Mismatched

by Chautona Havig

  “You could read the books…”

  She sat up. “Thanks. That cured me.”

  The people around them shushed them once more. As the movie continued, and much to Leo’s chagrin, he began to identify somewhat with the main character—except that he felt a strange compulsion to call the dude “Wally.” He found the boy’s intensity ridiculous—excessive. However, he couldn’t help but see a similarity in how he found himself spending time with Allison, again, and against his better judgment.

  “Ridiculous.”

  Leo didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Allison whispered, “I know, right? I mean, talk about over-acting.”

  Throughout the remainder of the first movie, until nearly the end, they cracked jokes, one after the other, but so quietly that even the people around them couldn’t complain. Allison tensed as the villain began to stalk his prey, coming nearer until he pounced. Seconds later, the actress’s pathetic acting put her at ease again. “Are we supposed to take this seriously?”

  With a non-committal shrug, Leo whispered. “It appears they do; look around you.”

  The audience seemed entranced. She giggled at the collective sigh when the scene switched and Walter declared his undying love for the fragile little human. Leo felt her nudge him and heard her whisper, “Smart dad,” when the girl’s father told her to remember her self-defense moves.

  “Have you ever taken self-defense classes?” He felt stupid the moment he asked.

  Allison shook her head. “Haven’t you heard? I have the town thug for a private bodyguard. I don’t need them.”

  Had anyone else called him a thug, the word would have ripped open a wound that never seemed to heal. Despite the ministrations of the Great Physician, he found himself in constant need of re-bandaging. Adric reminded him, whenever the occasion arose, that his job was to “follow Doctor’s orders and let the Holy Spirit work.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Am I such a burden?”

  The words almost sounded flirtatious, but the look on Allison’s face showed more concern—curiosity even. Had he not been able to feel the irritation boring into the back of his head from the eyes of their seatmates, he might have said too much. So much of the Christian life was new and awkward, but one thing always remained true; you usually kept out of trouble by keeping your mouth shut. Even Proverbs or Psalms—probably Proverbs—said that.

  Unwilling to leave her question unanswered, no matter how annoyed the people around them became, Leo risked a short answer. “Not even close.”

  The reflection in the mirror taunted him. Too often, Leo showered and dressed without ever glancing at it; he hated the sight of himself. He’d been—what was the word—vain. He’d been vain about his upper body during his Kasimir days, but now it seemed like proof that his life had been a waste.

  The memory of the audience’s reactions to the shirtless men on the screen in the second movie amused him. Despite his resolve not to look, he couldn’t help but watch Allison’s reaction as the first guy whipped off his shirt. So stupid too—an utterly gratuitous action designed for audience appeal, and a complete success. The audience had dissolved into a collective swoon, complete with whistles, catcalls, and applause. The only redeeming moment had been when the emaciated looking hero discarded his own shirt, earning him cries of “Eeewww!” The unanimous sigh of disgust made the original frenzy worth suffering through—almost.

  “It’s probably none of my business, but I’m kinda glad she didn’t like the movie, and I’m really glad she didn’t salivate over the actors,” he murmured, his new habit of casual conversation with the Lord now nearly second nature.

  The clock looked like a neon billboard reminding him that he had time for a quick jog, but Leo didn’t want to do it. The anemic pizza and popcorn had left him unsatisfied, but The Market had closed long before he left the theater. Another glance at the clock told him he just had time to get to the minimart before it closed. Sure, the hot dogs would be hot dog jerky, and the donuts stale, but they had frozen burritos and sometimes sandwiches. He could even jog there and back again for a little exercise. He promised himself that he would eat while he read his five chapters. Five… such a manageable number. He wasn’t sure he’d ever quit feeling that sense of relief when he picked up his Bible again. In fact, he’d actually begun to enjoy some of what he read.

  He glanced once more at the clock. Now he had to jog there to make it in time. With his jacket on one arm, he opened the door to his apartment, hurried down the steps, and picked up speed as he rounded the corner. His body fought to keep his usual cadence, but Leo pushed onward as if driven to arrive before closing. In Fairbury, if they felt like closing half an hour early, they would.

  He burst through the door with ten minutes to spare and waved at the girl behind the counter. “I just need a snack, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Th—that’s fine.” At the counter, as he reached for his wallet, the girl threw up her hands and punched the proper key on the register. “Take it. Just—”

  “I’m not here to rob you,” Leo snarled. Fury washed over him in several waves. He’d repent of that later. “I just need my wallet—”

  Before he could answer, a floodlight filled the front of the store, and Joe’s voice called for him to come outside with his “hands up.” He tossed an annoyed glance at the girl before turning toward the door. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of her coming around the counter and snapped, “Get back there before they think I’ve got a hostage or something. Sh—eesh.”

  “Sorry. My friend called and said she saw a guy running toward the store, and when you burst in, I got scared. I’ll tell Joe—”

  “How about after I get out there and ask him to talk to you.”

  “Ok. I’m really sorry. I just saw that spider web and freaked.”

  The pent up angst dissolved immediately. Poor kid—he’d obviously terrified her. “It’ll be ok.”

  Mortified, Leo stepped from the store, hands in the air, the floodlight putting him at center stage. He allowed his eyes to adjust slightly before he said, “I thought you told me to stay out of the spotlight, Joe.”

  Chapter Six

  Tall, broad, and muscular, Del swung himself from his motorcycle and glanced around the place. Too many people there could recognize him—better to go around to the rear entrance. He stepped into the back door and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Ernie’s door was closed, the little green light on the lock indicating that he was inside. Quirky guy, that Ernie.

  Del knocked on Jenk’s door. It swung open immediately, but a man stood blocking the entrance. Wentz. Great. The guy considered himself top dog amongst the guards once they assigned him to Jenk’s office. The idiot didn’t seem to understand that they kept him close because they couldn’t trust him not to get caught popping a runner or offing a narc. Anyone who tried to get past first defense would trigger an alert that would have Jenk gone before he reached the office.

  “Jenk here?” Yeah, the question is stupid—stupid questions for stupid people.

  “Del—didn’t get a call. I take it that means Leo didn’t show?”

  “Nope.”

  Jenk’s face contorted into a half-hearted scowl. They hadn’t actually expected success, but you couldn’t overlook an opportunity. “Guess religion isn’t what it used to be. I thought funerals were non-negotiables like Sunday school and potlucks.”

  “He probably knew we would be there.”

  “Wasn’t informed is more like it. He used to brag about how his mom disowned him.”

  That was true. Before Del could respond, Ernie jerked open his door and stared at the group standing just inside Jenk’s office. “Trouble, gentlemen?”

  “What?” Jenk’s fury bit the air. Great, now the boss gets ticked. This’d be his fault inside six weeks. A son doesn’t attend a funeral destined to be a double; it would be his failure. Just great.

  “Well, Del’s return is fortuitous.”

&
nbsp; “Stop with your stupid word of the day garbage. What!?!”

  “Got a hit on a guy in New Hampshire doing a book about Leo and his conversion.”

  “And you think it’s Leo?”

  “I think,” Ernie said carefully, “that it is possible that this writer is in contact with Leo somehow—or was. He might know something that’ll lead us to him.”

  “Looks like Del’s headed to…”

  “Pembroke, New Hampshire.” Ernie shrugged. “The author’s name is Warren Whitfield. He’s known for his ‘jerk to Jesus’ conversion books. People seem to eat ‘em up.”

  From his recliner, Jenk surveyed the room while rolling a remote in his hand, thinking. “Yeah. Go now. There wasn’t much in the papers about the religion thing. If this guy is writing about Leo, he’d have to be in contact. Don’t kill ‘im—not yet. Let’s see what we can learn.”

  “Um, can I make a suggestion?”

  The boss’s eyes narrowed and Dell grinned. This wouldn’t be good. Ernie was pushing it. “What now?”

  “If you want to keep him alive, maybe someone who doesn’t look like a Kasimir should go.”

  “Like you?” Jenk sneered.

  “I’m no good at this stuff. I was thinking someone like Trina. She knows how to extract information and with the right clothes, she could look conservative—blend into the little town.” Ernie shrugged. “Besides, she should know the lingo.”

  “Get her in and give her the job. Now get outta here.”

  Adric stepped into the bays, a look of concern on his face. From the other side of the hood, Leo watched warily. He sensed something had gone wrong, but who had blown it now? “Leo, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Dread hit him in the gut. He’d be fired. People were sick of worrying about their cars or something that would mean no more home and happy life in Fairbury. “Sure, boss.”

  Behind his desk, Adric fidgeted. Definitely bad news. “Leo, Chief Varney was just here…”

  “The chief? Why? I haven’t done anything—nothing wrong anyway.” Understanding dawned. “Oh, because of the minimart thing? That’s not my fault. The kid panicked, but I didn’t steal anything, I didn’t threaten her—nothing!”

  “It’s not that. There’s no nice way to tell you this; your mother passed away two weeks ago.”

  Leo lowered himself into one of the chairs and frowned. “Mom? How?”

  “According to what the chief said, she had lung cancer.”

  He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, why? Did she smoke?”

  “Never. Hated the things. Thought they were the road to dis-enlightenment or something like that.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, surprised by the emotions roiling inside him. “I use to tease her—said she’d die of lung cancer from all the incense she burned.” A lump grew in his throat, choking him. “Man, Adric, I feel like I handed her a death sentence at age seven.”

  “I’m really sorry, Leo. Take the afternoon off.”

  “Nah, I’ve got—”

  “That wasn’t an offer. It’s an order. I’m the boss, and I get to say. Take a drive, walk around the lake—whatever. Just let yourself grieve.”

  “Can’t grieve something you’ve never had.”

  Adric’s eyes met Leo’s. “I know what it’s like to have a parent reject you. You can grieve what you haven’t had; you can grieve that you didn’t have what you should have. Go. Talk to someone. Tom’s great with this stuff. Allison would be another good choice. Jael—”

  “Ok, ok. I’ll go. Thanks.”

  A manila envelope slid across the desk. “That’s the official information and the death certificate. Chief says there’s an obituary in there too. Supposedly, your mom wrote it herself.”

  Leo took the envelope and left the building, unwilling to look at the contents until he made it home—alone. For what may have been the first time, he strolled through the streets, oblivious to the stares and glares around him. Trisha waved at him as she set an empty bucket outside the back door, but it didn’t register with him until he reached his door.

  He threw open windows and turned on his fan, trying to cool down the overwarm apartment, and poured himself a glass of water. The envelope felt oppressive—as if one of those stupid things in a Disney movie that controlled all who touched it. For a moment, the temptation to throw it in the garbage and go for the drive Adric suggested nearly won.

  A prayer, one that felt much more like a plea for mercy, preceded the fumbling of his fingers as he tried to pry open the metal clasps. A doctor’s report described her disease in terms he didn’t understand. He read it anyway—every word. It might have been a pathetic delay tactic, but it worked. With each word he read, relief washed over him. He may not know what bronchoscopy, histiocytosis, or leptomeningeal metastasis meant, but he knew what they didn’t mean—death by Kasimir.

  He had not expected that they’d go after his mother. They knew she could care less what happened to him, and he hadn’t exactly sung her praises. However, nothing would have surprised him. Then again, with the words swimming before his eyes, perhaps it would have been a blessing for her to go sooner and endure less pain.

  A full sheet from the Colorado Springs Gazette contained his mother’s obituary. He read those of Thomas Prynne and Flora de Haven before he read the one for Denise Hasaert of Manitou Springs. Delaying the inevitable only delayed the pain, but that didn’t stop him. Instead, he stared at the picture, remorse flooding his heart. I should have tried to call or even write. I never told her. I didn’t bother. Now it’s too late and it’s my fault. Oh, God!

  Denise Hasaert of Manitou Springs died last Tuesday at home while under hospice care. Born in Ray, Arizona, Denise was a student of life from birth until she drew her last breath. As an artist, Denise specialized in pottery and spiritual sculpture. Denise was a dedicated follower of brilliant New Age leaders such as Linda Goodman and Marilyn Ferguson.

  Denise is survived by various unnamed family members across the globe, none of whom Denise cares to connect herself with. She left life with a spirit at peace with the universe and within herself.

  Tears poured down his cheeks. “Man, I hate this new emotionalism, Lord. I hate it!”

  Darkness lowered over the town and with it, into Leo’s soul. Never would he have ever imagined being so distraught at the loss of the woman who had rejected him nearly every day of his life. To deal with it, he ran. His legs burned as his feet pounded the pavement out of town and onto the highway toward Rockland.

  Cars whizzed past, throwing pebbles against his calves, choking his lungs with exhaust from time to time. Those were nearly a relief. The appearance of an oxidized silver Focus, on the other hand, nearly made him take off across a field. He didn’t want any more sympathy; Adric’s had nearly killed him and the pain of it all hadn’t hit yet. Not now, Lord. Please!

  The window rolled down—why had he fixed the automatic windows? The car rolled alongside him, keeping pace. “Come on, Leo. It’s too dark to run on the highway. People can’t see you.”

  “I just need to run.”

  “No, you need to get in. Come on. I’ve been looking for you for over an hour.”

  Nothing else she could have said would have made him stop. Knowing she wouldn’t quit forced him to realize that he must. Leo stopped, leaning his hands on his knees and gulping for air. “Ok.”

  It wasn’t ok. Not really, but it didn’t matter. He just needed to get her to take him home and be comfortable again. She’d leave, and he could run some more or maybe go work on the engine… that might work.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  He couldn’t say he wasn’t. It would be a lie, but he nearly did it out of habit. “At least they didn’t get to her. That matters.”

  Two miles passed before she spoke again. “Leo, did you eat?”

  “Nah. I’ll eat later.”

  She pointed to the dash clock—nine-thirty. “It’s al
ready later.” Without asking, she turned off toward Ferndale.

  “Just take me home. I have soup and maybe some sandwich stuff left.”

  “No. You need real food. We can make it before Werner’s Burgers close. They have a burger that comes with a side salad and fries.”

  Leo didn’t answer. It just didn’t matter to him. He waited in the car while she went inside and got his food, held it on his lap while they drove home, and carried it up to his apartment, Allison on his heels. She took the bag from him once they got inside and pointed to the bathroom. “Go take a shower.”

  “I’m that ripe, eh?” The joke would have been amusing had he put any effort into the delivery.

  “You need the comfort.” She set the bag on the counter and faced him, catching his arm as he tried to pass. “For the record, showers are good places to cry. No one hears, sees, or ever knows. Just a thought.”

  “I think I’m all cried out, but thanks.”

  The expression on her face said she didn’t believe him, but Leo didn’t care. What did she know of his heart and his pain? Anger slowly welled in him as he considered the way she’d pushed herself into his grief, but by the time the first spray of the shower hit his shoulders, he’d stamped it down. This wasn’t her fault. He just had to get rid of her before he forgot that and lashed out at her.

  The food sat on his ad-hoc coffee table, waiting for him. Allison seemed completely at home on the tattered furniture, her shoes off and feet up on the corner of the footlocker. It didn’t make sense. She should look utterly out of place.

  She leaned forward and picked up the container and a fork. “Eat while it’s still hot.”

  Despite his original plan to kick her out, the small, square, Styrofoam container in one hand and fork in the other made it impossible. He’d kick her out after she finished. “Thanks.”

  The papers and envelope lay on the floor between them. Allison nodded at them. “May I see?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Unlike him, she gave the death certificate and doctor’s notes a cursory glance and then picked up the obituaries, ignoring the other two. “Your mother was beautiful. I see where you got your eyes.”