A Hole In The Universe Part 22

"You just did." She shrugged, then started off in the c.o.c.kiest strut her shaky legs could manage.

"Little b.i.t.c.h." He spun her around. "You think it's funny?" His fingers were almost cracking her arm in two, but she wouldn't cry. "Here!" he snarled, squeezing harder. "Here! Go ahead, laugh some more."

She did. She threw back her head and laughed. As loud as she could, even though he was just about breaking her arm, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Let go of her," Gordon said, and Feaster tightened his grip. "I said, let go of her."

"f.u.c.k off! You just f.u.c.k off!" Feaster warned Gordon, who was on the top step, still clutching his bags. "This has nothing to do with you! This is business! This is my my f.u.c.king f.u.c.king business business, you hear me?" He hissed in her face now. "You hear what I'm saying? You better tell me where she went or I'll cut her name all over that monkey face of yours."

She sucked in deep, then spat right into his face. The back of his hand hit her with such board-blunt force that her teeth clamped onto her tongue and her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the men only purplish shapes in the yellow glare, their dark voices too low to grasp as she staggered into the thorns. Blood trickled down her chin.

You hit her!

Get the f.u.c.k out of my way!

She's a kid!

Move, I said . . .

She's just a little kid!

Hasn't stopped you, though, has it?

It was the middle of the night. She got up again to see what the noise was. This time she curled up on the couch and stared at the window. Someone was out there. She heard footsteps, then a sc.r.a.ping like something being dragged across the sidewalk. She crawled to the window, nose against the sill. No one was out there. The few parked cars were empty. Maybe it was an animal, a racc.o.o.n or skunk dragging garbage around. Yeah, that must be it. But then why wasn't Leonardo barking instead of sound asleep still on the bed? A truck was coming down the street. The Navigator. Polie was in it alone. He parked near the corner, then got out and came quickly along the sidewalk, carrying something by his side. She ran into the bedroom, opened the window, then grabbed Leonardo and slid down the pitched shed roof. Holding his snout so he wouldn't bark, she edged along the side of the house. Above her on the porch, Polie grunted as he tried to pry open the door with a crowbar. She sprang across the street, down Gordon's driveway, and onto his back porch. There wasn't any bell. She tried to turn the k.n.o.b, but the door was locked. The second-floor window was open. She picked up a small rock and tossed it at the screen, but it hit the side of the house. "Gordon! Hey, Gordon!" she whispered, and threw another one.

"What're you doing down there?" He peered from the dark window.

"Shh," she whispered, struggling to keep Leonardo quiet.

"What do you want?"

"Polie's tryna break in my house."

He opened the back door. She followed him into the dark living room, where they watched Polie through the window. Now he was trying to pry open the window. Gordon asked if her mother was in there. She said no.

"Do you want to call the police?" he asked.

"Jesus, no! Then he'd really kill me."

"What do you want to do, then?"

"Stay here. Just till morning," she added quickly. "Then me and Leonardo, we'll go home."

"No! You can't stay here!"

"Please, please," she begged.

"Why? What does he want? Why's he doing this?"

"It's Feaster. He says my mother owes him money and he wants it back."

"Look," Gordon said.

The front door opened and Inez's husband came out with his son, Carlos, the burly truck driver. The two men shouted at Polie. He yelled back, then hurried toward the Navigator. Lights had come on in the adjacent houses. The men watched until he drove off.

"This was my brother's bedroom." Gordon turned on the light. It was a small, perfect room with a bed, bureau, desk, and chair. The walls were the same beige as the curtains and bedspread. As he closed the door, she thanked him again, then curled up in the clean sheets and pulled Leonardo close.

She lay awake for a long time until she heard snoring; then, taking Leonardo with her, she tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. She had never seen so much food, most of it leftovers, a few string beans, half a chicken wing, a scoop of mashed potatoes. She stood in the glare of the open door and ate from the bowls, a little bit of everything. She tried to reseal all the plastic wrap. She was thirsty, but if she used a gla.s.s, then he'd know she'd been down here snooping around, so she drank the milk right out of the bottle. She crept back upstairs, into bed. Leonardo lay with his back to her, sound asleep. She struggled to stay awake. If she fell asleep, then it would be morning and she would have to leave this clean, quiet place. She didn't know how much longer she could last on her own. A few more days, maybe. The last time she'd been in foster care, her mother's rehab had taken five months. Pretty soon she'd have to be running crack full-time for Feaster. And one of these times Polie was going to get the thing he really wanted. Maybe she should just close her eyes, hold her breath, and let him, pig that he was. "Do you love me?" she whispered, and Leonardo squealed a little in his sleep. The wind stirred the leaves at the window. Hearing a creak, she sat up and listened. Was it a door? No, probably a branch in that old tree. No matter what was out there, she was safe in here.

If only Gordon would let her stay. She wouldn't be any trouble. She'd clean the house, and every night when he came home from work she'd have his supper ready. On weekends they'd cook out on the grill, then maybe go to a movie after, and people would say, Well, will you look at that Jada Fossum-she's certainly taking good care of that poor Gordon guy. . . .

All she could see from the doorway was a mountainous white sheet. She tiptoed to the side of the bed. He slept with the pillow over his head like she did. She lifted the sheet and slipped in, inching closer until the heat of his body met hers. He groaned, then muttered something and turned. His ragged breath blew on her neck. She curled into the hollow of his long torso. He muttered again and she froze, then smiled when he sighed against the back of her head. She lay perfectly still while he huddled closer, pulling his legs up under hers. "What do they want?" he groaned softly. She felt him stiffen against her thighs. She reached back to touch him, and his hand clamped over her belly. He moved, then sat up so suddenly that he almost knocked her off the narrow bed.

"What? What're you doing? What're you doing in here?"

"I got scared."

"Get out! Get out of here!" he shouted.

"I heard a noise and I got scared."

"Get out of here! You get out of here right now! Just leave! Leave! Will you please leave!"

"I'm sorry. Don't be mad. Please don't," she begged, but he continued to demand that she leave as he stood in the corner, clutching the sheet around him. Leonardo charged in, barking at him. "I'll go downstairs," she said, picking up the dog. "I'll wait there. On the couch. Just till morning. Please?"

Thick, milky clouds ma.s.sed in the dawn sky. There was a damp, stony chill in the room. Maybe it had been a dream, but he knew it hadn't been. He sat on the edge of the bed, afraid to go downstairs and find her here. He stared down at his hands. A girl, a child. He felt empty inside and numb.

CHAPTER 14.

The priest was still talking about his family. He had been the youngest of six brothers. Before her marriage his mother had been a Broadway dancer. A real hoofer, he said, and laughed, recalling her annual performance in the parish musical. "The sweetest little lady, but the minute the spotlight came on-oh boy, talk about Ethel Merman."

"Really?" Gordon murmured again. What's the point? Why is he here? What's the point? Why is he here? Now Father Hensile was telling him his own vocational call had come as a seventeen-year-old lifeguard at Salisbury Beach when he had rescued a woman from a riptide. It was in that ferocious struggle to get her back to sh.o.r.e that he realized how much help we all need just to survive. Now Father Hensile was telling him his own vocational call had come as a seventeen-year-old lifeguard at Salisbury Beach when he had rescued a woman from a riptide. It was in that ferocious struggle to get her back to sh.o.r.e that he realized how much help we all need just to survive.

Of course: saving and taking a woman's life. I shouldn't have answered the door. Such terrible aimlessness, the priest was saying. Such terrible aimlessness, the priest was saying. Need, such great need. Need, such great need. The need for youth activities. The parish was renting a gym for basketball and volleyball games. With enough donations they hoped to buy weights and a Nautilus machine. The need for youth activities. The parish was renting a gym for basketball and volleyball games. With enough donations they hoped to buy weights and a Nautilus machine. So it's money he's after. So it's money he's after. The smell of unwashed supper dishes hung in the air. All he wanted was to clean up the kitchen and watch television. And to be alone. He glanced toward the window and saw Jada Fossum crossing the street. His face flushed with shame. He had made her leave as soon as the sun came up this morning. The smell of unwashed supper dishes hung in the air. All he wanted was to clean up the kitchen and watch television. And to be alone. He glanced toward the window and saw Jada Fossum crossing the street. His face flushed with shame. He had made her leave as soon as the sun came up this morning. No, don't come here. Not now. No, don't come here. Not now.

Father Hensile checked his watch. "I should be going. I don't want to be taking up your whole night here," he was saying when the bell rang.

"Can I come in? Just for a minute?" she asked through the half-open door.

"No. Someone's here. I've got company," he said in a low voice.

"I just want to explain, that's all."

"No, that's all right. You don't have to." He stepped outside and closed the door.

"But I want to. I was scared, that's all. I thought I heard a-"

"No! Go away! Just leave, will you?"

"But that's why. You're mad at me. . . ."

"No, I'm not mad."

"Then what are you? You sure look mad."

"I'm not mad. I'm not anything, but I have to go back inside. So will you leave? Please?"

Her eyes moved in shrewd a.s.sessment between him and the closed door. "You got a couple bucks I can borrow?"

He only had six dollars, a five and a one.

"Five's okay. I'll pay you back. I promise." She ran off down the street.

"That was my neighbor," he explained, coming back in. "She lives across the street. She's only thirteen."

"Actually, that's why I'm here," the priest said.

"What do you mean?" His voice trembled.

"The new youth center. I was hoping you could maybe give us a hand now and then. No set schedule or anything, I don't mean that. That's the beauty of this, it's all kind of free-form. Random. Just come by when you feel like it."

"No, I don't think so. I wouldn't be very good at it," he added because the priest continued to look at him.

"But there's nothing to be good at. All you'd have to do is be there."

"No. No, I can't."

"I could really use your help. I'm afraid I've gotten myself in pretty deep," the priest said with a wan smile.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Can I ask why?" The hounding eyes held his.

"I'm sorry, Father. I don't mean to be rude, but I can't. I have a lot to do here. I'm very busy. I don't have a whole lot of free time. I'm usually pretty tired after work. And I . . . To tell you the truth, I prefer being alone. I need that now."

"Forgive me, then. I've overstayed my welcome." The priest started to get up.

"No. I meant generally. In everyday life. I mean, after . . . after all that time."

"Yes, of course." The priest hunched closer. "And you were so young. All those years, what a terrible price to pay for an accident."

"It wasn't an accident."

"It wasn't?" The priest didn't move. "But you didn't mean for it to happen."

"It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"A terrible price all the same," the priest said with all the dismissal of absolution.

He was stunned. The only terrible price is that I'm here and she's not. The only terrible price is that I'm here and she's not.

"Well, after all this time I hope you've come to some sense of acceptance, Gordon," the priest said, obviously reading his shock. "I mean, how else do you live with something like that?"

You don't, he thought, looking straight into his eyes. he thought, looking straight into his eyes.

"It all has to be put into perspective. You have to understand that some things happen for which there is no earthly explanation. And that what you did or didn't do in a particular moment doesn't condemn you-forever," he added uneasily. "Not in the eyes of G.o.d, anyway."

Gordon sighed and looked away. This was the mission, to rescue the sinner from his sin. He could feel himself clinging to a crumbling window ledge while this priest tried to coax him back inside.

"Don't you think G.o.d has forgiven you?"

"To tell you the truth, Father, I don't think about it."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . because it's so irrelevant!" he said in exasperation, shocked by his disrespectful tone yet empowered by it.

"Why? Because you can't forgive yourself?"

"Because no matter what I think or say or do, she's gone, she and her baby," he blurted, as close to anger as he would allow himself. Like so many others, it was the priest who needed to forgive him, the priest who needed to make sense of what he had done. "Because it's an emptiness that can never be filled. And it would be wrong for me to even try."

The priest had been shaking his head. "Do you think G.o.d wants you to suffer forever, to keep on punis.h.i.+ng yourself like this?"

"He doesn't want anything from me." He would not speak the name.

"Of course He does!" The eager benevolence spread like warm honey. "You're here for a reason, Gordon. We all are."

"So in other words, everything's all really out of our control."

"No! No, not at all. What I'm saying is that we're born, we're human, we're here, and so it's up to us to find out why."

Now more than ever Gordon wanted this intrusive little man to leave. He disliked him intensely. Any further pretense seemed unnecessary. He stood up. "I'm very tired now. I need to wash the dishes."