Time Off for Good Behavior (26 page)

***

“
I haven
’
t smoked since Elizabeth got pregnant with Alex,
”
Jack said, blowing a smoke ring into the chilled air. He took a sip of his Scotch and sat back in the porch chair.

“
Ah,
”
I said,
“
count yourself among the many who have fallen under the bad influ
ence of Wanda Lane.
”

I stubbed my cigarette out in the cracked saucer we were using for an ashtray, exhaling my last bit of smoke into the night.
“
What are you doing here, Jack?
”

“
I told you,
”
he said.
“
I was checking on the house.
”

“
No,
”
I said.
“
That was
an hour ago. Why are you sitting here, on Thanksgiving, smoking cigarettes with a stranger? Why aren
’
t you with your biddy?
”

He looked away from his smoke rings.
“
Biddy?
”

I gave him cynical eyes.
“
You expect me to believe that a guy who couldn
’
t keep it i
n his pants while he was married is biddyless now that he
’
s single? That
’
s a hard line to sell, Jack.
”

He shook his head.
“
You never let up, do you?
”

“
On a typical day, no.
”

“
Fine. Fair
’
s fair. The kids told me you were invited to go to Cheryl
’
s. What are
you
doing here drinking and smoking alone on Thanksgiving?
”

I pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack.
“
I
’
m not alone. You
’
re here.
”

“
You know what I mean.
”

I shrugged.
“
I
’
m not into holidays.
”

He nodded, took another drink. There was a long pau
se, then,
“
There
’
s no hope for me, is there?
”

I sighed, knowing exactly what he was talking about.
“
Personally, I think your last chance ran out the door stuck to the naked ass of Ms. Hastings Flowers. But my opinion doesn
’
t matter because I
’
m not the one
who decides what Elizabeth wants.
”

“
Yeah,
”
he said, leaning back.
“
I know.
”

“
And it occurs to me,
”
I said, because I just couldn
’
t resist poking at a sore spot,
“
that if you really want Elizabeth back, you could start by dropping the lawsuit against her.
”

He rubbed his hands over his face.
“
Yeah. I know. It
’
s just... She wouldn
’
t talk to me...
”

“
So... you thought you
’
d win her favor by suing her and forcing her to see you in court?
”
I snorted out a laugh.
“
I hate to be the one to break it to you, man, but y
ou definitely are stupider than you look.
”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared out into the night.
“
You may not believe this, but I
’
m not a bad guy. I
’
m a stupid guy. I love Elizabeth. I love my kids.
”
He paused.
“
I didn
’
t even like Ms. Hast
ings Flowers.
”

There was a long silence. I thought he was done. I was wrong.

“
I guess I was so scared of losing everything that I just threw it all away on purpose. Like I said, stupid.
”

I looked over at him. His face was tight, his eyes radiating misery.
As much as I didn
’
t want to admit it, Jack Mackey and I were two peas in a pod.

“
For what it
’
s worth, Jack,
”
I said,
“
I don
’
t think it
’
s hopeless. I
’
m not saying you don
’
t have a lot to make up for, but I don
’
t think it
’
s hopeless.
”

He raised his eyes to m
e, looked over his shoulder and then back at me with a sly smile.
“
I
’
m sorry, Wanda, is that you? Are you being nice to me? Did the laws of nature just reverse or what?
”

I raised my glass.
“
For both of our sakes, let
’
s hope so.
”

We toasted, and each of us
drank, then sat together in silence, two people bonded by stupidity.

Chapter Eight

“
Forgive me, Father, but I
’
m still screwed up.
”
I leaned back in the confessional and rested my head against the wall, looking up all the way to the cathedral ceiling. It
hadn
’
t occurred to me that there wouldn
’
t be a top on the confessional box. Maybe that was so the confession could drift right on up to God. Maybe it was so the confessional wouldn
’
t be too dark. Maybe it was so the parish could afford those rocking stai
n
ed-glass windows.

“
Do I know you?
”

I picked my head up and looked at the grate.
“
You might not remember me. I
’
m Wanda, the woman who
’
s not Catholic? Came in here talking about how my horrible ex-husband drove my family away? You were really mean to me and
made me cry? Told me to do something meaningful?
”

“
Oh.
”
I could practically hear him smiling.
“
Yes. Any chance you
’
re actually going to join the church someday and make this clandestine relationship of ours official?
”

Clandestine.
Vocab points for Father Hard-Ass.
“
Do you think that would help me?
”

“
Why would I think that?
”

I smiled.
“
It
’
s kinda dead out there today, Father. I didn
’
t see a single other sinner when I came in. I thought y
’
all might be closed.
”

“
It
’
s the day after Tha
nksgiving. They
’
re all at the mall.
”

“
Ah.
”
I paused.

The father coughed. A beat. Then
—
“
Wanda? You still there?
”

“
Yeah. I
’
m just thinking.
”

“
Well, it
’
s your dime, but since you
’
re here, you might as well think out loud.
”

Okay.
“
Have you always known what y
ou wanted, Father?
”

That seemed to take him by surprise. He paused, then came back with,
“
I
’
m not sure I know what you mean.
”

“
Well, being a priest is a pretty big commitment.
”

“
You could say that.
”

“
Did you always know? That it was what you wanted out of
life?
”

Another pause.
“
Are we talking about me?
”

“
No.
”
I sighed and leaned my head back, staring up at the cathedral ceiling and performing a conversational free fall.
“
I just... I
’
m going through this thing right now. There
’
s this guy, this wonderful man
who cares about me for God knows what reason... and then there are a bunch of sticky notes I have to go through... and I keep hearing this music that no one else can hear... It
’
s a long story. I guess what it all comes down to is that I
’
m trying to figur
e
out what I want out of life, and I
’
m not getting anywhere. I
’
ll be honest with you, I
’
m a little frustrated.
”

“
Well, if it
’
s any comfort, that
’
s not an easy question for anybody to answer.
”

“
Yeah, I know,
”
I said.
“
Blah, blah, blah.
”

I heard him huff thro
ugh the grate.
“
You know, there
’
s a rabbi down the street who has office hours on Fridays.
”

“
You trying to get rid of me?
”

“
No, not at all.
”

“
Good, because I have another question for you.
”

“
That
’
s what I
’
m here for.
”

“
This whole
‘
Do something meaningful
’
thing. What did you mean by that?
”

“
I think it
’
s pretty self-explanatory.
”

“
I
’
m not that clever, Father.
”

He chuckled. It echoed off the small space and lifted upward. I was beginning to like the confessional.
“
I doubt that.
”

“
It
’
s just that I don
’
t
—
thank you
—
I don
’
t know what to do. My friend and her ex-husband are still in love with each other. There
’
s a lot of bad water under the bridge, but they
’
ve got these great kids, and I think, you know, if I can help them get back together, then that would
b
e meaningful, right?
”

Silence.

“
Right?
”
I asked again. Father Hard-Ass was being a little slow on the uptake.

“
Well,
”
he said,
“
getting involved in other people
’
s relationships can be big trouble. Especially if they don
’
t want you involved.
”

I sighed.
“
Yea
h, that
’
s what I thought, too, but I
’
m really desperate to do something meaningful.
”

Pause.
“
Then it seems like you have a choice to make.
”

Well, duh.
“
Yes. That
’
s why I
’
m here.
”