Embrace Me (41 page)
Val enters Shalom with two aluminum serving pans in her arms and a tote bag hanging from her shoulder. “I noticed you ate your fill today. What about that fast?”
“What do you mean?” I take the pans from her.
“Oh, please, you've been eating rice and beans and nothing else. I'm a cook. I notice these things.”
“Special dispensation for a wedding?”
“Sounds good to me.”
I follow her into the kitchen where I set the pans on the worktable.
She points to the first pan. “Okay, this one's got potatoes and green beans. That one chicken and salad. You all should be able to eat for a while on this. Want me to throw some in the freezer?”
“You should. With the Easter feast, some of that will go bad if you don't.”
“Okay, good.” She reaches into the tote bag and slips out a roll of aluminum foil. She shakes the box. “Like you guys would have any of this stuff in the most ill-equipped kitchen the world has ever seen.”
I have to laugh. She's right.
“You know, you need a mother superior around here.” She zips a sheet down the cutting blade of the box.
“Tell me about it.”
“Who's the guy on the couch?” She spreads the foil on the table, grabs a few pieces of chicken, then lays them on the sheet.
“My dad.”
She seals the foil. “Oh, wow.”
“I don't know if I can do this, Val.”
“What did he do that was so bad?”
“How much time do you have?”
“I'll stay until Vigils if that's what you need.”
“You don't know what you're in for.”
“Maybe not. I'm okay with that.”
“Okay. Let me help you while we talk.” I grab the roll of foil. “You probably won't believe it when I tell you.”
“I don't know, Augustine. Life can be pretty strange.”
I start right in. “My mother died when I was twelve.”
“But, Monica . . .”
“Just wait, Val, it'll all make sense in the end.”
Will it really?
I have no idea.
We're only promised today.
I time line my life from the age of twelve until college. Pass over the midpoint saying I became disenchanted with my job (to say the least) and picked up in my quest to find Monica.
It's midnight when I finish. We've drunk two pots of tea.
“You know, you just can't tell what people are carrying around inside of them. I just . . .” Val looks down at her cup. “I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time at first.”
“Val, no offense, but that's nothing compared to what I'm used to down here.”
She laughs and her eyes light up in the gloom of the kitchen. They never looked like that, even when she was Daisy.
“Seems to me, Augustine, you're talking about forgiving him and all like it's impossible. And it is, with what you know right now. Have you ever considered you should hear the man out? It might make everything clearer and easier to navigate.”
Oh. “There would be that.”
“Why don't you go to bed? I'll just pray the Vigils in here and get to bed myself. It was a long day. But a good day.” She heads into the main room and returns a few seconds later with the prayer book in hand.
“When do you all go back out on the road?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Late April.”
“You excited?”
She picks up the prayer book. “Normally I'm ready to go by now. But I don't know, Augustine. Without Lella, I just can't imagine it anymore.”
“You were a real pair.”
“Yeah, that's it. I had Lella to take care of and that was that. That felt like my real job.”
“Maybe God's calling you to something else.”
“I can't imagine what it could be.”
Really, Valentine? If you can't see it, you're blind.
I don't deserve to have her here, though. God knows I don't.
But Easter's coming soon, and Val might be happy to get back on the road, as far away from me as possible. And there isn't a person in the world, including myself, who'd blame her.
I stand to my feet.
“You know, Gus. It just feels like I've known you a lot longer than a few months.”
“Yeah.” I smile. Maybe she'll figure me out and I won't have to confess. Maybe she'll realize the truth, tear me apart, and it'll be over and done with. Lord, have mercy.
I transfer Dad to my bed, helping him shuffle along the floor. He says, “Thank you, Son.”
Val's sitting on the couch getting ready to pray.
“Val, I want to serve you. What can I do to serve you?”
“Stop asking uncomfortable questions like that and stop being so weird.”
Now that's a tall order.
Dad's just waking up when I walk into the bunkroom.
“I brought you some coffee from Java Jane's.”
“I'm grateful.”
He accepts the cup.
“Are you hungry?”
“Just a bit. It all takes away your appetite.”
“The treatment?”
“Son, I'm refusing treatment.”
“What?”
“They could stem the tide for an extra two or three months, but it's going to get me. Why go through all that when I'll die better and sooner without it?”
“You're done with life?”
“Completely. I've made a mess of it. Best to just call it a day.”
“Why did you come?”
“Forgiveness.”
I sit next to him on the bed. “Dad, there's a big difference between wanting forgiveness for yourself and wanting me to forgive you. As a parent, surely you understand the difference.”
“Please forgive me, Son.”
Dear God, please don't let him start to cry because I can't take theatrics. Not from this man. It would be way off course for him.
“Well, you've asked now. So you've done what you need to do. You're free and clear.”
“It's more than that. I'm done with simply covering the bases. Being technically spotless. I had years of that.”
“Really? What about the riverboat gambling?”
“Nothing happened there. I wasn't privy to the inside knowledge.”
“But that night at the house? When I voiced my suspicions.”
“I looked into your eyes and I saw myself in them.” He sets the cup on my nightstand. “So I set you free to figure it out without me, without the pressure I constantly put on you. You were in such bad shape that night. You needed to be set free. I did what I thought was best. Maybe for the first time.” He waves a hand. “I sound like I'm trying to get credit for it, Son. I'm not. I don't deserve that. I was only doing what I should have done all along.”
“Why did you stay away from me then?”
“Because I didn't want to drag you down any farther. I figured Monica would do a better job with you.”
“She did.”
“That's what I gathered.” He grabs my leg and shakes it. “Drew, I'm sorry for all I did to you. I was blinded by my own ambitions and being so important to people, and so much of what we were doing was with the best of intentions.”
“Really? Even for you?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe not. Even those good intentions get tarnished by ambition and fear of losing influence. Power makes good men turn into . . . something else.”
“Are your hands clean, Dad? Really?”
He reads my mind. “I didn't murder anybody. Does misleading people, lying, manipulating, sullying, taking advantage of others count?”
Whoa.
“I'll make us some breakfast. Is toast all right?”
“It's all I could stomach anyway.”
“Is your suitcase in the car?”
“Yes.”
“I'll get it.”
“No. I can get a hotel.”
“If you can handle it here, Dad, you can stay.”
“All right. Thank you.”
I stand by his car, a black sedan, and long to beat myself over the head. What did I just do? Am I insane?
After breakfast I give Dad the newspaper. He says, “No, thank you, Drew. I think I'll take a nap. Breakfast tired me out.”
Once I'm sure he's asleep, I call Father Brian.
“Okay, Brian, I'm in serious trouble and I don't care when the NASCAR race is on.”
“You sound like it.”
“I don't know what to do.”
“What's troubling you, Gus?”
“My father showed up.”
“Oh. No wonder you're in such a state.”
“How do I forgive him? He wants to make amends.”
“Do you have a choice?”
“I don't feel it in my heart. I want to be obedient and more than anything, I want to be like Christ who forgives and taught us seventy times seven. But it's just not in there.”
Father Brian clears his throat. “If we waited to forgive people until we feel like it, most sins would go unforgiven. Just forgive him, tell God you forgive your father, and let your emotions catch up later.”
“But is it real?”
“Do you
want
to want to forgive him?”
“Yes.”
“Then there you go.”
