Chapter 16
Jack wasn’t very talkative at dinner, but that was nothing new.
He’d stopped working on his project in the backyard and even typed out on his cell phone that he had finished it, then made dinner for us.
But he wasn’t in the mood to talk much other than that single note before dinner.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Jack’s culinary skills were definitely not those of a Michelin Star chef, so dinner had been boxed mac and cheese with chopped up hot dogs in it and canned green beans warmed up.
Food’s food to me, but Jack had pointed at his plate during dinner and made an “OK?” sign.
I had let him know that it was fine and did the job of filling my belly.
Boxed mac and cheese with green beans definitely wasn’t the worst meal I’d had in my entire life.
Living in motels with mom for a decade meant that beef jerky or potato chips from a vending machine qualified as dinner at times.
Maybe Jack only knew how to make things like chili, cucumber salad, and meals from a box—things with few ingredients and minimal creativity—but at least effort was put forth.
I’d gladly eat Jack’s simple meals over anything that came from a vending machine any day of the week.
After dinner, I offered to put up the leftovers—not that there were too many—and clean up.
So, Jack sat in his chair and turned on some old T.V.
show. The Jeffersons, I think. By the time I had cleaned up everything in the kitchen—which hadn’t taken all that long—Jack was fast asleep in his chair.
He’d obviously had a hard day finishing up his table project in the backyard.
Instead of waking him up to let him know he should move to his bed and avoid a crick in his neck when he woke up, I turned off all of the lights and went upstairs.
I left the T.V. on so he wouldn’t wake up in the dark.
The sun was barely setting when I stripped off my shorts and t-shirt and crawled on top of the covers, since my third-floor room was still a little stuffy. It made no difference to me that it wasn’t quite bedtime. I was exhausted for some reason.
The excitement of the Shirlene letter. I thought to myself with a smile.
Staying up for hours to watch the lights at the barn wasn’t even a thought in my head, I was so tired.
Besides, since I’d seen the inside of the barn, the lights didn’t fascinate me like they did the first few nights.
Before my eyes shut and I could fall into dreamland, my phone lit up on my bedside table, casting its pale blue glow on the ceiling.
Wondering if maybe my mom had been able to get a text or call through—now that I knew a signal was possible in Possibly—heh—I snatched my phone from the table. I propped myself up on one elbow sleepily as I stared down at the screen.
Wanna go to church with me tomorrow? It’s at The Pueblo.
It was from Auggie. I had programmed his number into my phone earlier in the day since I finally had it.
Did I want to go to church? Yikes.
Spending so much time on the road with my mom, we’d never really belonged to a church.
I’m sure, back when Mom and I had lived in Possibly with Jack—back when I was too young to even form a lasting memory—we had probably gone to church once or twice.
Maybe Mom had even taken me to church a few times during that first year on the road together.
However, when I searched my brain, I couldn’t form a picture in my head of what the inside of a church looked like—at least not one I’d ever visited for services.
In a few places in America—especially in the southwest—I’d ventured into a lot of old churches that had been around since the founding of the towns in which they were located.
They were tourist-y things to do, though.
I hadn’t gone to, like, commune with God or anything.
I mean, if I was looking for God—which I wasn’t, thank you very much—the last place I would have looked was a church.
The places were kind of creepy. Or sterile. Depending on how old they were.
A weird thought entered my head. If I wasn’t looking for God, why was someone like Auggie looking for him?
With his weird clothes and skipping…I mean, well, you’d think someone like Auggie would have been avoiding church and God as much as possible.
I didn’t want to make assumptions about my new friend, but guys like him usually avoided church-y people.
Then again, you are in Possibly. Things are different here. I had thought to myself.
Auggie was also so bright and cheerful that I couldn’t imagine anyone giving him much grief over anything.
He also likes mystics.
The kid was so weird.
It made me smile.
Yeah. I had typed out. I’d love to go to church.
I did it without even thinking too hard about it. A few minutes later, Auggie responded.
Awesome! Meet in front of The Pueblo at 11?
I tapped out an affirmative, waited until Auggie said: “OK,” and then I laid my phone back on the bedside table.
That night, I dreamt of caterpillars. But no butterflies.