He looks away, out the plate glass windows. The sunshine illuminates his face. I wait for the familiar hum of attraction, for the old longing. But it’s not there. How can that be?
I stare at his face, his beautiful, handsome, perfect face positioned over his tall, athletic body and feel ... nothing. Just a wisp of sadness.
“Me and Sandra. Well, we—”
“All set with that plate, hon?” Snuffy’s mother bobbles her wrinkled face in my direction.
“Sure, thanks,” I say and hand it to her.
“What about you, darling?” She asks C.J. with a wink. “Can I get you anything else?” Somehow the words sound lascivious. Which is a little creepy coming from elderly lips.
“No.” C.J. bites the word out and turns back toward me. The old lady gives a little snort of displeasure under her breath and trails toward the kitchen with our plates wobbling in her hands. The restaurant is crowded, and I lean further across the table to catch everything C.J. is saying.
“Me and Sandra dated. For a while. She ...” he pauses, looks out the window again, then toward the front door. Anywhere but at me, I notice.
Realization dawns. I remember the way he’d reacted, when I’d first asked him to see if Sandra had filed a missing person’s report. The way he’d gripped the steering wheel of his cruiser. The way he wouldn’t make eye contact. There had been an affair, that’s why we’d split. And I’d never asked with who. Now, though, I thought I had my answer.
“She’s the one that you slept with when we were together,” I guess.
He nods.
“I never meant to hurt—”
“Oh please, let’s not go through all that again. I get it. I went to college. You were lonely. We’ve talked about it too much already.”
“But not all of it. I mean, you never knew who it was ...”
“I didn’t want to know!”
“But now, with what’s happened, I just thought—”
I sigh, push back in the booth, and spread my hands out on the vinyl. How many times have we sat here? How many meals have we shared, first while dating and within the past few months trying to be friends?
Friends.
I snort.
“Okay. I get it. But why now? After all this time. She won. She got you and we broke up. What do I have to do with any of it? I should have been the one stalking her, not the other way around. Besides, it was years ago.”
“We’d been in touch. Recently. I saw her shortly before that whole thing with her boyfriend. Mark was it? She ...” C.J.’s voice trails off for a minute and he finally looks me in the eyes. “She approached me at a bar. She was really off her rocker; I think she’d stopped taking her meds.”
I nod. Go on.
“She wanted to get back together, wanted to rekindle things. We danced a little that night, had a few drinks. She wanted to come back to my place.”
“And I’m sure you were happy to oblige.” My voice is bitter.
C.J. shakes his head.
“I thought about it. It would have been easy. But no, I told her I couldn’t. Because” he looks at me. “Because I’m in love with someone else.”
I wait for the familiar hum in my belly, the warm spread of C.J.-induced desire to spread over me. But I feel numb.
“So, she starts stalking me,” I say. “And decides to blow up my house because she can’t have you?”
I hope he can see how ridiculous this all sounds, but he simply nods.
“I think so. She was unbalanced, Tayt.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I say and slide my arms into my coat.
“Where are you going?” he asks, moving with his hands to grab mine across the Formica tabletop. “You aren’t just going to leave without saying anything. I just told you that I’m ...” His voice breaks off for a moment and when he starts speaking again it’s lowered to a near whisper. “I’m in love with you.”
I mash a wool hat with a green pom-pom onto my head and stand to zip my coat.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” he says.
I lean across the table toward him. His eyes are shining and clear. I think for a moment about all the times I’ve looked there for solace. The many times I tried to convince myself he had what I was looking for.
“I think you’re in love with what’s comfortable, what feels familiar. But I don’t want to live my life being someone’s comfort blanket.”
He sits, staring. He doesn’t say a word as I turn and walk out of the diner, feeling lighter and freer than I have in months.
Chapter Thirty-four
“Where are ya’ll off to?” Mama asks, looking up from a home decorating magazine. Ezra stands in the doorway while I put on a jacket. The temperature has risen considerably in the past few weeks. I’m down to just two layers of clothes most days. Whoopee!
“We’re going,” I grimace, “bowling.”
Ezra chuckles and Mama puts down her magazine and walks across the room to give him a hug. Then she slaps his arm playfully.
“You been thinking about what I said when we chatted?” She looks up into his face with a flirtatious smile. Mama, ever the beauty queen, just can’t help herself around Ezra. Or any man, for that matter.
“Yes ma’am,” Ezra says, kissing her cheek. I roll my eyes and shove my feet into combat boots.
Despite the less-than-glamorous destination, it feels good to be doing something out of my regular routine. Lately, “regular routine” has consisted of cleaning up debris, sifting through my possessions to see what can be salvaged and spending far too many hours on the phone with the insurance company, contractors and all the other people required to put my house back together again. If in fact, that’s even a possibility.
I know I should feel grateful that Mama took me in. It’s hard to move back into your parent’s house though, even after your own blows up. Here, I can never put things away properly or straighten the rugs the right way or clean the dishes to sparkling. To her credit, my mother never says anything. She just goes along behind me fixing everything the way that it should be.
We say our goodbyes and climb into Ezra’s truck which smells like pine needles (the real kind, not the fake pine tree air freshener-type) and pull onto Route 7.
“What chat did you and my mother have?” I ask, pushing a piece of gum into my mouth. I hold the pack out to him, but he shakes his head.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Mmm,” I say, sounding sulkier than I’d like. I watch the houses pass by one yard blurring into another. There is more green than white in most yards as the grass reclaims more and more of its domain. Why would Ezra confide in my mother instead of me?
“Does it have to do with your big decision?” I ask.
He nods.
“But I thought you’d already taken my advice. Why—”
“Tayt? Just enjoy the evening, okay?” Ezra’s voice is relaxed, gentle.
I almost stop with my line of questioning.
Almost.
“Just tell me one thing and then I promise I’ll shut up.”
He sighs, but one corner of his mouth is already pulling into a smile.
“You make it so appealing,” he says. “Alright. What’s the question?”
“Did you ever find another pastor to talk to like I suggested?”
He nods.
“And did you get good advice? Do you know what you’re going to do now?”
“That’s three. Now shut up.” He grins at me and turns up the volume on the radio. I lean back in my seat and smile.
I’ll get it out of him.
Sometime.
***
The bowling alley is packed and apparently Friday nights are 80s-themed. Music washes over me in all its synthesized glory when we enter the cavernous room, the four of us grouping together to rent shoes and pay for three games.
Shyla is decked out in punk attire and looks like she just walked off the page of Teen magazine in 1981. She’s wearing a jean skirt with flo
rescent pink tights and a leather bomber jacket with a mesh pink shirt underneath. She flirts with the guy behind the counter (who looks like a forty-year old pedophile) and ignores Jason, Ezra’s mentee.
Jason is heavyset and wears a track suit that looks two sizes too big, even on his bulbous frame. Ezra claps him on the shoulder as we head to our lane. I spend the game tossing my ball down the alley and listening to the wind whistle past before it falls into the gutter time and time again. Ezra’s nearly always ends up causing a strike and Shyla has the next highest score. Though how she manages so many accurate attempts while checking out the boys in the lane next to us is anyone’s guess. Jason is in third place even though he concentrates on the ball as though he can physically control it with his mind once it’s released from his hand. Ezra compliments them both on nearly every attempt. I make mental notes to be a better mentor while inhaling a plate of nachos, waiting for my turn.
We finish the evening with ice cream sundaes at a local diner. Shyla tries to look like she’s not really part of our group and makes about fifteen trips to the bathroom. Ezra talks with Jason about a potential camping trip when the weather warms up. I ask Shyla if she would want to do a girl’s only version and she gives me an eye roll in response. Ezra catches my eye and winks.
We drop Jason off first, then Shyla, before Ezra noses the truck toward my mother’s house outside of Swanton. The night is warm, and I crack the window, letting the fresh scent of starlight and melting snow permeate the truck’s cab.
I close my eyes, listening to Janice Joplin sing-yelling in her famous voice about Bobby McGee. When the song finishes, I open them. We’re on a deserted road that I don’t recognize.
Ezra pulls to a stop. Does he see a deer? I look toward the tree line but see nothing.
“What are we doing here?”
“Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Chapter Thirty-five
“Here? Now?” In the middle of the night?
“Okay.” I follow him from the truck, our doors slamming simultaneously. The sound feels sacrilegious in the still night air.
We tromp across part of a cow pasture, slipping and sliding in the slushy snow. I take deep breaths. My lungs ache from the pureness of the air.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask after fifteen minutes. My combat boots are waterproof, but the thin socks inside aren’t doing much to keep my toes warm.
“Almost there,” Ezra calls over his shoulder.
We’ve moved into a wooded area, the sound of pine branches sighing above us. An occasional arborous creak and a single owl hooting are the only sounds. I follow Ezra’s tracks. It’s easier to maneuver in the snow, which is becoming thicker. We pause by a group of pine trees, Ezra putting out a steadying hand on one of the thick trunks. He looks over his shoulder at me and grins, slow and mischievous. I smile back feeling a strange warmth in my belly. I look down, eyes suddenly damp.
What would I do without Ezra? What if he’s bringing me here to tell me that he’s moving? Maybe he’s changed his mind about leaving the Catholic church. He could have decided to try his luck at the Vatican for all I know, acting as a junior priest or some other type of underling. He’s always wanted to go to Europe ...
“Look. Right down there,” Ezra says, motioning with a hand for me to grab. I slide my mitten into his glove, and we make a treacherous descent down a steep ravine to what looks like a black hole in the ground. Slipping and skidding in the mushy snow, I can’t help laughing at the spectacle we must make.
When we reach the bottom of the ravine, I start to pull away my hand but Ezra either doesn’t notice or wants to hang on. Shrugging, I follow him closer to the edge of the crater. Water is running. It reminds me of the fountain I have at home. Used to have at home. I wonder suddenly if it survived the blast.
Ezra says something and I give myself a mental shake.
“What?” I ask
Ezra crouches and points low.
“See the lights?” he asks.
I follow his outstretched finger but see nothing. Squinting, I zero in on the area he’s pointing out to me.
At first, I only see the blackness of the bank. The crater is actually a little pond of some sort, and the water sounds are coming from the direction where Ezra is pointing. A waterfall, mostly frozen, trickles down an outcrop of huge, jagged boulders. In the spring the water must gush down in a river.
I train my eyes on the waterfall. Behind the ice I see lights. Tiny, flickering, yellow.
“What is it?” I ask in a whisper.
“Let’s go check it out.”
Ezra leads me, my hand still in his, around the bend in the pond and to the edge of the waterfall. When I was little there was a series of caves behind our house that my brother, Max, and I loved exploring. We’d spend hours out there, pretending to be pirates hiding secret treasure, or treasure-seekers looking for lost pirate booty. Sometimes we’d turn off our flashlights in the darkest depths and see who could make it out first.
When I was older, the caves were an escape from the world. When my parents were fighting or Sophie was winning yet another award for being her natural, perfect self, or I got into a tangle with someone at school, I’d retreat there.
“Want to go in?” Ezra says. He finally releases my hand. It feels suddenly cold.
“Do you need to ask?” I say, already scrambling for a toehold in the large rocks.
“I can give you a boost,” he says. I make it about three-quarters of the way up before agreeing. Ezra shoves upward on my bum and I practically launch into the cave behind the frozen falls.
“There’s a whole room in here,” I yell over my shoulder. Ezra, faster than I was in my climb, is right there when I turn around.
“Pretty cool.” He says, getting up from his knees and standing in a crouch in the space. His frame is too big to allow him to stand fully. I search the area for the yellow flickers of light that we saw.
Candles.
Fifty. Maybe more. I lean close and peer down. They are battery-lit, each giving off a soft, magical glow. Shadows dance on the cave walls and the ice glimmers. The only sound is our breath and the trickle of water, dripping over the icy falls.
“You did this,” I finally manage, turning in a wide circle, arms outspread. “You put all of these here?”
Ezra nods. He’s smiling that goofy, slow grin that I love so much. I turn to look deeper in the cave and blink hard several times. Just when I think I know my best friend better than anyone in the world, he does something completely surprising.
“Do you want to sit?” Ezra motions further back in the cave. I grab the tallest candle near me and head in that direction. My foot hits softness before my eyes take in two thick blankets, folded. I look at him again, smile, and shake my head, then take a seat on one. Ezra sits on the other and for a few minutes we say nothing, just listen to the sound of the water and the breeze that blows through the front of the cave and the sound of our own inhales and exhales.
Finally, Ezra breaks the silence.
“You know earlier when your mother mentioned that we’d had a little chat?” He goes on without waiting for a reply. “It was about you. About ...” his voice fades for a minute. His profile in the candlelight is both rugged and boyish, serious, and playful. I can see the pulse in his neck just above the collar of his fleece pullover.
“About us,” he says.
I’ve stopped breathing.
“The reason that I’ve been thinking about leaving the brotherhood, about not becoming a priest, is because of you, Tayt. I think ...” He pauses again and turns to look at me. His eyes are liquid in the light, candle shadows emphasizing his high cheekbones. “I think I’m in love with you. No,” he says, shaking his head and letting out a big breath. “I know it.”
He grabs one of my hands sitting limply on my thighs and pulls the mitten off, then removes his glove. Rubbing a finger gently over the back of my hand he looks from it to my face.
“I�
��m in love with you, Tatum. I think I have been since we first met in junior high but was too stupid or scared to do anything about it until now. Until I thought of losing you. Again.” He sighs, licks his lips. “I was trying not to feel what I did. But when you were shot I couldn’t stand that thought that I might lose ...”
This is wrong. Everything is spinning. My entire world dumped upside down. Feelings I know I shouldn’t have for my best friend tangling with C.J.’s voice and my burned house and Sunflower Specials. How can I keep that part of myself from Ezra? How would he feel about me if he found out? He’s all about love and grace and forgiveness. I bite my lip, heart banging like a bass drum in my chest. If he knew ...
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I say, “There are things you don’t know about me that you wouldn’t like. Things that I’ve done. That I—”
“There is nothing that you’ve done or could do to make me stop loving you,” Ezra interrupts. I look at his face again and there is pain there. Real and raw and I hate myself so much in this instance that I want to scream. But how can I let him throw away his future, his dream, for me? How could I live with myself if I were the reason for his giving up something that he is meant for? Wouldn’t he come to resent me someday, to hate me for it? And what is he even asking? I can’t marry him. I can’t be a pastor’s wife.
I want to tell him this, all of it, but a sob lodges in my throat.
“Tayt.” Ezra says it so softly that the sound of the splashing water nearly drowns it out. “I’m not giving you up. And I’m not giving up my dream of being a clergy member either. I can do both.”
The edges of his lips pull up. The candles continue to flicker, making a golden glow over his face. “I talked with Pastor Joe, like you recommended. I met with him more than once. And I’ve prayed about it for weeks. Months. I’ve sought council with a mentor at The Shrine, too. This is what I’m supposed to do. I know it without a shadow of a doubt.”
I exhale, the sound loud and shaky in the small space.
“I mean, if you feel the same.” He adds, a sentence that feels like a question.
I stare into the candle flickering by our hands. The shadows play along the backs: mine small and white, Ezra’s permanently tanned and marked with faint scars. Long-lasting reminders of his past.
Hear No Evil Page 20