“Come on inside. I’ll make us a cup of tea and set up the guest room for you. You stay with us tonight.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Jace, Will, and I gather around Jolly, and soon we’re all drinking tea and playing a game of Trivial Pursuit. Jolly wipes us clean on the sports category. “I had no idea you were a sports nut,” I say.
“Yes sirree. Helen and I never missed a game of anything if it was on the TV.”
They must have enjoyed a lovely life. Really, really enjoyed it.
* * *
Will lays down zaibatsu using a z already on the board. On a triple word space. “Oh yeah. Oh yeah.”
Jace bares his teeth. “No way. It’s Japanese, and I have no idea what it means.”
“It’s a large Japanese business conglomerate.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “And it’s English.”
“No way. It’s a foreign word, bud.”
I love watching this. It’s only a matter of time before Will tallies those points onto his score. Hasn’t Jace figured out what a pushover he is?
Jolly sips his tea, clears his throat, and looks down at his tiles through his pink half-glasses, Helen’s old ones, of course. “Seems to me if a boy knows such a word rightly exists, he should get some points. I say give him half for even knowin’ it.”
“Done!” says Jace.
Our eyes meet. He knows I realize what a bargain he just got.
Will collects seven tiles from the brown plastic bag. “Hey, you were a topic of conversation in the cafeteria today, Mom.”
“Figures. What did I do now?”
“You had to bring that girl to the concert, didn’t you?” He smiles. “That’s what the moms were saying. It was hilarious. You know the girls can imitate their moms dead-on!”
“You mean Krista?”
“Yeah.” He dons a feminine affect. “‘And she paraded her right up to the front. If she wants to slum it, fine, but does she have to rub everybody’s nose in it?’”
Jace rearranges his tiles. “That’s my girl. Making waves.”
Will. “Yeah, boy. You should have heard Missy. She said her mom was talking about it with the other women.”
Missy. Brenda’s daughter.
No wonder Laney called.
“You must think you’re so holier-than-thou, they say. And it’s not only that—they heard the mission is Catholic. You’re halfway to being a heretic too.”
Mercy!
“I’m sorry, Will. I didn’t think you’d be bearing the brunt.”
“Me? Oh yeah, right. I think it’s great. I mean, come on, it’s not okay for you to bring Krista, but perfectly fine for them to talk behind your back, right?”
Well, honestly, I can’t fault them there. Not really. I’ve done my share of gossiping. But somehow, when you’re the one doing it, it just doesn’t seem all that bad.
* * *
After settling Jolly in the guest room, I riffle through the day’s mail and come up with a letter to Will. From Ronnie Legermin. Oh no. Bullying goes postal. I take it up to his room and hand it to him. “What’s this?”
“Oh, cool.”
“You want to explain why Ronnie Legermin is writing you?”
“I got a card from him two weeks ago. He apologized, which was totally crazy, you know? I mean, I never saw that coming!”
“Was it genuine?”
“Heck, I don’t know. So I wrote him back and said, “Yeah, I forgive you,” and all that sort of thing. No big deal, really. So I guess he’s written me back.”
“Well, open it, then.”
“Okay, Mom. Sheesh. Can’t I have a little privacy? I don’t go asking to read your mail, do I?”
Okay, okay.
* * *
Liza outdid herself. A baked rockfish garnished with parsley and lemon rests on a simple marigold platter.
Anna sparkles in a new lime green sweater. “And don’t you just love the gold trim around the wrists?” She twists her wrist back and forth.
“I do. You look wonderful.”
“I know it’s silly, a woman my age, but I couldn’t resist it.”
Liza sets down a bowl of buttered broccoli. “It was from Kohl’s, Anna. Nobody should feel guilty about buying something at Kohl’s.”
They’ve prepared for my coming, set out their best, and I feel as though I’m Christ Himself come for dinner. And knowing the way they think, I guess I am. “I could have brought my own fork.”
Anna hugs me. “Do you use it?”
“Every day.”
Liza updates me on her ministries, Anna as well, and she hasn’t been arrested lately, which is a relief. I worry about her.
Liza sets down her fork. “I’m so glad you haven’t forgotten us biddies.”
Anna arches a brow but says nothing.
“Well, I do have an ulterior motive. Do you still have the plans for Alva’s houses in Glen Burnie?”
Liza gasps. “Of course! Why?”
“I think we want to build one for ourselves, Liza. Sell the big house, live sensibly, cleanly.”
“Like a true modernist would!” She smugly throws back her shoulders. “Right, then. They’re in the study. This is quite exciting for me, you know. You’ll have to keep us informed every step of the way.”
“Oh, I will, Liza.”
Anna lays a sweet hand over her sister’s and smiles into her eyes. “I told you they’d be useful someday, dear. Dreams like Alva’s don’t deserve to die off completely.”
“Anna, you were right, and this time I don’t mind saying so.”
THIRTY-SIX
Sly, the man who first helped me take my cakes to the kitchen, hasn’t been around the Hotel very much. I ask Mo about this. Mo shakes his head above a bright red sports jersey. “Aww, Sly’s using again. He’s ashamed. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”
“Where does he hang out?”
“Patterson Park. And do not go there by yourself, Heather. Don’t be crazy. I see that look in your eye.”
“Okay.”
I should have reached out to Sly more instead of hiding back in the kitchen. The regret slams into my stomach.
Knox Dulaney breezes through the door. “Mo!”
“Knoxie.” Mo doesn’t smile.
“Now, man, don’t do that to me. Is Aunt Jerusha around?”
Mo jerks a thumb around to the back.
A few of the guys sitting at the tables playing checkers or watching TV shift uncomfortably in their seats.
Knox disappears through the swinging door.
“Mo, I don’t understand it. Krista told me how bad that man is. There isn’t a month goes by that someone isn’t dead because of him.”
“He’s bad news.”
“Why does Sister J put up with him?”
“She loves him. Lord knows, she tried to bring him up right. But you know, sin is a dictator. Knoxie wanted fortune and respect.”
“But it’s fear, not respect.”
“Not on these streets.”
“But isn’t respect earn—”
“Don’t even try to understand it, girl.”
“Okay. Well, I’ve got some cake in the car.” I turn toward the tables. “Anybody want to help me bring in the cake?”
“I will.” A man I’ve never seen, or perhaps never noticed, stands up. His words are quiet, hunched a little like their creator.
“Thanks.”
We walk down the street to the car. “I’m Heather, by the way.”
“Teddy Jamison.”
“Have you been at the Hotel before?”
“I come and go. I try and find work when and where I can.”
“What do you do?”
“I paint murals. That’s my work down there on Lexington Street. Near the market on the parking garage.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Take a look sometime.”
I open the back and load his arms with boxes.
“Sometimes
I do sidewalk drawings for some spare change.”
“Are you trained?”
“No. Just always knew how to do it.”
“Do you take on commissions?”
“If I think I can do it.”
I shut the hatchback. “I’ve always wanted a portrait of my son. It doesn’t matter what medium.”
I relieve him of some of the boxes.
“Sure. Just bring in some pictures. I’ll do charcoal or pastel.”
“I love charcoal.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d get the supplies too.”
“Okay.”
We’re almost to the doors. Mo opens them and we deposit the cakes in the kitchen. Teddy disappears. When I deliver a fresh urn of coffee an hour later, he sits with the others, watching The Price Is Right, eyes glazed over, hands lying empty on the table, the memory of a syringe printed into their palms.
Oh yes, Knox Dulaney was here. One way or another he has that effect on people.
* * *
I’m scrubbing the oven again. Footsteps approach and a pair of expensive brown shoes comes into view. Nothing preppy or staid. Lots of European style.
I lean back on my haunches.
Knox smiles. “Hello, Mrs. Curridge.”
“Hi. And it’s just Heather.”
“I just wanted to say thank you for coming down here. Aunt Jerusha has a hard time keeping volunteers, as you might imagine.”
I drop my rag into the bucket and stand to my feet. “She’s her own gal, that’s for sure.”
I know he’s Jesus to me right now, but every time I talk to him, I feel like it’s the first time.
“I’m regretful about my reputation to you.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty much scared to say anything right now, Mr. Dulaney.”
He nods. “No doubt. It’s all right. You probably think I come in here to intimidate the clients.”
I can feel my eyes widen.
“Ah, I read your mind,” he says.
I nod.
“I don’t do it for myself. I do it to let anybody know if they mess with my aunt, they’ll have me to deal with.”
“It’s obvious you have a great deal of affection for her.”
“She’s saved my life more than once. Continues to. I try to help out here, keeping her safe, donating.”
“She takes your money?” Mercy! Why did I say that?
“Yes, she does. You know what she says? She says, ‘I’m not going to take the one good thing you actually do away from you.’” He chuckles. “I heard you brought cake today.”
“Yes, I did.”
“May I take a piece with me?”
“I’ll wrap it up for you.” Everything inside me screams, Don’t do it! But a deeper voice asks, Can you love as radically as Christ does?
Yet as I tear a piece of foil off an almost-empty tube, I feel as if I’m doing something wrong and I wonder which voice is right.
But Christ never held Himself at arm’s length, did He? He’d share His cake with Knox.
* * *
I might as well get it over with. On the drive home I plug my dead cell phone into the car charger and dial Carmen. She answers, thank goodness. I don’t want to prolong this agony with the inevitable “Tag, you’re it!”
That line has got to go.
“It’s Heather, Carmen. Do you have time to talk?”
“I’m a little busy right now. Bart has a science project due tomorrow and I’m up to my elbows.” Bart’s ten.
It’s two thirty. Will’s going to Nicola’s to study.
“Why don’t I come over and help?”
“Would you? That would be great.”
Half an hour later I sit with her at her kitchen island working on the project. I’m taping together construction paper cylinders to wrap around glass jars filled with water. We’re going to drop in a thermometer and set them all before a heat lamp to see how quickly the jars heat up, comparing the temperature rise to the colors of the paper.
Or something.
Just hand me the tape and I’ll be fine.
“Where’s Bart?”
“He’s got a game.”
And here we sit doing his science fair project.
She looks at me, waiting for the inevitable “This is lying” speech, but I hold up my hands. “I can’t say I haven’t done the same thing myself.”
“It’s pathetic, I know. Okay, I’m setting in the thermometers. The water should all be at room temperature, so we’ll let them get to the same level and then put the paper sleeves over and shine the lights. Want a cup of coffee while we wait?”
“Sure.”
“I just got this wonderful machine that grinds the beans and makes a fresh cup in about thirty seconds.”
Wow. It’s great. Frothy and silky going down. I think maybe I should get one, but . . . get thee behind me, Satan!
“Carmen, I came over to set things right between us. I know there are a lot of hard feelings between me and the other women right now. And I know, believe me, I know it’s my fault. I’ve been really caught up in things.”
“It’s true.”
“I also want you to know I didn’t parade Krista up front. She really wanted to sit there.”
“Oh, that was just Brenda saying all that. You know her.”
Of course, the obvious next question is why Brenda’s gossiping criticism gets excused as “just Brenda.” But now’s not the time.
“Anyway, I just want to get things right. I can’t jump back into all my positions, but I don’t want to isolate you all either.”
Carmen pushes the button and makes her own cup.
She sits down. “I guess I haven’t been all that supportive. You’ve just always been in such a leadership role, Heather. And then to remove yourself.”
“Can I tell you my story?”
“Maybe that would be a good idea.”
So as we turn on the lights, write down data, try different light-bulbs, I tell her everything, just as I did Laney.
She pencils in the final temperature of the lightest cylinder. “I can understand a bit more. I think.”
When I leave she hugs me at the car. “Be careful with that drug dealer down there. You might get shot or something.”
“Maybe you’d like to come down with me sometime?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “Let me check my calendar.” Then pulls me into another hug. “Of course I would!”
* * *
After having picked up the building plans from Liza, I pass my driveway and turn down Jolly’s lane. Almost six o’clock. The light is fading, but it’s easy to see he still loves his land. Fall mums bloom, brightening their square foot of dusk, lining the driveway with the promise of a nice person waiting at the other end.
All lights in the old home are off, save the kitchen, and the yellow bulb over the porch shines in silent hope that maybe someone will ease his loneliness.
I hop out of the wagon, bound toward the door, and knock, anticipation hovering in the air around me.
Why didn’t I think of this before?
He yanks open the door, and a smile peps up his face. Jolly pushes the screen door forward. “Heather! Why, come on in!”
“Guess what? I’ve got a great idea!”
“Oh, now?”
“Yes. I’m heading off to Minnesota to find a man named Xavier Andrews. I’ll tell you why later. But he lives in some remote area called the Boundary Waters and you can only get there by canoe.”
“Heard of it.”
“At least I think he lives there. Anyway, would you like to go with me? I’m leaving in about a week, before it gets too cold. Would you like to go?”
“Yes.”
I look both ways, lean forward, and put my hand against his forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”
“No. You could have invited me to the moon without an oxygen tank and I’d have said yes to that too. I need a change of scenery, Heather. The sooner the better. Now Helen would say tha
t’s okay.”
“She definitely would.”
“Next week, you say?”
“Wednesday. I’ll book your ticket along with mine.”
When I tell Will, he descends into a full-blown sulk. “Man. You have all the fun, Mom. Going to the Hotel and being with Mo all the time, and now you get to go away with Jolly. It sucks being in high school.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sister J stands with Mo, her handbag hanging from the crook of her arm. They both look a little stricken, a little angry, a little fearful.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Krista’s disappeared again.” Sister J. “She hasn’t been back for three nights. Her stuff is still in her room. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair.”
“Where are you going?” I set my purse on Mo’s desk.
“I’m going out to look for her. I’ll see if Knox has heard anything too.”
Mo tsks.
“Now don’t you start with me! You know as well as I do that Knox knows more about what’s going on in the street than you and I put together, Moses Weaver.” She turns to me and jerks a thumb at Mo. “He’s a rascal.”
“Can I go? I just need to use the bathroom.”
“You bet. It might not be pretty.”
“I want to go.”
The feeling of dread that pooled in my gut as soon as Sister J uttered the words “Krista’s disappeared” begins to coagulate. Dear God in heaven, I hope she isn’t dead! Sister J leads me out onto the street.
“Let’s try that flophouse right there. LaQueesha lives on the first floor. She’s tried to look out for Krista, but what can you do? We’ll cut through the alley. Be careful not to step on the syringes; they can go right through your soles if you’re not careful.”
Mercy!
“And don’t touch the walls if you can help it. Stay away from that cat carcass over there. Hold your nose.”
Now I know why I’ve never gone down these alleys. And I could forgo the tour spiel if Sister J wouldn’t mind. She looks right at home, though, I have to admit. I’ll bet in her eyes, this is just the patio of the Hotel.
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