Night of the White Buffalo: A Wind River Mystery
Page 25
She was filled with hope, he thought. This time, the clients who found their way to her door, scared and hungover and coming down from a high, this time they were going to make it. He hoped with her.
“What about you?” Vicky asked. They had reached her Ford, and Father John held the door while she lowered herself behind the wheel. A burst of heat blew out of the inside, like the blast of a furnace. She started the engine and rolled down all the windows. The breeze whipping through the car ruffled her hair.
“I’d like to stay here,” he said.
“I know what you would like, but . . .”
“I’m here now.” The time would come when he would have to leave, he was thinking. It was inevitable. He pushed the thought away and closed the door. Then he set his hand on the window frame as if he might stop time and hold everything in place. He could feel the tremor running through the vehicle as it started to back up. He stepped out of the way and watched Vicky make a U-turn and start out of the parking lot.
She was almost to the dirt road when she stuck her hand out her window and waved and called: “I’ll be seeing you.”