Ren’s shock has not turned into joy or anything else. “I... Do see... I just don’t...” He looks to Mother Agatha. “How?”
She smiles back. Not a trace of I-told-you-so when she says: “Natural remedies. The healing power of prayer.”
Ren can’t quite make sense of the words. Can’t quite believe his eyes.
“Ren!” Paula snatches him by the wrist. Yanks him out from behind the desk. Into the embrace. Smooshing Dawn between them. “How can you be so sour, when life’s oh-so sweet?”
“You know Dad...” Dawn squeaks. “Never met a party he couldn’t poop.”
“Dawn!” Paula is shocked. “You don’t say... Poop... Not in front of...” She points her chin toward the mother superior.
“It’s perfectly fine, Paula. I am aware of the existence of poop.”
Paula snickers at the very idea. “You see? Everything’s so amazing, Ren! You just have to love it all up, don’t you?”
“I’m still... A bit overwhelmed by the good news, I guess.” He hugs her back limply. Makes a pitiful attempt at a smile. “It’s... Really great to see you up and around, Polly.”
“I know! And you guys are awesome to be here! Wait... You didn’t come all this way just to see me, did you?”
“Of course we did!” Dawn faux-pouts. “We’ve been so worried about you.”
“Oh my God.” Paula pulls back from the group hug. Stricken. Suddenly on the verge of tears. “I didn’t even think, Dawnie... That must have been... Really scary. I’m so sorry to have put you through that.”
Surprised by the abrupt mood swing, Dawn’s a little frightened. “It’s all right, Paula. What matters is you’re okay.”
Paula probes Dawn’s face. Uncertain. Is she telling the whole truth and nothing but? Then, bursts out with: “I am okay!” Another flattening bear hug squeezes the air from Dawn’s lungs. “Yesterday? In the hospital? I told your dad: I’ve never been better. But I’m not in constant pain anymore, so now, I’m even better than never-been-better! And everything’s going just how it’s supposed to, too.”
Ren shares a quizzical look with his daughter. “How it’s supposed to?”
“Well, even just: You being here. I don’t know why I was surprised to see you. I shouldn’t’ve been at all. It was only what was always going to--”
“Paula?” Mother Agatha cuts in before Paula can start ranting again. “You were telling me you thought Dawn might like to see the place. Do you feel up to leading a tour?”
“Can I?”
“Of course you may. Only... Perhaps you might dial down the enthusiasm a titch? As we spoke of earlier? So as not to disturb your sisters.”
“Yes! I will! Absolutely.” If anything, Paula’s exuberance is reaching a new peak. “Holy crow! I’ve got so much to show you. You’re not even going to believe this place, I swear.” Clasping Dawn’s hand in hers, she pulls her to the door. With a deep sigh of concern, Ren follows.
“Oh, I must apologize, Ren. I’m afraid you won’t be able to join them.” Mother Agatha’s words stop everyone. Ren looks back. Awaits an explanation. “Beyond what you’ve already seen, St. Neot’s is strictly off-limits to men. Without exception.”
“Exclusively no dudes, dude!” Paula laughs from the open door.
“Many in our order have come to us - at least in part - seeking respite from the world of men. In their lives prior to this, they may have been abused or exploited by men. But here they’ve found solace. Peace. It would be unnecessarily traumatic and triggering for them to find this safe space invaded by one of the tribe which has cause them such pain.”
“I can certainly understand your position, Mother Agatha.” Ren clasps his hands together. “And I wouldn’t want to be the cause of undue distress, so I have no issue respecting the convent’s boundaries. Having said that? I’m not sure I feel comfortable letting Dawn--”
“Dad!” Dawn is mortified. Her father holds up a palm. Intended to hush her. It doesn’t. “You always do this. I’m seventeen. I think I can decide for myself where I--”
“I’m still responsible for you. So if I don’t feel good about--”
“Why can’t you just trust me?”
The question hangs in the air. Paula leans in with her two cents. “You can trust her, Ren. Dawn’s always been such a good girl.”
“It isn’t her. It’s...” Ren doesn’t want to discuss it. Just wants to be obeyed. “Please. Excuse us a moment.” He leads Dawn into the hallway. Out of earshot. “Do you not remember what I told you about this place? What Antoinette said about the Broken Girls?”
“Of course I do. And if she had proof, she’d’ve done something about it long ago. But she doesn’t. Which means her theory? It’s all just guesses and coincidence. The only thing she seems to know for sure is that when these women are at their lowest, the convent takes them in.” Dawn advances on her father. Lowers her voice. “And is your mind seriously not blown by what’s happened to Paula? They miracle-cured her of everything!”
Ren waves off that inconvenient truth. “We’re ninety-five percent sure they’ve been responsible for beating people inches from death, but it’s all okay because they sometimes make it better afterward? And based on that, you think I should just let you walk in there alone?”
“I won’t be alone. Paula will be there.”
“Paula...” Ren looks to the ceiling. “Dawn. You saw her. They may somehow have healed her physically, but psychologically? Paula’s of diminished capacity, to put it mildly.”
Dawn can’t argue against that. Returns instead to her main concern: “Again and again, I’ve earned your confidence. All my life. Adderpool scared you, I get that. But it was the exception. And I’m not Aunt Wanda. It’s not like I ended up in the hospital... I’ve never given you reason to worry about me and you don’t have one now. Giving in to your fear like this? I have to tell you, you’re risking this whole father-daughter thing we’ve got going.”
“All right.” Unhappy, Ren moves past her. Returns to the office door.
“All right?” Having won an argument with her father - for possibly the first time ever - Dawn would like a full accounting. Where exactly had she turned him around?
“I don’t trust them and I don’t trust the situation, but I do trust you.” He opens the office door. “You can go ahead, Polly.”
Paula explodes from the office. Slams into Ren with a final bear hug. “You’re so awesome, Ren!” She doesn’t hold it long before grabbing Dawn by the hand. Skipping away. Through another arch and down the hall with her.
Mother Agatha joins Ren as his daughter disappears around a corner. “If you’d like to wait here in my office, I’d be happy to--”
“I’ll be at the car.” Ren turns. Leaves. “But if Dawn’s not there inside an hour, I’ll be back. And I’ll no longer give a shit how many of your sisters are triggered by my presence. In fact, if it comes to that, I’m intending to create some all-new triggers, so consider yourself warned.”
Mother Agatha watches him go. Beatific smile never leaving her lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Maybe it’s time you tell me where we’re going?”
Sylvie’s truck rattles along a rural road. Staying to the center. Avoiding the crumbling tarmac shoulders. A crop of corn on one side. Potatoes on the other.
“Ya’re good fer now. Just keep a steady tiller.” Her father consults the computer tablet on his lap. On its cracked screen: A dot slowly crawls up a single straight line pinched between two green blocks. A map showing their progress.
Sylvie glances over. “And what’s that all about? You know the island down to the inch. Couldn’t get lost if you were blindfolded and spun in a circle.”
“How ‘bout you just drive. Leave me to worry ‘bout the--” Martin taps the tablet. Accidentally moves the map offscreen. “Oh, ya binicky bastard. What’d I do to ya now?” He presses the screen. Swipes. Squiggles. To no avail.
Sylvie smirks. “Where’d you get that thing, anyw
ay?”
“Borrowed it off a body I knows. Never ya mind now.” Windows open and close. Solitaire. Mahjong. No maps.
“Maybe that body should’ve come along. Shown you how to use it.”
“Eyes on the road, ducky. I’ll have this handled ‘reckly.” A few more random stabs inadvertently do the trick. The map returns. “There. Yer ol’ b’y’s not so dim, is he?” Ahead, a thinner line branches off from the one they’re traveling. A flashing arrow points the way. “Slide off t’ward Dunny’s farm up here.”
Sylvie slows. Leaves the larger road. Pulls onto dry red dirt. Through a wooded area. Away from farmland.
“Should see our Dawn with her little chomey.” The old man taps the edge of the tablet. Cautiously avoiding the screen. “Ticklin’ away at it like a classical piano-ist. Dawn, Ren’s girl.”
“Yeah, I know which Dawn, Dad.”
“Buildin’ a family tree with it. Y’know that? S’why the girl’s here: See wherefrom she hails. Meet alla us branches on her island side.”
“Uh-huh. She met me.”
“She met a mourning mother on the day her child was buried.”
“That’s not me?”
“Only a piece. One small part of the beautiful soul that is my own daughter.”
Sylvie blushes. “Shut up.”
“No, she needs us, Sylvie. Needs to know her people. Dunno much ‘bout her mainlander mum, but if she’s ever gonna discover her islander side, she’s surely not getting it from her Da.”
“Oh, like he even counts as an...” Sylvie stops herself. “It’s not my business and it’s not my place.”
“Whatever’s tween yer brother and yerself, it’s not right yer holdin’ it against yer niece. Hell, it’s past-time anyway fer the two o’ ya to get together and--”
“Goddamnit, Dad!” Sylvie wrenches the wheel to the right. Brakes to the side of the road in a cloud of dust. “You’re not trying to force us into some kind of reconciliation are you? Is that what this is? This Lesguettes-Only undertaking?”
“No! Not at all. I’d nare--”
“I’m not forgiving him. I’m not forgetting. Maybe you’ve decided it’s easier to let him get away with--”
“Sylvie, that’s not what this is about.”
“And if we get wherever we’re going, and it turns out my brother’s waiting there to--”
“REN BROKE THE CIRCLE!”
“He...” Sylvie sits back in the driver’s seat. Stunned. After a moment, she puts the truck in park. Faces her father. “How?”
“He told Dawn. Not like it was real. More like: Listen to this barmy piece-of-stuff yer batshit island family believes. But eether-eyether... He told her.”
Sylvie looks off through the windshield. “So, what will you--”
“Went to the Old Men. Asked to bring Dawn into the Circle.”
“They’d never go for that. Not with her coming from away.”
“Right. Left me no choice. I had to tell ‘em. I reported Ren.”
Sylvie blinks. Surprised. “Did they--”
“They voted. He gets the Bell.”
Sylvie blows out her breath. “So, this is... What are we doing out here?”
Martin looks down at the tablet. The map display. He holds it out to his daughter. “Could ya... Move it away? So we... See more? More of the map?”
“Zoom out, you mean?” She takes the tablet. With pinchy fingers she expands the map. The final destination indicated by a black square. Not far off, now. A few turns away. At the side of another mostly featureless rural road.
“When Ren first got back, the Old Men lo-jacked his car. To keep track of him.”
“Of course they did.”
“That’s his current whereabouts.”
“Ah.” Sylvie puts it together. “And we’re going to get him.” She passes back the tablet. “Then we’re handing him over after.”
Martin nods. “They gave me that at least.”
Truck in drive. Sylvie pulls out.
“And this is it, so far as I’m concerned.” He watches the tablet. The space narrowing as they close in on their target. “This is Ren’s punishment, Sylvie. He survives the Bell? He’s forgiven any and all trespasses.”
“That’s fine for you.”
“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout me.”
“Well, you’re nuts if you think you’re talking about me.”
Martin looks at his daughter. She feels it. Burning. When he speaks, it’s quiet. Measured. Absolute: “Yer brother does this, Sylvia Jane, and you don’t make yer peace with him? I’m not sure where that’ll leave you and me.”
He means it. And what’s more? He’s probably right. Still, Sylvie just can’t admit it: “How ‘bout let’s just see if he survives it, first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Sorry I can’t give you more than that, Deputy Hubert. So many people come through our doors every day. We’re selling shovels and whatnot all the time. I’ll put it to the team, but I just don’t see any one sale sticking out for anybody.”
“That’s all I can ask, Mr. Levin. You’ve been very helpful.” Netty shakes the manager’s hand. “Thanks for your time.”
The Home-It-Yourself superstore is the fourth hardware retailer she’s visited so far. Three more to go. With each, her mission seems more pointless. Foolhardy. Even if the mysterious hole-digger didn’t come equipped with what he needed to excavate the holes, it’s unreasonable to expect anyone to happen to remember that particular sale.
Mr. Levin escorts her to the exit. “I’ll also ask Richard if he remembers anything. That’s the overnight manager. Lot less busy on his shift. More likely they’d notice someone unusual.”
“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Levin.”
“Please. Emily Kanter is part of the Home-It-Yourself family. Anything I can do to help you catch the - excuse me - scumbag whose stupidity got her hurt? More than happy to do it.”
Shoosh. The automatic doors part. Down the sidewalk - at the mandated minimum distance from the entrance - a circle of employees in easily identifiable orange vests take a smoke break.
“Hold a sec, Deputy.” Mr. Levin turns to his staff. Shouts: “Chutney!”
They all look over. See their boss standing with a police officer. One bursts into a coughing fit. Releasing a cloud of smoke. Flicking a butt away. Almost certainly not the remains of a standard store-bought cigarette.
“Yeah?” Chutney shouts back. Reluctant to get any closer to an officer of the law in his current condition.
“Get over here, kid! Don’t make us wait all day.” The manager shrugs at Netty. Kids, today.
Chutney shuffles over. Twitchy. Red-faced. Heavy-lidded. Smelling distinctly... Herbal. “Whassup, Mr. Levin?” He studiously avoids eye-contact.
“You just came off nights, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s right.” Somehow, he sounds surprised by the news.
“Deputy Hubert here is looking into Emily’s case. With the holes? She was wondering if you might remember anybody buying digging equipment in the last little while.”
“Pssh!” He clenches his eyes shut. “I dunno... You talkin’ like, shovels and shit? I’m more of a people-person, y’know? I’m all about just... Seeing who’s in front of me. Don’t pay much mind to what they’re buyin’.”
“Right...” Clearly, Mr. Levin regrets calling Chutney over. “Okay, well--”
“Actually, Chutney, that could be helpful to us, too.” Netty steps in before the kid can walk back to his posse. “You’re into people. Anyone stand out lately?”
“Man, who doesn’t stand out? Overnight gets all the weirdos. You gotta think: A guy desperate for a nail-gun at two in the morning? Probably not just a regular dude, right?”
“Let me put it this way, then: Was there anyone you told your friends about after?”
Chutney thinks a moment. Points at Netty suddenly, when the lightbulb turns on. “Other night? There was this couple. Didn’t say anything. Not to us. Not to ea
ch other. The dude needed a bunch of lumber cut? Gave me the list. Pointed at it. Never said a word. Same with his girl.”
“I’d say that counts as unusual.” Netty produces a small notebook. Pulls a stubby golf pencil from the spiral to take notes. “And you hadn’t seen them around before?”
“Naw. I’d remember these guys. Big, bald dude. Muscle-big, not fat-big. And tall, too. His chick was tiny. Like half his size. A doll next to him. Like, you’d have a hard time picturing the two of them... Together, you know?”
He looks off. Not having a hard time picturing them together at all.
Netty clears her throat. “What’d she look like?”
“Blonde. Rockabilly hair.”
“Rockabilly?”
“Like from a fifties pin-up or something, y’know? Oh, and both of ‘em? Covered in tattoos. Full-sleeves at least. Definitely from away, those two.”
“And you think they were a couple?”
“Pfft! At least! These two were all over each other, like... Massive PDA-of-affection.” He looks to his boss. “Kept an eye on ‘em though. Just in case they were looking for a place to... You know... Introduce Hibbity to Jibbity.”
Mr. Levin crosses his arms. Uncomfortable with the direction of the questioning. “Right. Th-thank you.”
Chutney nods. Then, to Netty: “We have that happen like once a week or so.”
She smiles. “Lovely. Was it just the lumber they were picking up?”
“Naw. Power tools, I think. A buncha other stuff, but that’s what stood out. That, and an assload of tap-lights. A whole crate all at once. In the end, we could barely fit everything into their van.”
Netty thinks. Tries to assemble the pieces: A couple from away. Buying lumber. Power tools. Lights. Does this match up with digging holes? Something almost clicks. Almost, but not quite.”
“Shit, you know what I just remembered? Dude was back this morning! Just after I started.”
Netty scribbles in her notebook. “Did you ring them through?”
“It was just him this time. He picked up...” Chutney struggles to recall. “Heavy gauge chain... Bolt cutters... And a blowtorch!”
FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR Page 10
