Saving Evangeline

by Nancee Cain

  There’s nothing unusual about him except for the fact he really is a nice guy. Or is he? A momentary fear slithers through my mind. But what if he isn’t thoughtful at all? What if my food or drink has been tampered with, either with poison or prescription meds? My sarcastic inner bitch reminds me it doesn’t really matter. I want to be dead anyway, don’t I?

  Do I?

  No, not any more. At least not until after I make sure my mom is okay.

  “I haven’t done anything to your food,” he grumbles from behind the arm thrown over his eyes. I watch his other hand rise and fall on his hard, contoured chest with each measured breath.

  His perception is uncanny. “I never thought that,” I lie, biting my lower lip and twisting my hair.

  Remi lowers his arm and stares at me. “Don’t ever play poker. You’ll lose.” Remi sits and his shoulders sag as he scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. I remember enjoying the sandpaper feel of his beard under my lips and against my tender skin…He stands and quickly turns his back to me as he digs through his suitcase. The back of his neck flushes.

  “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.

  The sound of his suitcase slamming closed startles me. He swings around to face me with a scowl. “Your mood swings are spectacular. Do you ever shoot off fireworks after one to complete the show? I’m going to shower and call it a night. I, for one, am exhausted just from being around you. I can’t imagine how fatiguing it must be to actually be you. Now eat and go to bed.” His voice sounds thick with disgust and sarcasm, unlike his usually affable manner. I realize my illness will ultimately push him away. It drives everyone away.

  I manage not to cry, but I can’t swallow my meal for the lump in my throat. I’m hurt and angered by his comment about how exhausting it is to be around me. It’s reminiscent of why my mother left me. Why Jack was leaving me. He storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

  You’re too intense, Evie. Kayla is easy to be with, her emotions don’t ping all over the damn place like a pinball machine on crack. I don’t have to walk on eggshells around her.

  I brush my teeth and crawl into bed, my back toward Remi’s bed. I wish I believed someone would hear my prayers. If I did, I’d pray for peace. That’s all. Just peace.

  The bathroom door opens and he brushes his teeth. To my relief, he leaves the light on in the bathroom so that it isn’t totally dark. He approaches the beds and I squeeze my eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, I relax my eyelids and breathe in even, slow breaths, feigning sleep. The comforting smell of pine mixed with cinnamon teases my senses.

  He places his hand on the back of my head and whispers, “The peace of God which passes all understanding will guard your heart and your mind.” Just when I think he’s turned away, his warm breath teases my neck as he whispers in my ear. “You’re my Crazy Girl, but you’re not crazy.” Stillness enfolds me like a cozy blanket and I snuggle under the covers as my eyelids grow heavy.

  Something wakes me, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am. I turn toward the clicking sound of rosary beads being counted. It reminds me of my mom and makes me strangely homesick for her. Remi kneels with his back to me beside his bed. A soft light bathes him with a white aura.

  “Go back to sleep, sweetness,” he murmurs. The light fades as my eyes adjust to the dark and only a sliver of light from the cracked bathroom door illuminates the room. That light had to have been from the bathroom, right?

  “I like it when you call me that.” I smile. I like it when he calls me Crazy Girl even better. It’s like he’s giving credence to who I am without judgment. “Checking in with the Man upstairs?” Without thinking I lean over and rub his back. He straightens as if shocked by my touch, and I quickly pull my hand back.

  “Something like that. Sorry if I disturbed you. Go back to sleep, it’s still early.” He rises from his knees and crouches beside my bed, gently pushing the hair out of my face. His tender touch feels so soothing, my eyes drift closed again. There’s something about talking in the dark that makes one feel safe. Maybe that’s why Catholics use the confessional. I open my eyes again and look at him.

  “When I was a little girl, I spoke to angels, but Mama said it was my imagination. Lately, it feels like that. It’s like I’m seeing things I know are real, but no one believes me.”

  I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Or, everyone’s right…” It takes me two tries to get the words out. “And I’m crazy.” Struggling to keep my tears in check, I whisper, “I’m getting sicker, aren’t I? My illness is progressing. It terrifies me. I’m afraid it’ll get so bad, I’ll be locked away forever in the darkness of my mind, always searching for something and never finding it.”

  “I don’t know. You quit taking your medications,” he reminds me.

  “I don’t like feeling like a zombie. I want to feel alive.”

  “And yet you want to die,” he points out. A hint of sadness laces his voice.

  “Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” I chuckle at the irony, dashing away the one tear that escaped, unable to explain, since I don’t understand it myself.

  “Nah. Not to me.” I hear a smile in his voice this time. “You know, there are some people who are more in tune with the spiritual realm than others. Think of the great visionaries. Saint Bernadette, for one, or the children of Fátima. Everyone thought they had bats in their belfries, too.”

  I think his explanation is farfetched, but I appreciate the kindness behind it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I move over in the bed so he can sit and pat it, invitingly.

  “Evangeline, I don’t think this is a good idea.” His harsh breathing echoes in his strained voice.

  “I don’t want sex, Father.” Like a child, I cross my fingers and pray I don’t go to hell for lying. “I just want to talk. You’ll be on top of the covers, I’ll be under them.”

  “I’m sure Eve had just as convincing an argument,” he mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Just one bite, Adam…” He speaks in a falsetto voice as he climbs on the bed, making me laugh. Lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, he stares at the ceiling.

  I curl up beside him and place my hand over his heart. It beats in time with mine. Perfect synchronicity. “Why are you on sabbatical?”

  “It wasn’t by choice, more like a forced vacation so I can take time and reflect on whether or not I want my job.”

  “Is your boss a good man to work for?” My heart rate escalates as I try to surreptitiously finagle answers.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, he’s pretty decent, if somewhat of a know-it-all.”

  Trying to act casual, I ask, “Does he know about me?” I remove my hand from his heart and pick at a loose thread in the bedspread.

  “Yes. I check in daily with him, and I’ve mentioned you.”

  “Good things?”

  “Everything. He’s easy to talk to.” He reaches for me and pulls my head to rest on his shoulder. His fingers trail up and down my arm. “You’d like him.”

  His easygoing, matter-of-factness eases my apprehension. It’s like we’re a normal couple talking. Friends. I mean friends, not a couple.

  “So what have you decided about your job?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and I count the ancient air conditioner’s clicks and groans as it strains to keep the room comfortable in the summer heat. “I’m still working on my decision.”

  “Did you always want to be a priest?”

  His bark of laughter fills the room. “Hardly.”

  “What made you decide, then?”

  “Predestination, I guess. I don’t know. Enough with the twenty questions; I have a few of my own for you.”

  I fake yawn loudly to stall, not wanting to break the spell of friendly intimacy. “I’m tired.”

  He rolls to his side facing me. “You never fight fair, do you?”

  Closing my eyes, I tentatively take his hand in mine to prolong this connection. I refrain f
rom kissing it like I want to. “Nope. All is fair in love and war.”

  “Are we in love or at war?” he asks softly, almost as if he’s asking himself, not me.

  I don’t answer.

  For in truth, I don’t know.

  I watch Evangeline sleep, holding her hand, and listening to her soft snores. I’m headed for deep trouble, and I know it. I’ve tried getting in touch with the Boss using my phone, prayers, rosary…Nothing, nada, zip. Did I really complain about life in heaven being boring? If so, I take it back.

  Boring sounds good right now.

  Anything would beat this state of hell, not knowing how to reach out to offer hope and comfort to this sad girl. Evangeline has touched me in a profound manner, unlike any human before. Maybe it’s those haunted eyes, the way they look at me with a glimmer of hope. Or her inherent sweetness, that is as addictive as the nicotine in my favorite vice. Whatever it is, I’m in trouble. I can’t do this alone. I’m floundering.

  I desperately need some guidance. I don’t want to “go rogue.” Tell me what the fuck to do!

  There is no wind.

  There is no thunder.

  Silence is my answer.

  I pull Evangeline closer, holding her tight.

  I’m alone.

  And I’m scared.

  Chapter Eight

  SOMETHING TICKLES MY NOSE and I drift awake, feeling a weight around my waist. When I open my eyes, I realize I’m wrapped under Remi’s arm and my nose is buried in his chest. For the first time in two years I feel at peace. Without thinking, I place a small kiss over his heart, just as a thank you for being him. He doesn’t stir and I’m sort of disappointed, I’ll never know if this spontaneous kiss would have had an effect on him. What am I thinking? It’s for the best. I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom. When I return, he’s dressed and standing in the open door to the motel, smoking a cigarette.

  I smile and offer him half of my cold hamburger and fries for breakfast. He shakes his head and doesn’t meet my gaze, instead tossing me a carton of milk and a box of Froot Loops.

  “Very funny. Keep your day job; the comedy club won’t be calling any time soon. Where did these come from?”

  He grunts in response and sips his coffee. “It’s this dump’s idea of breakfast. It came with the room.”

  I attribute his cold attitude to guilt. He’s right; I don’t fight fair. I’ve been selfish my entire life, and it was grossly unfair to test him like that, drawing him into my bed. It’s just that I feel so complete with him. There’s like an invisible bond or a magnetic pull between us, and I don’t mean in a physical way, although my mind invariably drifts in that direction.

  He’s compassionate, funny and straightforward. He gets me, the way no one ever has. And no doubt about it, he’s as handsome as the devil. But this strange, convoluted relationship we have has disturbed him, and it’s taxing our friendship. His aloof manner has re-established the godly/ungodly barrier between us and I now wonder if it will survive this trip.

  He’s still giving me the silent treatment after breakfast, and it’s starting to wear on my nerves. Quite frankly, it pisses me off. His barked one syllable grunts in answer to my questions brings out the snarky sarcasm in my replies. I also add a few evil-eyed glares, which he pointedly ignores. We drive in total silence if you don’t count my exaggerated sighs of frustration. He even refuses to turn on the radio, grumbling about my off-key singing being a distraction. Just when I’m ready to scream to get his attention, he pulls off the interstate to get gas.

  As he strides into the station to pay, I call to check on my mom. She’s in good spirits and sounds anxious to see me. Her heart test is scheduled for next week, giving us plenty of time to get to her house. I skirt around my travel arrangements, telling her I’m driving with a friend. Before Mama can ask me too many questions, I plead the old “losing signal” excuse and break the connection.

  It’s hot as hell and I roll down the window, wishing Remi would get with the twenty-first century and use either a debit or credit card to pay for gas at the pump. Something lunges at my window. Startled, I duck and cover my head. Dear God, now what?

  A whimper and the distinct smell of dirty dog drifts through the open window. Turning around, I look down and find a scraggly, muddy mutt staring back at me. He’s pitiful with his matted, wiry hair, and glazed, soulful brown eyes. I instantly bond with him.

  “Hey, sweet boy,” I coo. His tail wags and his pink tongue rolls out of his jaw. He looks like he’s grinning at me, and I can’t help but smile back. “Where did you come from?” I step out of the car and kneel beside him, petting and scratching him behind his ears. He pants and the effort draws my attention to his skeletal frame. Grabbing my purse from the car, I race into the gas station and find Remi leaning against the counter discussing an alternative route around some road construction with the clerk.

  “Excuse me, is this your dog?” I point outside to where the poor thing lies with his head resting on his paws.

  The gray-haired clerk, whose name tag reads “Franco,” smiles and shakes his head. “No, miss. Someone dumped him here last week. We’ve been giving him some water and scraps because we feel sorry for him.” I love the guy’s musical accent and his brown eyes appear kind and full of love.

  I look out the door at the unfortunate mutt who lifts his head, cocking it to the side when he sees me looking at him. His tail wags and he gives a happy bark. I turn to Remi.

  “No.” Frowning, he shakes his head.

  “But Remi—”

  “Look, we barely have enough money for our own food, gas and sleaze bag motels.”

  “But he’ll die. He’s hungry, and this is a busy place next to an interstate,” I argue with just a hint of a whine.

  “No. He’s a mangy old dog.”

  “How can you be so cruel? Aren’t we supposed to love all of God’s creatures?”

  The clerk nods, smiling widely in agreement. I cast Remi a shy glance and twist a lock of my hair for good measure, trying to look all innocent and shit.

  He rolls his eyes, not buying it. “Evie—”

  “Please?” It’s time to pull out the big guns. Yes, I’m going there. It’s the most lethal weapon a woman can use against a man. I let a single tear slip down my cheek.

  “I’ll give you a bag of dog food and a case of water if you take him,” Franco offers. Remi shoots a lethal look toward the helpful clerk. I sense Remi’s hesitation borders on acquiescence, so I throw in a trembling lower lip for good measure.

  Hands on his narrow hips, he lets out an aggravated sigh and glares at the ceiling before pointing at me. “Okay. But you’re responsible for taking care of him.”

  The clerk claps and I do a victory dance, grinning like a fool.

  “Thank you,” I squeal with delight, throwing myself into Remi’s arms, hugging his neck. He catches me around my waist.

  I don’t want to let go as every cell in my body acknowledges awareness of Remi as we connect in a weird, almost primal way in the middle of a gas station. I stare into his hooded eyes and revel in the simmering passion reflected there. Sliding down his hard body to stand on my own unsteady feet, I’m grateful for the strong hands still wrapped around my waist. Otherwise, I might collapse at his feet in a puddle of needy goop. My nipples harden and my face flushes hot with embarrassment. Or is it desire?

  Remi shoves me away and steps back, the color draining from his face as he glances nervously at the clerk. You’d think he was wearing his clericals instead of jeans and a black 50 Shades of Grace T-shirt. His reaction seems a bit over the top, considering we just slept in the same bed a few hours ago. I’m confused by his mixed signals.

  “Bless you, son. It’s good to have someone to love and care for. It makes you a better person, no?” Franco responds with a wide, knowing smile. Remi’s faced darkens with a scowl and the telltale tic in his cheek has returned. He settles his sunglasses over eyes that appear to flash with anger, and his lips press together in
a straight line. The clerk steps out from behind the counter handing him a forty-pound sack of dog food, a case of water, and the bowls used to feed the poor dog. Using some of my dwindling funds, I buy a pretty blue collar and leash. It doesn’t take any encouragement to get the neglected mongrel into the back seat. He hops in and settles as if he’s been with us for the entire trip.

  Remi grimaces and gags as we drive down the interstate. “That dog stinks like camel ass.”

  “Yuck, that’s disgusting. Don’t say things like that, you’ll hurt his feelings. And how would you know what camel ass smells like, anyway?” I reach into the back seat and scratch the dog’s ears talking to him like he’s a baby. “Don’t listen to the cranky Father. You’re our sweet boy, aren’t you?” The dog wags his tail, which spreads his noticeable odor throughout the car. I’ll never admit it to Remi, but it’s pretty damn gross. “What should we name him?”

  “We? He isn’t ours, Evangeline. He’s yours. If it was up to me, I’d call him Goner.”

  “Goner?” I frown and look at the poor mutt. “Why Goner?”

  “Because as soon as we get to your Mom’s, he’s a goner, unless you plan to take care of him. And since you can’t even take care of yourself, I’d say it’s a done deal he’ll end up in a shelter.” He cracks the sunroof to get some fresh air into the car.

  His brutal honesty is like a slap in the face. “That’s so mean. I can take care of myself, and I’ll take care of Goner, too. I can tell you’re not a Franciscan. Haven’t you ever had a pet?” Hell, I’ll now take care of this damn dog just to prove Father Self-Righteous wrong.

  “No. Did you?”

  “Mostly cats. Mama has our latest cat, Duchess. She didn’t want to leave her with me, because…” I bite off the sentence with a shrug, angry with myself.