domber played and soloed another hymn. In her screechy opera voice they all sounded the same. As I carried JC out, the same way I did in, I looked for the strangers among the regular parishioners. Now I was sure they were there for me. It was pretty obvious considering how many of them were looking right at me or taking my picture with their phones.
I almost tripped too because a stout, white-haired woman I think Mémé knew from the Legion of Mary, grabbed my surplice. Just a little tug so I’d look at her, and her craggy face beamed when I did. I hoped Father Dom was too busy shaking hands and greeting folks on his way out to notice. One guy stuck out because while everyone else was on their feet, he stayed seated and worse, typed on a sleek tablet like he was in a coffee bar. He was older for a young guy, just out of college or something, and reminded me of a summer person but one who needed a shower. I tried to ignore him, but as I got closer he dumped the tablet in his bag, slipped the strap around his neck, and backed out ahead of me, taking my picture the whole time with his phone.
I SAW him coming and tensed up everywhere at once. I flash-froze like a vegetable in that thing they sell on TV to seal in the flavor. A hand came down on my shoulder, and I jumped.
“You all right, Jonah?” Father Dom asked.
“I’m good.” Used to be anyway.
“Did you notice anything unusual at Mass today?” His ears started to pink up.
“No, Father.” I braced for our pastor’s Brooklyn fury.
“It seemed like there were people takin’ pictures with their phones.”
“People do that everywhere now, Father. You know 'Instagram, I’m at Mass.’ People love their selfies.”
“They looked like they were takin’ your picture, not dare own.” The pink flowed into his cheeks and forehead.
“I think it’s a senior prank thing. I bet it doesn’t happen again. I’m sorry, Father.”
“I didn’t recognize some of those young people.” When angry and his old neighborhood side came out, Father Dom could be intimidating. Like if he heard one more lie, he’d morph into a thug in a bad suit and then fuggedaboutit.
“Lake Henry Regional got in on it too.” I spread my arms like I was striking a spastic pose. “It was a whole flash mob thing.”
“I should know what dat means?”
“I guess so.”
He shook his head in bewilderment. “Sister Margo and I will need to have an assembly on Monday. And I’ll be callin’ the principal over at Lake Henry too. She’ll need to know about this.” Father Dom let it go partly, I think, because he didn’t want me to “drop a dime” (tell) on anybody. See, St. Dominick Savio was one of his favorites too because he was also the patron of the falsely accused. St. DS “took the rap” once for something his classmates did, and that “cut a lot of ice” with my pastor. Father Dom had done the same thing when he was a kid, but he never said what it was. That’s when he’d decided to become a priest, he told me, and he’d never looked back.
Sister Margo and my pastor were not on the same page on the value of snitches. If he hated “rats,” she was a pied piper. Her wrath would be even worse now than if she’d gotten the intel back when my fame hadn’t spread beyond NC3.
What if they were back next week? Palm Sunday, oh man, the place was usually packed on that day anyway. Father Dom had already asked me to be one of the readers of the Passion—the story of when JC was greeted in Jerusalem like a rock star but ended up crucified. It was the longest Gospel passage recited in Mass all year, and it took forever.
What if every time I spoke, kids, grown-ups and that tablet guy all took pictures? Or the girls gasped if I turned my head or looked their way? This was that pigeon’s fault. If he’d just watched where he was going, everyone would’ve forgotten about me again. Unless he did watch and came at me on orders from JC. No, I couldn’t think that way anymore. Too much of this could mess things up for JC and me. He couldn’t want that. I decided that my little bubble of fame had to burst, and as long as I didn’t do anything else anyone would think was miraculous or divine or whatever, it would.
“Look at all these hams!” Father changed the subject. “Such a generous bounty.” He always made a big deal out of anything the parish volunteers did. I used to make note of things like that so I could do them too when my chance came. Today, the pastor was praising those of us who worked on the Easter ham drive. We did turkeys at Thanksgiving too. “We are truly blessed this day.”
“Yes, we are.” Mrs. Darvis, Chad’s mom, stepped up. I was so pastor-focused I didn’t see her in line. I participated in just about all the parish drives: food, coats, boots, etc. and I knew the donor crowd and those who didn’t. I never saw Carol Darvis give anything before except her son the cold shoulder. She set a canned ham down on the counter in front of me. It wasn’t the generic supermarket brand either but one from Virginia, in a tin, and made the others look cheap. “Here you are, Jonah.” She stared deep into my eyes and I felt extremely creeped out. She knew. Chad’s mom was my pilgrim. I looked down the line of people waiting to donate. This was a bounty, more than ever, I bet. Not everyone but more than a few people were staring again. Like they’d done in the church. No doubt about it anymore, I had an adult following now too.
“Thank you.” I set the gold-plated ham on the pile. If Chad’s mom was in the know about me, how long would it be until mine was too? That thought on top of the sun, warmth, and sight of all those hams with their pink flesh and salty flavor gave me a first-of-the-season sweat.
Mrs. Darvis smiled and hesitantly patted on my hand. “You were always so good.”
Be nice to your son, I wanted to tell her. Or you’re going to hell. I just nodded, smiled, and felt relieved when she moved on. I reached for my water bottle, the reusable kind, and saw the tablet dude was there now too.
“Can I just give cash?”
“Of course you can.” Sister Margo reached for his ten-dollar bill. “Do you need a receipt?”
“That’s okay.” He had curly black hair and big brown eyes that reminded me of one of the apostles in a TV movie we watched in religion class. Christian entertainment was a godsend for always busy Sister Margo. She could just pop in a flick she got a discount on—being a nun—and then leave us to watch it while she did her principal nun stuff.
“It is deductible.” Sister Margo held up the receipt pad but kept an eye on the other cash in his wallet.
“It’s for a good cause.” He closed the wallet, winked at me, and moved on.
Once he was out of sight, I told the sisters I needed to get home and help out. I laid it on a little thick too. “My parents really need me to take on some more responsibility for cleaning, cooking, and stuff.”
“So good, Jonah.” Sister Matilda patted me on my cheek.
“Thank you for your help today,” Sister Margo added and then glanced at her grayer fellow bride of JC. Not a scowl, it was more of an acknowledgment of their shared thought. On my holy specialness they were now on the same page.
“No worries.” Really I had tons. I smiled and slowly rode my bike down the driveway. Once clear of the church, I pumped the pedals like I was in a velodrome all the way home.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Mark and Luke shouted as I walked in carrying a shopping bag of ball house food. Both of their beds had sliding tray tables covered in crayons, coloring books, and toy cars. Between them was an institutional-looking cushioned chair and ottoman like the ones at the retreat. My mother spent so much time in it if you got close enough, you could smell her scent of household cleaner mixed with box-store skin cream in the fabric. She stepped between the twins and presented a store-bought birthday cake with chocolate icing and the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY JANAH written on it.
“My birthday isn’t until tomorrow.” I’d already decided not to say anything about the typo.
“That�
��s why it’s a surprise party.”
“Surprise! Surprise!” The twins tried to outshout each other. This was usually when a coughing fit would follow but today nothing. They really were getting better.
“Sally, who’s Janah?” Dad chuckled.
“Oh goodness, I was in such a hurry I didn’t look in the box.” Mom squeezed my wrist. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay, Mom, really.”
“I shouldn’t call you that anymore, hmm?” She tousled my shaggy hair. “You need a haircut.” Finally, one of them noticed.
“I’ll take him tomorrow.” Dad gave me a disapproving squint but then broke into a smile. “If he goes quietly I might let him drive.”
My eyes lit up. “Really?”
“You’re sixteen, aren’t you?”
Driving. He was going to teach me, a real bonding thing. Something we could share other than church. I wouldn’t tell him Rusty already showed me most of what I needed to know. I’d just fake it and be a quick learner. Rusty; why did I have to think about him? Once he invaded the party I couldn’t get him to leave. How could he just go away and not call? How could he have taken Angie to New York? The longer he was gone, the more I thought about him, not less. No matter how hard I tried. Even with all the Saint Jonah stuff going on.
“Let’s eat!” The burgers and shakes were passed out. Mom had to pretend to redistribute all the fries that fell to the bottom of the bag, but mostly she gave them to my brothers. They were such great little guys they insisted we get some too. We all knew better to not really take them up on the offer. Never mess with a kid and his fries. I think I swiped one of Angie’s once, and she dumped my shake on my head. Then, of course, she laughed until she peed. Then it was my turn not to cry but start laughing back, at which point she cried, and I felt bad. My sister made me nuts going way back, but she was the missing piece of my little party, and I think we all knew it.
“Here we go!” Mom lit the candles as Dad turned down the light in the room.
“Happy birthday to you…,” they all started to sing. It was, I guess, but would have been a lot better with Angie and Rusty there. I knew it would probably never happen again, the three of us having fun together. At least not the way I wanted it: him with me and Angie as the third wheel. I was torn about what to wish for as I leaned forward to blow out the candles. The twins beat me to it anyway.
“Boys!” Dad used his outside voice, and both my brothers scurried behind my mother.
“It’s no big deal.”
“It’s your sixteenth birthday, Jonah.” Mom relit the cake. “You have to do this.”
I leaned forward again and this time stopped. “You guys can help me if you want?”
Both little heads popped back out and leaned toward the cake with me.
“Let Jonah start,” Dad said. I don’t know why this was such a big deal to my parents: me getting first crack at blowing out candles. Maybe they just wanted to pay me some attention for a change. Since the accident it had been all about Mémé, the twins, and Angie. Then again, that was kind of a good thing. Otherwise they might’ve found out their son was being considered a prophet by his classmates, kids he never met from both sides of the border, and now some grown-ups too, including a menacing-stranger-paparazzi-stalker dude. The thought gave me another one that told me exactly what to wish for, and I blew.
ON THE way home Dad and I drove by Big Bart’s Lake House. The usual lineup of mud-splattered pickups were parked out front except Big Bart’s Porsche, and its money-screaming flash was noticeably absent. “Too bad about the Tacks.” Dad shook his head a little.
“What about them?”
“Bart’s father left with some woman who worked at the mall.” My dad looked over at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“If you’re worried about your mother and me, don’t. We may get a little chirpy with each other sometimes but that will never happen.”
“Okay.” Hearing my father make a strong statement that I was right in not ever worrying about their marriage made me feel a little better but not much.
“You’ll never have to confront me the way Bart did his old man.”
And then I felt worse.
“It’s okay, son.” He grabbed the back of my neck. “I know Bart is your friend, but he’ll be fine.”
Dad had to check in a tour group down from Montreal, so he just dropped me off. “Your mother will be home as soon as visiting hours are over.” Well, hers. The regular ones ended at nine, but Mom made them let her stay until the twins fell asleep, and that could be after ten or even eleven sometimes. It was getting harder to make little boys stay still at night if they’d been cooped up all day, especially now that they were feeling better than they ever had. I waved as Dad drove off and, leftover cake in hand, stayed on the porch for a while. There were no lights on inside the house and the idea of walking into its cold and empty rooms made me shiver more than the sprinkle that started to fall.
WHEN I got to Chad’s, it was full-on raining. The house was a raised ranch like ours but on a hill too, so the family room was also the basement and had a plate-glass door to the backyard. This was always my point of entry and departure. When I saw the weird flicker of the television behind the sheers, I stepped right up and knocked softly twice before sliding open the door.
“Jonah!” Darcy shrieked, grabbed her top, and scrambled behind the far arm of the couch.
“What’s up?” Chad tried to be casual, which was totally ridiculous considering the tent he pitched in his sweats.
“Here.” I didn’t know what else to do so I set the leftover cake on the coffee table. There was one of those late-night booby movies on the television and two empty beers on the floor.
“I guess now you know.” Chad shrugged.
“Chad’s my boyfriend, Jonah.” Now all the parts her bathing suit covered were clothed again, Darcy forced a smile.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I looked to Chad and felt my face turning redder than maybe it ever had. I thought he was gay like me. I’d accused him of wanting me. I thought Darcy did too. I even thought they were playing a game to see who’d get with me. Really the whole time they were dating each other.
“We were going to tell you.” With her sweater back on, Darcy slid from her crouch and stood to face me. “We just wanted you to know this won’t change things.”
I felt the tears coming, and I had to go. I spun around and got tripped up by the cord for the sheers. The whole rod came down on top of me. I started kicking and grabbing at the translucent cloth. I could see my friends doing the same on the other side. They shimmered and faded like shadowy ghosts as we all three tried to get me loose of the drapery shrouds. Once free I didn’t bother to look back but ran for my bike. I slid right past it on the wet grass and went all the way down the hill in his backyard. By the time I got back up, Chad had my bike.
“I didn’t want you to think it would change things. Me being with Darcy and, you know, not….” His hesitation just made me feel even more like a freak. “You know.”
“Gay like me.” I shook the bike free of his grasp. “Does she know?”
“We weren’t sure until that Rusty dude came around. You crushed on him pretty hard, Jonah.”
“So you two talked about me?” I wanted to go, but Chad stepped in my path. “You felt sorry for me? Who asked you to?”
“You’re our friend.” Darcy joined us in the rain. “Come inside, Jonah, please.”
“Chadwick, what is going on down there?” Mrs. Darvis howled from the top of the stairs. Maybe another mother I could face but not Chad’s, not after the church today.
“I got to go.” I climbed on my bike and skidded more than rode down the path toward home, but I wanted to be there alone even less now than before. It started raining harder, and I knew where I had to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE LITTLE dryer got full just from my clothes, so I laid my soggy spring jacket and loafers o
n top of the vent in the floor. I cranked the heat up to dry them faster. I was as cold inside as my skin was to the touch. I slipped on the surplice of my altar boy uniform and it covered me down to my knees like a nightgown. As the furnace fired to the challenge, the pipes clanged and hissed, echoing everywhere in the huge, dark church. To drown it out, I slipped one of the CDs into the stereo. I knew the system; part of my job was to turn it off before Mass when the organist started to play and Mrs. Domber howled her songs of praise. The Gregorian chants of a monastery choir slowly rose as the heat pipes faded, and I began to uncoil to their steady, repetitive prayers.
I checked my clothes, still wet and they smelled like ball house because I ran the heater on full in Dad’s truck to make sure the fries were still warm when we got to the hospital. My stomach growled. I rifled the cabinets filled with chalices, patens, and incense burners. The only thing to eat was the cereal box of unblessed hosts that weren’t made yet into JC. They went down real dry, but I’d had enough water for the night. I took down a chalice from the cupboard and filled it with the jug wine that was still just that too.
I took a deep breath, headed for the nave and stopped only to ring the little bell like we did each morning before a weekday Mass. Other than a small lamp that illuminated JC 24-7 the rest of the church was dark. I couldn’t switch on any more lights and not risk being seen. Instead I lit all the altar candles. When they weren’t enough, I grabbed a bunch of red votives from the rack under the statue of his virgin mother. After laying them all around me, I sat at the center of the flickering pool with my back against the marble altar. I stared up at JC until my neck hurt. If discovered, we two were all anyone would see because the rest of the church disappeared into shadow. The great windows of saints, where I used to dream to maybe someday be, glowed but were faint in the moonlight.
The hosts were better if dunked in the wine and after a few I forgot about being hungry and just drank it in big gulps. No matter how gloomy and thuggish the town could be, the church was a heaven to me. There were always lit candles and the flowery scent of incense. People dressed up for Mass or at least better, and some of the really old ladies even had veils. The priests didn’t wear cheap ties or coveralls but were arrayed in silk robes covered in gold stitching.