38. Help and Guidance

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the pastor says in a calm, warm manner. “I’m Jeremiah.”

I shake his hand. “Chris.”

“Friend of Ray’s?”

I nod, suddenly feeling light-headed. The guy has a baby face, the kind that probably could never grow a beard, with tiny lips and a narrow jaw that makes it appear like he’s smirking all the time. His hip glasses glint in the sun.

“New to the area?”

I nod again.

The pastor looks around. When I follow his glance, I see there are only a couple of people left out here, and they’re starting to walk away.

Where’d everybody go?

“Solitary is a good place, a quiet place,” Jeremiah says between small bites of his salad. “I grew up here, then left for a while to find the world. Learned that the world is no different from here. It’s just faster. And louder.”

I try to swallow, and some potato salad seems to get stuck in my throat. I wonder if Pastor Marsh knows CPR, because I might need it.

“Is your last name Buckley?”

“Yes,” I croak out, taking a drink of my soda to help loosen the potatoes.

“What’s your mother’s maiden name?”

“Kinner.”

“Tara Kinner?”

“That’s my mom.”

“I knew it,” he says with a smile.

A creepy smile that gives me an icky feeling that I can’t explain.

“You look just like her,” the pastor says.

“Yeah.”

“How is she?”

“Good,” I say.

If good means downing bottles of wine every day.

“You’re not going to believe this, but your mother and I were in the same class at the grade school.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Until she moved away. Ask if she remembers me. She probably won’t. I was a little nerd back then. Even in grade school your mother was beautiful.”

I nod and force a smile. I want to get up since we’re the only ones on the deck now, but there’s no way to delicately do that.

“Where are you living?”

“We’re at my uncle’s cabin.”

Jeremiah nods, taking a bite and quickly chewing the way a mouse might. Every time I look at him, something seems off.

I have no idea why. He looks normal.

Something’s not right.

“I haven’t seen your uncle for some time. It’s Robert, right?”

“Yeah. He sorta vanished.”

Instead of finding this surprising, Jeremiah takes a sip from his glass of water in a casual matter. As if he already knew that.

Probably does, since this is such a small place.

“Did you know your Uncle Robert?”

“Not really.”

“How old are you, Chris?”

“Sixteen.”

“That would make you a junior then, correct?”

I nod.

Where’s Ray? Where’s anybody?

“Any other friends you’ve made at the school besides Ray?”

He waits for an answer, giving me a hard look that forces me to answer it.

“No, not really.”

“No one? No one at all?”

“No,” I say again.

“There is a lovely young girl I know named Jocelyn Evans. Have you met her?”

I stare at him, feeling like he has his knee on my chest and is pressing down. The oxygen inside of me is suddenly gone. My head feels dizzy, down, suddenly despairing.

“Sure, I’ve met her.”

He nods. “Of course you have.”

Adults can talk to kids this way. Even if you’re sixteen, you’re still always behind.

I don’t know what to say.

“I’m sure you’ve probably been told by different people to be careful, right?”

“It’s come up,” I say.

“And?”

I shrug, looking into the closed screen door where I hear voices and laughter but don’t see anybody.

“Have you taken their advice?”

“Do you know Jocelyn?”

“I know most of the people in this town, Chris.”

I feel bumps on the back on my neck. And on my arms.

Something in the way he said that …

“She’s just someone I’ve gotten to know.”

“You know what a pastor’s job is, Chris?”

The way he says my name. It’s almost the way my father used to say it.

It’s too familiar, too close.

“No,” I say because I have no idea what else to say.

“It’s twofold. It’s to help. And to guide. Some people need encouragement to do the things they need to do. Others need their hand held. Which one are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“And sometimes, when people don’t want their hands held, they end up falling on their behind. That’s what I want to prevent, Chris. Can you understand that?”

“Is this about Jocelyn?” I blurt out, surprising myself.

“This is about you.”

“What about me?”

“A new kid who needs help. And guidance.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He looks at me, dark brown eyes that almost look black, peering from behind his spectacles. “Do you need help? Or do you need your hand held?”

“I just—I don’t—”

“Because I want to help you, Chris. You and your mother. I’m here to help.”

“Okay.”

“The last thing I would hate for you to do would be to lose your way.”

“I’m not lost.”

“We’re all lost, Chris. Every one of us. The difference between me and most other pastors is that I’m honest. I tell the truth. And the truth is this. Do you want to hear it?”

I nod, feeling like I have a knife stuck up against my temple forcing me to stay here, forcing me to comply.

“The truth is that sooner or later, we all die. It’s inevitable. But we do have choices when it comes to that. We can be afraid, or we can embrace that inevitable dark last breath.”

I seem to have stopped breathing. I’m just looking at him, probably shrinking down in my chair.

It’s only when I hear the sliding screen door and Ray’s voice call out that I suddenly start to breathe again.

Pastor Marsh touches my arm and holds on to it.

“Think about what I’ve said, Chris. Tell Tara I say hi.”

I force myself away from him and follow Ray back into the house.

I just want to get out of here, far away from Jeremiah Marsh and his foxlike glare.