A Light in the Window (35 page)

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Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: A Light in the Window
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“You got your money’s worth on that jacket,” said the rector.
“Three bucks. You hear about the town museum gettin’ started?”
“Esther told me about it yesterday. They’re going ahead with fixing up the outside. Hope to have the whole thing operating full-scale in about two years. She said ask around what to put in it, starting with something historic.”
“Put Percy’s grill in there. That’s historic,” said J.C., who dropped his loaded briefcase on the seat and slid in. “Or how about his fry grease. That’s even more historic.”
Percy shook his spatula at the back booth. “Keep talkin’ like that, buddyroe, and you’ll be history your own self.”
“Well,” said the rector, “the mayor told me to make a list. What do you think, Mule?”
“Don’t ask him,” said J.C. “He’s so slow it takes him an hour an’ a half to watch
60 Minutes.”
“I got one,” Percy called from the grill. “That bench in front of Lew Boyd’s. Been there long as I can remember. A lot of lies been told on that bench.”
“Miss Sadie’s car,” said Mule. “That’s about as old a car as you’ll find on th’ open road. Write that down.”
J.C. poured sugar in his coffee and stirred. “Winnie Ivey’s oil tank. Nothin’ but pure rust, sitting’ right on the street in plain view of God an’ everybody.”
“Somehow, I don’t think this is going anywhere,” sighed the rector.
“Yeah, well, leave it to Esther. She’ll come up with somethi’.”
He didn’t mention it, but he thought the entire collection of his neighbor’s books would be a splendid addition, in case they wanted anything current.
“Oooh,” said Edith Mallory.
They arrived at the Wesley Children’s Hospital, on a bitterly cold Wednesday, as the sun broke through leaden clouds and shone on the facade of the building. “It’s a sign,” said Edith, “I just feel it.”
All he could feel was a vague gnawing in his stomach, which he reckoned was the beginning of an ulcer.
The meeting in John Brewster’s office was worse than he could have imagined. After handing over the check, Edith told the director what color to have his office walls repainted and suggested he get rid of his furniture and start over. “Just because you’re a charity,” she said, sniffing, “doesn’t mean you have to look like one.”
John Brewster, whose cheerful personality appeared undaunted, took them to the cafeteria for an early lunch, where Edith cast a withering look at her vegetable plate, telling them how much she hated hospital food.
He was vastly relieved when John winked at him. I can handle this, the wink implied, so relax and eat your tuna sandwich.
There, thought the rector, is a personality trait I desperately need to cultivate. Laissez faire! Easy come, easy go!
The trip through the halls to visit the children, however, could not be taken so lightly. He loathed the way she poked her head in the rooms, looking at the children as if they were so many stuffed sausages. His own heart was breaking.
“Father!” Nine-year-old Gillian Murphy called him from her bed and stretched out her arms.
He stooped and received her hug as if it were a benediction. He was thankful that Edith and John continued down the hall, for tears sprang to his eyes and coursed down his cheeks.
“Blast!” he said, fumbling for the handkerchief he hadn’t brought. “See what you’ve gone and made me do?”
Gillian looked at him almost maternally. “You’re sad.”
“No,” he said, grinning, “I’m happy. You made me happy because you gave me a hug.”
“You make me happy,” said Gillian, whom he’d visited in this room since he started driving again.
“You look like an angel with that blue ribbon in your hair.”
“Nurse Moody put it in. I wanted pink, but she didn’t have pink.”
“I’ll send you a pink ribbon,” he promised, having no idea where he’d find one.
Walking up the hill behind Edith in her expensive suit, it occurred to him that, in the language of Coot Hendrick, he’d like to knock the woman upside the head with a two-by-four.
He sat as far away from her in the car as he could. He would have stood on the running board, if cars still had such things. The sliding panel that separated them from Ed Coffey was firmly closed.
Edith studied her fingernails, which he did not take for a good sign. “I certainly don’t think your Mr. Brewster was very appreciative.”
“I ...”
“It isn’t every day, from the look of things, that someone gives them fifteen thousand dollars.”
“You ...”
“From the look of things, I doubt they know how to use it properly. Perhaps I was too hasty.”
Rector Murders Woman in Car, Flees to New Jersey.
He would hide out at Walter’s. They’d never find him in that basement room where his cousin kept the paint cans.
“Perhaps so, Edith.”
“You know, of course, that I did it for you.” She turned and looked at him. “That’s what really counts. I did it to give you joy.” She smiled then and opened her lizard-skin bag.
Here it comes, he thought.
She took a cigarette from a monogrammed case and held it between her teeth, grinning. Still looking at him, she flicked her lighter and inhaled deeply.
“Ahhh,” she said, leaning back. Their compartment filled with blue smoke.
“Thank you, dear, dear Timothy, for the opportunity to do something for ... for our God.”
He could not speak.
“Oh, my,” she said, seeing that her skirt had risen well above her knees. “How naughty!” She looked up at him, grinning again. “Do you think I’m naughty, Timothy?”
He would croak if he opened his mouth, so he kept it shut.
She moved closer to him and put her hand on his leg.
“Oh, my dear Timothy, if only you would let me ... touch you. You would never ever again have even the weensiest doubt about your adoring Edith.”
“Edith ...” he said.
“Timothy.”
Her hand moved again as she came closer, and he felt her breath on his cheek.
“Stop!” he cried, lurching forward and banging on the panel. “Pull over at once!”
Ed wheeled into the parking lot of the Shoe Barn, and he leaped from the car while it was still moving.
“I seen you pass th’ school in ‘at ol’ car this mornin’.”
“Yes. Well.” The walk from the Shoe Barn had been wretched. Twice during the five miles he walked, Ed Coffey pulled the car alongside and called, “Father, Miz Mallory says you shouldn’t be walkin’ in this cold.”
He never once looked around. If he spoke, he would vent the most wicked and abusive language he had ever imagined, much less expressed. No indeed, he would press on in the biting wind and no looking back.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t go nowhere with ’at ol’ witch.”
“I did say that. But circumstances alter cases.” He was struggling with an anger so black it made him tremble as he diced the eggs for potato salad. John Brewster would have to take it from here. He was through trying to be accommodating.
“It’s m’ birthday,” said Dooley, looking him in the eye.
“Blast. I forgot. I didn’t mean to, I promise.”
“I was waitin’ t’ see if you’d say somethin‘, but you ain’t said nothin’, so I’m tellin’ you.”
“I feel like a heel.”
“That’s OK. I prob’ly ain’t goin’ t’ remember your birthday, either.”
“Please. Don’t say ain’t. Anything but ain’t.”
“You know what I want for m’ birthday?”
“Let me guess.”
“Twenty dollars.”
“Really?”
“Jis’ one big ol’ fat twenty. No fives, no tens, no ones.”
“And clearly no small change.”
“Nope.”
“Where do you expect it to come from?”
“I don’t know. It’s jis’ what I want, that’s all. I was jis’ tellin’ you, like you tol’ me you wanted ‘at world globe. I ain’t―I’m not goin’ to get you one, but I reckon it helped you t’ tell me you wanted it.”
“If you had a twenty, what would you do with it?”
“Carry it in m’ pocket, wrap it around them two ones you tell me t’ tote. I’d jis’ pull it out and ol’ Buster, ’is eyes’d pop like a frog’s.” Dooley made a face so grotesque that the rector nearly fell on the floor laughing.
“So. You want twenty bucks, but just to carry around?”
“That’d be cool.”
“In the meantime, what do you want for your birthday dinner? I’ll step over to The Local and pick it up. You name it.”
“Steak.”
“What else?”
“Ice cream.”
“Steak and ice cream. No bologna?”
“I’m half-sick of baloney.”
“Hallelujah.”
“I wouldn’t mind t’ have some ol’ cake or somethin.’ If it was chocolate.”
“I wouldn’t mind to bake you one after we eat.”
“Cool,” said Dooley. “Can Tommy come for dinner?”
When Tommy left, they walked upstairs.
“Well, buddy, I’d like to congratulate you on becoming thirteen. Shake.”
He had folded the twenty three times. Dooley felt it against his palm.
“Man!” he said, unfolding the new bill. “Neat!”
He had become an out-and-out sucker for seeing a smile on that boy’s face.
The thought seemed to swim up from some dark grotto in himself, floating to the surface as he picked up the newspaper from the study floor.
His mother’s brooch was in the lockbox at the bank.
As he carried it home in his pocket, in the blue velvet pouch, he knew at last why he’d been searching for it, why the thought of it had hovered around him for weeks. The truth was, he wanted Cynthia to have it.

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