Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
"Your... part?"
"Yes, see... I plan on being the checkbook, honey," he explained calmly. "Father Sanders would like for me to be a pallbearer and to say something at the services. I apparently owe it to his memory to say some nice words."
"And the problem is?"
"Darlin' I don't have any nice words to say."
I let out a long breath, nodding my head. There was honesty there; he truly felt like he had nothing to say about his own father's existence. "Don't you think, Johnnie, that maybe it's time to... forgive him?"
His arm raised, rubbing across the back of his neck, a muscle ticking in his jaw in a seemingly uncharacteristic sign of anger. When his face rose to mine again, there was none of his humor, of his light-heartedness.
"Tell you what..." he started, his voice so low that I felt like I was straining to hear him. "When you spend your childhood choking on your own blood after having your baby teeth knocked down your throat, then you can tell me about how I need to forgive that son of a bitch, angelface."
His words landed like a kick to the stomach, pushing out all my air violently. There had been nothing but raw emotion in his words and, with a quick glance at Father Sanders who looked away uncomfortably, I knew they were the truth. Ben Allen had knocked out his son's teeth. I felt like the floor was giving away beneath my feet, like it was crumbling to dust.
"Hey," Johnnie's voice called, sounding concerned, but from far away. All I could hear was my swirling thoughts, the pounding of my heart, the whooshing of blood through my ears. "Amelia, hey," he said, sounding closer and my head jerked up to find him right in front of me. His hand moved out to grab my elbow, holding it hard, like he was trying to keep me from falling over. "Fuck. You alright, sweetheart?"
"Hardly cause for that kind of language," I heard Father Sanders say, but Johnnie ignored him so I did too.
"Come on, sit down," he said and he was pulling me down toward the pews and pushing me into the front row. He knelt down in front of me, his face set in worry lines. "You alright? I mean... I know my charm can make women feel positively light-headed, but this is all a bit much, don't you think?" he quipped, trying to ease the tension his words left in the air and in every molecule in my body.
"I think..." Father Sanders tried to break in again.
"That you should be going to get her a glass of water?" Johnnie supplied, his tone clipped. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."
Father Sanders huffed but shuffled away.
"This is fitting," he said cryptically when we were alone.
"What?" I asked, taking a deep breath to try to ease the swirling inside my head.
"You being here."
"Why?"
"Because if there's one place an angel should be, it's at a church."
"That was... cheesy," I felt myself saying, my lips curving up.
"Yeah, but it finally got me a smile out of you, didn't it?" he asked, his eyes bright with his little victory. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here," I shrugged.
"You work at a church?" he asked, not understanding.
"Yes and no. I work at an outreach program that meets here."
"What kind of outreach program?"
"Alcoholics and narcotics anonymous."
He didn't jerk back in surprise and understanding like I had expected. He nodded slightly and had a ghost of a smile on his lips when he said, "There ain't nothing anonymous in a town this small."
"No and that is what makes recovery in small towns even harder. Everyone is watching you, placing bets on whether you fall off the wagon or not."
"You had a soft spot for my Pops," he half-asked, half-declared.
"Yes," I admitted, but the word felt poisonous on my tongue.
"I'm sorry I sprung that on you, honey," he said, squeezing my knees from his crouched position in front of me. "I didn't think it would be so surprising. It's no secret around here that my dad was a mean drunk."
"I knew him drunk," I found myself saying, needing to share. "He fixed my bathroom thingy when it broke. He could barely stand on two feet, but he came charging to the rescue."
He gave me a tight, empty smile. "Even drunk, he would never raise a hand to a face like this," he said, his hand cupping my cheek. A fluttering spread across my belly at his words and I tried my best to ignore it. "I wasn't trying to ruin your ideas about him, baby. I think you and me knew two different men who lived in the same skin, yeah?"
"He really broke your baby teeth?" I asked, feeling the water well up in my eyes and trying to blink it furiously away.
"It was a long time ago, angel. No need for this," he said, swiping the stray tear off my cheek.
"Here," Father Sanders' voice said gruffly, shoving a plastic cup of water into my hands and ending the moment between me and Johnnie. Which I was grateful for, or, at least, I was trying to convince myself I was grateful for.
"Thanks, Father," I said, bringing the cup up to my lips to take a sip. I wasn't thirsty and the water smelled heavily of bleach, but I needed something else to focus on other than the softness in Johnnie's eyes as he wiped away my tear.
"Johnnie, care to finish this conversation in my office?" Father Sanders asked, jerking his head at me.
"That's not necessary," he said, giving me one last long look before standing up and facing the priest. "If you're short on men, I'll be a pallbearer and I will..."
"You just said you weren't staying for the services," Father Sanders interrupted.
"Seems like I changed my mind," Johnnie said shrugging.
"So you'll say a few words?"
"No, but I think Miss. Alvarado here deserves that honor."
"What? No. That wouldn't be approp..." I started to object.
"Shush," he said, shaking his head. "Tell that shower story. People will eat that up."