Cheesus Was Here

by J. C. Davis

  He nods, frowning in confusion. Mel yanks off her grocery apron and bolts for the door. I can see at least one guy pulling out his cell phone and I hightail it out of there. The latest miracle is about to become big news.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Day the Networks Came to Town

  After leaving the grocery store, I wander for a while, trying to kill time. No way I’m heading back to school. When I finally get home, Gabe is waiting for me, perched by my front door, back pressed into the red brick of the house and head bent over the Nintendo DS he’s clutching. He thumbs feverishly at the controls. My shadow stretches across Gabe and he looks up, squinting.

  “Figured you’d have to come home eventually,” he says. He pushes to his feet and tucks the DS into his backpack.

  “I needed some air. And you’re never going to guess what I found.”

  I step past Gabe and unlock the front door, motioning him inside. He squeezes past me, making my stomach clench at the brush of his body against mine. In a different world, if I was a different person, maybe I’d be brave enough to tell him how I feel.

  Upstairs something thumps to the floor and we both look up. I glance at my watch. Mom should still be sleeping; she won’t start getting ready for her shift for another couple of hours.

  “Be right back,” I tell Gabe and dash upstairs.

  I pause outside Mom’s room, hand raised to knock. The sound of someone crying stops me. I let my hand drop to my side and press my forehead against the door, listening. A good person would go inside and comfort her. A good person would forgive her for being so caught up in her grief that she doesn’t have time for anything else.

  I turn and walk away.

  “Everything okay?” Gabe asks when I enter the kitchen.

  I shrug and pop some frozen pizza bites into the microwave, zapping the hell out of them. When Gabe’s stuffed a bunch in his mouth, I tell him about the wishing well. He chokes.

  I scramble up and get him a glass of water before he turns blue from lack of oxygen.

  When he can breathe again he glares. “Are you trying to kill me? Don’t spring that stuff when I’m eating!”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. I wait a long second, giving him a chance to gulp down some more water. “I got some pictures.”

  Gabe nods. “Excellent, let’s have a look.”

  He studies them for a long time and I wait impatiently before finally blurting, “You see it, don’t you?”

  When he doesn’t immediately respond with “Yes! Of course. You’ve solved it all, you genius!” I lean over and move the detail shot in front of the other Polaroid.

  Gabe tilts his head to the side and wrinkles his nose. “It’s a blurry photo. Not sure what I’m supposed to be getting out of this.”

  I drag a finger over the faint gouge mark by Mary’s feet. “Look! Someone traced the image first and then somehow painted it. That tool mark proves the miracles are a fake.”

  Gabe lifts the picture and squints, then shakes his head. “Looks like part of the wood grain.”

  I throw my hands up. “Grab a magnifying glass and let’s go over there now. I’ll prove it.”

  “Where am I supposed to dig up a magnifying glass?”

  I glare at Gabe, convinced he’s being deliberately difficult, and then inspiration strikes. I hold up a finger. “Give me a minute.”

  I dash to my bedroom and rifle through my nightstand drawer. Back in the kitchen, I brandish the tiny figure at Gabe.

  Gabe’s wariness dissolves as he starts laughing. “Garfield? Seriously? We’re going to solve the great miracle mystery with a toy Garfield?”

  “Shut up,” I mutter, holding the plastic toy tighter. I yank on Garfield’s tail and part of his back slides out, revealing a magnifying glass panel. “I got him at McDonald’s when I was like five. He has sentimental value. And he magnifies things.”

  Gabe takes Garfield when I hold him out, but he’s still laughing too hard to talk. Okay, I know my mini Garfield is ridiculous but it’s the best I can do on short notice. Gabe’s laughter is starting to get annoying. He gets up and takes a package of powdered doughnuts off the microwave top, using the magnifying glass to read the tiny print on the label.

  “This might work,” Gabe says, voice hoarse. He slides Garfield closed and shakes his head. “Detectives everywhere are hanging their heads in shame for us.”

  Taking Garfield back, I sniff, narrowing my eyes. “Do you want to go see the well or not?”

  Gabe tries his best to look solemn, but I can tell he’s still hiding a grin. “Sure.”

  We never make it to Melanie Teasedale’s place. There’s a fleet of news vans blocking every side street leading into her neighborhood and a crowd of people thick enough for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

  Gabe parks his car five blocks over and we thread our way through the crowds. We stop behind a knot of people, unable to move any closer. Everyone is talking and it sounds like a giant engine rumbling.

  Gabe leans close and yells in my ear, “This place is a zoo. Is that a CNN truck?”

  I crane my head, trying to distinguish one news van from the other. They clog the narrow streets like an artery blockage, tight packed and out of place. I finally spot the van Gabe means and my eyes widen. It is CNN. I look more closely at the other vans. A couple are local stations from Ashby, but there’s one van from Dallas and I spot a Houston station as well. There’s a black car with an AP logo plastered on the side. A lanky guy in ratty jeans and a T-shirt gets out, holding a camera as big as my head.

  Gabe and I linger for an hour and the crowd gets bigger and bigger. At one point Officer Crowley, one of the local cops, raises a bullhorn and asks the crowd to disperse, warning us that we’re trampling private property and blocking homes. No one moves. Mel’s neighbors have dragged lawn chairs in front of their houses and one old lady, Mrs. Renley, is gleefully munching on popcorn as she ogles the press vans and the crowd.

  It’s impossible to hear any of the news anchors from where we’re standing. After someone jabs an elbow in my back for the third time and I’ve had my foot stomped yet again, I squeeze Gabe’s arm, saying, “This is stupid. Let’s grab a couch at your place and find a news station. We might actually learn something.”

  Gabe nods, eying Melanie’s roof in the distance. After we’ve fought our way back to the car, Gabe leans over and gives me a quick hug. “Sorry Garfield has to miss his shining moment.”

  I shove him away, laughing. Unfortunately, Gabe’s car is now gridlocked by other vehicles, so we leave it parked and walk back to his place. We check every single lawn ornament along the way, searching for rogue miracles. This time, if we find one, I’m taking the thing and asking questions later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Waiting for a Miracle

  Gabe’s house is quiet. Reverend Beaudean spends late hours working at the church or visiting with various congregants. Sometimes he uses the church van if Gabe’s got the Taurus. All of that means Gabe has lots of time to himself and we don’t have any competition for the TV tonight.

  We sit side by side on his couch, flipping between news stations. CNN, predictably, airs their story first. A shot of the Clemency welcome sign, flanked by another picture of Baby Cheesus, fills the screen behind the news anchor. The two images fade to black for a moment and then there’s an image of Mel’s front yard with the words miracles in middle america hovering in giant red teletype above.

  “Isn’t Kansas middle America?” I ask. “We’re south. Southwest if you want to get technical.”

  “News stations like alliteration,” Gabe says. “Quiet down, they’re starting.”

  “Tonight we bring you a special story right out of the Heartland of America. Many are questioning whether God’s hand is at work in a tiny Texas town as miracle after miracle appears.”

  The bubbly news anchor smiles at the camera and runs through the story of Baby Cheesus being found and the image appearing on the McDonald’s drive-through wi
ndow. A moment later the screen cuts to a live video feed from Mel’s front yard. Mel stands beside the well, smoothing her hands down the sides of her pants and looking terrified by the cameras.

  Beside Mel, a man with slicked-back hair and a dimple in his chin smiles confidently and half turns to face the camera. “Wyatt Owens here on location in Clemency, Texas. I’m speaking with Melanie Teasedale. Miss Teasedale, please tell me about this remarkable well and the impact it is already having on your life.”

  Mel glances at the house behind her and then back at the reporter. “We feel so blessed to have been visited by God and given one of his miracles.”

  Before she can continue, the front door of the house bangs open and Mrs. Teasedale charges out in her pink floral nightgown, white hair frizzed around her head like Einstein and a frying pan clutched in both hands. The old lady pauses for a moment, narrowing her eyes at the reporter and Mel before raising her pan and screaming, “Get off my lawn! Get! Get!”

  Mel’s face turns red. She hurries to put herself between her mother and the reporter. “Mom! Go back in the house. Everything is fine.”

  “Don’t you talk back to me!” Mrs. Teasedale screams. “Out here carrying on with boys, Melanie. Trampling my daisies! When your father gets home, he’ll take a strap to you.”

  The old woman reaches Mel and the reporter and takes a shaky swing with her pan. Mel grabs her mother’s arm and wrestles the pan away, crying now. The reporter dances back, one hand pressed to his ear, holding his earpiece in place and sputtering.

  Mrs. Teasedale’s eyes are narrowed with spite and flecks of spit cling to the corners of her mouth. “Get off my lawn! You get on out of here. Go on, get!” Gabe flips the TV off and we sit frozen. Our smiles and laughter sucked into the now blank screen.

  “That was awful.” I dig my fingers into the edge of the couch cushion. “Poor Mel.”

  Gabe nods, setting down the TV remote as though it’s a stick of dynamite. “They used to come to Holy Cross every Sunday, but they’ve missed a couple weeks. Dad’s been by twice but he didn’t say anything about Mrs. Teasedale losing her mind.”

  I stare at the dark TV screen, unable to forget Mel’s tears and her mother’s screaming. “You should have seen Mel at the store today. She really thought God might have cured her mom. I guess she didn’t get the miracle she was expecting.”

  “That’s not fair,” Gabe mutters. “Maybe he gave her the miracle she needed. We don’t know how things will turn out with that well.”

  “I’m sure that’s a huge comfort right now,” I snap.

  “Del,” Gabe begins, but I cut him off.

  “No, you want to prove the miracles are real? Fine. Show me a shred of evidence. Tell me how that well has done anything to make Mel’s life better.”

  “She only found it a few hours ago.” Gabe throws up his hands. “Not everything happens right away.”

  “What about Baby Cheesus? It’s been weeks since Andy found it. That should be long enough for you. What good has that cheese wheel done? Or McJesus? A bunch of questionable healings, a crush of idiot people invading our town. There’s no evidence any of the miracles are real.”

  “There’s no evidence they aren’t,” Gabe counters. “I thought that’s what we were doing. Or are you finally willing to admit you’ve got a personal agenda for all of this? You think if you prove the miracles aren’t real you can prove God isn’t real either?”

  The words cut through me, sharp as shards of glass. Nausea rolls in a slow burn up my throat. “That isn’t the point,” I whisper. Even though it partially is. It’s all so complicated. Part of me doesn’t want to believe in God anymore. The larger part, though, needs God to be real if only so I can blame him for Claire’s death. Someone has to be responsible. It can’t be Claire and it can’t be me. Please, please, it can’t be me.

  Gabe softens, reaching out to brush my cheek. I flinch away and he drops his arm.

  I’ve never been able to hide from Gabe. That scares me. There are dark places inside I don’t ever want him to see, things I’ve done that I can’t ever share.

  “Please, Del.” Gabe’s look is pleading. “I don’t know what to say to help you.” He makes a frustrated noise. “My dad would know what to do.”

  “I doubt it.” My voice is thick and waterlogged. I get up from the couch and touch Gabe’s shoulder. “I’m gonna head home. You don’t have to help me with the miracles, I’ll figure out who’s doing this on my own.”

  The words burn my lips as I say them. But Gabe’s a preacher’s kid and that’s never gonna change. He’ll always be on the side of miracles and I’ll always be hanging with the skeptics. I should’ve known asking him to help me investigate was a terrible idea.

  Gabe scrambles up, softness dropping away in a heartbeat. “I said I’d help. Don’t shut me out of this too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m doing the noble thing, walking away. He should just let me.

  “I’m tired of you shoving me to the edges of your life. You won’t talk to me, not about anything important. Every time I bring up Claire or your family, you shut down, give me some snarky answer and move on. Every time things get tough, you run away.” He meets my eyes and won’t look away. “So I’m not ready to picket the miracles. That doesn’t mean I’m not trying to help. I’m here. I’m the one who’s been writing down lists and helping you come up with theories.”

  “You don’t actually want to do any of that though. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” My dramatic speech is ruined by the fact my voice is shaking but I hold my ground.

  Gabe throws his hands up in the air and storms back to the couch. “You asked me to help.”

  “It was a mistake.” Words are spilling from my mouth and they won’t be dragged back no matter how hard I try.

  “Fine. Walk out. Go prove everyone is wrong and the mighty Del, martyr extraordinaire, is right.”

  “What do you want from me?” I scream. The sound shocks us both and we freeze, eyes wide.

  “You,” Gabe whispers. I’m holding my breath, poised at the edge of something. “You’re my best friend. Don’t walk out on me too.”

  There is an entire world of meaning in those last words. Don’t walk out on him like I’ve walked out on my family, my sister’s memory, my classes, my sometimes-friends at school. Don’t walk out on Gabe like his mom, his always-busy-with-the-church dad. I crumple under the weight of those words.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice is raw and low, blood dripping from the edges. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Let me help you,” Gabe pleads.

  “Proving it’s all a hoax?” I want to laugh, throw the words in his face, make him hurt as much as I do, but he already does. I can see it in the way his lips press together, the way he stands as though waiting for a wrecking ball to smack into him.

  “Prove something. Whichever way it goes. But together, okay. We do it together or not at all.”

  He holds out his pinky toward me and a broken laugh slips past my lips. “Aren’t we a little old for pinky swears?”

  “You’re never too old for pinky swears.” Gabe’s voice is solemn, but there’s something fragile about his expression. If I turn around and leave his hand hanging in the air, some vital part of our friendship will shatter and I won’t be able to fit the pieces together again.

  I take one step forward, and then another, until we’re close enough that the tips of our shoes touch. I hook my pinky with his and squeeze tight.

  “Together,” I say and Gabe squeezes back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ninja Reconnaissance

  Do you want to go over our notes again?” Gabe asks.

  I shake my head. We’re back on the couch, both trying to act like we weren’t arguing a few minutes ago. Talking about the investigation is easier. Gabe’s suggestion is a good one, but our notes haven’t changed and so far, they haven’t gotten us anywhere. We have plenty of suspects, plenty of motives, but no proo
f and no leads. Which leaves the miracles themselves.

  Maybe we need to start at the beginning and look at each miracle again. Study them in person. Melanie’s front lawn will still be packed and Baby Cheesus is on lockdown at St. Andrew’s. I doubt Gabe’s willingness to help me extends to breaking and entering.

  “We should take a closer look at McJesus,” I say. “It’s on display at the McDonalds and I need better pictures anyway.”

  Gabe nods a little too quickly, but I pretend not to notice. “Makes sense. Let me change my shirt and then we’ll head out.”

  There are wet patches on his T-shirt from where I pressed my face against his chest when we hugged after our pinky swear. I nod and mumble an assent.

  He heads for his bedroom and I trail behind, stopping just inside his door. Gabe snags a dark blue T-shirt from his closet and then shrugs off the old one. He doesn’t have washboard abs but his stomach’s flat and taut with a dusting of hair below his belly button. I glance away, cheeks flushing. It’s not like I haven’t seen him in swim trunks a hundred times, but back then I wasn’t battling an insane crush.

  I focus on the wall closest to me. Unlike the chaotic flood of pictures covering my walls, Gabe’s decorations are sparse, wide expanses of plain white visible. A Death Star blueprint hangs over his desk and there’s a promo poster for one of those cringe-worthy country bands he listens to taped beside his door. His old Ninja Turtles lamp still sits on the bedside table, a pile of school books stacked beside it. The blankets stretched across Gabe’s bed are mismatched—one blue, one red, a white sheet underneath.

  We’ve never spent much time in Gabe’s room, preferring to run wild outside or raid my parents’ kitchen. I have the urge to grab a bucket of paint and attack his walls, to add a bit more life to the place.

  “No,” Gabe says, walking across the room and stopping beside me.

  “I didn’t do anything.” I give him the side-eye.

  “You’re staring at my walls and you’ve got the same expression as that time you wanted to play barber and I wound up having to shave my head.” Gabe scowls, but I can see the smile hiding underneath.