by Lynne Hinton
Francine had turned off the oven and left the pies on the counter to cool, and she was thinking about Trina Lockhart, the young mother who had stopped by the diner for a couple of slices of pie earlier in the day. Trina had worked at the diner while she was pregnant, and Francine thought of the girl as a very special friend. Trina was smart and funny, and even though there was an age difference of almost forty years between the two, they had become close. Francine was happy that both of them had found love, Trina with Raymond and she with Bernie, and they often teased each other about how love had suddenly and easily come to them both in Pie Town.
Although there had been others interested in a match between Francine and Bernie, Trina had actually been the one to fan the flame between the two, pushing Bernie to ask Francine out. And once he did Trina’s bidding—Bernie took Francine down to Silver City for a movie and dinner—the rest, Francine thought with a smile, was history.
She glanced out at the parking lot and saw the familiar vehicle pull in. She smiled and waved at Bernie. Just as he slid out of the truck, the lights in the diner went out. Francine waited for a second, hoping it was just a flicker, and then stumbled out of the kitchen, around the tables, trying to feel her way through the darkness. She was standing at one of the booths when she heard the front door open.
“Francie,” Bernie called out and shone a flashlight in her direction. “You okay?” he asked.
“Just fine,” she replied, making her way closer to him, glad to know he was there, glad he kept a flashlight in his truck.
“Looks like the power got knocked out all over town. I hope you’re ready to lock up and leave.”
Francine waved away the light he still had shining in her direction and nodded, moving carefully through the diner to the door. “Let me get my purse,” she said while she walked back to the kitchen, the light following her every step. She stopped. “I can’t remember which ones I turned on,” she said, sliding her hand along the wall to the plate of light switches. “What if I don’t get the right ones turned off?”
“Just turn off what you can,” Bernie instructed. “If there’s any left on in the kitchen, it won’t be the worst thing for Fred and Bea to pay a little extra on their power bill. They should be happy that you’re willing to work so late.”
Francine smiled. She loved the way Bernie had taken to looking after her. She loved the thought that he cared for her, worried about her.
“Smells good,” he noted. “What’s the special this week?”
“Tri-berry,” she answered. “I saved you a slice.” And she patted the bag she had tucked inside her arms and walked past Bernie and out the door.
“Sounds perfect.”
He followed, and she turned to lock the dead bolt. “Wonder how long the power will be out,” she said. “I’m not sure I remember where my candles are. And it’s been a while,” she added, “since I checked the batteries in my flashlight. I hope it still works.”
“No need to worry about that,” Bernie said, taking Francine by the arm. “I have a generator at the ranch, and I think you should just come out and stay with me tonight.”
“Well, Bernie King,” she said with a grin as she turned to face him, “what will the folks of Pie Town say to that?”
He blushed, cleared his throat, and held open the door on the passenger side of his truck. “I’m sixty-five years old, Francine, and I don’t rightly concern myself with the thoughts of others. Do you?”
Francine’s face reddened as well. “I suppose I do not,” she replied, still standing at the door.
And the two of them got in, heading out of the parking lot and in the direction of the King ranch just a few miles out of town.
FOUR
Father George Morris was reading scripture when the power went out. The tea kettle was whistling, and he had put his Bible down and was preparing to get up from his desk and walk into the kitchen to have a cup of tea.
“Ah, Lord, the storms of summertime.” He sighed. He reached into one of the desk drawers, found a flashlight, turned it on, and made his way into the kitchen. After pouring himself a cup of tea, he began feeling his way through the cabinets for the candles he knew were kept above the stove.
He found a few votive candles and placed them on small plates, lighting them with the matches he had collected from his desk drawer. He set the candles around the front room of the rectory and sat back down at his desk, the cup of tea beside his Bible. He thought about the scripture he was reading, the Gospel of Mark, and particularly the story of Jesus walking on the water, the story of high winds and fear, a storm experienced by the disciples. He thought of the irony of his reading about a storm, considering what was happening all around him, and had to smile. He opened his Bible to read more but then, realizing that he would not be able to read with so little light, closed the book and considered just going to bed, even though he wasn’t actually sleepy.
He thought of the events of the day, the meeting of the education committee and the decision to start a nursery for the worship hour on Sunday mornings. He thought about his visit to the parish in Quemado and his conversation with Father Quy, the priest serving the two other churches in the vicinity. He recalled the man’s cynical comment that Father George had a cushy job serving only the Holy Family Church in Pie Town, not being responsible to the diocese in Gallup, and how it seemed that Father George had taken to radical ways by not wearing his collar and allowing Protestants to share in regular worship.
George had chosen not to engage with the other priest once he made those remarks. He knew that the other parish priests in New Mexico and the entire Southwest thought the arrangement in Pie Town with the diocese in Gallup was inappropriate and out of line. He knew that Holy Family Church was a kind of renegade organization that even seemed close to breaking ties with the Catholic Church. He understood that once he and the citizens of Pie Town chose to build their own church, without supervision or assistance from the diocese in Gallup, he and the Church were moving into uncharted territory. Father George still referred to himself as a Catholic priest, but he was not in full standing with the Church. It was a unique and precarious relationship, and many other priests were not happy about it.
George had tried to build a friendship with the new priest in Catron County when he arrived, but the orthodox young man, trained in his home country of Vietnam, could never understand the role of the priest in Pie Town. George had decided after this last visit that he would make no further attempts at being friends. He was, after all, deeply involved in the lives of his parishioners, in the events of the community, and happily, he noted to himself, had more than enough friends. If Father Quy wanted to make a connection with George, he knew how to contact him. Pie Town wasn’t that far from Quemado.
George looked at his watch, trying to make out the time, and took a sip of tea. He thought about his afternoon, his visit to Frank Twinhorse’s garage. He had taken in the station wagon he had been driving for the entire time he had been in Catron County. It had not been a reliable vehicle when it was given to him by the Monsignor in Gallup, and now it was simply falling apart.
That afternoon, George had taken his car in because the brakes were squealing. Since he didn’t know a drum from a pedal, and since he needed his car the rest of the week, he was hoping that Trina or Frank would be able to tighten something or oil a part and take care of the problem quickly. He was hopeful that he wouldn’t have to leave it with them for any length of time.
Trina, the young woman who had arrived in Pie Town at the same time that Father George had, was working at the garage. She was good at what she did, loved working on engines, and had learned a lot about auto mechanics while serving an apprenticeship with Frank. She had, in fact, replaced more parts in the station wagon than George could count and had practically rebuilt the transmission earlier in the year. She was quite skilled at her work and very happy in her new job.
When he arrived at the garage, Trina and Frank were nowhere to be found. He called out fo
r them, walked around the bays and into the office, but neither of them answered or showed up. Finally, just as he was getting into the station wagon to leave, Frank pulled up in his tow truck, explaining briefly that Trina was home with Raymond and that she had called Frank over to handle a situation.
Father George knew that Raymond, Frank’s son and Trina’s boyfriend, had been in Pie Town for only about five weeks. The church had thrown a big “welcome home” party for the wounded soldier when he was released from the Veterans Hospital in Albuquerque, and even though the young man seemed a bit uncomfortable with the attention from his hometown, he acted like he enjoyed the gathering. He was quiet but did not seem troubled, shy but not necessarily withdrawn.
George had visited Raymond while he was hospitalized and had seen the physical wounds of war. The young soldier had been in a vehicle that exploded because of a roadside bomb. He was the only one who had survived. His left knee was shattered. Both lungs were punctured. There was significant hearing loss, a fractured skull, brain trauma, and more than eight or nine other broken bones. Raymond had come through numerous surgeries and had been sent home after lengthy stays at medical clinics and hospitals in Afghanistan, Germany, North Carolina, and finally Albuquerque.
Father George had concluded, even though there had been no real cause for his suspicions, that Raymond had suffered as much, if not more, emotionally as physically during his short time of service in war, and after his visit in Albuquerque he had suggested to Trina and Frank that the young man might benefit from support services offered to returning veterans. Both the boy’s father and his girlfriend had explained that they mentioned this to Raymond, but that he seemed unwilling to consider talking about his experience with anyone.
Once Raymond had been home a few weeks, he became increasingly withdrawn, and Father George started paying closer attention. He checked on the young man every couple of days, and even though Raymond wouldn’t look George in the eye and seemed unable to sit still for any length of time, the priest thought everything was going as well as could be expected. He had not seen signs of real trauma for the soldier.
“What kind of situation?” George remembered asking Frank.
The father wouldn’t answer any questions about his son. He had checked the station wagon and announced that the priest would need new brake liners on the rear wheels. He could leave the car at the garage until the parts arrived and were installed, he was informed, or it was probably safe to drive around town if he wanted to return later in the week. George had decided just to keep the car until the parts were delivered.
“Would it help if I visited?” he had asked Frank before driving off. He knew where Trina and Raymond lived. He knew they had moved out of the little garage apartment and into Roger’s house, since the sheriff had moved in with Malene once they got married. “I can drop by, offer to talk to Raymond, offer to drive him to Albuquerque to talk to someone there.”
And George, sipping some more of his tea, recalled how Frank appeared when the offer was made. He had looked away and then turned back, shaking his head from side to side. He had taken a long breath before answering, wiping his hands on the rag hanging from his pocket.
“I like you, Father George. I have since you built the church and did what you did for this little town. I respect your work.” He stepped away from the car. “You have a good heart.”
George glanced away.
And then Frank had hesitated before finishing. He shook his head again. “But you can’t help my son.” He then slid his hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not sure what or who can help him now.” And with that, Frank had turned away and walked into the office. George had waited, thinking he might return, but when he didn’t, George had simply driven off.
Father George considered that perhaps he should have gone over to Trina’s. He didn’t need a reason to visit; the young couple knew the priest often stopped by to see parishioners or community members. They both knew he sometimes dropped in on folks without calling ahead. But George had chosen not to meddle, not that time. He told himself he would wait until he gained permission from Trina or Raymond to step in and offer help.
He had decided that the most he could do at the time, the best he had to offer, was to simply say his prayers. And so, there in the meek light of small candles, that’s what he did. Father George dropped his face, closed his eyes, and folded his hands. Cloaked in darkness, he prayed.
FIVE
Trina was still hiding in the bathroom, Alexandria asleep, cradled in her arms, when the power went out. She had not heard Raymond for over an hour, but she was afraid to open the door and step out into the hallway.
This outburst had been his worst so far. He had grown more angry and sullen with each passing day since he had been home, but he had never lashed out at her. Not until that evening. She had been surprised by it because she never expected him to become violent toward her; she had never considered that as a possibility. And on that particular day, she thought he was actually better after talking to his father in the afternoon.
Trina, home for lunch, had called Frank because Raymond had found his firearm and was waving the gun all around, claiming he was “taking care of business.” She left the garage in hopes that they could enjoy a couple of sandwiches together, and she had even picked up two slices of pie at the diner, enjoying a little time with Francine. Alexandria was with Frieda Roybal, the woman who kept the baby while Trina worked, and since it was slow at the garage, Frank had told her to take more than her usual hour for lunch if she wanted. So that was what she had decided to do.
She knew Frank was happy that she and Raymond had fallen in love. She had felt his support from the very beginning, when they met at Raymond’s boot camp graduation in Texas. Trina, pregnant with Alexandria, had been planning to return to her home state, and Frank had given her a ride there. Since meeting him at the graduation, she and Raymond had written each other and talked on the computer for the entire time he had been deployed. They had gotten very close. And through the letters and the emails and the phone calls, Trina and Raymond built a relationship.
Trina trusted Raymond. She trusted that he was honest with her, that he shared from himself deeply and authentically. She had grown to depend on him, even when he was so far away. She waited to hear his thoughts before she made decisions. She couldn’t wait to talk to him and share her funny stories about the pregnancy, the birth, the baby, about the garage, about Pie Town. Alexandria had brought new life and love into her life, and Raymond had brought companionship, a deep and abiding friendship, tenderness, support, and a different kind of love than she had ever experienced. And as a result of what she shared with him, she had fallen in love with the young soldier.
And then the explosion happened, and he was sent home, and it soon became clear that he was not the same man she had gotten to know in the last year. Physically, he was mostly healed from the injuries he sustained. He still walked with a limp, his knee having been shattered, and he had lost a lot of strength in his upper body, sometimes shaking badly from the involuntary muscle tremors, but he could walk and use all his limbs. After months of surgeries and physical and occupational therapy, he could pick Alexandria up, cook, and complete tasks around the house. The doctors had fixed all of his physical wounds, but no one had paid attention to or been able to heal the emotional ones.
In the beginning when he came home, he woke up most nights in a cold sweat, screaming and kicking Trina out of the bed. She had quit sleeping with him after the first couple of nights and moved a small cot into the room with the baby. He had not tried to stop her, had even encouraged her to sleep somewhere else, because he knew his actions coming out of sleep were unpredictable. Even though she didn’t think he would use it, she had hidden his gun, a small pistol he had bought at a pawnshop when he left the hospital in Albuquerque. That day, the day the power went out, he had found it.
His conversation with Frank seemed to calm him down, and when Trina got home from work around si
x o’clock, nervous and unsure of what to expect, she actually thought he was better. He had apologized for what had happened, claimed that he had gotten rid of the gun, and said he would go to Albuquerque and make an appointment to talk to someone at the VA about what was going on with him. He admitted that he had been drinking before she came home at lunch and acknowledged that alcohol did make things worse and that he was going to start a twelve-step program soon as well. She believed him, was hopeful for him, and they had even laughed together when she told a joke she had heard from Oris when she stopped at the diner. They had kissed, and he seemed better, more relaxed, more at ease.
She had left him in good spirits, she thought, just like he used to be, when she drove across town to pick up Alexandria. He was watching television, resting on the couch. When she got home she fed the baby, bathed her, and put her down for the night and was boiling a pot of water, planning to cook pasta, his favorite, when she heard Raymond in the other room cursing. He was playing a video game, a form of entertainment that he had discovered during his deployment.
He was angry because the game had stalled, had stopped playing, and then, after Raymond yelled something, Trina had heard a loud crash. When she ran into the den to see what had happened, she discovered that he had thrown a beer bottle into the screen and broken both the screen and the bottle. She had hurried to him, asked him what was wrong, if he was okay, and just like that he seemed to snap.
Trina crouched behind the bathroom door and thought about what had happened next, the things he said, the way he looked at her.
“You think you can tell me what to do?” he yelled. “You think you own me?” He followed her as she headed into the kitchen. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what happened to me.”