Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
The hush of the waves rolling in is such a contrast to the din of workers and their tools.
I think about the real answer to his question. The one I didn’t write down because I kept sobbing and having to put the pen to one side. That if I could do anything in the world right now, it would be to find Baby, my cat, and bring her home from wherever that asshole Hoover took her.
Somehow I don’t think Father Martin can grant that wish.
“I love pedicures,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even, forcing myself to stop thinking about where Baby might be right now. “My favorite way to relax. Plus I’m not a big fan of my toes and I want to dip them in the water. Nice pink toenails instead of these.” I point down at my feet, still tucked away inside my now sandy socks. I’m too embarrassed to get them out, I sort of hate my feet but with my nails painted, I can let them out for a peek of sunshine and some fresh air.
He frowns, deep in thought as he stares at me like I’m the sun itself.
“So I get to read one of your answers now, right?”
“What?” He draws a quick breath. “Yes. Go ahead.”
I open the small journal and see his tight handwriting, letters all the same size, almost like they’ve been typed. It reminds me of something my dad used to say. If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.
Father Martin would have liked my dad, I think. They would have found a lot in common.
“You became a priest because of your Mom and grandmother?” I ask as I read his response. “Really?”
“They were a big influence,” he says, without the softness I’d expect, then clears his throat like he’s done with that subject. “Now—”
“And you do get lonely,” I read.
“That’s the second question. We were going to take turns.”
“Well, I used the word ‘and’ so technically it’s all one question.” I purse my lips, waiting for him to deny me, but when he doesn’t, I press on. “So, all those lonely nights… You ever dream of having someone to share those moments with? Ever wish you had someone to—”
“Objection, your honor. Leading the witness.”
I giggle. “Fine. Your turn.”
He stands, coming over to me, and the world gets smaller. With each step he takes, everything else dims and contracts and becomes less important. When he’s standing right in front of me, turning the page in my journal, it’s like we’re the whole universe, revolving around each other in the blackness of space.
“That’s a horrible way to find out something so important,” he says, staring into my eyes.
His face is filled with compassion as I remember the question. A childhood memory you’ve never shared with anyone before. Something you felt was a formative moment in the life you’re living now.
I know it’s a standard question. I’m not fooled into thinking I’m something special, that this isn’t an exercise he uses with all the girls that come here. But still…I wish it was.
I blink away the burn that starts in my lower lids. “He was my dad and I loved him,” I say, and Father Martin puts his arms around me. Not like a priest, but like a father would. Warm and comforting. “She couldn’t have made it easier to hear, but I needed my mom right then more than ever, and she gave me nothing.”
“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing my back and making a hushing noise not unlike the sound of the waves. “I get it. Why was this a memory you’ve never shared? Feels like finding out how your dad was dying is important. You kept it locked up.”
I shrug. “Who would I tell? My mom was there and she didn’t care. I never had a lot of friends, I was smart—” He shoots me a look that makes me pause, then course correct. “I am smart…but in school, I was the chubby girl with the overly competitive streak. I was like that kid in that old TV show…” I squint, thinking. “You know the one, it’s an old, old show about that teacher that comes back to like New York in some poor neighborhood? Welcome something…”
“Welcome back Kotter?”
I clap. “Yeah, that’s it, that guy in the class who was always obnoxiously raising his hand to answer every question.”
“Jesus, Horseshack.” Father Martin let’s out a real laugh that rumbles down into my toes. “No way were you like Horseshack.”
I reply with a vigorous nod. “I was. So, chubby, check, obnoxiously trying to be the smartest kid in every class, check, and…I just didn’t know how to speak ‘kid’. I never dug up worms or played tag on the playground. I wore weird clothes because everything felt itchy or odd so my Dad finally got my mom to just let me dress myself. Anyway…so once you are that kid in school, you’re branded until you graduate. So, no, I didn’t have friends to confide in. I don’t have any other family, well until old prune juice Hoover. And I sure wasn’t telling him. So, you can believe me or not, but that’s the truth.”