4
4
CANDLE VIGIL
S econd day in, and I was summoned. Sigh. Nothing I could do about it. I went—as reluctantly as a dude to his sister’s ballet recital—with Bob-from-the-big- house to pick up a new freezer for his garage. Duck season was right around the corner. His explanation and excuse for hanging out. I’d been MIA since the ceremony I referred to as “The Abomination.” Poor guy was dying for some male bonding. He even offered up tickets to The Giants. This over a couple of cold ones I downed like shots just to get the old guy moving.
We were in one of them dark hole-in-the-wall watering holes men-of-a-certain-age seemed to prefer. Old man could not figure out why I kept declining.
“Maybe if you spring for tickets that won’t give me a nosebleed,” I said with a grin. Then tried to focus on the anecdotes he’d saved up for me and his affable, dark face, but I kept eyeing the exit while tapping out a tune on the scarred wood to cover my impatience. Freaking forty-five minutes later, I was “prancing like a toddler holding his wee-wee.” This from Ducky Bob, my latest name acquisition.
I didn’t think the old dude’s grin could get any bigger till I confessed I had a “hot one” stashed in the garage. Hand to God, the old timer snorted bourbon out his nose. After wiping it off his Santa beard, he said, “You finally let one stay over?”
My shit-eating grin spoke volumes.
“She worth gettin’ those shredded knuckles for?” Nothing ever escaped this old man’s sharp eyes.
“Every bit,” I replied.
“Well then, I gotta meet this chicky.” He signaled to the bald, tatted-up dinosaur behind the bar he referred to as “barkeep.”
“And so you shall, if I can get your old ass moving.” I dropped a twenty on the bar that Bob shoved back at me. I shoved it back.
“I only pay the help in beers,” he stated, easing himself off the barstool to avoid putting his weight on his bad leg. “And this old black ass ain’t movin’ nowheres fast.”
Bob had just recently undergone hip replacement surgery. And that’s about the time he’d discovered me checking out his old Jeep. It was parked out on the side of his garage when I was doing some construction work on his neighbor’s house. I needed some new wheels and thought the owner of the fixer-upper would give me a deal. Plus, I noted it had an old Navy sticker affixed to the back and surmised the owner was a vet. Well now, this was my kind of peep. We started talking military and mechanics and hit it off right away. Turned out he needed my help, and I needed his. I’d been living in his garage since last year. I put my newfound construction skills to good use and transformed the second floor into an apartment. In return he and the missus got a handy-man tenant, a stand-in son, and some stimulating gossip for their blue-haired bridge club. In return I got a righteous Jeep, a cheap place to stay, access to their WiFi . . . and all their personal information.
In a sudden burst of gratitude, I threw my arm around the old guy, and we left forthwith, with matching grins and a Sears fucking freezer strapped to the back of his Chevy. We got back, and he made the big announcement to Ruthie while I went to fetch my gem from the garage.
Only problem was—she ain’t there. Nowhere. Didn’t take long to look—three rooms, two nooks, and a cranny. Girl was gone. My heart stopped like a plug had been ripped. I was like one of those poor bastards you see after the tornado struck, running around in different directions but going nowhere.
Fuck! I dug my hands in my hair. Think!
I wrenched open the closet. Breathed again. It was still loaded: luggage that cost more than my Jeep. Check. Designer finery picked out by her lunatic ex-husband Check. I ran back to the bathroom. Before I couldn’t see anything but her not there. On second glance: cosmetics (she didn’t need) still encased in pink case. Check.
So, she hadn’t checked out. Stolen? Before I could hyperventilate myself into passing out, I flew down the stairs three at a time and sprinted to their back door. I stumbled into a dolled-up Ruthie coming at me with her best wig and some crimson lipstick on her teeth. She beamed at me expectantly in a polka-dotted dress straight from a movie trailer.
Damn. Guess that answered my question.
I gripped her shoulders like a crazy person. She looked like a mother about to meet her daughter-in-law. The beer almost came up.
“Be right back!” I shouted over my shoulder. I tore off down the alley. A walk. She just went for a freaking walk. Something I could not do at the present moment. It was a good thing I lived in sweats and sneakers. I didn’t look out of place hurtling down the tree-lined residential street in the middle of the day.
“Have you seen a pretty brown-haired girl walk past here?” I shoved at a delivery guy, a lawn guy, and in Spanish to some “Merry Maids” who looked anything but. (It was that kind of neighborhood.) All negatives.
I stopped to breath in deeply through my nose. Think. I was a goddamned elite cadet for goodness sake. If I were Kate, where would I go? To call my brothers. Let them know I was all right. I wouldn’t want them to worry.
Shit.
I tore off down the street, leaving track marks. She was impulsive. But surely, she wouldn’t be so dumb as to bum a cell phone. They would instantly know our zip code and a swat team would be here to bust through the door of the Henry’s house right as Ruthie was pulling the pot-roast out of the oven.
I relaxed slightly, remembering she’d been worried about a traced call to the hospital. I hung my hat on: she wasn’t stupid.
And then I saw it. As if God parted the cloud curtain and shone his heavenly light upon it just for me. A Catholic church. I’d blown by it a hundred times. I just noticed it had a name: St. Mary’s. I’d never forget it again. I entered a foyer and padded down a hall, quiet as a church mouse. A couple of fruitless searches later, and I spied the back of her head. A ray of pearly light shone upon it, making her glow like an angel.
Thank you, Jesus!
I let out a long stream of air and realized I was standing in a holy inner sanctuary in hole-y sweats, and sweating bullets. I’d only been in a church building—a house of worship—a couple of times. This one smelled the same as the first one: polished wood pews, musty carpets, paper Good Books slowly decaying with age.
I quietly observed the stain glass windows, the three geometric lines of pews, a starved-looking Jesus hanging on the cross looking down on us. Looking down on us. I ran a sweaty palm through my hair. Of course, she felt guilty as sin. She was that type of person. She had left her beat-up, bleeding husband for another man—the man who beat him up. Abandoned her little brothers—a broken promise to her dying mother. She could never see or talk to them again, if she stayed with me.
A high price to pay. Am I worth it?
I looked at Jesus as if he could tell me the answer. I love her. Did Ranger? Did she love him? That same burning question had been singeing my mind and rotting my gut for the better part of two months. I didn’t think so, because I’d seen her miserable face outside that chapel. And she was still here. However, I couldn’t picture her agreeing to a marriage proposal unless she was in love. Did they fall in love? I’d seen some stuff happen in real time with my own two spy-eyes—the way he was possessive of her, the way she turned to him for guidance. Did all this, and the big, “he saved my life,” lead to something more?
But Ranger proposing marriage? And not just a marriage, but a big deal black-tie wedding with a white-robed priest, and a first dance. The kind of thing a fella does for the girl who’s “the one.” I couldn’t picture it, the way it went down. And I really needed to know. Why? I had no idea, but it’s like I couldn’t rest until I did.
I took in a deep breath through my nostrils. She didn’t want to talk about it, even though I was dying to know the dirty details. Every time I pressed, she would clam up and grow cold. I forgot how self-contained she could be. Most girls blather on about the inner most secrets of their hearts like guys give a shit. She stopped at: “I thought it was a real marriage until I found out otherwise.” Then did the wave away thing with her hands, turned her shade of angry, and started crying.
I was still going to press her though. Felt like we couldn’t move forward until we’d exorcised our demons. And the biggest one of all came on me at the end. I really had to know—What the hell was the deal with that blood on those sheets?
I was still standing there waiting for my heart to slow down, when she turned around. A knowing smile lifted her lips. So, she’d known I was here. Weird. I could’ve sworn I’d made zero sound.
I smiled sheepishly and did a goofy wave, feeling like I was invading her privacy. She beckoned me forward. I hesitated, feeling a little out of place, but I would’ve proceeded forward in my skivvies if I had to.
“I’m sorry,” we said at the same time. The kind of smiles you would expect followed that.
“Ladies first,” I offered around my smile. So relieved. I shouldered some sweat off my temple with my T-shirt.
She gave me a holy kind of smile, befitting the place. “I’m really sorry, Pete. I should’ve left a note. I just meant to go for a short walk when I stumbled in. I wasn’t plannin’ on stayin’, but, well . . . I lit some candles for us and said some prayers.” Now it was her turn for the sheepish smile. Like it was a childish thing she should’ve outgrown by now, like a visit to the mall to see Santa.
I took her hand. I hadn’t shown an overly lot of affection since I got her, not wanting to scare her off. Give her some space. I was done with that. “I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath. “I’m all sweaty.”
“Are you apolgizin’ for sweatin’?” she asked.
I swiped my free hand across my brow. “Yeah, that too. But, I’m sorry for barging in . . . and you know . . . I know you’re having a hard time with this. And not being with Mikey. I’m really sorry for that, Kate.” I paused, and she gave me a little painful smile. “I don’t know what to say . . . I’m a selfish bastard.”
She shook her head at my gaff. “I don’t think you can say that here.”
“Lightening gonna strike me any second?” I joked, letting go of her hand just in case. “I probably deserve it.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Well, it’s a good thing I lit a candle for you.” She indicated some flickering flames in front of her.
I counted five candles there. “That’s practically a fireworks display,” I said. “You must think I need a lot of help.”
She giggled quietly before explaining: “One’s for Mikey, one’s for Andrew, and one’s for me. I need a lot of help.” Her eyes turned down and her voice got thicker. “You see . . . I want to be here so bad, it’s a sin.”
I wrapped my arm around her and squeezed her to me. “That’s not a sin,” I declared, “that’s a miracle!”
We stared at each other for a while. “So, who’s the other one for?” I asked, then immediately wished I didn’t.
She lifted half a lip. “Ranger.”
I raised my eyes heavenward. “I always knew you were a saint.” She batted my arm. “Come on, Saint Kathryn.” I pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go do our good deed for the day . . .”
She laughed more openly and let me take her hand and walk her down the aisle. It felt as natural as breathing. She looked up at me quizzically but with unabashed trust.
“Make an old man and his best gal happy,” I explained, busting out the chapel doors with the girl of my dreams.