The Church of Broken Pieces

by David Haynes

  Donovan shrugged. “We’re okay, Reverend.”

  “Thomas was a fine man, one of life’s gentlemen. I prayed with him several times in the last month.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence between the three of them. Neither Wilson nor Donovan had invited Cavendish to sit with them but here he was, seeking out someone to help. Donovan had made the point clear, they didn’t need help, but still he remained.

  “Coffee.” Courtney slid a cup onto the table and filled it from the pot. The heavy eye make-up she had been wearing that morning was gone. It made her look less aggressive, younger and very pretty.

  “How’s it going? You okay?” Donovan asked her.

  She looked up from the cup, the faint trace of a smile at the corners of her lips. It stayed there, going no further. “Better than I was. You?”

  Wilson expected Donovan to launch into some kind of bullish bravado, designed solely to impress her.

  “About the same as you.” He smiled back.

  Most of the time Wilson found it hard to understand why Donovan had so much success with girls. A second passed by with Donovan and Courtney looking at each other, not speaking, just staring. But something was happening that Wilson didn’t fully understand, had never understood. A connection had been made, an event so powerful that it was impossible to resist. All it took for Donovan and Courtney to make that connection was an old man going to work on his eye with a shard of glass. It wasn’t a sunset, a sunrise over the harbor. It wasn’t even a bottle of bourbon. It was suicide, but it was their connection.

  She broke away, perhaps aware that something was different. She looked at Wilson. “Have you two decided?” she asked.

  Wilson nodded toward the Reverend. “The meatloaf has been recommended to us. I’ll go for that, please?”

  “Make that two,” Donovan added. “And two Cokes, please.”

  Courtney nodded and disappeared behind the counter.

  “Runs this place on her own, did you know that? Folks both passed on and she hasn’t the heart to close it down.” Cavendish sipped his coffee. “Not that there’s much custom. Not much passing trade, so to speak.”

  He put his cup down. “Speaking of which, what brings you two gentlemen to town?” He nodded out of the window. “Not the weather, that’s for sure.”

  “Just business,” Wilson replied. “Probably be gone tomorrow.”

  Cavendish nodded, waiting for Wilson to elaborate. He didn’t. Cavendish was well-meaning enough but he wasn’t the kind of company they wanted tonight. He didn’t wish to offend the man, but by keeping his answers short he hoped Cavendish would get the message.

  “Not much of that around here, either. Not without the mill. Hard to believe but this place used to be quite the metropolis. Everyone worked at the mill or for the mill, and those that didn’t serviced those that did.” He finished his coffee. Wilson hoped he would leave now. He didn’t.

  “Before my time,” Cavendish continued. “Now it’s just another Great American Ghost Town.”

  They all looked at the boarded storefront. A single car passed by, its tires making a zip sound on the wet road. It parked up at the end of the street, outside the bar with a neon sign saying Sonny’s.

  “That’ll be Phil Moody. Parks his car up every night at eight, drinks two pitchers, chews the fat with Sonny and then walks home. Picks up his car in the morning, good as gold. Wouldn’t drink and drive. Not anymore. A good man.”

  Why was he telling them that? Maybe he just wanted to let them see he knew everything that went on around here. He knew they had been up to see Dr Hamilton perhaps?

  “For you.” Courtney slid a plate in front of Wilson. “And for you.” She placed another down in front of Donovan.

  The smell was wonderful and Wilson began to salivate immediately. There were three thick slices of meatloaf covered in a spicy BBQ sauce. There was also a mound of mashed potatoes and a pile of green beans. It looked incredible. Donovan was beaming. His appetite for food was impossible to suppress, regardless of the circumstance.

  “Wow!” he said, cutting a chunk of meatloaf and stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed a couple of times and then swallowed.

  “The best.” He held his knife in the air. “The best goddamn meatloaf I’ve ever had.” He looked up at Courtney, BBQ sauce dribbling down his chin. He was oblivious to it as it dripped onto his shirt.

  Courtney actually laughed. It was an easy laugh that came from her belly. Almost straight away, she raised a hand to her mouth and tried to catch it. As if it might get away, as if there were only a finite number inside her.

  “Glad you like,” she said and walked away.

  “Amazing. Goddamn it!” He remembered Cavendish and turned. “Sorry!”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Cavendish said, making no move to stand. “Just enjoy it. I told you it was good, didn’t I?” He turned to Wilson. “Aren’t you going to try it too?”

  Wilson wanted to say, “Not with an audience I’m not!” Instead he took his fork and took a wedge off the meatloaf. Donovan was right, it was incredible. The sauce wasn’t too heavy with cloves, allowing the taste of the beef and pork come through. It was heavenly. He hadn’t tasted anything as good since his mom cooked for him.

  “Good?” Cavendish asked.

  Wilson nodded. He desperately wanted to enjoy the food but being watched, he knew, would detract from it. It felt invasive, like being watched taking a leak. He looked at Donovan’s plate. He didn’t seem to be having any such problems.

  Wilson took a forkful of potato and lifted it to his mouth with Cavendish smiling over the table at him. If he flicked the potato into his smug face, he might move. The thought almost became an overwhelming desire but the sound of the door opening took the urge away. It distracted Cavendish, making him focus on something other than Wilson’s dinner. He shoved the potato into his mouth before Cavendish could look back. It was creamy and delicious.

  Cavendish let out a little grunt and then stood up. He was still staring at whoever had just come in. Wilson couldn’t see who it was, not that he knew anyone, but Cavendish was half in the way and whoever it was had a raincoat pulled up over their head.

  Cavendish turned back to them. “Enjoy your dinner, gentlemen. I don’t expect we’ll meet again, not unless your business brings you back here. But you never know!” He patted the table. “Safe journey onward.”

  “Thank you and thank you for this.” Wilson gestured to his meal.

  Cavendish flashed another of his false, award-winning smiles and then walked away. Wilson watched him go. The Reverend walked to the figure by the counter and said something quietly, almost whispering into their ear, then walked out of the diner. The figure didn’t move.

  Now Cavendish was out of the picture, Wilson could tuck into the food with real enthusiasm. The barely-touched breakfast they tried to eat this morning was all they had put in their stomachs all day.

  “He was a dick,” Donovan said, wiping his mouth on the napkin.

  “Seemed harmless enough. Bit smug for my taste, though,” Wilson replied.

  Donovan wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t like him.” He put another slice of meatloaf in his mouth then between chews said, “Good judge of food though. I’ll give him that.”

  The figure at the counter spoke. It was a female voice. “Hey, Courtney. Any chance you could fix me a beef sandwich? Heavy on the mustard, light on the pickles.”

  Wilson recognized Dr Hamilton’s voice immediately. Donovan nudged him and winked. It was like dealing with a schoolboy.

  She lifted her coat, revealing her long blonde hair. She ran her hand through it, shaking it loose then sat down on one of the bar stools. Courtney came out of the kitchen, smiling.

  “No problem. Want some coffee while I make it?”

  “You’re a mind reader.” Dr Hamilton reached out and touched Courtney’s hand as she poured. “How’re you feeling? Want to pop round and share a bottle of wine later?”

  “I’m not sur
e, I’ve got to...”

  “Oh come on, I could do with some company.” Dr Hamilton let go of her hand as if that was the end of the argument. “Besides, now he’s gone, the place is emp...” She turned around on her stool and caught Wilson’s eyes. He nodded at her, smiling. She looked surprised and turned back around quickly.

  Dr Hamilton leaned forward and said something to Courtney, something Wilson couldn’t hear, then climbed off the stool. She walked over to them with her coffee.

  Wilson stood up, Donovan followed suit.

  “The cops asked you to stick around, did they?” she asked.

  Wilson shook his head. “No, but it’s a good job we did or we might have missed out on dinner.”

  She looked down at their nearly empty plates. “Meatloaf?”

  They both nodded.

  “Oh, it’s the best. Sorry, don’t let me stop you, I was just grabbing something to take home.”

  Courtney walked across the room and handed the Doctor a paper bag.

  “Join us?” Donovan asked, “Now you’ve got your food, I mean.” He sat back down. “Can’t have that wine until we’ve gone anyway.”

  Dr Hamilton looked taken aback and then shrugged. “Thank you. I might as well.” She slid into the booth and wriggled out of her coat.

  “Terrible night,” she said, unwrapping her sandwich. Rare roast beef dripped from the edges. She took a small bite and then another larger one, letting out a contented sigh. Wilson ate his own food, and after a few seconds Donovan dropped his cutlery onto his plate. He sat back and for one awful moment Wilson thought he might emit a massive belch, behavior not exactly becoming of a lawyer. He didn’t though.

  “Not sure I could eat another thing.”

  Dr Hamilton wiped her mouth. “Her pies are pretty amazing too.” She wiped her mouth. “First thing I’ve eaten all day. I’m ravenous.”

  “Did the cops keep you long?” Wilson asked. He consciously kept the ma’am out of it.

  “Most of the day. A lot of paperwork to go through,” she replied and then put her sandwich down. “A very sad day. He was a lovely, lovely man.”

  “His family must be...” Wilson started and then stopped. There were no words to say how they must be feeling. No words.

  “Thomas was on his own. No family.” She shrugged.

  “That’s sad,” Donovan said.

  “Maybe,” Dr Hamilton replied. “But he didn’t seem concerned. He’d set his finances up to last him out and he seemed at peace with where he was going. And that made what happened today all the...” She shook her head. “I’m not exactly sure what that made today.” She picked up her sandwich and took another bite.

  “So nobody visited him?” Donovan asked. “That’s... well... it’s grim.”

  “Oh, he had visitors,” she said, still chewing. “Just not his family.” She put the sandwich down again. “You must have been here when our Reverend Cavendish was? And that means he would have made it his business to come and talk to you.”

  Wilson and Donovan both looked at each other.

  Dr Hamilton laughed. “Yes, he’s one of a kind.”

  “He was with Courtney when we came in. Offering her support, I believe,” Wilson said.

  She stopped chewing and looked toward the counter. The sounds of pots and pans being thrown into a sink came from the kitchen.

  “He was, was he.” It wasn’t a question. “Probably the kind of support she doesn’t need.”

  “Excuse me?” Donovan asked. It was an odd remark to make.

  She turned back to them, smiling. “Not everyone needs or wants a preacher’s support. Anyway, I guess you guys will be heading back to… where was it, Bangor, tomorrow?”

  Wilson shrugged. “Maybe. Thought we might come back up to the hospita... hospice tomorrow and check on Mrs Pace one last time. See if there’s been any change?”

  “Be my guest,” she answered. “I don’t know if it’s good news or bad but she hasn’t moved a muscle since this morning.” She shook her head and finished her sandwich. “Strange.”

  “I’m going to get some pie,” Donovan stood up. “Want some?” He looked at them both in turn.

  “I’ll have a slice,” Wilson replied.

  “Not for me, I...”

  “Reverend Cavendish is paying?” Wilson interrupted.

  She smiled at him, a hint of mischief playing in her eyes. “Well if he’s paying, I’ll take a slice of the cherry.”

  “Three slices of cherry pie coming up,” Donovan said and walked away.

  “We’ll take them away,” Wilson shouted. “Let Courtney close up.”

  He forked the last few mouthfuls of meatloaf into his mouth and then gathered the plates together. “See you tomorrow?” He stood up. “Nine o’clock?”

  “Sure.”

  He nodded, picked up the plates and walked to the counter. Donovan was leaning on one elbow, trying to look cool.

  “What’s the damage?” he asked Courtney.

  “Reverend Cavendish said he...”

  Wilson put the plates down and fished his wallet out. “I’d prefer to pay, if it’s okay with you?”

  She looked pleased and rang it through. Wilson put bills on the counter, plus a healthy tip. The meatloaf was worth every cent and he had a feeling the pie would be just as good.

  “What time do you open for breakfast?” Donovan asked.

  “Seven-thirty,” she replied.

  “It’s a date then.”

  Wilson grabbed Donovan by the arm and pulled him away before he could embarrass them both. He opened the door, feeling the spiky sting of autumn rain on his cheeks.

  “Mr Wilson?”

  He turned around and looked at the Doctor.

  “No more ‘ma’ams’ please. You make me feel old.”

  He felt his face redden. “Of course, sorry.”

  He hurried out of the diner. Donovan followed behind, laughing.

  “Just shut up,” Wilson snapped, hurrying back toward the motel. Donovan walked beside him, chuckling all the way to their room.

  10

  Reverend Hal Cavendish stood in the doorway of Jack’s Nails and Tacks, the town’s derelict hardware store, watching the two men cross Main Street and head toward the motel. One of them, the younger one, was laughing and the older one, Wilson, kept turning around and snapping something at him. They looked easy together, old friends, good friends. Men who had spent enough time around each other to know when to shut up, or when it was okay to go for just another couple of digs. Easy.

  Sheriff Taylor had told him they were attorneys from Bangor, representatives of someone with family in the hospice. His experience with men in that profession was limited. They made him feel uneasy. He couldn’t put his finger on why that was. Maybe it was because they were nearly always arrogant cocksuckers. Maybe.

  But these two hadn’t brought about the same reaction and he knew why that was. They were on his territory, in his town and he’d made sure they knew it too. That put him on the rung above. Not that it mattered. They would be long gone tomorrow, leaving him as the town’s star attraction again.

  Hamilton hadn’t come back out of the diner and he doubted, when she did eventually come out, whether she would be alone. She’d struck up an unlikely friendship with that little stray Courtney. It wasn’t a relationship he particularly approved of and if they got too pally pally, he might have to intervene. He was doing good work with the girl. Good, preacher’s work. She knew that when Hal Cavendish bestowed his wonderful words of guidance upon her, she was doing right by listening. It made him hard to think people put such store in his words. It got his dander up and there was precious little left on this earth that did that for him anymore. Precious little.

  He watched them disappear inside the cesspit motel, turned his collar to the rain and then set off up the hill to his Church of Broken Pieces. He had to hand it to whoever thought of building the church and the hospice. Marvelous business acumen to create a one-stop shop like this.

>   Take a run-down, beaten-up mess of a town where land costs pennies to buy. Buy two plots, build a state of the art hospice on one, a place where rich folk send their loved ones to die.

  ‘Come on, Ma, the guys up at Hemlock Mill will take real good care of you. You can see the river from your room. How about that? They’ll give you all the best medicine, all the stuff they keep hidden away for when things get really nasty. The secret drugs. What’s that? Of course I’ll come see you and if I can’t, well Reverend Hal Cavendish and his Church of Broken Pieces are right next door. He’s a real nice man and he’ll give you all the support you need. Come one now, Ma, don’t cry. It’s only for a short time. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail and you won’t feel anything anymore. Come on, Ma, nice and quiet now. Don’t let the neighbors hear.’

  And on the other you build a beautiful new church. You corner the market. When the relatives finally do show up, they’re so pleased you took care of poor old Ma that they make a more than generous donation to the Church.

  ‘Oh, but that’s too generous, I was just doing what the Lord intended me to do, offering support to those that need it. But of course, the donation is most welcome. Without it we wouldn’t be able to help at all.’

  And the envelope of dollar bills is blessed and taken to the safe. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!

  Hal Cavendish walked quickly up the hill, carefully avoiding the stream that washed along the side of the road down to the swollen Kennebec River. He didn’t want to damage his hand-stitched Italian leather shoes. Who knew what the rain would do to them, or to his suit for that matter.

  A little out of breath, he turned into the Church of Broken Pieces lot. A solitary lantern hung from the church’s pathetic parvise. A beacon of hope for those who needed it. Nobody ever did, which occasionally disappointed him. Not that he wanted the extra work, he didn’t. But there was something about a human being at their lowest, at their most miserable, that he found comforting.