His throat tightened when he moved away from the window. He ambled to the utility room and opened the dryer to shift his wet clothes from one machine to the other, but he stilled. The drum was full of crisp, white button-downs.
Ben pulled out one of the garments. Its cotton was both soft and stiff; Andrew had always starched his shirts. The fabric smelled clean and fresh and nothing at all like Ben’s clothes. They used different brands of detergents, but Ben knew with a sickening finality that even though he had just used the same soap on his own laundry in the machine to his left, it would never smell the same as Andrew’s.
Ben clutched the shirt and slid down the wall behind him. He sat in front of the open dryer full of his dead father’s clothing.
He was probably going to iron the shirts that night he got in from work, the night I showed up, Ben thought as that Novocain numbness settled in his chest.
Despite his realization in the kitchen, Ben wished he had never come back to Point Pleasant. Andrew might still be alive.
But it was done; Ben was home. He was where he should have been all along, and Andrew was dead. His father was dead. My dad is dead. The words looped through his head like a scratched record stuck on the same part of a song.
Oh fucking well.
Ben’s thoughts fluttered to the archangel who went home to Heaven. When Raziel’s grace burst from Azazel’s chest, no longer bound by the darkness the latter had used to conceal it and wield its power for centuries, Ben had seen even with his eyes closed tight. He had heard even with his eardrums blown out. He had felt something vast and profound, something he still could not find the words to describe.
You have a special soul, Marietta had told him.
If Ben had a soul, Andrew did too. Did human souls end up in Heaven with the angels? Was Andrew there now? With Caroline, perhaps, and baking celestial cherry pies in a shining incorporeal construct of their home.
Ben smiled at the absurdity of the image in his head. What did Heaven look like anyway?
Home was the only comparison that Ben could think of, his only point of reference for such a concept. Heaven had to look like home.
Ben stood, pulled Andrew’s shirts out of the dryer, and piled them on the worktop over the machines. He loaded his damp clothes into the dryer and switched it on to tumble. The soft, gentle turn and hum of the motor filled the small space.
An iron was perched on the edge of the worktop. Ben flipped it on to heat and took hold of one of his father’s shirts. He shook it, pulled the sleeves right-side out, and placed it on the unfolded ironing board in the corner.
Ben spent the next half an hour ironing and folding all of the white shirts until they were pristine and devoid of wrinkles with their collars sharply poised.
Andrew would have appreciated the gesture.
The rental car arrived just after three o’clock. Ben had consumed an unhealthy amount of coffee, tackled most of his emails, and finished all the laundry by the time a balding man with a Hertz t-shirt knocked on the door and offered a cheerful smile with the clipboard of paperwork for Ben to sign.
The Malibu’s interior was spotless, but its fresh, clean smell cloyed at Ben’s nostrils, and the modern dash and automatic gear shift prickled at his sensibilities. It was a Chevy, sure, but it was no Camaro.
“You’re a disgrace,” Ben told the car when he settled behind its steering wheel. He cranked the engine and cringed when the speakers blasted Pearl Jam. With a jab at the power button, he silenced the radio and eyed it with suspicion.
Main Street was business as usual. Mothers and children had taken to the sidewalks, apparently unhindered by the fear that had previously settled over the town and deserted its streets, and Ben realized he still had not asked Nicholas about what had really gone on after the ritual. Stewart must have made some sort of a statement. Perhaps there had been another meeting at Town Hall.
“Note to self,” Ben mumbled to remind himself to ask Nicholas, and he smiled when he passed the Sheriff’s Department. He wondered if Nicholas had tried to call him yet.
Ben’s iPhone might as well have been left in the pit back at the factory. Despite charging for hours, it refused to power up. He knew Kate might try to call again at some point before her flight, so he drove out to Silver Bridge Mall where he was in and out as fast as possible.
The man behind the counter in the AT&T shop stared, unflinching, at Ben’s phone when he placed it on the counter. Ben said the phone had been struck by lightning and hid a snicker as he offered the lie. It’s kinda true.
“Accidental damage and acts of God aren’t covered in the standard insurance plan,” the man droned, and Ben suppressed the urge to cackle at the phrasing. What about acts of the scholar of Heaven?
After some hassling and ensuring that Ben’s sim card still functioned, Ben settled on buying a replacement iPhone. Thank you, The Exquisite Corpse.
Back in the Malibu, Ben slid the new phone out of its box and charged it in the cigarette lighter. He checked the time on the dash and saw it was after four o’clock. If the traffic from the bridge was decent, he could probably make it to Tucker’s before five.
Luck, as it happened, had aligned itself with Ben, and he thanked the gods of traffic that smiled down on him with kindness. More like the god of Mason County’s Sheriff’s Department and the officers he stationed to direct traffic flow, Ben mused, and he enjoyed the pleasant swell of warmth in his chest that accompanied the thought of Nicholas.
Ben could not hide his horror when he saw the flattened wreck of his Camaro in Tucker’s driveway. Ben parked, got out, and slid both hands through his hair as he assessed the damage.
“No, no, no,” Ben muttered. He stepped closer and spread his hands on the Camaro’s bent hood as if he could somehow absorb some of the car’s anguish through touch. The roof had caved in and bowed poignantly in the middle. All of the windows were blown out, and the overall body of the car was as crumpled as an accordion.
“Fuck everything,” Ben exclaimed. “Twice. And sideways.”
“I don’t know if that angel friend of yours would approve of that kinda language, son,” Tucker said from behind Ben. The old farmer had emerged from the direction of his barn.
Ben shook his head and gave Tucker a look of despair. Tucker clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Now, now, sweetheart,” he said. “We’ll make it all better. I already ordered some of the parts.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” Ben said. “I can work on it.”
“Bet your ass you can,” Tucker shot back. “I ain’t doing it all by myself. I expect you over here every afternoon ‘till it’s ready to roll outta my driveway. It’s an eyesore. But not as bad as that tricycle you rolled up in,” he said and gestured to the Malibu.
“It was that or a Kia Rio,” Ben said with dry despondency.
Tucker’s nose scrunched in response. He trudged to his front porch, opened up a faded blue cooler, and pulled out two bottles of beer. When he returned, he offered one to Ben.
“How you doing?” Tucker asked finally.
Ben could only shrug. “How about you?” he asked before he took a swig of beer.
“Keeping busy,” Tucker said and nodded to the barn. “Helps keep the what-the-everloving-shit thoughts at bay. Kind of.”
“Yeah,” Ben said, shifting from one foot to the other. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Except it’s hard not to,” Tucker said with a knowing tone to rival that of Point Pleasant’s resident psychic and antiques dealer. “I don’t suppose Marietta had any insight to share on the ride home?”
“I think she was just as scared as the rest of us,” Ben said. He scratched his thumbnail against the label of the bottle and regarded Tucker for a moment before he asked, “What did you see?”
“Squat,” Tucker replied. “It was like when someone flashes their brights at you on River Bend when it’s real late, and you can’t see anything for a few seconds because the light’s so
sudden and unexpected.”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “So you didn’t see what happened to the other one?”
“I was hoping you did.”
“Raziel said he would ‘vanquish’ him,” Ben said, hesitating over the term. “Whatever the hell that means.”
Tucker seemed to consider Ben’s response, but he said nothing more on the matter. They finished their beers in companionable silence.
Ben startled at the delayed realization that Tucker had been working outside. Birdsong tittered in the distance like the suppressed laughter of school children with a playground secret. He peered over to the nearby woods and was surprised he had not done so when he first arrived. There had been no reason to take notice of the tree line, though. Where it had once radiated the eerie impression of watchful eyes, it was now just a forest.
“Some of the parts will be in on Tuesday,” Tucker said, drawing Ben’s attention. “I tend to do all my farm stuff in the morning. You come over after lunch anytime. We’ll get to work then.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Ben said, digesting the other man’s sincerity. “Really.”
“You earned it, I guess,” Tucker said. “There ain’t many folks who’ll ever know what happened the other night, or the part you played in it. I figure it’s the least I can do.”
“You did just as much.”
“Let’s not have a moment,” Tucker replied. He was all gruff and bluster like the spit of rain that never amounted to a full downpour or warranted the use of an umbrella, but his slight smile reminded Ben of Andrew.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ben said.
“See you next week, son,” Tucker said, and he took Ben’s empty bottle before he headed toward his house and disappeared inside.
Ben cast a final glance at the Camaro and shuffled back to the Malibu. He slid in and cranked the engine. The phone rang at his side. He needed to program his phone book, but he knew whose number was on the screen.
“Hey, Sheriff.”
“Ben,” Nicholas replied, and Ben could hear the grin in the other man’s voice.
“How was your day, dear?” Ben asked, his tone humming with tender mocking as he placed the phone on speaker and let it rest in his lap. He secured his seatbelt, put the Malibu into gear, and reversed out of Tucker’s driveway.
“I think I’m smiling too much,” Nicholas said. “My officers seem unsettled.”
“Sorry about that,” Ben said, chuckling.
“Don’t you dare be. Are you at home?”
“No, I’m just leaving Tucker’s,” Ben said and sighed for dramatic effect. “I saw the Camaro.”
“It’ll be okay. You got a rental, right? I’m heading home soon, I can pick you up if you need.”
“No, I got one. Shiny new phone too. Raz fried my other one.”
“Ah,” Nicholas replied. “And here I thought you were ignoring my calls.”
“Not presently.”
“Hey, now,” Nicholas laughed. “What are you in the mood for, dinner-wise? I know this sounds real classy, but how do you feel about a burger at Duvall’s and your choice of movie at the Marquee. Any movie. I’m feeling generous.”
“Gee, Nic. Sounds like high school. Can we make out in the backseat of your car after?”
“God, yes.”
“I’ll meet you at Duvall’s around seven?”
“Seven’s good.”
“Bye, Nic.”
“Bye, Ben.”
When he was back on Cardinal, Ben put the new phone on to charge in the kitchen and shrugged off his coat as he sat down in front of his laptop. He glanced up at the window over the sink and considered the apple tree in the backyard.
A sudden whim took hold, and Ben opened a new Word document. He saved the blank file to his desktop, thought of his earlier email to Elliot, and named the file Next One.
By six o’clock, Ben had almost two thousand words of haphazard ideas for a potential story about an angel who had been locked out of Heaven.
Ben thought of Kate, figured she was probably home from work, and grabbed his fully charged phone.
Nicholas’ earlier call was still in Ben’s received log. He tapped the number and saved it to his phone as ‘Nic.’ He added another entry for ‘Katie’ and entered her number as well. The contact list was sparse, but he knew that the two numbers listed were the most important. He clicked Kate’s name and dialed. She answered after a few rings.
“Ben?”
“Hey Katie, I got a new phone.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“Long story,” Ben sighed. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m finally packing. It took me forever to square away my deposition. And with all the planning for Friday, I haven’t even had a chance to pick up my dry cleaning.”
“Isn’t that what Margaret is for?” Ben asked.
“This is New York, not Los Angeles. I give my PA actual work, jackass.”
“Okay, jeez.”
“Sorry,” Kate said, her tone softening. “It’s not you. It’s everything else.”
“Anyway,” Ben said. “What can I do? For Friday, I mean.”
“It’s a bit late to offer, don’t you think?”
Ben furrowed his brow and said nothing.
“I’ve taken care of most everything,” Kate continued. “Pastor John at Saint Luke’s has been very helpful. And Dad had a lot of it arranged anyway.”
“Did he?”
“He was getting older, Benji,” Kate said. “We all are. It’s good to have plans in place.”
“I’ll get right on that, then,” Ben said, slumping in his seat.
“You know what I mean. Anyway, the planning is sorted. But you can dig out his uniform and drop it off at the funeral home tomorrow. It should be in his closet. He wanted to be buried in it. Oh, and sign the death certificate. The director will give you two copies.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. He’ll have a military burial per his wishes, but he opted to be buried with mom rather than the vet cemetery in Grafton,” Kate said, and fabric rustled on the other end of the line. Ben imagined his sister folding the black dress she would wear to the service.
“That’s good, I guess,” Ben said. He hesitated before he spoke again. “You’re taking this well.”
“Hardly,” Kate replied with an empty snicker. “Staying busy only keeps the floodgates closed for so long.”
“I suppose so,” Ben said. “I hate this is why I get to see you, though.”
Kate was silent for a few seconds. Ben could make out the muffled but distinct rumble of traffic in the background. “Me too,” she replied at last. “I’m sorry I missed you the other week.”
“I’m sorry I don’t come up to see you more often.”
“What?”
“New York isn’t that far from Boston. I could try harder. I’m sorry, Katie. I kinda suck as a brother.”
“Benji, are you okay?”
“I will be. But I just wanted to say, you know, I wish we were closer. Like we used to be. And I know it’s my fault we’re not.”
“We all grow up sometime, Ben,” Kate said. “You have a life to live. I have mine. You can’t really apologize for that.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ben said, frowning to himself. “I just wish I had done some things differently.”
“So do I,” Kate said. Melancholy broke through her tone. “I was supposed to visit Dad three times in the last year. Kept telling him I’d be there this weekend or that weekend, but it never happened. I always got too busy.”
“It happens, Katie,” Ben said. “You saw him way more than I did over the years. He was glad about that. He always talked about you.”
Kate’s cheerless laugh rang hollow in the speaker. “He always talked about you to me. And anyway, it goes both ways. He could have gone up to Boston to see you. Or me in New York. It was like pulling teeth to even try to get him to talk about leaving the fucking state.”
Ben reclined so that only his chair
’s back legs touched the floor, and he peered down the hallway that led to Andrew’s office. “Did you know he read my first book?”
“Did he?”
“Yeah, I found it in his desk. Full of notes. Nice notes, even.”
“That’s so bizarre,” Kate said with a bewildered scoff.
“No kidding.”
“I guess he just never knew how to talk to either of us.”
“Yeah,” Ben sighed and let the front two chair legs drop back to the tiles. “Guess that was always more Mom’s gig.”
The connection hummed, and Ben was sure Kate would not reply.
“I miss her,” Kate said at last.
The admission was meek, and Ben’s throat pinched to hear the words. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. He felt like he was twenty again, and Kate was twenty-two, and they were waiting together in the hallway of St. Luke’s while Andrew had a few moments alone with Caroline before her funeral service.
“Me too.”
“I should go, I’ve got to finish packing.”
“Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow, Katie.”
“See you tomorrow, Benji.”
“Have a safe flight, okay?”
“I will.”
Ben waited for Kate to hang up first. He stared at his phone for a moment before he slid it into a back pocket and turned to the Word document. He reread the words and let them brew like a pot of coffee left to percolate in his father’s ancient machine.
Upstairs, Ben stood in front of the closed door of his father’s bedroom. Inside, the order was unsurprising. The bed was made with military precision. The surfaces of the furniture were empty save for two framed photographs on the dresser closest to the bed. There was one of Andrew and Caroline with their arms wrapped around one another, and one with Kate, Andrew, and Ben from the same summer as the photograph that Nicholas kept in his bedroom.
Ben regarded his eight-year-old self’s grin, complete with missing teeth, and compared it to the perfectly aligned smiles of his father and sister. He ran the edge of his tongue over his upper gums as if he might find his front incisors absent just as they were in the photograph.
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