Chapter Nine
Chapter
Nine
By Sunday afternoon it was clear that life at
the halfway house was going to be easy. All the same strategies
that had served Lucas in prison worked just as well in this new
environment. He did what he was told, kept his head down, and used
his intimidating stare if anyone tried to mess with him. The rest
of the residents were in the same boat as he was, so they
understood about walking on eggshells to be sure his parole wasn’t
violated. A couple of them even seemed like they might understand
the other reasons for Lucas’s careful behavior, but he didn’t test
that possibility by actually speaking to them about it. The tiny,
cautious hope that there was someone who was dealing with regrets
similar to his was a gift too valuable, and too fragile, to be
carelessly risked. He’d rather cling to his unverified belief than
try to confirm it and have it destroyed instead.
So he stayed away from the other residents
except for mealtimes or communal chores, and he absolutely avoided
the priest who ran the place. There was something creepy about
Father Mark, always watching, like he was just waiting for Lucas to
mess up. The staff was okay, as far as Lucas had seen, but they
were the ones in charge of making sure he followed all the rules,
which made them too much like prison guards for him to want to
spend time with them.
On Sunday afternoon, he was in the backyard
trying to clean up the small vegetable garden from its winter
debris. He didn’t really have any idea what he was doing, but he’d
asked the staff member on duty if it was okay, and the guy had
shrugged a vague assent. Lucas was finding life a lot easier if he
kept moving, kept working, so he’d grabbed a rake and a garden fork
and started messing around.
The thin grey squirrel watching his work
didn’t seem impressed with him, though. It wasn’t clear whether it
didn’t like what Lucas was doing or just the fact that he existed,
but it chattered and scolded from a branch just over Lucas’s head,
and eventually scrabbled right down the trunk of the tree and made
it a few feet toward Lucas as if planning to attack. Lucas froze
and then tried to sound calm and relaxed and sane, despite the fact
that he was speaking to a mysteriously angry squirrel. “I’m being
careful, buddy. I don’t know what you’re mad about, but there’s no
nests or anything in here. I’m watching out.”
The squirrel sat back on its winter-thinned
haunches and really seemed to be listening. Lucas didn’t have a
whole lot more to say, but at least the sound of his own voice was
more pleasant than the squirrel’s raucous chattering. “It’s a
garden. I think squirrels eat stuff from gardens, so you shouldn’t
be complaining. This is your future dining room, buddy. But there’s
no flower bulbs, I don’t think.” Lucas had a vague childhood memory
of some neighborhood woman cussing out the squirrels for eating her
tulip bulbs, so maybe this squirrel was looking for a similar
treat. “You’re out of luck on that one.”
Lucas cautiously moved again, keeping one eye
on the animal while bending over to scoop a bundle of dried tomato
vines into his arms. “You guys eat bird food, right? Sunflower
seeds?” It was crazy, but the little rodent’s ears really did seem
to perk up at that.
“Don’t get all excited. I haven’t got any.”
Lucas turned a little in order to deposit the vines on the compost
pile. When he turned back, the squirrel was still staring at him.
This was beginning to get creepy, but it was intriguing too. “I
could get some, maybe. Or peanuts?” An excited flick of the
squirrel’s tail suggested that Lucas was on the right track. “I
don’t have a lot of cash, but peanuts probably don’t cost too much,
right?” He stepped cautiously forward and the squirrel twitched as
if preparing to leave. Lucas was shocked to realize how much he
didn’t want that to happen. So he froze. “I’ll get some,” he
promised. “Seeds, or peanuts, or something. This is your backyard,
right? If I’m visiting, I should bring a present. I get that.”
The squirrel seemed to be considering the
veracity of his words. Finally, it flicked its tail in what
appeared to be a gesture of agreement, then whirled and scrabbled
back up the tree.
Lucas was staring after the animal when he
heard a gentle cough from behind him. He whirled, appalled that
he’d let someone get so close without noticing, and found the
priest waiting for his attention. “Oh. Hi.” Lucas didn’t know how
much of the squirrel-conversation the priest had heard, and didn’t
think he really wanted to know. But the priest was looking at him
strangely, making him feel like he needed to explain something. But
fuck that. Lucas was pretty sure he wasn’t breaking any rules. So
he found a spot on the wall somewhere behind the priest’s head and
stared at it, waiting for whatever came next.
“I just took a phone call inside,” the priest
finally said. “I didn’t know where you were, so I took a
message.”
Lucas had only given the number to one
person, a falsely casual message left on an answering machine that
morning. Now he waited to hear the response to his initiative.
“Dave, from Gage Roofing. He said that they
weren’t going to have any hours for you this week.”
Lucas tried not to react. On Friday, Dave had
been complaining about how many projects he had going on. He’d said
he needed ten more guys who worked like Lucas. This had nothing to
do with there not being enough hours.
It stung, because Sean didn’t have much pull
with his uncle, not on his own. If Dave had decided to fire Lucas,
it wasn’t because Sean had asked for it—it was because Mrs. Gage
had. Sean had told her the story and she’d decided that Lucas was
out. He’d failed to protect her son, after all, so Lucas couldn’t
really blame her. One look at her son’s battered face and she would
have gone into full warrior mode. Mrs. Gage was the closest thing
to a mother Lucas had ever had, but Sean was her real son. Lucas
was just someone she allowed Sean to drag inside her wide and
indiscriminate circle of affection. Or at least, that’s what he had
been. Now that Sean was done with Lucas, Mrs. Gage obviously was
too.
He forced himself to nod. “Thank you,” he
said. But the priest didn’t leave, so Lucas stayed still, staring
at the spot on the wall.
“You need to do something with your time.
That’s a condition of your parole. You can’t just sit around here
and watch TV.”
“I’ll try to find another job.”
“Do you have something in mind?” There was a
strange tone in the priest’s voice, almost as if he was enjoying
the opportunity to rub Lucas’s nose in this.
But there was no avoiding the truth of it.
“No. I don’t.”
“You need to call Darren.”
“I know. I will.”
And there really wasn’t much more to say
after that. The priest headed back to the house and Lucas forced
his body into autopilot. He didn’t want to mess around with social
squirrels, not anymore. He just wanted to exhaust himself, to pour
some of the wild energy from his body out into the ground. He
started digging, following the margins of the last year’s garden as
he turned over the soil, broke up the clods, and tried not to
think.