Authors: Lynne Hinton
H
ow long has she been in there?” Roger was home for lunch and a visit with Alex.
Malene shook her head. “About an hour, I guess.” She glanced up at the clock on the stove, trying to remember exactly what time their daughter had arrived.
“Well, how did she look?”
“Same as always. Just like you. Her hair is a little longer and she’s lost more weight, but she still looks like you. Dark and handsome.” Malene attempted to smile.
“What did she say when she got here?” He had only had time to walk in the house and start heading down the hall before he was stopped by his ex-wife. She had waved him into the kitchen and told him that Angel was in the room with Alex. He sat down at the table in shock when he heard.
Malene shrugged. “ ‘Hello, Mom,’ and then she asked if she could see him. That was it. I was as shocked as you are and didn’t ask her any questions. I just escorted her to his room and opened the door. He was awake and lit up like a Christmas tree when she walked in behind me. That was it. I just left the room after that.”
Roger leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t believe that Angel was there, in that house, with her son. He didn’t know how she had found out, since he’d never had any confirmation that she’d received any of his messages or gotten the news about Alex. He folded his arms across his lap. It didn’t matter now, he realized. She was home.
“Do you think she’s going to stay?” Malene was asking. She sat down at the table next to Roger.
He shook his head and raised his eyebrows. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered. He lifted an arm and rested his chin in his hand. He still couldn’t believe it. Angel was home.
“Well, she should stay,” Malene said.
Roger eyed his ex-wife. “Angel has never been one who went by the
shoulds
in this life.”
Malene nodded. “You’re right. But I mean, she came. She’s here. You’d think that means she’s staying.”
“You’d think,” Roger responded, unconvinced.
“You’re right,” Malene noted, understanding what Roger was saying. “She won’t stay. But still . . .”
“She came,” Roger interrupted.
Malene nodded.
The two of them waited in silence at the table, listening for any noise that might come from their grandson’s bedroom, leaning back, straining to hear. All they could make out was the light sound of conversation, an occasional laugh.
“You want a sandwich?” Malene asked, realizing they’d never hear anything from that far away.
Roger nodded. “I can fix it,” he replied.
Malene shook her head. “Nah, I got it.” She stood up from the table and walked over to the refrigerator. “Ham?” she asked.
“Fine,” he answered. He shook his head again. “I just can’t believe it,” he said.
“I know,” Malene responded. She started making the sandwiches. “It’s a miracle,” she added.
“Maybe,” Roger responded.
Malene finished making their lunch and placed the sandwiches on napkins. She got two glasses out of the sink and poured them both some iced tea. She sat down with their lunch and bowed her head. Roger did the same.
“Amen,” she said softly, and Roger lifted his head on cue.
“So, what’s going on at work?” she asked, taking a bite of sandwich.
Roger shrugged. “Closing up the case on the fire,” he answered.
“You saying it was Trina?” Malene asked.
Roger shook his head. His mouth was full.
Malene waited.
“Officially, it’s been ruled an accident without any names attached,” he said.
“How about unofficially?” Malene asked. She and Roger had not talked too much about the fire. Their conversations since Alex had become a hospice patient were mostly about Alex.
“Unofficially?” Roger asked. “Well, unofficially, everybody assumes Trina was the last one in the church building.”
“But you don’t?” Malene asked.
“I don’t know what to think,” he finally said. “She won’t say much, just that she was there and that it doesn’t really matter what she says because folks have already made up their minds that she did it.”
“Well, she’s right about that,” Malene responded. “Except, it does seem like if she didn’t do it, she’d tell you.”
“Maybe,” Roger said. “But maybe there’s more to it than just saying she didn’t do it.”
Malene was curious. “Like what?” she asked.
“I just got a funny feeling that there’s more that went on that night up there at Holy Family than what we’ve been told,” he answered.
“Well, I sure think Father George knows something. He’s acted odd ever since,” Malene noted. “Maybe you could go talk to him again, ask him some more questions.”
Roger shook his head. “Well, that’s not going to happen. Father George left this morning for Gallup and then will be on his way to California.”
“Oh,” Malene responded. “Well, I guess Daddy missed him then.”
Roger’s face was a question mark.
“Daddy said he was going over to the rectory, didn’t say why.”
“Well, yeah, he probably missed Father George,” Roger responded. “I saw him drive past the station about nine o’clock. Looked like he was heading out for good.”
“What about Rob Chavez?” Malene asked. She knew the boy’s truck had been seen at the church the night of the fire.
“Well, see, that’s something else that bothers me,” Roger replied. He ate the last bite of his sandwich.
“I think there’s more to that story too,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like, he was there longer than he’s saying or he came back. There’s just something about his story that’s too neat, too perfect. Did you know that he came by the station to tell me and Danny that he was there before we ever went to question him?” He shook his head again. “Just feels too neat,” he repeated.
Malene nodded. “Does Trina say anything about him?” Like everyone else, she knew that Rob and Trina had been seen together before. Even Alex knew that much.
“Just that she wasn’t there with him. She confirms his story that he dropped her off and then left.” Roger patted his stomach. “Good sandwich,” he noted.
“Thanks,” Malene responded. “Then why do you think he’s got more to say than what he’s saying?” she asked.
“Just a hunch,” Roger replied. “He and his girlfriend, Katie, act very odd when I’ve run into them.”
Malene raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t heard any of this news before, and it was interesting to her. “Maybe there was a private prayer meeting at Holy Family,” she said, smiling.
“Well, whatever happened that night, I don’t think it was a prayer meeting,” Roger said.
“A mystery!” Malene said, sounding excited.
“And one that won’t ever be solved,” Roger replied. “Because, as of eleven-thirty this morning, the case is closed.”
“For the books,” Malene noted. “But not for that poor girl everybody’s blaming. Did you hear that somebody keeps leaving boxes of matches at her front door?”
Roger nodded. “Some kid’s idea of a prank.”
“Well, she didn’t seem to think it was very funny when she told me about it earlier in the week,” Malene said. She stood up and began wiping off the table. “I think she’s really feeling the hostility from people around here. I think you were right when you said our town has no hospitality.”
Roger knew what his ex-wife meant. He had noticed how folks were treating Trina, how they whispered about her when they thought she wasn’t listening. She had been working a few hours at the diner every day, and he had seen the stares and heard the talk when she left the main dining room and went back to the kitchen. He confronted the behavior when he could, explaining that there was no evidence that she had started the fire and that, the last time he read the Constitution, folks were innocent until proven guilty. He had said as much to Bernie and Francine, a few of the high school kids sitting at the counter making snide remarks one day, and even to Danny when he made some comment about the girl’s guilt. But Roger’s ideas about justice were unheeded and overlooked. The people of Pie Town had made up their minds about the fire and who started it, and blaming Trina just seemed a good reason for people to stay mad. And even though most of them attended Holy Family Church and most of them had gotten to know Father George, no one in a long time had really cared about the parish. They went to Mass, but church was not a place that people in Pie Town cherished. The diner was more of a community center than the church, and Roger couldn’t understand why everybody seemed so angry at Trina that the church was gone.
He had asked Trina how she was faring since the fire, and he could see that the young woman was shaken by the way people were treating her. He figured that just like the priest, she would soon be leaving Pie Town too.
“She’s pregnant, you know,” Malene said, jolting Roger away from his thoughts.
Roger nodded. He had guessed as much. The young woman’s tight T-shirts were even tighter, and there was definitely a bump where there wasn’t one before. He figured that was another reason the people in Pie Town had chosen her as the object of their derision. An unmarried pregnant girl, especially a stranger, could be quite the target in a small town. He suddenly thought about Angel and how the three of them had dealt with the disapproval from neighbors, the long stares, the whispers, the guarded sympathy.
“Any idea of who the father is?” Malene asked. She knew Roger and the girl had enjoyed a number of conversations since she moved into the apartment behind his house.
Roger shook his head. “She hasn’t talked to me about it,” he answered.
Malene nodded. “Well, let’s just hope she does a better job of raising a child than . . .” She stopped when she saw Roger looking behind her, his face suddenly pale.
“Who?” The voice came from behind Malene. “Let’s hope that the new girl does a better job raising a child than . . . me?” It was Angel. She had made her way into the kitchen before Malene had heard her coming. She stood in the doorway, tall and thin, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Angel,” Roger said, sounding as if he was going to try to smooth things over.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Angel responded, holding up her hand. “It’s the truth. I have been a terrible mom,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “I was just lucky you were both ready and willing to step in and take my place.”
Malene turned around and faced her daughter, who was standing at the door.
Angel shrugged. “Besides, Alex forgives me, and that’s really all I could ask for.” She looked beyond her parents at the clock. “My ride’s meeting me in an hour at the diner,” she said. “So I’m going to walk around town a bit. Alex asked me to do him a favor,” she added, and then turned and left.
They both listened as the front door opened and closed.
Malene glanced at Roger, who got up from the table and followed their daughter onto the porch. She didn’t move.
O
ris glanced down at the clock on his dashboard. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon, and he was still twenty miles from Gallup. He had driven over to the rectory after breakfast, the events of the previous night still playing over and over in his mind, only to discover that the priest was gone. When he called the parish number he had listened to Father George’s message explaining that he would be in Gallup for a few days and then driving to California to start his new work as an administrative assistant in a seminary. He had explained that a priest from Vietnam would be arriving soon to lead the three Catholic churches in Catron County, and then he recited a few numbers that could be dialed in case of emergency.
Oris had driven back to town and had his oil changed and his tires rotated at Frank’s garage before he left town. “Vietnam,” he had told Frank. “Are there no American priests anymore that the diocese has to start sending preachers from Vietnam?” And then he had launched into his tirade about nobody speaking the original American language anymore, English, and Frank had started talking in Navajo, calling it the original American language, making Oris mad. He shut up after that, but he was still upset. He had needed to see Father George, and the man had up and left that morning.
Oris hadn’t planned to drive to Gallup, felt like he had done what he should do by driving out to the church, but after waiting on his car he couldn’t shake that irritating feeling that he wasn’t done, that he couldn’t give up. By lunchtime he had convinced himself that he had to chase down the priest, so he had gassed up and followed the leading of his heart.
He headed west on Highway 60, stopping at the cemetery for some clarification, and then drove north on Highway 36 over to Fence Lake. There he turned onto Highway 602, which took him through the Zuni Reservation before finally heading up toward Gallup. He was taking his time, not speeding because he was still being cautious with the Buick, but now he was starting to get hungry and wished he had stopped at the diner and eaten lunch before leaving town.
“Nobody’s going to believe me,” he said out loud. “Especially not that priest.” Oris couldn’t even believe it himself.
“What am I supposed to say to him anyway?” he asked. “My dead wife told me to come and get you and bring you back to Pie Town?” He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel. “Yep, that’s reason to change your plans, change the plans of the diocese of the Catholic Church, and come back to a place that never even accepted you to begin with.”
Oris sighed. “I never cared for the guy anyway,” he said. “There’s just something not right about the boy. Everybody could see it when he drove into town that first day with a girl sided up next to him.” He narrowed his eyes and kept talking. “I tell you, something ain’t right about him. He’s hiding something. He doesn’t even own a decent pair of boots.”
He turned up the volume on the radio and listened to the old country tunes playing on his favorite station. Willie Nelson was singing. “You used to love this music, remember?” Oris was talking to his late wife. Alice enjoyed the old ballads. “Loved the cowboy music.”
He glanced over at the seat next to him. It was almost as if she were sitting right beside him. He smiled. He liked the thought of her visiting him, even though he understood she wasn’t flesh and blood. She wasn’t alive. He liked the thought that she finally broke through his dreams and his longings and showed herself to him. He had missed her so much.
He knew it was her as soon as the dream started, knew it was her coming to him just like she had come when Alex got sick. It felt exactly the same, the room filling up with her, his dreams and his sleeping mind so clearly focused on her, so clearly focused on something beautiful and pure, his heart so sure of what she was saying.
The first time she had come to tell him to get to Malene, and he had done it, and it was right. And this time it was to speak to that priest, the one he didn’t care for and the one who had left town. But it didn’t matter what she asked, he was going to oblige her. Oris would do anything for Alice, alive or dead, but especially since she was dead. He’d do anything to keep her around, to have her close by. He would continue to obey her every wish if he could hold on to the idea that she wouldn’t leave him.
After the first night, the night she woke him to tell him to take care of Alex, he had started waiting for her. He figured that if she came once, found a way to reach across the divide between life and death, heaven and earth, and get to him, she would find him again. So he lit candles and built a little altar, calling her to him, started making a place for her at the dinner table, on the sofa in front of the television, even in their bed. He fixed supper for her, buying extra tortillas from the diner, pouring two glasses of milk, setting places for them both. He washed the extra set of towels, placing them by the sink in the bathroom, and even cleaned out a drawer in the nightstand in case there were things she wanted to put there. He bought a hairbrush and the rose-scented hand lotion she used to love to wear, her favorite candies, the butterscotch ones with the soft centers, and reading glasses, and he set them all around the house to make her feel comfortable, make her feel at home, make her never want to leave.
No one else knew what Oris was doing. Since he stayed all day at his daughter’s house, watching over his great-grandson, and since Roger and Malene were preoccupied with Alex, they didn’t seem to notice his curious new ways. Malene never suspected that Oris was waiting for Alice, making space for her, holding on to the belief that she’d come again. He pulled his curtains late in the afternoons so his nosy neighbor Fedora Snow wouldn’t see him and tell everybody what she saw. He even kept it from Millie Watson, his oldest friend, the neighbor who knew everything about Oris, including what he looked like without pants.
He drove along and recalled the night a few days before when Millie showed up at his door about suppertime. He had answered and stood in the doorway, trying to block her view.
“Oris,” she asked, peeking around him, “you got company?” She had seen enough of his sneaking around to go and ask the man directly. She cared about him enough to confront him. She worried about Oris, even if she didn’t tell him, and she knew he was up to something, she just didn’t know what.
He denied it, even though she finally was able to use her cane and maneuver herself around her neighbor. When she saw two places set at the table, she raised her eyebrows at Oris, looking like she had caught him in a lie, which she had, and then she just shook her head and walked away. “Whoever she is, I hope she don’t mind her dinner burning.”
And Oris had run back to the stove, realizing he had left the burner on high and scorched the potatoes. He wondered about Millie, whether she’d say anything to anybody, but he knew he didn’t really care. They could say he was entertaining a woman or had a girlfriend or even that he was losing his mind, he didn’t care. Alice had visited, and that meant she would come again.
Still, he didn’t understand this dream. He didn’t understand what Alice was trying to make him see when it came to Father George. What did that man have to do with his family? he wondered. What could that young priest do that would comfort his dead wife?
Oris considered Father George, how strangely he had been acting since the fire, how he had visited Alex when Oris was there and couldn’t stand still, wouldn’t look the boy in the eyes, didn’t pray. Oris had asked the priest if something was wrong, if he needed help of some kind, but the man had just shaken his head and mumbled something about it all working out.
Alex had noticed it too. When he asked to speak to the priest alone, Oris had left the room. Father George came out a few minutes later looking even more disturbed, as if the boy had said something that spooked him. When Oris asked his great-grandson if everything was okay, the boy had just shaken his head and said that things were not right at all and that he didn’t know how to fix them.
And now Alice was telling Oris that he was supposed to stop the priest from running out of town and bring him back. The only problem was that Oris didn’t understand what he was bringing him back to. Or who. There didn’t seem to be anybody who really needed him when he was working or missed him now that he was gone.
Father George stumbled his way through Mass most weeks. He had no real gifts of ministry that Oris could see. He was as awkward with people as he was reading scripture. His prayers were memorized and hardly heartfelt. He couldn’t sing, didn’t lead with much authority. Frankly, Oris didn’t see why the man was in the ministry to begin with. He didn’t seem much like a priest or even a man of faith. And Oris certainly didn’t understand why Father George was needed in Pie Town.
He glanced at himself in the rearview mirror and stared. He was surprised because he saw what he knew Alice saw. He saw how he had participated in the priest’s departure. He hadn’t given George a fair shake. The truth was, nobody in Pie Town had.
Oris had teased Father George about rattlesnakes and yelled at him about his driving. Bernie King had given him a hard time about the skunks and told him he’d never find friends in Pie Town. Fedora Snow worried him to death with church politics, and everybody raised eyebrows about his relationship with that new girl. The town had done a poor job of offering the young man any sense of hospitality, any kind of decent reception upon his arrival or even during his first few weeks, so that if he was hiding something, needing a friend or a confidant, he had certainly been persuaded that he wouldn’t find it in Pie Town.
Oris felt a little guilty. He knew he could have done a better job of welcoming the priest. He knew he had been hard on the man. He had attended only one service. He hadn’t even gone up to the church after the fire to see if the priest needed any clothes or wanted help trying to replace what had been lost. Oris had even thought, as did a few others in town, that Father George might have had something to do with the fire, something to do with Trina, the one everybody believed started the fire.
He rolled down the window a bit to get some fresh air and wondered if the priest knew the girl was pregnant. An old man, Oris was usually one who missed those kinds of things, but he hadn’t missed that one. She came waddling up to his table at the diner, shirt pulled tight across her little bulge of a belly, and even made a comment about how she was surprised that she didn’t get sick being around so much food, how the baby was making her hungry all the time instead. That’s how she said it, “The baby is making me hungry.” Oris had not responded. He was so shocked that the girl was talking so openly about a woman’s way, about an unmarried woman’s way, he had not known how to comment. Nobody else in the diner had spoken a word either. They were still mad at her for burning down the church, they sure weren’t going to congratulate her for giving birth to a baby born out of wedlock.
“Is that who needs the priest?” Oris asked out loud, still not sure. “That girl?” he added.
He turned to look beside him. “It ain’t his, is it?” he asked, and then had to smile because he could feel his dead wife punch him in the ribs.
“Well, even if that baby is his, I can tell you that he doesn’t want anything to do with that girl. That’s been obvious since they drove into town together. He’s scared of her for some reason. There’s either a history there or she reminds him of somebody else. So I doubt I can get him to come back to take care of her. You better give me something more to work with than that.”
Oris thought about the night before and how Alice had spoken to him, pulled him out of sleep and sent him on what was feeling like a wild goose chase, how he had received clarity about who he was supposed to go and find, just not what he was supposed to say when he found him.
It happened just before the break of dawn, when he had been dreaming about a pool of clear blue water, the sun bright and full, the sky cloudless. It was the most beautiful body of water he had ever seen, and he wanted to dive into it, let the blueness cover him, swim beneath its unblemished surface. He dipped his toes into it, and it was cool and refreshing, and he was just taking off his shirt, pulling off his pants to jump in, when she had called him. As clear as anytime she had ever called out his name. “Oris, Oris, wake up,” she said. “Wake up and get Father George.”
Oris woke up and never saw her, never felt her touch, only was clear in his senses that she had been present, that she had given him the dream of blueness, he knew that. And she was telling her husband to get up and find the priest. He had waited the entire morning for more instructions, a detailed direction, some sensible motive, for her to join him for breakfast, but there had been no other contact, no other information. At a table set for two, he had eaten his morning meal alone. But for some reason Oris did not understand, some unknown and otherworldly reason, Father George Morris was going to have to come back to Pie Town.
Oris noticed the road sign just as he drove past it. He was four miles from Gallup.