Saving Evangeline

by Nancee Cain

  Frustrated, I pound my fist on the wall of the shower. I have to put aside my feelings and do what’s best for her, not what I want. I take a deep breath, resolving to do the right thing. This is my job, after all. I don’t really have a choice.

  And now we’re going to be enclosed together in a small car for at least fifty hours driving time, plus nights together. What have I gotten myself into? I’m the one that wanted to do this on my own. Time to start formulating a fucking plan. I turn off the shower, and after toweling dry, dress in jeans and an old T-shirt with that dumb looking Godspell clown on it. I guess twenty-first century references to Him are rare on T-shirts. I check my wallet, knowing I don’t have enough cash to pay for two rooms, food and gas. I’m pretty sure Evie doesn’t either. I take out my phone and zip a quick text to the Boss. Maybe He can wire me some money or something. Do they even wire money anymore?

  To my surprise, in a less than a minute, I have a response.

  Not my problem. You might consider obtaining a real job. Please be more careful around Evangeline and watch your language.

  Great. After my last job as the check-in clerk at the Pearly Gates I’m qualified to do what? Be a Walmart greeter? Since I plan to wear my jeans, T-shirt and boots, I skip shaving. It makes me feel more like me and not Father Blackson. Although when I think about it, wearing the collar would probably be a safer option when dealing with this tempting human.

  Next time I see him, I’m going to ask Adam if Eve’s full name is Evangeline.

  In his priestly garb, Father Blackson appears almost angelic. But nothing has prepared me for his panty-dropping appearance in a faded red Godspell T-shirt, jeans and scruffy jaw. My mouth goes a little dry, and I almost wish he’d put the collar back on, as it provides—albeit not much of one—a visual barrier to his innate sex appeal. He closes the trunk and opens the car door for me. I remember Daddy doing that for Mama. He stands there until I buckle my seatbelt.

  Slamming the door shut, he walks around and eases into the driver’s seat, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. As he drives down the street where I’ve lived my entire life, relief spreads through my heavy limbs. It’s as if the tremendous weight of my reputation is being lifted from my shoulders and kicked to the curb as we drive away.

  I’m leaving.

  A smile plays on the corner of my lips, and impulsively I roll down the window, flipping off the town that has branded me a whore. Feeling a little giddy and foolish, my cheeks burn a bit when Remi laughs at me. Maybe Mama was right, perhaps I should have moved with her to Washington instead of remaining here thumbing my nose at the gossipers. Then again, we probably would have killed each other by now. We love each other, but we don’t necessarily like one another.

  I once again stare appreciatively at the handsome man sitting next to me. “You’re such a waste. No man who fills out jeans and a T-shirt like you do should be celibate.” I cover my mouth with my hand, and my eyes widen with horror. Holy crap, I just said that out loud. As usual, I have no filter between my brain and mouth.

  His eyebrows lift above his sunglasses and he chuckles. “Why, thank you. I could say the same about you, too.”

  “What?”

  “You’re beautiful, and if you’d get rid of this warped need to punish yourself, you could be happy. It’s a shame you’re not with some great guy planning the wedding of the century. You know, the All-American dream of a happy home with the requisite white picket fence, a dog and two or three kids.”

  I snort. “I’m no prize and men don’t marry home-wreckers like me. They just fuck me and cast me aside; ask anyone in this godforsaken, gossipy town, especially the wives.” I shrug. “Which is fine, I mean, I don’t need anybody. And I’ve never wanted the white picket fence or the kids.” I rub my stomach where the scars remain. Kids will never be an option for me. My mother told me the doctors tried their best, but glass from the windshield sliced and diced me like a filet on a butcher’s block. It’s probably for the best; I have enough problems without adding a kid in the mix. It should have been me that died, but no, I was the “lucky one.” Jack’s side of the car took the brunt of the hit.

  “I don’t listen to idle gossip, and your tough girl exterior is just a wall you’ve thrown up to protect yourself. Everybody needs to love and be loved in return. That’s part of being human. Deep down, you’re not the tough girl you pretend to be.” Remi reaches for the cigarettes on the console. “May I?”

  I shrug, not really caring. Jack smoked, my father smoked and Mama smoked up to five years ago. Besides, I don’t want to delay getting to my mom for his smoke breaks. “Go ahead.” Curiosity gets the best of me. “Just what type of girl do you think I am?”

  He cracks his window and lights a cigarette, taking his time before speaking. The wait for his answer seems interminable, and that uneasy feeling of anxiety fills the pit of my stomach. It hits me full force that despite my self-inflicted isolation, and the stronghold I’ve built around my heart as a means of survival, it matters to me what he thinks. This man of God is getting under my skin.

  “Misunderstood. Outwardly you portray this hardened, smart-mouthed girl who doesn’t give a damn what others think. But, that isn’t the real you. I think you’re a passionate young woman with a huge personality, who hasn’t figured out how to channel all this gusto for life productively. I’d go so far as to say, you’re a visionary who sees things beyond superficial appearances. Yet, for some asinine reason, you’re stymied by your fears. You refuse to trust yourself enough to let go and grab life by the balls. You’ve pigeonholed yourself into this stereotype of the crazy, bad girl. My question for you, is why?

  “Sure, it’s true, you’ve veered off course through some bad decisions, but you have it within yourself to know your true path. Someday, if you drop this wall of distrust you’ve built around your heart, you’ll find someone worthy of your love. And when you find him, let the poor guy in that cuckoo head of yours, past all the superficial I don’t give a damns and I’m a crazy bitch layers. If he’s the right guy, he’ll love you in spite of your flaws and imperfections. He won’t mold you to change, he’ll help you to embrace your idiosyncrasies and learn how to control them so they don’t become so self-destructive. You, Evangeline, are your own worst enemy.”

  I look at my hands clasped in my lap and shake my head, wondering just who the hell he’s talking about. This girl with potential, it can’t be me. I snort with derision. “Not everyone is good, Father. I didn’t figure you to be the type to toe the company line, spouting canned platitudes. I thought you were a straight shooter, not like Father Asswipe. He’d tell me I was a ‘good girl,’ but I know he didn’t truly believe it.”

  “No. You’re the one that doesn’t believe it. So talk to me.” He stares at the road and takes a deep draw off his cigarette, careful to blow the smoke toward his open window.

  “What? Like confess my sins? I don’t think so.” Nervous energy builds inside of me. My leg bounces, and I twist a lock of my hair around my finger.

  “No, just talk. Sometimes it helps—”

  “Oh good God, would you stop? I’ve talked until I’m sick of talking about my pathetic life. I’ve seen countless shrinks, counselors, therapists and even Father Asswipe. No, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m done talking.” I move to flip on the radio, but his hand catches mine. My body trembles in response to the contact as I stare at our fingers, now interlocked. Energy crackles between us, and the heat of my embarrassment flushes my cheeks. I jerk my hand from his as if burned.

  “Back away from the radio. Driver rules,” he growls, but he’s grinning at the same time.

  “What?” I blink, incapable of focusing on the words coming out of his mouth after the jolt of desire that just coursed through my body.

  He smiles as if unaware of the carnal electricity sizzling in the car. Maybe he hadn’t felt it, and it’s all in my mind. I press my knees together.

  “The driver gets to pick the music.”

  “If I hav
e to listen to monks chanting for over three thousand miles I’ll truly be certifiable by the time we get there,” I grumble.

  His head snaps toward me. “Seriously? Do I strike you as the type to listen to that? What did we listen to last night?” His affronted look is comical as he concentrates on the road again.

  True. Looking at his muscular arms in the T-shirt, his sunglasses and his disheveled hair blowing in the wind, I have to admit, classical would never be his style. But I don’t want to let him off that easy. I kind of like this verbal sparring and pushing his buttons. It makes me feel normal. I shrug. “Well, yeah.”

  His lips curl in a grin. “If that’s what you think, you are two beers short of a six-pack. I never said Bach is my homeboy.” Raising his hips, he digs his phone out of his pocket and plugs it into the car stereo.

  I find the simple action mesmerizing. I’d love to see those hips thrusting toward me…“Homeboy? That’s a little dated, Father.”

  “I’ll make note of that. I have a special playlist named Evangeline. I made it last night, just for you.”

  Gnarls Barkley begins wailing about being crazy and I burst out laughing. It’s refreshing to be around someone that doesn’t pussyfoot around my mental illness. I admire and appreciate his straightforwardness. Even though I’ve only known him for such a short time, I realize when I’m with him I’m almost comfortable in my own skin. Maybe I can let down my guard and just be myself around him.

  “Nice.” I hide my grin from him with my mop of hair.

  “Don’t cover that pretty smile, Crazy Girl. You can’t hide from me. I’m here for a reason.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. To save me.”

  “Is that so bad?”

  I shrug. Yesterday, I would have said yes. Today, I’m less sure. I decide to play the indifferent card. “Whatever suits you, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “That’s precisely the problem. You’re so self-involved nothing matters to you. It’s really quite selfish the way you don’t give a damn about anyone else. Let me remind you once again, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Did you ever consider that your suicide would be detrimental to your mother?”

  No, I hadn’t. His harsh, accurate words hit a bull’s-eye in my heart, and all of my hidden insecurities slowly bleed into the tension in the car. “You think you know me so well, don’t you, Father? You think all of your religious bullshit training and college education makes you an authority on suffering.” Hot tears threaten to spill down my cheeks and I struggle to maintain control, sucking in a ragged breath. Turning my back to him, I stare out the passenger window so he can’t see how much he’s just hurt my feelings.

  “Here are some more platitudes for you. Life ain’t fair. Truth sometimes hurts. And love isn’t always enough. What are we doing in this car, if you don’t care about your mother’s wellbeing?”

  He’s right, after everything Mama has been through, my death would be a nail in her coffin. However, I refuse to let him pull me into a heart-to-heart. “Trust me, you don’t know a thing about me.”

  “I don’t claim to know all your truths, just what you’ve revealed to me and what I’ve observed.” He sighs when I refuse to look at him, and we drive in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of hours listening to his Evangeline playlist. Just about every damn song has the word crazy in it, the son of a bitch.

  “Evie.”

  His use of my preferred name instead of my full name catches my attention, and I turn to face him.

  “It’s a long drive, and I don’t want it to be spent in silence. I’m not a Trappist monk.”

  I let out a huff and reply, “Too bad. I like silence.”

  “Talk to me, please?”

  “I have to pee,” I confess, twisting in my seat. When will I learn my stubbornness never serves me well? I should have asked to stop an hour ago.

  His warm laughter fills the car and melts a little of the ice wall I put into place. “Well, I guess that’s a start.”

  He drives a few more miles before finding a gas station. Before he cuts off the engine, I throw open my door and damn near trip over my own feet trying to get to the bathroom, only to find it’s locked.

  I knock and someone grunts, “I’m in here.”

  Remi walks in and pays for the gas, laughing as I rock on my heels, doing the gotta-pee dance of agony. I pound on the door, again.

  “I said it’s occupied.”

  I groan at the muffled response. I’m at the point of serious pain and it’s going to get ugly in a minute.

  I glare as Remi walks past me straight into the men’s room. He’s right, life is unfair; you never see a line at the men’s room. Two minutes later he walks out with a smug smile. “Ready?”

  “No, dammit! She won’t get out of there.” I beat on the door again only to be told, in no uncertain terms, she’ll get out when she’s ready and for me to go away.

  Remi peeks in the men’s room, grabs my arm, and shoves me inside. “All clear, go. I’ll stand guard.” Without hesitating I dash in the stall, holding my breath due to the stench. Men are such disgusting pigs. I wash my hands, drying them on my jeans since the blower is broken.

  “Thank you.” I breeze past Remi to the candy aisle, picking up a chocolate bar and a pack of gum. Remi shakes his head at me, his arms crossed over his chest.

  I frown, wondering what’s crawled up his ass. “What?”

  “How much money do you have?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I dunno, a couple hundred dollars, more or less. Why?” Probably a lot less.

  “Hand it over. We’re pooling it together.”

  I hand him most of my money, keeping back a twenty. I trust him, but you never know.

  “Look, we can’t waste money. We have over three thousand miles to travel. That’s a lot of gas, food and hotel bills. You don’t need candy.”

  “You’re not my mother. What about your wasteful spending?” I raise one eyebrow and stare pointedly at the brand new pack of cigarettes poking out of his jeans pocket. Next to something else that garners my attention. With reluctance, I force myself to look him in the face.

  “It’s an addiction,” he argues.

  Mmm, a habit that I might want to try…I shake my head. Cigarettes, he’s talking about smoking. Quit looking at his package.

  “So? Maybe chocolate is an addiction for me.”

  “You don’t need it. After meeting you, trust me, I need the cigarettes.”

  An older woman emerges from the bathroom. As we argue, her head volleys back and forth like she’s a spectator at a tennis match.

  I toss my chin up in defiance. “My chocolate and chewing gum aren’t going to put me in the grave.”

  “Pity, since that’s your main goal in life. Ever hear of diabetes?”

  “Would you stop? It’s one lousy candy bar and a pack of sugar-free gum. Combined they don’t add up to what you just spent on those damn cancer sticks.”

  “Evangeline—”

  “Keep your mouth shut, young man.” The dire warning comes from the bathroom lady and Remi’s face pales before turning the color of my cinnamon gum. She hobbles toward us with the help of her cane, and I feel bad for having beaten on the bathroom door. A gnarled hand plucks the candy bar and gum from my hands. She totters to the register and pays for them despite our protests. With a smile, she turns around and hands them back to me. “Here you go, hun. Accept this as my apology. I’m sorry it took me so long. I just had a total knee replacement, and I’m moving as slow as Moses in the desert.”

  Remi coughs and chokes. The old woman turns and pokes him with her cane, hard enough to make him wince. He backs away, a dark look settling across his handsome features.

  Guilt makes my cheeks burn. “I’m sorry tried to hurry you. You don’t need to do this.” I hit Remi on the arm and hiss, “Pay her.” Rubbing his arm he glares at both of us as he digs in his back pocket for his wallet, but she stops him with another prod of her cane.

  “Keep your money, cheapskate
. And pray you don’t die from lung cancer.” She turns and faces me. “Honey, you need to learn to stand on your own two feet. You deserve better than this tightwad. Like my sister and I always say, you don’t need a man in this world. Consider the bigger picture; don’t settle just because of what he has between his legs. They make dildos for that.” Remi splutters and my mouth remains open as we watch her shuffle to her car where another older lady waits, staring intently at both of us. Remi leaves the store, red-faced, not giving more than a cursory glance at the amused clerk.

  I follow him with a smirk. “What a sweet old lady.” I wave at the two women, ignoring Father Frowny-face as he hands off the car keys so I can take a turn at driving. “What’s your problem? We didn’t spend any of our precious money on my dumb candy. You should have blessed her or something. I thought she was a saint.” Grinning, I settle my sunglasses on my nose and buckle my seatbelt as he sits beside me stewing. “You’re just mad because she injured your male pride, get over it.”

  Cool, green eyes cut toward me as he fastens the seatbelt. “She’s a nosy old witch; she always has been.”

  I start the car. “You knew her?”

  Remi jumps and stares at me with a wild-eyed look before his brow furrows. “What? Uh, no, I meant, her kind, you know, meddlesome old ladies.”

  “That’s not very charitable, Father,” I reply with a prim simper as I pull out on the road.

  “I’ll pray for forgiveness.” He shoves his sunglasses up his nose, tapping his bouncing leg with his thumb. He’s wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch.

  Evie plugs her phone in and starts singing off key about knocking on heaven’s door. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, still fuming about the incident at the gas station. I wonder if the Boss sent those two nosy old broads to check up on me, or did the old busybodies take it upon themselves to see what I’m doing? My chest still hurts where Martha poked me with her cane. I’m surprised Mary left His side to drive. She usually likes to cling to Number One Son like stink on shit. Those two brown-nosers have always irritated me. I hope their tattletale report satisfies Him that I’m doing my job. I mean, Evangeline’s still alive and kicking. What did they expect to find? Me burying her in the backyard?