Blood Orange (39 page)

His smile faded. “Some things can’t be done, Gracie.”

“Bullshit. I’m not saying it’s easy. Believe me, I wanted to kill
Marshall. And we’ve got guns in the house, so I could have done it.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I didn’t think you could get me off. And then I thought about
all the guys I slept with before we got married and how none of
them meant anything much-“

“Dana was a virgin.”

Gracie threw up her hands. “Well, jeez, then you can’t blame
her, David. She had a fling. She wanted to know what it felt like to
be with another guy.”

He remembered Dana telling him that with Micah she had discovered a part of herself she had denied all her life.

“Maybe it’s different for a woman,” he said.

“Are we talking the double standard now? You’re smarter than
that.” Gracie looked at her watch. “What’s your schedule?”

“I’m due before Smythe at ten.”

“What case?”

“Joel Dexter. Motion to suppress the dope the cops found in his
car.

“What else?”

“Desk work.”

“Go home. I’ll argue the motion.”

“Wilson won’t like it.”

“Screw Wilson.”

She came around behind his desk and motioned him to stand
up. When he did, she took his hands. “Boss, let me tell you something I know as good as I know your name. It makes sense you’re
mad and hurt and scared now, but those feelings are like walking on
wet cement. You gotta move fast through them. Get to the other
side before you’re stuck there. You get stuck, you guys split up,
you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

“You don’t understand, Gracie. We were a team-“

“Enough with the football! You’re husband and wife, lovers,
parents. You’re a couple, not a team, for God’s sake.”

If there was anyone in the world from whom he might take advice, it was Gracie. But in the end Marshall’s peccadilloes paled beside Dana’s. It crossed David’s mind that his father would never
have forgiven under the circumstances. So, he was a little like Claybourne Cabot after all.

exy slumped in a choir stall behind the altar rail. The late-
iafternoon sun had dipped below the windows, leaving the interior of St. Tom’s in deep shadow. In her hand she held the typed
copy of her resignation directed to the bishop of the San Diego
Diocese. The letter to the vestry was in her office and said the same
thing. It is with the deepest regret, etc. She had read it through a
dozen times, and there was not a word she wanted to change. Due to
personal reasons I find I am no longer able to perform my material
and spiritual duties. The next step was to get in her car and deliver
the letter to the bishop’s offices. But it was this she could not seem
to do. She had come into the church to think, and had not stirred
for more than an hour.

The letter to the bishop was formal and barely touched the
truth. The letter in her head was very different.

I am no longer able to perform my material and spiritual duties because I have lost faith and no longer see the child of God in those to
whom I minister. There is too much sadness in the world, too much
anger in me, and I am inadequate to the task I have taken up.

I want to be free to mourn my brother and despise Dana Cabot and
never forgive her.

From time to time a priest could have her doubts. It was to be
expected. But this was not doubt. This was demolition. Of herself,
not God.

Lexy heard the side door of the church slam shut and the clack
of flip-flops crossing the tiles.

The tenth-grade volunteer who was earning school credit for answering phones and running errands said, “I just got another call?
You’re really needed. That’s what the caller said. I don’t know her
name.

“Alana. Her name is Alana.” Lexy sighed and stood up. “Call
her back. Tell her I’m on my way.”

Dorothy’s bedroom was laced with bars of leafy green and white
light that brought out the gold in the flecked wallpaper and turned
the dark wood furniture coppery. Dorothy lay on her back with her
small head sunk in the expanse of white pillow, her sparse hair
fluffed out like a dandelion crown. Her hands outside the bedcovers
were wizened and small except for knuckles the size of walnuts. She
plucked anxiously at the tufts on the Queen Anne bedspread.

As Lexy drew up a padded lady’s chair and sat down, she heard
steps behind her, turned, and accepted the mug of tea Alana held
out to her.

Lexy had brought her prayer book and a small bottle of consecrated oil. She made the sign of the cross in the air between them
and said softly, “Dorothy, I lay my hands upon you in the Name of
our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, beseeching Him to uphold you
and fill you with His Grace, that you may know the healing power
of His love.”

Dorothy’s eyelids fluttered as if she were dreaming, and her fingers picked and pinched more rapidly.

“May Almighty God have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins
through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness, and
by the power of the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal life.”

Lexy pulled the stopper from the bottle containing an ounce of
holy oil. She dipped her thumb in the oil and made the sign of the
cross on the old woman’s forehead.

“Dorothy, I anoint you with oil in the Name of the Father, and of
the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

She had said the words, and she had done so mindfully, without
letting her personal problems interfere with her duty. It was what
Dorothy had wanted and expected her to do. Now there was only
the waiting. It seemed unlikely she would wake again. The old lady’s
hands stilled and came to rest beside her; her breathing became
shallow.

Lexy sat back. She had begun by not liking Dorothy Wilkerson,
but the opinionated old woman had grown on her over the months
of her slow dying. Now, at the end, Lexy felt a burden of sorrow descend upon her shoulders as she waited for death to come. She
would miss Dorothy.

Lexy’s eyes drooped. She had not slept well for many days and knew
she would drift off if she did not try especially hard to stay awake.

Alana’s tea was strong and sweet and invigorating.

Holding Dorothy’s hands, she paraphrased a favorite prayer.
“Lord, you have supported Dorothy, Your servant, all the days of
her life. Now, as the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and
the busy world is hushed and the fever of life nears its end, and her
work on earth is done, in Your mercy grant Dorothy a safe lodging
with You and a holy rest and peace at the last. Amen.”

The music of the old words lingered on the air like a sustained
chord that resonates in the ear long after it is struck. A shudder
went through Lexy, and she dropped back into the chair. Her hands
were suddenly icy.

Dorothy opened her eyes. They were the color of the fog.
“Hello, Ellen.” Her voice was steady. “Thank you for coming.”

Lexy began to say that she was not Ellen but stopped herself.
She didn’t know why, but at the last moment it seemed better to say
nothing.

“Ellen, give me your hands,” Dorothy said.

The air around Lexy grew soft, and a veil of dusty bronze silk
dropped over her vision as she extended her hands.

“Child, forgive me. I judged you harshly, cruelly. Your father and
I both. I have no way to say-” She closed her eyes. Lexy started to
pull away, but Dorothy’s grip tightened. “Don’t go. Promise me you
won’t. “

Lexy whispered without thinking, “I promise.”

“Mommy. Say … Mommy.”

“I promise.” Lexy swallowed. “Mommy.”

“The sixties … terrible times … but I never stopped …”

“I forgive you, Mommy. I was a difficult child.” She did not
think before she spoke. The words came from beyond her mind and
were light and thin as wafers laid on her tongue by the priest. “I was
as much to blame as you.”

Dorothy sighed and released Lexy’s hands with a pat. Lexy
thought she would go quickly after that, but she lingered at life’s
edge. Lexy thought of a boat moving slowly toward the horizon. At
any moment Dorothy would disappear over the curve of the earth.

Later Alana brought her another cup of tea; and when she had
drunk it, Lexy began reciting in a whisper all the Psalms she had
memorized. It would take the rest of her life to memorize the entire Psalter, but if she made a greater effort she could do it. As she spoke
the words their harmony uplifted and opened her like an intricately
folded kite; and though she was speaking, it sounded more like
singing to Lexy. A whoosh of air fluttered and filled and billowed
the bedroom curtains, and she felt a rush of love so strong it almost
lifted her out of her seat.

Dorothy’s pale eyes were open and watching her. “Thank you,
Lexy, my dear. For everything.”

Dorothy died three and a half hours later at eleven-seventeen.

Afterward Alana said, “Rest, Lexy. You deserve it. I’ll take care
of things now.”

There was a midnight AA meeting in National City in the South
Bay. Too wired to sleep, Lexy drove there. In the basement of a
Catholic church half a dozen men sat on folding chairs; two middleaged women and a teenage girl with gothic eyes were talking by the
coffeepot. They stared at Lexy a moment before they smiled and
asked her if she wanted coffee. She realized she was still wearing her
clericals.

The meeting began in the usual way, and since fewer than a
dozen people were present, all were expected to share.

Lexy told the room full of strangers, “I had the most extraordinary experience. I’d been full of doubt about my worth … as a
priest … and I’d been planning to resign.” She dug her letter from
her purse and held it up. “I was going to take this to the bishop’s office, but at the last minute I got called to sit with a woman who was
dying….”

She knew the people in the meeting would understand what
happened at Dorothy’s bedside, because like all recovering alcoholics they were accustomed to miracles. Their own lives were
proof of God’s astonishing reality. It didn’t matter if they under stood that she had lost her vision of God in the world. It did not
matter if they were surprised by what she had done at Dorothy’sspeaking prayers she did not think she had a right to say until she
heard herself saying them, pretending to be Ellen Brownlee. And at
the same time not pretending.

She told the alcoholics in the room that at Dorothy’s bedside she
had felt God’s very touch. As she spoke through her tears the men
and women nodded and smiled and murmured affirmations. When
she finished speaking the meeting went on as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

the van was again parked in Imogene’s driveway, and Dana had
to circle the block twice to find a spot big enough for her
4Runner. She got Bailey out of her seat and they walked back to the
bungalow.