Home Another Way by Christa Parrish

Author:Christa Parrish
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: book
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2010-07-02T19:00:00+00:00

chapter THIRTY

Jack found Doc at Hiram Dennison’s place, dozing in his Jeep, two wool blankets wrapped around him. When Jack tapped on the window, Doc rolled it down and started the engine, pushing all the heat levers to high, including the rear defroster. “Sarah tell you?”

Jack nodded. “How long?”

“A week, give or take. He stopped marking off his calendar last Wednesday.” Doc blew into his hands, held them against the vents. “Nothing you could have done.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Are you waiting for the coroner?”

“He said he’d be here before midnight.”

“I’ll stay, if you want.”

“You’re not dressed for it,” Doc said. “He was dead four or five days before the generator went out. You can’t turn the heat back on in the bus. It’ll thaw the body, and the smell . . .”

“Yeah,” Jack said. Though, that would be a fitting end. Hiram Dennison may have had an icebox and cooking stove in his bus, but he didn’t have running water. He came to church each Sunday with scent of body odor ground into his clothes, and sat in the front row, belting each hymn out in his gurgly baritone. On particularly pungent days, Jack would have one of the elders douse him in a fog of disinfectant; Hiram graciously agreed, apologizing for being unable to smell himself—“Lost the old sniffer in the war,” he’d say—and would stand with outstretched arms, spinning slowly, so the spray would coat him completely.

“I’ll take care of the arrangements, then,” Jack said.

He only spoke with Doc when someone was sick or dead. Quite honestly, Jack didn’t know what to make of the man. He kept to himself, didn’t attend church or town events, and rarely accepted a dinner invitation—from anyone. But, he slaved for the people on the mountain. Jack’s initial distrust had disappeared years ago, after a quick phone call to the state medical board. Doc’s record was clean.

He shook Doc’s hand and began the drive home, mentally listing the things he’d need to do to prepare for the memorial service. He lost four or five congregants each year, and faithfully made certain that those without immediate family left written instructions, with him or Rich Portabella, regarding the distribution of their worldly goods. He knew he would be getting several hundred magazines from Hiram, and his favorite ratchet.

Jack hadn’t been concerned that Hiram wasn’t in church Sunday. He missed a handful of services in the winter when his old snowmobile wouldn’t start. In fact, Jack had offered up a small praise for the respite from the bitter cut-grass-and-boiled-onion smell he usually had to breathe while giving his sermon, followed by halfhearted repentance for his callous celebration.

If only Sarah had known how caring he’d been, then.

He’d wanted to smack her earlier. She exhausted him, and each battle-weary day he swallowed down the urge to tell her, “Fine. If you want me to leave you alone, I will.” He’d expected opposition, but her attacks ate at him. He took them personally now. And, despite his constant prayer, he felt as if he were running circles in the mist.

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