by K. Z. Snow
“By turning beet red and telling me I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground.”
We both got a good laugh out of that. Well, I thought, he sure knows my ass from a hole in the ground.
“He knows I figured it out,” Peg said fondly. “And he knows I’d never make an issue of it—not with him and sure as hell not with anybody else. It’s his life.”
Evan was swinging down the center aisle now. He’d soon be within earshot.
“Thank you,” I said to Peg. “From my heart.”
She leaned over, put a hand on the side of my face, and gave me a big old sloppy kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure Frank is happy for you,” she said in my ear, then got up and hitched her way to Evan. She pointed at a spot in front of the altar rail, which he’d apparently missed. He looked disgruntled but went over it anyway. I got up to join him as Peg headed in the same direction Jocelyn had gone.
I couldn’t deduce if Peg knew about Evan and Frank, but I hoped not. It was a touchy and intensely private matter. Strange as it seemed, I wanted Frank and Evan and me to keep it forever among ourselves.
Smiling, Evan turned off his machine. “You here to relieve me?” He kept his voice low, as Peg and I had done. The church could set up some ringing echoes when it was empty of people.
“I didn’t know Peg was your aunt.”
He shrugged. “Guess I didn’t get around to mentioning it.”
“She’d like us to come over for dinner sometime.”
Evan rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should just tell her we’re already at the ‘friendly’ stage, if you know what I mean, and she can quit trying so hard.”
“Evan, she can tell we’re already at the ‘friendly’ stage.” I think he was using “friendly” as a euphemism for “fucking,” which would not have been a nice word to use in church. “That is one astute old woman.”
“Tell me. I’m just glad she knows how to keep her mouth shut.” He sat at the end of the nearest pew and swept a hand from me to the floor cleaner. “Care to take Betty for a spin?”
“Oh, man,” I groaned, “I’ll probably smash something.”
“You won’t smash anything. It’s not that powerful and you don’t exactly have spaghetti arms.”
I gave Betty the once-over.
“Listen,” Evan said, “it’s essentially an oversized, battery-powered vacuum cleaner with an oversized, soft brush on the bottom for scraping up the dust and dirt on the tiles. You’re lucky we’re not doing a complete floor-wash tonight. That’s way more of a pain in the ass.”
I really hated saying no to him. “So doing this helps you think?”
“Yeah. And pray. Sort of.”
“What do you ask for?”
“Only things that seem worth asking for. Not fame and fortune and that kind of crap.”
“What then? For yourself, I mean, not for other people.”
Evan stared at his dance partner for a moment and then, blowing out a sigh, got up and stood beside me. He rested his fingers on one of the handles. “To make sound decisions, good and wise choices. And not to be alone all my life. When I lost Mogie, I lost my anchor. I feel like I’ve been adrift for the past year.”
“What about love?”
“That’s part of the not being alone.” Evan flicked me a glance and then his gaze became distant. He smiled faintly. I had a feeling he was thinking about his son, how Scott had found love. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions beyond that one.
He pulled himself back to the here-and-now. “Come on, Steve, have pity on me. I put in a full day’s work. Run this thing for a while, would you?”
I nudged him aside. Gripping the handles, I tested their feel and then shoved the machine to test its weight and resistance. “All right. Just give me some instruction. And show me how to turn it off in case it starts going rogue on me.”
Evan chuckled. “Boy, you really are mechanically challenged.”
“I tried to tell you.”
After a mini-course in handling Betty—which controls did what; how I was to move the big, round brush in intersecting spirals, keeping up a steady, even motion—I was as ready as I’d ever be.
I switched her on. Evan stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with obvious amusement. Betty sent a vibratory hum through my muscles, which strained as I tried to maneuver her. It wasn’t easy at first. She was no featherweight and none too light on her foot. I bumped into a couple of pews, winced, struggled to get the mechanical heifer back on track. But soon I fell into a swaying rhythm. Dancing with Betty felt like doing an upper-body workout while ice-skating in slow motion.
As I turned left at the last row of pews and gradually headed for the side aisle, I glanced at Evan.
He was sitting again, his body skewed sideways so he could follow my progress. Right arm propped on the back of the pew, he rested his head in his hand. He was smiling at me in a way that made my heart melt, a way that told me how profoundly glad he was I’d come into his life. I smiled back because I felt the same way about him.
When I gave him a thumbs-up, Betty wickedly veered toward the base of a pillar. She could be one headstrong and unpredictable bitch if her partner didn’t keep her wayward impulses in check. Evan tilted his head back and laughed as I clumsily scrambled to regain control. I couldn’t hear him, but it was a beautiful sight.
And I’m happy tonight, waltzing in a winter wonderland.
My thoughts didn’t tumble like they’d done when I’d knelt in front of St. Jerome. They rolled along nice and easy, like the gentle swells on Lake Mille Lacs when a mild summer breeze skated across its surface. It was the strangest thing….
Well, Frank, I left here after I lit that candle and I got happy like you told me to. The happiness was waiting right across the street. Did you direct me there? I’ll let myself believe you did.
As for all the things I don’t understand, they’re mostly immaterial now. Do you agree? Still, I remember your belief that everything happens for a reason, even if some reasons are more obscure and convoluted than others, and every reason is a gift if one looks into it deeply enough. With that in mind, I can’t help but wonder why you and I got involved with each other.
So I could bring some joy and satisfaction into your life? I hope I did. So you could pry open my heart and start shaping all the formless, frivolous stuff within it and give me my first taste of love? I know you did. Was our relationship a stepping-stone on a much longer path—yours, toward self-acceptance; mine, toward the shedding of self that results from a grand passion? We’ll see.
Right now, I know this: there’s a good chance I could thoroughly fall in love with Evan McAllister, and I wouldn’t have had that chance if I’d never known you. And this: I’m through mourning, and finished shedding thorny tears. And this: I’m not in the least bit embarrassed about waltzing with a cleaning machine while I talk to a man who’s dead.
Now those are gifts.
About the Author
If there's one thing K. Z. SNOW loves more than indulging her wayward imagination, it's the natural world and, especially, animals. She's been a companion to most domesticated creatures and a good number of the feral ones commonly known as men. After too many turbulent years, her life in the upper Midwest is finally boring as hell—an achievement as well as a blessing.
She's overeducated, underskilled, and has written a lot of stuff. Her only awards are two medals she received, obviously out of sympathy, for playing the bassoon and making it sound like a malfunctioning chainsaw.
Visit K.Z.'s blog at http://kzsnow.blogspot.com.
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The Prayer Waltz ©Copyright K.Z. Snow, 2010
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Released in the United States of America
March 2010
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-443-5