Embrace Me (38 page)

“He sure do!”

I point to the platter of snacks on the table. Val's doing. Cheese, crackers, and grapes never looked so good. “Did you get a snack?”

“Uh-huh. We all did.”

Sitting around the room at card tables, seven other children do their homework. Charmaine Hopewell helps with the math and geography. Jessica with science and language arts. I'm the reading guy.

Laughter suddenly fills the kitchen. Bobby's laughing like tomorrow's never going to come. Val too. My eyes meet Charmaine's.

Not long until Easter and I'll have to tell Val the truth. It's not going to be pretty.

Janelle looks at me and says, “Where'd you get that crazy hair, Pastor?”

Before Val leaves she thanks me for the turnover. “And Janelle's question. Where did you get those dreads?”

“A lady in Philly, Celestine, from Haiti.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She was a sweet person. She'd been involved in the dark religions and swore the demons still followed her. Part of me wanted to think it all her imagination, but many was the night I slept in my sleeping bag outside her bedroom door so she'd get a good night's sleep.”

“That sounds like you.”

“I told her I was going to Mount Oak—”

Val crosses her arms. “Why Mount Oak anyway? This isn't such a great place.”

“God told me to.”

“In an audible voice?”

“Almost. He wanted me to settle in a place that would constantly remind me of my wickedness and my foolishness.”

She rolls her eyes.

“To keep me in a state of humility, Val.”

She rolls her eyes again.

“Anyway, Celestine wanted me to take a piece of her with me. So she gave me dreadlocks.”

“They're pretty crazy.”

“My hair hadn't seen a pair of scissors in three years and was halfway down my back, so I thought,
Why not?
”

“I could give you lots of reasons.”

“Well, while she was committing the dastardly deed, I could have told you why not myself. When she was finished teasing and rubbing, I was surprised a single hair was left on my head.”

“You have good hair for it. Thick and curly, I'll bet. But don't you have to do something to keep them . . . you know . . .”

“A Haitian refugee keeps them up for me here in Mount Oak. She laughs and laughs at a white man with graying dreads. I swear Celestine put the gray in with all that rubbing.”

“Good story.”

“I've got a million of them.”

“I'll bet.”

“Really, Val. Doing this kind of work just gives you the best stories. It's kinda cool.”

“I dunno, Gus. I kinda like stories of the rich and famous.”

Say it isn't so. “Really?”

“Nah.”

“Good.”

Dad strikes again. This time by US Mail. Guess he realized the phone angle was a bust. He tells me he realizes what a terrible father he was and then gives the tired old quote, “Nobody gets to the end of their life and wishes they'd spent more time at the office.”

Yeah, right, Dad, okay, fine.

Not word one about my mother, admitting his scheme bordered on the diabolical. I don't know. I don't know.

Great Drew, you're sitting here about to beg Daisy's forgiveness and you won't even give your own father the time of day.

Mother Teresa once said, “You only love Christ as much as the person you love the least.”

Sometimes I can't stand that woman.

I read further down the letter.

“Please, Drew. Please,” he writes.

The old Charles Parrish wouldn't have begged anyone for anything.

So we are all God's children. Isn't that right?

Val was tired so I told her I'd take tonight's Vigils. My father's letter crinkles in the pocket of the shirt I slide on over my head.

Will I tell him to come on down and bring his inoperable cancer with him?

I guess this thing we call faith is a climb. I always wanted to think of it as a big slide straight into the arms of God who waits at the bottom to catch us. But instead, He's a God who's on top of things—and like any mountain you climb, the closer we get to Him, the steeper the terrain.

Yes, yes. Jesus is the one accompanying me on the climb. I get it.

Huh. If you'd have asked me last year what my future would hold, I'd have said more of this. Just living simply here at Shalom, doing justice, loving mercy and all that. I didn't think my father would show up. I never expected Daisy would show up. I thought I could put the past behind me.

God's will be done. And it ain't gonna be pretty. I just have a feeling about that.

God's will be done.

I haven't any other prayer that makes sense.

I lean forward on the sofa and light a candle.

I lift the book of prayers into the circle of my gaze and I pray words I wouldn't think to pray on my own right now, but words I need, nonetheless.

Monica calls me as I sit down over yet another delectable bowl of beans and rice. For breakfast.

“We have to forgive him,” she says.

“I know.”

EIGHTEEN

VALENTINE: 2009

I
'm crankier than I've ever been and that's saying a lot. I point to the Apostle John. So John, wanna know why I've been hanging around the Laundromat so much? To keep from smoking, that's why.

And to pick up the turnover Augustine buys for me each day from the bakery on the town square. He says I deserve something sweet in life.

What a cornball!

My room, my window, what used to be something to look forward to, has become something to avoid. But where else am I going to go? Walking around town? No thanks.

And all these comic books.

Bartholomew smirks.

I'm sick of them. Sorry, girls.

I throw an issue of
Betty and Veronica
across the room just as Rick opens the door. It hits him in the chest. “Whoa, Val.”

“Sorry. Nasty coincidence. I didn't know you were going to be there, and you know, a knock would be nice, Rick.”

He holds out an envelope. “Sorry, Val. I guess I wasn't thinking at all, but you got a letter from Lella and I thought you'd like it right away.”

He hands it to me.

“Thanks.”

“You've been more cranky than usual lately.”

See?

“It's this stupid smoking moratorium. That was just dumb. I've been smoking for five years and I thought I'd quit just like that?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I dunno, Val.”

“You dunno, what?”

“I think this is about more than smoking.”

“Oh, you do, do you? And what could it possibly be, oh great psychologist?”

Man, I'm so mean to Rick. But it's just so easy. He sets himself up like nobody I've ever seen.

“You've been going down to Shalom a lot, spending time with all those little kids. Lella's gone and we both know she's not coming back. And you're in love with Augustine.”

“What?”

He shuffles his feet a little. “You are, Val. Admit it.”

“He's taken that vow, Rick. I just love him like a person. I'd be a gigantic, colossal, slobbering idiot to let it go farther than that. Get the message, Rick?”

His face reddens. “Yeah, Val,” he whispers. “I get it. You know, I thought there was more to you. That underneath the rough exterior and the tough talk there was somebody kind and good.” He looks down at his shoes. “I won't bother you again.”

Dear Valentine,

It's been just lovely here with Aunt Dahlia. She's hired workmen to come in and do the house over with ramps and they're making the dining room my bedroom. I've decided to stay for the rest of the off-season. Aunt Dahlia, despite her talk about Uncle Joe, is so lonely. I feel needed.

You'll never believe it, Val, but I've been fitted with a decent set of prosthetics that I can control with my shoulder muscles, and I can now steer myself around in a motorized wheelchair. I've been given, as they say, a new lease on life! The only thing missing is you.

Aunt Dahlia says she'd hire you to come and live as my aid if you'd be agreeable.

Other than that, not much is new. I was considering whether or not I should go back on the road to earn my keep here at Aunt Dahlia's during the off-season, but she assured me she's financially able to care for me and would love to do so. She said the companionship far outweighs any inconvenience and she doesn't feel like I'm an inconvenience at all! I still have yet to make up my mind, however.

But I wonder how you're doing? Please write me soon. I long to hear from my dearest friend Valentine.

I do wish you'd come! Aunt Dahlia and I have such fun and you would too. We could go out to eat, to the movies, even on vacations together. We're already planning a Caribbean cruise!

Yours always,
Lella

An aid? Lella, you're my friend. I did all that because I love you, not because anybody paid me a dime!