ODD NUMBERS

by M. Grace Bernardin

  Father Mudd had given her two penances really–to give the blood money away to help others and to see him again about getting baptized. She remembered the somewhat crude wooden box in the back of church with the words painted in black, “Poor Box.” There was a slot in the top of the box large enough for coins and a few folded bills. She laughed to herself at the thought of trying to discreetly put six-thousand seven-hundred and forty dollars into that box. Yet, that’s where she wanted it to go. Bobby could never really rest in peace until she accomplished that task.

  *****

  Vicky clutched the manila envelope containing six-thousand seven-hundred and forty dollars close to her chest as she walked against the bitter January wind which stung her face with every step. She wondered what people in the passing cars would think if they knew this pedestrian had that much money on her person. She clutched the envelope tighter and only occasionally loosened her grip between gusts of heavy wind to check the zipper on her purse. She was sure to zip it only halfway so she could easily pull out her 38 special if needed. Normally Vicky didn’t carry her gun with her, but she didn’t dare venture out with this much cash and not have some kind of protection. She stuck her hand through the opening of her purse and touched the handle of gun. Secure in the knowledge that it was still there and easy to get to, she went back to the business of guarding the manila envelope; its biggest threat presently the wind which blew at a free corner.

  Her eyes watered and her nose ran by the time she reached the two story brick house next door to the church. She didn’t dare reach into her purse to retrieve some tissues. She passed the sign that read “Parish Office” and hiked against that fierce wind up the path to the front door. She rang the doorbell, checked the handle of her gun one more time, and zipped her purse.

  A short, stout woman in scuffed up pumps, a stretched out cardigan sweater that accentuated her matronly manner; and an unflattering mid-length skirt, answered the door. Her hair was dyed a deep dark brown to cover the fifty-something grays. The hair color was too dark for the rosy complexion and large apple cheeks. Her smile was pleasant and friendly and she had a merry little voice like an elf.

  “May I help you?” The woman asked.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Father Mudd.”

  “Father Mudd’s not here right now.”

  Vicky said nothing but simply stood there trying to figure out what her next move would be. She hadn’t even thought about the possibility that he might not be there.

  “Did you have an appointment scheduled?”

  “Kind of, but not exactly,” Vicky said remembering how the professional and overly educated like to know exactly when you plan to show up. Where she was from, you never called first, you just dropped in. If it was a bad time you left or just hung around until it was a good time. Her grandma always said that’s what olden time parlors were for, for waiting until you could be received by your host.

  Vicky looked around the woman into the warmth of the foyer. The woman picked up on Vicky’s cue.

  “Please come in. You must be freezing.” Vicky stepped across the threshold and the woman closed the door behind her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “When will Father Mudd be back?”

  “He’s out of town. He’s not expected back for several weeks.”

  “Several weeks!”

  “Would you like to speak to Father Frisbee?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Our associate pastor. He’s in charge while Father Mudd’s gone.”

  “No,” Vicky said, her voice lowered and her shoulders dropped. The realization that Father Mudd was gone caused her spirit to sink all the way down to her feet and out onto the hard wood floor. “Father Mudd said I should call and make an appointment to see him. That was a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh. You just missed him actually. He just left town three days ago.”

  “Shoot. I should have called first.”

  “So what can I do for you? I’d be happy to let Father Mudd know you were here, but as I said he won’t be back for several weeks and I have no way of getting a message to him before then. If it’s something urgent Father Frisbee can speak with you.”

  “No, it’s not urgent and, no, I don’t wanna talk to no one else. Where is Father Mudd anyway?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know. I thought everyone in the diocese knew by now.” The woman dropped her voice along with her professional stance and took on the demeanor of the neighbor lady leaning over the fencepost, just dying to share the latest gossip. “Alcohol treatment,” she whispered.

  “Come again?” Vicky said leaning in closer.

  “His problem…his drinking problem finally got the best of him.”

  “Well, we all got our bad habits. So do you know when he gets back?”

  “I think it’s a four week program, but to tell you the truth,” she said lowering her voice once again to a whisper, “I don’t think he’ll be back here. I bet you a dollar to a hole in a donut the Bishop reassigns him. Betcha he sticks him out in the boondocks where he can’t embarrass him anymore.”

  Vicky wondered what the final act of embarrassment was that got him sent off. Or maybe it was his decision to go on his own. She wondered if he knew he was going already when she talked to him. She knew she could easily get all the details with just minimal encouragement, but it really didn’t matter and she didn’t really want to know. There was nothing to say and only one thing left to do.

  “I’m guessin’ you’re the secretary around here?” Vicky asked.

  “That is one of the many hats I wear, yes.”

  “Then I guess I ought to give you this,” Vicky said reluctantly releasing the manila envelope marked ‘For the Poor’ in black marker on the front. “It’s a donation. For the poor.”

  “Why thank you.”

  “Please don’t open it now.”

  “Certainly.”

  “You’ll see to it they get it now, won’t you? The poor, I mean.”

  “Yes, I’ll give it to our St. Vincent de Paul Society.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s an organization that serves the poor.”

  “Oh, right. You won’t lose it now, will you?”

  “Why no. I never lose anything.”

  “You’re sure you won’t forget?”

  “Of course not. I’ll put it in my in-box where I’ll be sure to see it. Don’t worry. So whom shall I say is making this donation?” The woman cleared her throat and asked.

  “No name,” Vicky said shaking her head and her hands at the same time. “I wish to remain anonymous.”

  “I understand. Well, thank you very much, dear. And don’t worry. I’ll see to it your gift gets to St. Vincent de Paul,” she said as she stepped toward Vicky, her extended hand leading her toward the door. Vicky thanked the lady and left. She wanted to hide in the bushes and spy through a window to see how she would react once she opened that manila envelope. Gauging what little she’d observed from the woman she guessed the envelope would be open within thirty seconds of her exit.

  The wind was to Vicky’s back on the way home moving her along at a quick and steady pace. She felt so many things. She felt relieved of a great burden, yet she was disappointed. She felt assured that she had done the right thing, yet she was frustrated. It was the disappointment and frustration of an uncompleted quest.

  “Now you can rest in peace, Bobby,” she said aloud. “But I can’t. Not yet, anyhow.”

  *****

  Vicky left work around midnight on that cold crisp Tuesday night in late January. The night was dotted with stars that nearly shouted out at Vicky from the sky as she walked to her truck after closing up the bar for the night. She had to stop in spite of the cold and just look up. She looked up and all around until she was dizzy. She wished she were in a grassy field somewhere way out in the country, far away from all the light pollution, lying on the ground just looking up. She h
adn’t felt such a perfect awe in a long time. “Wow!” was all she could say as she turned this way and that until the sky twirled right along with her. She stopped twirling for a moment and in that stillness was aware of a sudden sadness. It was a longing, a craving so intense she ached. Something was missing. She only had to think about it for a moment to realize what it was. It was a lover.

  “Can’t look at the stars alone. Gotta have a strong pair of arms you can lean back in, like an easy chair. Gotta feel him swaying back and forth saying, ‘wow, would you look at that?’ Gotta feel his cheek against yours and his breath in your ear.

  “Well, Vicky ol’ girl, it ain’t gonna happen tonight. This ol’ gal’s going home and going to bed. Alone,” Vicky said as she unlocked her car door. She looked up one last time. She sighed and then shivered as she caught sight of a celestial body shooting through the sky then disappearing along with all her cloudy-headed dreams into that vast ocean of shimmering black velvet. She would never forget the stars that night.

  Just fifteen minutes later, the sighs and the longing and the awe were replaced by real life with its frustrations and irritations and trivial inconveniences. “Damnit, son-of-a-bitch, where are my fucking keys,” Vicky blurted in a curt whisper so as not to wake her neighbors as she knelt in front of the door of her apartment and dumped the contents of her purse onto the floor. “Shit,” she blurt whispered again remembering her New Year’s resolution not to cuss and how she’d just broken it several times in succession. She shook the leather bag and onto the floor fell a red hair pick, her wallet, her checkbook, a tube of lipstick, two tampons, a peppermint wrapped in cellophane that had been there for who knows how long, a broken cigarette, the purple Bic lighter which by now was completely out of fluid, three pennies covered with lint and pieces of tobacco, an expired coupon for barbequed chips, and the keys to her truck. But no apartment keys. She separated all the items out and shook her purse upside down one more time as bits of tobacco and a crumpled bank receipt floated out. She checked her pockets one more time. Empty.

  “Aw hang!” Vicky said as she banged the palm of her hand against her forehead trying to think what could have happened to the keys. It was such a routine, such a ritual that she hardly thought about it. She couldn’t remember doing it, but she always locked the door behind her and dropped her apartment key in her purse. Had she done it differently this afternoon when she left her apartment? The door only locked from the outside with a key so she had to have locked it. But where were the keys? All these thoughts jogged around her brain as she picked up the items on the floor and put them back in her purse one at a time.

  She wished she was back in the country where nobody locked up their homes. She could be half-way to bed by now. It was too late to wake up Louise. “What about Sally? She’s usually up at all hours,” Vicky thought aloud. She walked carefully, almost apologetically to Sally’s door. She knocked then put her ear against the door to listen. There were no lights on and no sign of life inside. Then she remembered that Sally was away on a singles Caribbean cruise.

  She had two choices. She could sleep in the hallway or she could go to Allison’s. If she slept in the hallway the neighbors would see her in the morning and Frank would probably be the first to trip over her. So she headed upstairs to Allison’s apartment. As she stood at Allison’s door prepared to knock, that’s when she heard it.

  It was music floating softly across the hall from Frank’s apartment, the tinkling sound of a piano turned down low. Her knuckles were less than an inch from Allison’s door but she didn’t knock, she stopped and stood perfectly still. She held her breath and closed her eyes so she could get a better listen. It was slow and lovely and yet sad. She thought she heard in it that same longing she had felt when she looked up at the stars earlier that night. Every note that flowed into the next enchanted her and compelled her to listen. She moved closer to the sound until she was fixed in the corner between the wall and Frank’s door. Her back and legs were tired so she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor.

  She closed her eyes and lost herself in the music. The melody picked up a little and changed to a slightly more cheerful, almost childlike and playful mood, though the tempo behind it remained slow and steady. Her mind and her memory traveled back to a scene that matched the music. She was a kid back in Kentucky running across the fields with Bobby and climbing trees. Vicky’s mind picture gradually metamorphosed from a memory into the strangeness of a dream as she floated into a deeper state of unconsciousness though all the while still aware of the music with its earlier theme of sadness and longing returning once again to the melody.

  Deeper and deeper into a tunnel of sleep she floated, then swirled, slowly at first then faster and faster until finally she was falling and about to crash into the bottom of the abyss. Her body jerked with a unexpected violence. Her hand went out to brace her fall and smacked hard against Frank’s door. Her heart pounded and her hand stung. She heard the sudden commotion of footsteps and a male voice expressing outrage. The door opened and Vicky fell across the threshold of Frank’s place. The first thing she saw were his bare feet, up far closer than she ever wished to see them–large and manly with visible black hairs on the toes and prominent arches. Her eyes traveled upward and she couldn’t help but notice what a formidable presence he was, despite the plaid flannel pajamas. There he stood staring down at her and there she lay staring up at him.

  Chapter 18

  “What the hell is going on?” Frank demanded from his lofty standing position.

  “I ain’t ever seen nobody yell and whisper at the same time, but I’ll be danged if you didn’t just do it,” Vicky responded from her lowly position on the floor.

  “What!?” he said, a shadow of confusion spreading across his face, mixing with the shock and outrage.

  “Sorry, guess I’m still half asleep,” Vicky said, beginning to stand up. In a moment Frank’s hand was extended toward her. She looked at him and was surprised that he seemed concerned about helping her get off the floor. She grasped his hand. It was large and strong and warm. He effortlessly pulled her to her feet. So now they stood face to face. Vicky had never seen anyone as young as him look so stern.

  “What were you doing on the floor in front of my apartment?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “What the hell were you doing sleeping on the floor in front of my apartment?”

  “Better watch it. That whisper yell of yours is turning more yell and less whisper. Gotta be considerate of the neighbors you know,” Vicky said lowering her voice all the more.

  “Just cut the crap and tell me what’s going on.”

  “If you just calm down I’ll explain everything. Shoot, you’re as uptight as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Oops sorry, forgot you don’t like cats.” Frank rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

  “Don’t worry I wasn’t planning on burglarizing you. Believe me, you ain’t got nothing I want,” she said, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. “So here it is, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me, God.” Vicky raised her right hand.

  “A statement you’ve heard many times in court, no doubt.”

  “I locked myself out of my apartment. Lost my…keys,” she said as she caught herself almost cussing. “So I decided to go to Allison’s place to see if I could crash there. I was just about to knock on her door when I heard your music.” Vicky felt suddenly embarrassed at the thought of telling him it was his music that had drawn her to his door, so much so that she was unable to meet his eyes.

  “I…I liked it. I mean, it was unusual so I wanted to get a better listen. I sat down in the corner over there and I guess I must’ve fallen asleep. I had one of them falling dreams. You know the kind where you jerk right before you hit bottom.” She raised her eyes to his for a second and it seemed his face had softened a little.

  “I guess I must’ve fallen against your door. And that’s the whole truth. So help me, God,” Vic
ky looked him in the eyes so he could see for himself she was telling the truth.

  “I guess I must be crazy but I believe you.”

  “It’s about time. Sorry if I woke you up.”

  “You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. That’s why I had my music on.”

  “Oh. Well, it worked for me. I guess I’ll just head across the hall now to Allison’s.”

  “No, wait! No sense waking Allison. You can use my phone to call a locksmith.”

  “Well, thanks, Frank,” Vicky said with a mix of surprise and sarcasm.

  Frank directed Vicky to his phone and handed her his phone book. After Vicky finished the call to the locksmith she thanked him and headed to the door, her eyes focused straight ahead, neither looking to the right or the left.

  “Where are you going?” Frank said as she got to the door.

  “Downstairs to wait for the locksmith.”

  “Where do you plan on waiting?”

  “In the hallway. I’m sure it won’t be too long.”

  “You can wait here if you like.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “It beats sitting in a drafty hallway.”

  Vicky looked at him in disbelief. Something she said had disarmed him. When was the last time she saw him without that firm set jaw and those furrowed brows? Ah, yes. It was that time she caught him off guard looking at Allison. What was it that softened that brow and turned the fire in his eyes down to a warm blue flame that made her want to draw near? He was ready to shoot her down and something caused him to lay his weapon aside. Of course, Vicky thought, it was the mention of his music.