Devin smiled at them with genuine delight, though their timing was clearly not the best. “Justin. And Charlie! Come in, come in.”
“Are you sure? We can come back another time.”
“Yes, I’m very sure. He insists you stay. It’s been too long. He’s….” Devin turned to glance down the hall, and when he looked back, his sincere brown eyes were apologetic. “We’re cleaning up a little accident. If you’ll wait here a few minutes, I’ll get you when he’s ready.” The tall man then bent down to Charlie. “It’s especially good to see you, Charlie. We were worried about you. Give me a hug.”
Charlie readily went into his arms, and the man gave him a deep embrace, holding him close. “It’s so good to see you, kid.” Devin seemed sincere, and it was a long moment before he let go. “I wanted to come down, you know, but I thought it best to give you some privacy. I hope that was the right decision.” As he rose, he took a good look at Justin’s face and frowned. “The nurse quit rather suddenly this morning, and I’m not so good at this, so it’ll be a minute.”
“I can help,” Justin offered.
“No, no. He would be mortified. It’s bad enough I’m doing it. Just have a seat in the living room. I’ll get you when we’re ready.”
He hurried off as Justin and Charlie sat on the couch facing the large windows and the expansive view looking out onto the lake. The bright morning sun was low on the horizon, and the light shone directly into the unit, almost blinding in its intensity. Behind them a door opened and closed, and Justin heard muffled voices before music started playing through the unit. Otis Redding. Nice. Justin always liked Mr. Mays’s taste in music. New music was not popular; most people preferred music from before the Thinning.
Mr. Mays liked the really old music. Justin remembered sitting with him as a child, and their eyes would both be closed, listening to whatever Mr. Mays wanted him to hear. Justin would peek every once in a while to make sure Mr. Mays’s eyes were closed, and Mr. Mays would do the same. Occasionally they’d both peek at the same time and have a laugh about it. They wouldn’t talk. Just listen. That was one of the things Justin liked best about Mr. Mays: they could be in each other’s company, and silence was okay.
Justin put his arm around Charlie, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He loved the music, but the lyrics to “Just One More Day” were almost too much. The notes, that voice—it resonated in his chest, cut to his heart. He swallowed, with effort. At ninety-one, Gristopher Mays wouldn’t be around much longer. Justin wanted more time, time to learn to finally call him “Griz” to his face. Gin always had, but he found himself unable to break from the “Mr. Mays” that he’d called him consistently as a child, though everyone else referred to him as Griz. Justin was caught somewhere between child and adult. Mr. Mays was his authority figure and mentor; Griz was his friend.
Six more songs passed before Devin told them they could come in to see Griz. By this time the washing machine was running and the unit smelled like bleach.
Paraffin candles lent a warmth to Mr. Mays’s room, and walking in felt like coming home. The rest of the unit was changed and not what Justin remembered as a kid, but Griz’s bedroom had pictures of his family, black-and-white shots of his favorite singers, and colorful music album reproductions. Wall space was at a minimum, and the room was cluttered but comfy. The items in this bedroom had previously hung on all the walls in the suite before Mr. Mays moved to Denver seven years ago. He’d just come back this year. He wanted to die where he felt at home, surrounded by the things he loved.
Devin sat down in a wooden chair in the far corner, using a phone to turn down the music. He’d come with Griz from Denver, and Justin wouldn’t call him a friend yet. He didn’t look forty, and Justin wasn’t sure if he was Griz’s true blood grandson or not. Family lines were often tangled and didn’t always follow blood. Griz had said many times that his second cousin was Justin and Gin’s blood granddad, and they were all family. Justin doubted that was true, though their mama had said they definitely had African-American heritage in their bloodline. In the end it didn’t matter if genes were involved or not; Griz was family.
Griz lay in his bed, the covers up to his chest and his thin veined hands at his sides. It was a hospital bed, so he was propped up. He had an IV connected to the back of one hand. Justin had seen the saline bags in the room before, but never attached. Perhaps Griz was suffering from diarrhea or dehydration. Mr. Mays’s dark skin was covered in white stubble from his chin to the top of his head. His brown eyes were determined. Actually he looked pissed.
Justin sat down on the small futon along the wall, but Charlie walked right up and kissed Griz lightly on the cheek. Then he walked down and grabbed his hand with both of his small ones, hooking around a couple fingers. Charlie blinked and smiled up at Griz brightly. The joy on his face was more powerful than any spoken hello and softened Griz’s expression.
“Hi, Mr. Mays,” said Justin, the greeting feeling very impersonal in comparison.
Griz looked skeptically at Charlie. “You don’t look none too sick to me, Charlie boy.” Griz’s voice was dry and not as deep as usual, but it was still strong. “Not nearly as sick as your brother over there.”
Charlie smiled and shrugged, his expression saying, “Yeah, that’s about right. Funny, huh?” The little traitor.
They all three turned to look at Justin, but only Griz spoke. “Nice face, Just.”
Justin felt himself getting hot. He gave Charlie a glare, but Charlie didn’t waver.
“Whatchu mean-muggin’ Charlie for?” Griz scolded. Had Justin really been looking forward to this visit? “Simmer down now. We need to talk. For real. I don’t know how much time I got left, and things look pretty serious from where I’m layin’.”
Justin wanted to hide under his hoodie. His face wasn’t that bad. Well, it didn’t hurt anymore, anyway, and at least it was scabbed over. Justin raised his chin determinedly. “Yes, sir.”
Griz’s eyes lost some of their hardness. Charlie looked at Justin hopefully, and Devin started staring at the floor.
“Don’t worry none,” Griz added. “When I say talk, I mean you just have to listen.” Justin nodded, and Griz took a deep breath. “I was three years old when the world really started goin’ to shit, so I don’t remember nothin’ except what we have here. Even in my earliest memories, the virus that started killing people had already seeped into the ground. Not many people get to be as old as me, and the ones that do, well, they’ve done plenty in their life to make it this far, plenty they ain’t proud of. So I ain’t judgin’ you none. Not at all.” As he talked, the power behind his voice remained strong, but he started growing hoarse. “I’m proud of you, son. Always have been. And your sister and Charlie too. I wish Devin here had a bit more of your blood than mine.”
Devin didn’t glance up, but Justin could see his frown.
“I know a whole lot more than you think I do,” Griz said, meeting his eyes. “A whole lot more than I ever let on.” Griz paused, taking a few breaths. Regrouping.
When he continued, there was a distinct sadness to his voice. “I had to go to Denver. Things weren’t safe for me here anymore. The only reason I came back was because the folks that wanted me finally decided it was crueler to let me suffer by allowing me to live. I paid a price so I could come back here. Come home. I always had friends here, though. I always had eyes on you. I wish I coulda made it easier for you, but I did what I could.”
“I know, Mr. Mays,” Justin said. He and Gin and Charlie had a lot to be thankful for. For the unit fees Griz had paid for two years after their mother died. For getting Ray to give Gin and him a job. For getting Charlie into the Catholic school down the street. But he simply said, “Thanks.”
“Some say I’m lucky to have such a big family. And I feel it. But I’m only one man, and nothin’s been harder than some of the choices I’ve had to make. With a big family, you can’t help everyone.” His eyes glistened. “With a big family, you have to do some stuff. B
ut I know you know how that goes.”
Justin was calm. All along, his whole life maybe, Griz had known more than he let on. Justin hadn’t given it much thought before. Whether he had been in denial until now, or just preoccupied, he wasn’t sure. He had never asked Mr. Mays for help, but he had taken the help he could get. Justin didn’t have friends—except for Griz. So it made sense his one friend saw more than Justin thought he did.
“So you know about Shadow Fray,” Justin said finally. He glanced nervously at Devin, who met his eyes briefly before returning his gaze to the floor. He supposed if Griz trusted him, he would try to as well.
Griz nodded. “I know more than that. I know about what Gin’s had to do. I know about the man she killed. I know more than I can say.” He paused, his eyes watering. “I know more than to tell you to get out, because you can’t get out no more, but I’m thinkin’ you know that. There’s big money on those fights, and when they look at you, they see dollar signs, and you’re not out until they bleed you dry. I can’t tell you what to do, because I don’t know. I’ll just… I’ll do what I can. And you’ll be smart. Careful. I needed to tell you. You can do this, Just.”
It would be appropriate to match his friend’s emotion, to have a tear drop down his cheek, or at the very least be concerned that someone knew his secrets. But in place of emotion were the simple facts. He had a job to do. He would do it. They would survive.
“Where is Gin, anyway?” Griz asked.
“She’s with friends.”
“Good for her. You send her up to talk to me, first chance you get.”
“I will.”
“I’m almost done talkin’ now. Just a few things left to say. Just gotta give me a minute to remember what they are….”
Griz closed his eyes. Justin thought he might be asleep until he spoke again abruptly, eyes still closed. “Devin, here… I know you don’t trust folk easy, and that’s all right. But when I’m gone, Devin will be here. If he decides it’s safe, he’ll bring his family here. You can trust Devin, Just.” Justin looked at Devin, who returned his gaze and nodded briefly before looking away.
“I feel like there was something else too, but I’ve forgotten….”
Charlie patted Griz’s hand reassuringly. The gesture seemed to shake the memory loose, and Griz’s eyes shot open, alert. “It’s Gin and Charlie. You feel like you have to protect them. And you do. But remember too, they have to protect you. You gotta mind them.”
The different ways “mind them” could be interpreted set Justin’s mind spinning. Once again he started to get uncomfortable, like this talk about his brother and sister was more personal than any of the secrets he thought he had been hiding.
“And this one here,” Griz said, smiling at Charlie. “You gotta remember that I was there when Charlie was born. I knew your mama, loved her even. And I know Charlie.”
Justin’s gut dropped. Where was this going? Because there were some things he didn’t want to think about right now, not with everything else going on.
Griz reached to Charlie with both arms, pulling him closer but looking at Justin as Charlie hugged him.
“You done your best with Charlie. I don’t question none of your choices, not at all. I know you promised your mama. All I ask is you remember that as people get older, they change. Charlie’s changin’ and changin’ fast. And maybe you don’t see it. All I ask is that you be open to it. You let Charlie be who Charlie’s gotta be. That’s all.”
Justin nodded as fear crept in like something solid from the sides of the room.
“Now,” Griz breathed, sounding much relieved and releasing Charlie. “Go sit by your brother, Char, and let’s listen to a little music. I know you might have more questions, but I’m tired. Not feelin’ so well today. I got out the stuff in my head, and the rest will have to wait for another time, God willing. You all can go once I fall asleep. It’s nice to be in some company. Real nice.”
Devin turned up the music once again, and Charlie snuggled into Justin’s side. Comforting. Sam Cooke sang “Bring It on Home to Me.”
Justin tried to relax and leaned back, closing his eyes. His heart was drumming.
Let Charlie be who Charlie’s gotta be. He didn’t like to think about Charlie’s secrets, but Justin would keep them to his grave, keep his promise to his mama. And the best way to do that was to keep on like he always had. Best not to think about it. That’s what kept trouble away….
He kept Charlie tucked close with a protective arm. Justin emptied his mind as best he could and tried to let himself get carried away by the music.
Chapter 8
HALE HATED churches, and this one was awful nice, which made him hate it more.
Walking into the Basilica of St. Josaphat, he’d scoffed at the two marble angels holding the bowls of holy water. He’d wanted to spit in them. Come the dark of Wednesday when it wasn’t packed with people, he promised himself it was the first thing he was gonna do. If the church would sell those pretty angels, they could feed all the meth heads in this atrocious city for a month. Come to think of it, meth heads didn’t eat much, so it’d probably feed them for six.
When he sat down, he’d looked up and cursed the holy God in heaven—the one painted right there on the dome well over a hundred feet up. He could tell from the outside the church was big, but he didn’t expect the inside to look like a damn palace. The outside was gray stone, but the inside may as well have been layered in gold. Much of it actually was. All these domes and arches, murals and curlicues. Gold crosses, gold leaf—the whole thing glowed with excess.
Sitting here now, he didn’t know why people filled a church that looked so pretty when half of them were probably hungry. It was like putting a steak outside the cage of a starving dog, just so it could smell the meat.
Hale glanced at Benz, sitting in the wooden pew next to him. Benz’s head was facing the priest like he was listening, but his eyes were looking everywhere else. Good thing someone was getting the lay of the land, because Hale couldn’t think straight. Benz met Hale’s glance and gave him a slight nod. Hale nodded back.
Benz knew him well, knew churches made him crazy and brought out the worst in him. Mostly they didn’t talk about why—hadn’t in years. When it came to Hale’s history, there were only a few painful specifics he left out. Benz had never pressed, but the man could probably fill in the blanks. Most of them anyway.
Hale’s own church—practically his home—hadn’t been near this nice. That simple country church was far, far away from here. He’d grown up living on the land, such as it was. Nothing much grew in the poisoned ground, or maybe because they were deep under the dark shadow of the Bible, which was another poison entirely—and perhaps a far worse one. The same good Christian people day in and day out, their numbers dwindling over time. They thought God was gonna save them. Things changed as their settlement’s situation got bleaker. They wouldn’t be saved, but if they met their end, it would be God’s will.
Then a funny thing happened. People took greater notice that Hale had three older sisters, none of whom were getting pregnant. Yet three girls was so unusual, all signs pointed to Hale’s family being blessed. Maybe it was in their genes. Maybe it was in Hale’s genes. When faced with dying out, those good church-going people suddenly said it was God’s will for Hale to procreate with his own sisters. Considering Hale’s daddy was the preacher, the Father’s will and his father’s will were often indistinguishable.
So right before Hale walked out on them, he beat his father to a bloody pulp. He clenched his fist, remembering how his father’s blood had stained his knuckles, how he hadn’t washed his hands for days. He’d never had a more satisfying fight in all his life.
Hale glanced around the church, keeping his eyes off the priest. Some of the people around him were skinny, dirty, and desperate-looking, some looking like they were making a decent time of it, but none as well off as the paying customers up in the balcony. Isn’t that how it always was? The Catholic Church wasn�
�t even the worst of them, not by a long shot.
The people around him were fools. Hale couldn’t wait to fuck this place up.
JUSTIN LOVED churches. When he was younger, he used to dream of living in one. That was one of the things he loved about Milwaukee. Looking out from their rise at home, he could see the church steeples peeking up for miles around, their crosses on top marking them like an X on a treasure map. Even in the burned-out parts of town, the churches remained, their stone walls standing like they’d been blessed by God Himself.
He didn’t put much stock in any of the words he was hearing per say, but the building sure was magnificent. The Catholic church a few blocks from their rise was nowhere near this ornate. They didn’t go to a mass often; they just used the school for Charlie. The nuns accepted Charlie and kept the other kids from bothering him, especially Sister Tim. Justin would have to thank her for sharing Charlie’s letter. Anyway, the Catholic Church seemed to do right by Charlie, and that was all that really mattered. There was truth in this religion, and beauty. It was going to be a shame to have to mess this place up. He hoped they wouldn’t break anything too important, but come Wednesday that couldn’t be his concern.
He felt out of place sitting up in the balcony, but since he was with Mr. Mays, he’d been ushered right up along with Devin, Ginny, and Charlie. They’d had to carry Griz up in his wheelchair, and Justin was going to suggest sitting down below, but this gave him a better vantage point to scope the place out. That wasn’t typically something that could be done before a Fray.
He tried to get a strategy while he was there, but it was hard for him to focus. He made a mental map of the pillars. How could he use the pews? Which area would be the most advantageous for him? The front was the most open. Safest. But there were plenty of obstacles. He’d have to watch the metal candleholders.
That all had been thought out in five minutes. The problem now was that Jesus wouldn’t stop staring at him. Jesus was on the wall wearing a crown of thorns, the blood running down his face. Funny how the blood didn’t run into his eyes, because in Justin’s experience that was the first place it always seemed to go. Maybe with blood in his eyes, Jesus wouldn’t keep looking at him.
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