Car Trouble by Robert Rorke

Author:Robert Rorke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-09-10T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

The smell of the fire followed me. I could smell it on my shoulders, I could smell it in my hair. It was like having Himself’s hands on me, pushing me down on the floor with him. I unzipped my coat halfway and walked toward Holy Cross, not sure where I was headed. If I walked around the cemetery—about two miles—my head would probably clear.

The Tilden Avenue gates were still open. I had just enough time before Holy Cross closed to walk to the chapel and maybe out the Albany Avenue exit, by the big tombs.

The chapel was a ten-minute walk from the entrance. The room was empty and dimly lit, with a modest-sized altar and a plain gold tabernacle. Some sharp fragrance—incense from morning mass—still lingered. I sat down in one of the light wood pews. The colors on the stained-glass windows—square panels of lilac and mint green—offered some cheer, but the red, blue, and yellow figures of the saints trapped there seemed tortured and remote, more intent on brandishing their wings than offering consolation. They didn’t know how this story was going to end and neither did I. I wondered if Mom was going to tell someone—Uncle Tim or Grandpa or even her own father—what was going on. As the light faded from the glass, I imagined myself knocking on Uncle Tim’s door. Would the story of what was happening to his brother shock him, after that drive home on Christmas? He was already lending Himself money, I was sure, and moral support. What else was there to be done? I didn’t know.

An engine rumbled outside. My first thought: It’s Himself, hunting me down in the Red Devil. I left the pew, tripping over the kneeler, and moved to the corner of the chapel, next to a stand of blood-red votive candles. A gust of cold air blew in as the chapel doors opened. Dried-up leaves skittered across the stone floor in the vestibule. I realized it couldn’t have been Himself driving. He was conked out. Not even he could bounce back that quickly.

An older man with a green cap and a heavy burlap-type jacket walked down the aisle and genuflected next to one of the pews close to the altar. I pegged him for a maintenance worker. He went into the pew and knelt, bowing his head in prayer. I eased my way toward the vestibule, behind the brass stand of candles, and slipped outside. A pickup truck like those I had seen when I took my first driving lesson in the Black Beauty was parked next to the chapel.

It was nearly dark. I jogged down the street, past graves on both sides, many of them taller than I was, heading for the Tilden Avenue gates. The sky was streaked with silvery yellow light and the moon, white as a cue ball, rose over the hulking edifice of the Cloister. The only sound was the crunch my sneakers made on the occasional patch of old snow. I reached the main road in a few minutes.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.