St. Nacho's (13 page)

Jordan slept fitfully when he slept at all. He had the capacity to stay up rather late, fueled by a large intake of coffee, which often left him watching television or chatting with friends after I went to sleep. I was thinking I ought to let him have me if it would help him sleep.

No, that wasn’t all I was thinking. I was thinking that I was here, and I was trying to live with the man, and I needed it as much as he did. After everything I’d had with Shawn.

How sick was that?

St. Nacho’s

69

The doorbell rang. I got up and opened the door to find Stan waiting patiently.

“Hello,” I said, moving back to let him in.

“Hello, Cooper,” he said. “I hoped I’d find you at home.” I smiled. “Jordan’s out,” I said. “He’s still at work.”

“It was you I wanted to see,” said Stan, staring. It felt uncomfortable having him here when Jordan was away, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. He stood on the threshold, his youngish face placid. He was wearing a blue golf shirt and the kind of jeans I associate with older men who aren’t comfortable in denim. They were creased. I invited him to have a seat on the couch.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked. “I’m having tea.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

I set the water to boil and went to get my own off the patio.

“I wanted to talk to you about your plans here in River Falls,” he began when I returned. Once again I regretted not having a chair. I sat down on the couch next to him.

“Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do?”

“I got a job at Mama Lina’s, in the kitchen,” I said. “I plan on going to UWRF, when I can get in, for music in order to finish my degree.”

“I understand you used to play in the St. Croix River Valley Orchestra?”

“Where’d you hear that?” I asked, surprised. “Yes. I did.” I swallowed hard. I had been their youngest member and concertmaster.

“I found it in the newspapers,” he said. I flushed. He must have seen everything. “You were quite a prodigy,” he remarked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“No need to be modest,” he said, conspiratorially slipping closer on the couch. He slid an arm behind my shoulders, experimentally, I thought. I frowned, and he pulled back a little. “Juilliard,” he said. “That was something.”

“Well, I failed at that, didn’t I?”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Partied a little too much,” I said. “I got bad grades, missed a couple of important events.” Like recitals, I thought, like the whole second semester of my freshman year. I wished he’d never brought it up. The chime from the microwave sounded and I got up to make him tea. “Tension Tamer or Sleepytime?” I asked him.

He chuckled as though I’d said something funny. “I think Tension Tamer.”

“Do you like it sweetened?”

“No, thank you.” I put the tea in front of him, but he didn’t touch it. “I’ll come right to the point then,” he said, leaning in again. “I like you, Cooper, and I want to see to it that you get off to a healthy start here in town.”

70 Z. A. Maxfield

“Thank you.”

“And as you know, I have a number of people in my flock who have made some poor choices. The Lord doesn’t hold us accountable once we repent. You know that, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.

“I guess.”

“Then you know that if you’re willing to make a true and proper repentance, not only will the Lord forgive you, but he’ll remember your sin no more.” He slid his arm back around my shoulders again, and I couldn’t think clearly, I was so focused on that.

“Yes.”

“The Lord knows your heart, son,” he said, and I thought at the time, he wasn’t that much older than me. “He knows you didn’t mean to be the instrument of that child’s death.”

“I --”

“He knows you couldn’t help yourself, that drink was strong upon you and you forfeited your agency to --”

“Wait,” I said, getting up off the couch so fast my head felt a little light. “I don’t know what you think happened, but --”

“I only know what Jordan told me. That you were too drunk to drive and Jordan took your keys away and took the wheel to stop you from driving drunk.”

“He what?” I asked. That wasn’t exactly how I remembered it.

“I’m sure Jordan isn’t sorry for taking responsibility like that. It’s cost him a lot, and he’s not done paying yet, but I’m certain he feels it was worth it. Privately, he’s told me that he felt good to be able to save you from suffering that.” I blinked. I’m sure I couldn’t have spoken if I’d wanted to.

“Jordan is a very special man, Cooper. He’s become extremely important to me, to my ministry.” He took a tentative sip of his tea. “Men like Jordan need guidance, discipline. They need structure.”

“I see,” I said.

“He comes to me for that,” said Stan. “I find I rather feel that you might need guidance and counseling as well.”

“I don’t,” I said. I leaned against the wall opposite him.

“We’ll see,” said Stan, continuing to drink his tea as if he had all the time in the world.

“I don’t,” I repeated. He shrugged.

“Nevertheless,” he said. “The Lord has punished you and will continue to punish you until you take responsibility for your actions and come to Him in repentance.” I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what to say, but I heard the key in the door signaling Jordan’s arrival, and I turned to greet him.

St. Nacho’s

71

“Hey,” I said. He stood for a minute in the polo shirt with the UPS Store logo on it. He had little pieces of packing peanuts in his hair and they clung to him, presumably because of static electricity. They looked like enormous dandruff.

“Hey.” He tossed his keys down next to mine. “What’s up?”

“I was just talking to Cooper about coming to the Lord with his burdens,” Stan said, still sipping his tea. “Like you have.”

Jordan looked at me, I thought, in a considering way. “Maybe you should, Coop,” he said. “Maybe you need to bring it to the Savior. It might help with the car thing.”

“What car thing?” asked Stan.

“It’s nothing,” I said, quickly. I glared at Jordie, telling him with my eyes that he was an asshole to bring that up as I brushed the Styrofoam pellets off his hair.

“Cooper is afraid to get into a car anymore.”

“Is this true?” asked Stan, all solicitous concern.

I kept my eyes on Jordan, and he glared back at me. “Yes,” I said.

“It’s going to become a problem you can’t ignore when it starts snowing, Cooper,” Jordan warned.

“He’s right,” said Stan. “What happens when you get in a car?”

“It’s just a phobia,” I said. “I’ll handle it. Anyway, Mama Lina’s is within walking distance.”

“In the winter you’d better plan on cross-country skiing,” Jordan said.

“I can ski.” I sounded petulant.

“Your instrument is going to love the drastic temperature change.” He got a Pepsi out of the fridge and twisted off the cap. It foamed over and he cursed, jumping and holding it away from his body. “Shit.”

“Here, babe,” I said, getting a towel. I helped him wipe up the spill. He kissed me in front of Stan. I was surprised and did the eye-roll thing. He shrugged.

“Stan knows we’re a couple,” said Jordan, and Stan nodded. I didn’t know we were a couple.

“That’s why I’m taking a particular interest in you, Cooper,” he said in a silky voice that grated on my nerves. “We must do everything we can, mustn’t we, Jordan, to see that Cooper here feels the love of the Lord.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jordan. His eyes shone at Stan’s words.

“Starting with this car business. I’m going to read up about phobias and do some serious praying, Cooper, and I’ll be in touch.” He gave me my mug back, and then hugged Jordan to him tightly. “Jordan, I’ll see you tonight, all right?”

“All right,” Jordan agreed. Stan left.

72 Z. A. Maxfield

“Is there Bible study tonight?” I asked. I was starting to get things out of the fridge for dinner. I’d dropped by the food mart and picked up some fresh vegetables and chicken for a quick stir-fry. I had brown rice from the night before all ready to go. “I can have dinner on in twenty, if you want to grab a quick shower.”

“It’s not Bible study,” said Jordan as he left for the bedroom. “It’s pastoral counseling. I sometimes need to talk to Stan about things.” He hovered in the doorway. I put down the chef’s knife, my one splurge since arriving in River Falls.

“What kind of things?” I had to admit I didn’t care to be the subject of their conversations.

Jordan looked down. “He says it’s the stages of grief. He says what I’m feeling, guilt, anger, and depression, are normal things. That I just have to deal with my feelings in a healthy way and work through them.”

“I guess that’s right,” I said. “That sounds pretty smart.” He beamed at me. “Stan’s really a great guy. He understands.” I smiled. “I’m glad.”

“You want to join me?” he asked, kind of grinning, nodding toward the shower.

I froze. “I can’t, babe,” I said. “Sorry. I have to see that you get a good meal before you go, don’t I?” I smiled at him.

“Yeah.” He didn’t smile back. “Thanks.” He turned and went into the bathroom and I heard the water turn on. I let out the breath I’d been holding since I’d opened the door to Stan.

St. Nacho’s

73

Chapter Twelve

The first opportunity I had to play violin for the patrons of Mama Lina’s was two Sundays after I started working there. I went, at Jefferson’s invitation, to play on my day off.

I swallowed my nerves in his little office, along with several aspirin and an expensive blue bottle of water that he graciously gave me. Then I took my instrument to play for his guests, many of whom I’d grown up with, and many of whom reviled me as a sexual deviant and killer of children. I started at a table in the corner, alerted by a waitress named Beth that the customer was having a birthday. I played “Happy Birthday,” and because they didn’t stone me, I played the “Tarantella” as well.

By noon, I had relaxed enough to enjoy what was left of the morning, despite my headache. I was recognized, but no one seemed to have any feelings about me other than to wonder what I’d been doing. It seemed the memory of my playing remained, especially for those who had been in school with me. I had been an insufferable show-off, I knew, but no one held it against me. I went from table to table taking requests, playing love songs, folk songs, and the occasional outrageous request, like “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin. I delivered, even on the absurd. Several people threatened to tell my old music instructor, Mr. Larsen, that I was back in town and playing at Mama’s, and I shuddered with apprehension. I originally thought I’d see if I could work in his music store, but then, realizing what a huge disappointment I must have been, I couldn’t find the courage.

Sooner or later he was going to walk into the restaurant, though, because everyone over thirty did, and sooner or later, I’d be chopping his vegetables as well. I would have to swallow my pride and accept his disillusionment as well as my own. I did rather good trade, though, and made enough in tips to pay for food for Jordan and me for the whole week.

Added to the pasta dishes and salads Jefferson let me take home on the days that I worked, I was going to be able to treat Jordie to a movie or maybe even a ball game in the cities.

74 Z. A. Maxfield

I left Mama’s in a fairly good mood. When I got back to the apartment, the church contingent was there.

“We missed you at services today,” said Stan.

“I’m sorry, I was working.” I put my violin in the coat closet. For some reason I didn’t want to go too deeply into what I was doing. Stan followed me into the kitchen where I washed my hands and started to make a salad.

“Have you thought anymore about what we talked about the other day?” he asked me.

“About joining the church formally and coming to me for counseling?” I had thought about whether to join in and be part of Stan’s flock. It would require finding sincerity on my part and full-immersion baptism, two things I didn’t think I could do. On the one hand, he was there for Jordan, someone for Jordan to cling to when he felt overwhelmed by the newness of living back among the good people of River Falls. He seemed to be a good man. On the other, I found myself feeling short of breath whenever he was around. Like something was surrounding me, trying to smother me.

“I don’t think I have any kind of religious calling,” I said.

He watched me closely, waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, I think he felt he had to change tactics. “What are you going to do, though? What’s going to happen when you’re tempted by drugs or alcohol, or you have a crisis and you need to deal with it sober?” I shook my head. “I’ve been sober for over three years. I won’t be relapsing.” I knew that, at least.

“People say that, but they can never run far enough or fast enough that it doesn’t catch up. You have to have a plan in place. A strategy. You can’t do it alone.”

“What you say is true, but --”

“I can see you’re not ready to hear what I have to say right now, Cooper. I’m sorry, but I’m going to keep saying it.” He put a firm hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. He had warm eyes and a nice smile with big teeth that I suspected were capped. But when he talked to me I just felt dragged into something that I genuinely wanted to avoid. Sooner or later, I’d have to make a choice.

I felt tired and excused myself for a while. I showered, realizing that what I wanted most of all was to get away, to take a long walk, maybe to my sister’s coffeehouse. She was likely to be there right in the thick of things, and I found I missed her. I dressed and when I returned to the living room, I had to wait a minute for Stan to finish an earnest prayer.

“…Blessings on this home that both men who live here might find the forgiveness they need, in their own hearts and in the hearts of those they wronged. Amen.” My face burned. “I’m going to go see Julie.”

“I thought you were going to eat with us.” Jordan got to his feet. Several pairs of eyes stared at me.

St. Nacho’s

75

“I guess I’m just restless after my big debut at Mama Lina’s.” I made it a joke. “I want to see my sister. I know she’ll be holding court at Grounds.” I kissed Jordan’s cheek, and then wondered if it was overkill.