“I saw the light when I walked by, and I saw somebody was here,” she said. “I hope I’m not bothering you, Father.”
“No, you are not bothering us at all. But I’m not a Father or anything like that. Willow and I are... well... sorta like church mice. And they call them ‘pastors’ here. This is a Methodist church.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. My parents brought me here when I was little—just a couple times. It was before they split up. I haven’t been in a church since.”
“Come this way,” I said.
She followed me silently down the hallway to the sanctuary, and I opened the door for her. “I’ll leave you alone,” I offered.
“Thank you so much,” she said, stepping in. I let the door close.
Willow was at my feet giving me a quizzical look, trying to figure out what was next. “Let’s go raid the fridge,” I said to my furry friend.
As we entered the kitchen, I realized I’d forgotten to turn off the lights in there, and that was the light the girl had seen.
The four large refrigerators in the kitchen were frequently well stocked with treats for church functions, or at the very least contained milk, orange juice, cheese, peanut butter, jelly, and often some lunch meat that the staff or the preschool folks had left behind. Tonight I opened one of the refrigerator doors and knew I had hit the jackpot. Deviled-ham finger sandwiches were arranged on a platter covered with plastic wrap, and another tray held an array of chocolate cupcakes, probably awaiting a ladies’ church meeting. I had often been encouraged to help myself, and I knew that if I just took a couple of the dainty sandwiches and rearranged the rest, they would not be missed at all. Along with a cupcake and a glass of milk, it made the perfect snack. I filled a small saucer with milk for Willow and placed it on the floor while I cleaned up the few dishes.
I thought it must be time to go check on the girl, so I turned off the kitchen lights and walked back to the sanctuary and opened the door. She was kneeling at the altar rail with her head buried in her hands, weeping. I started to close the door again, but Willow had scooted inside. So I stepped in after her and let the door close behind us, then leaned back against it, wondering what to do next.
Willow knew exactly what to do. She trotted quickly up the center aisle toward the girl. I had to follow. When she got to the front of the church, she jumped up on the girl, interrupting her crying. “Well, hello, Willow,” she said in a broken and weary voice.
I stepped forward and knelt down beside her, putting my arm gently around her shoulders. “I’m sorry you are so sad,” I offered. She buried her face in my shoulder and began weeping again.
I just let her cry, for what seemed like a very long time. No words; just crying.
Eventually the sobs subsided and she became quiet. I remembered the napkins in my pocket from the kitchen raid and pulled them out. When she looked up at me, the tears were still running down her cheeks, and I gently wiped them away. “Why are you so sad?” I asked.
She turned her face away from me then, as she struggled to find the words. “My dad kicked me out of the house tonight,” she said. “He hates me. He ordered me to stay away from all my friends. He ordered me to stop seeing my boyfriend. He called all my girlfriends sluts and my boyfriend a pot-smoking bum.” She struggled to hold back the tears. “He threw my clothes out in the yard and yelled at me to get the hell out and never come back.”
I took one of her hands and just squeezed it tight.
“He was drunk again. Ever since my mom left and moved to California, he’s gotten mean.”
I was silent for a moment, trying to think of a solution. “Maybe you could go back home now? Maybe he has—well, settled down.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “He’s raging drunk by now. I walked around for a couple of hours. I tried to find my boyfriend, but couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do. Then I walked past here and saw the lights on.”
“I’m glad you rang the bell,” I said.
“I have no place to go,” she said, beginning to cry again. “I don’t know what to do.” She put her face against my shoulder as a fresh wave of sobs shook her body. Again, I just held her and let her cry. Again, I tried to think of what I could do to help her.
When she eventually became quiet, I said, “Well, it’s already about midnight. And I don’t think there is much we can do until morning. But I do think maybe this place has enough room for one more church mouse.”
She pulled her head back off my shoulder. “You mean I could stay here?” she asked.
“You will even have your own room,” I said. “The youth room downstairs has a big couch and some blankets and an afghan to keep you warm. Then you’ll have to get up in the morning and talk to the pastor here. He comes in about eight thirty. I know he will help you.”
“I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” she said. “I don’t want to be a burden to anybody. It seems like I’ve always been a burden to my dad.”
“You’re no trouble,” I said, giving her another quick hug and then helping her to her feet. “You are not a burden,” I assured her. I asked her if she was hungry, and she admitted that she was.
“Well, come with me,” I said. “I know where there are some delicious sandwiches and some cupcakes and milk!”
I escorted her to the kitchen, found her a towel and directed her to the sink, then pilfered four more sandwiches and two cupcakes and poured her a big glass of milk. I knew that I would be forgiven for my thievery. I set everything on the long kitchen table and pulled up a stool for her across the table from mine. “My name is Richard,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t told her that before.
“I’m Michelle,” she said, accepting the place at the table. She took a bite of her sandwich and then looked at me more closely. “You know, I have seen you before. You came through the drive-thru at McDonald’s one day and got a hamburger for your dog. I work there, at the one just up the street.”
“Probably us,” I said. “Willow loves McDonald’s hamburgers.”
“I’m trying to save up to get a car,” she continued between bites. “Then I can get away from my father and leave this town. I’m eighteen.” She took a drink of her milk. “Do you have any children?”
“No,” I lied, looking away from her. I didn’t want to think or talk about my children at the moment.
“That’s too bad,” the girl said. “You would be a good father. Not like my dad.”
“Well, Michelle, I think fathers always love their children,” I said. “Sometimes things go wrong—times can be tough—but deep down inside, love is there. He’s probably out looking for you right now.”
“Not my dad,” she said, very firmly. “There is no love in him. He’s just mad and drunk.”
“Well, let’s get some sleep. Things may be better in the morning,” I replied. “You look tired.”
“I am,” she agreed. “And I’ve got to go to work early in the morning. I can’t miss any more time or they’ll fire me. I have to be there at six.”
“Okay,” I said, “but do try to come by and see the pastor after you get off. Maybe he can help you.”
“Okay. I will,” she said, finishing off her milk.
I could see that she was feeling better, as well as getting sleepy. “Follow me, and I’ll show you your quarters for the night.” I stood up and opened the kitchen door.
We walked downstairs. I turned on the light to the youth room and showed her the couch. She stretched out on it immediately. “I’m so tired,” she said.
I took one of the blankets and gently placed it over her, and then placed the afghan over that. “That should keep you warm,” I said. “And don’t be afraid if you hear noises; it’s just the furnace grumbling and the water running through the old pipes. I’ll leave this light on for you,” I added, flipping the wall switch for the lighted stained-glass display on the wall. Then I turned off the other lights.
“That’s beautiful,” she said.
“It is, isn’t it?” I replied. �
�Well, I’ll be upstairs sleeping in the sanctuary. Good night.”
“Richard?” she called out as I began to close the door. “Would you pray for me?”
“Sure,” I said, and closed the door gently.
As I climbed back up the stairs, I wondered if I had done the right thing. Would I face trouble in the morning and be kicked out of the church? I had no permission to do what I had done.
Well, I didn’t care. I had done the only thing I could do, and it felt right.
I got my sleeping bag out from behind the pew, unrolled it on the scarlet carpet, and climbed in. Willow was right behind me.
The old church that had been filled earlier that evening with so many happy people—singing, partying, and sharing their stories—was now quiet.
I crossed my arms behind my head and replayed the sounds of the songs that the choir had been practicing. “Oh, holy night...” I started to sing. But I couldn’t remember the words, so I lapsed into humming. Then I began softly singing a song that I did remember. “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright... Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.”
Willow had fallen asleep. I rolled over, closed my eyes, and smiled to myself. I had learned that song when I was six years old.
Though I was tired, the building was not. It seemed to be creaking even more than usual. But it wasn’t long before I accepted its sounds as natural—the furnace must be running a little more because it was cold outside. I was glad to be inside. I was happy Michelle was inside as well, rather than walking in the cold streets all alone. Then I remembered what she had asked me to do. “What good is it going to do for me—who does not believe—to pray for her?” I wondered. But I had said I would. So I closed my eyes and said a few words into the silence. Dear God, please watch over Michelle and keep her safe. Thank you for having a place where she could come and have shelter for this night.
“There. I did it. I said a prayer just as Michelle asked. Short, but not a bad prayer for a nonbeliever,” I thought.
Then, lying there in the dim light, I began thinking of my own daughter. Her name was Michelle, too. I guess I really had two visitors this night—the girl downstairs and the daughter here in memory. How strange that they had the same name. I felt guilty for my deceit to the one downstairs, saying that I didn’t have any children. I felt even worse knowing that I was denying the existence of my children.
My Michelle was about twenty-eight now, I thought. I wasn’t exactly sure.
She had tried to help me when I had first lost everything. She let me sleep on her couch a few times and gave me what she could from her savings. Five dollars here, ten there. She even gave me two hundred dollars that she had received as a gift. But she had a small house, and her husband didn’t want me sleeping there.
I remembered the last time I pulled into her driveway. She was feeding her two horses, and she looked up at the sound of my car. I could see a look in her eyes I had never seen there before. I knew in an instant that I had become a burden, an unwelcome guest. I was no longer wanted. I was a nuisance. It was three weeks before Christmas, and I had come to ask if I could sleep on her couch and borrow a few dollars—again. But I could tell from her body language that she would not help this time.
“Dad,” she said. “If you have come here to ask for help again, I can’t.” Her voice was cracking. “I just don’t have any money.”
“I understand,” I said. “I know this is hard for you. It’s just that—well, I don’t have any place to go.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t have you here.”
I walked over to her and hugged her tight. “I know,” I said. “It’s okay. I’ll find somewhere else. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Michelle said quietly, hugging me in return.
I walked back to the van. She looked at the ground. I got in and pulled away.
As I drove down the road, I felt a profound emptiness. I knew that I couldn’t expect my daughter to understand my depression. I didn’t understand it myself. If it was something that could be seen, like cancer, it might have been different for her. It must be hard for her to see me, her dad, like this. I had always been so strong, so confident, so full of life. Now her dad was a bum, looking for a handout and a couch to sleep on.
I promised myself that I would always love my daughter. But I knew I could not go back there. I never wanted to see that look in her eyes again. Not ever.
“Well, that is enough of that,” I thought to myself, rolling over in my sleeping bag. I needed to get some sleep. I closed my eyes, began to make peace with my mind, and hoped for a silent night. I soon drifted off.
It was deep into the night when I heard a sound and felt a draft. I opened my eyes and saw a shadow move quickly across the wall.
It must be Michelle, I thought. She probably got scared downstairs. “Michelle?” I called out. There was no answer. It was quiet in the sanctuary. I closed my eyes again.
“Hello, sir,” I heard a voice say. I opened my eyes quickly. But no one was there. I closed them again, thinking I must have been dreaming.
“Richard,” the voice called out again. This time I kept my eyes shut tight. It had to be just a dream. Willow began to stir inside the sleeping bag, and she crawled to the opening. She climbed out and sat right by my side, but she didn’t bark. I kept my eyes closed.
“We saw what you did for the girl,” the voice said. “That was good of you.”
“Will I get in trouble?” I asked.
“Oh, no; not at all. We will wake her up and get her off to her job in the morning,” the voice replied. It was a powerful voice. It was the voice of a big, strong man.
“Who are ‘we’?” I asked, eyes still tightly shut.
“I’m Horace,” the voice replied. “I used to be the pastor here—oh, sixty or seventy years ago. I used to give ’em hell. I used to scare them to heaven!”
“You are scaring me now,” I said.
“Nothing to be frightened of. I’m just here in spirit. We have been watching you.”
“You said, ‘we.’ Are there others here?”
“Oh, yes. There are lots of us. We visit here. Long ago, after spending our days pounding metal at the navy base, selling real estate, working in the hospitals and restaurants, we did our best work here! We built the church, fed the poor, comforted the sick, and visited the lonely. It was here we were at our very best.”
“Have you come to take me? I have prayed for that.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” the voice said. “You have much to do!”
“What am I to do?” I asked.
“It will come to you, and you will have much help,” the voice replied. “In the meantime, somebody is here to talk to you.”
There was a moment of utter silence, and then I felt the warmest feeling I had felt in many years. It was the warmth of my mother. “Richard?” her voice filled me.
“Mother?” I was stunned.
“Yes, son,” the new voice said. “I want you to know I have been with you all the time during your journey. I was there when you were looking at the photos with Marcia in the hospital, there when you were helping Andy, and there at Lilly’s. I am so proud of you.”
“Mother, take me with you.”
“No, you have things to do first. But I want you to know that I found your sister who was lost, and I am with your other sister and your brother and your father. We have been and will always be with you. I love you. And you, Willow the Wonder Dog, I want to thank you for taking such good care of my child. I love you, too.”
Then the voices stopped. I listened intently in the silence, but I knew they were gone. I didn’t need to open my eyes to be certain of that.
After a moment, Willow sighed, yawned, and wriggled back into the sleeping bag and settled into sleep.
I didn’t understand what had just happened, and I doubted I would ever be able to ask anyone to help me figure it out. Were the voices real or imagined? Was I awake or dreaming? Somehow I wasn’t wor
ried about that. I had come to trust that not all things need to be understood or explained.
It didn’t really seem to matter where or how truth came, or how we found the strength to continue sometimes.
At this moment, I wasn’t even concerned about what I had to do.
The voices were gone. But the warmth I felt remained and covered me gently.
Chapter 33
SO MUCH TO WRITE
I awoke in the morning with Willow standing on my chest, licking my face. The sun was shining through a stained-glass window. My little dog was doing her utmost to wipe the sleep from my eyes and clean away the remnants of the tears from the night before. I reached out and patted her on the head. “Is it time to get moving?” I asked.
I stretched my arms above my head, and she jumped off my chest onto the carpet. Now that I was conscious, I was eager to tell C of my nocturnal visitors and see what he thought. I wondered if I had reached a new level of craziness.
I quickly rolled up my sleeping bag, stowed it under a pew, and slipped on my shoes. Then I headed out to find C and the Armadillo. It was just after seven when we pulled into the lot of Allen’s Mini-Mart. The Armadillo was gone.
My mind raced with speculations about the fate of my friend. Had the police finally caught up with him and put him in jail? Where were MyLynx and Calico? The only vestige of their existence was a pile of cat litter near the spot where the Armadillo had sat for so long.
I didn’t know what to do except to ask Allen if he knew anything. I expected him to shake his head and grunt like he always did. I picked Willow up and carried her into the store.
“Hello, Richard.” Allen greeted me, jumping off his stool. “This must be Willow the Wonder Dog. I have heard a lot about her.” He reached across the counter and patted her gently.
The warm greeting left me at a loss for words. Overcoming my shock, I asked the obvious. “Where did C go?”
Allen reached below the counter and held up a stained and wrinkled brown paper bag. “He left this for you.” Allen was smiling as he handed me the bag.
Breakfast at Sally's Page 37
