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Larry forced him to take a break after he’d checked the other horses. He waited with a frown as Wiri clambered back over the fence. “You look wrecked, dude,” he said, his tone soft. “Leilah doesn’t expect you to bleed for the job.”
Wiri snorted and squirmed in the passenger seat of the truck. “That’s ironic coming from a guy whose boss did exactly that.”
Larry laughed, the raucous sound filling the vehicle and carrying across the mountain. The nearby horses started, and he covered his mouth with his hand, immediately contrite. “Sorry. But you’re smart.” He squinted at Wiri sideways, one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick. “And you’re churched too. Always a bonus.”
Wiri nodded. He removed Alfie’s hat and ran his right hand through his fringe, pushing it away from his eyes. Sweat kept it stuck to the top of his head, but he lacked the energy to care. “Yeah. My ma took us all to church. Phoenix just came back from a Christian summer camp.” He pursed his lips and frowned. The hardships she’d endured there weren’t his to tell. He felt guilty because he couldn’t regret they’d happened when they’d changed her enough to accept his affection.
“Pleasant experience or bad?” Larry cocked his head and Wiri wrinkled his nose.
“Mostly good. The pastor is a neat guy. My cousin always wanted to follow in his footsteps, but things changed over the summer.” He licked his lips and clamped his jaw closed to stop him from revealing too much to the attentive man watching him with such avid interest.
Larry inhaled and Wiri tensed, expecting a different sentence. “You said yesterday that you wanted to tell me something.” Larry smiled, and a dimple appeared in his rugged cheek. He removed his cap and grey curls tumbled free, unruly enough to make him appear less like the rigid clergyman which perhaps the small town had wanted. “That’s why I’m here.” He turned in the driver’s seat and gave Wiri his full attention. “What did you want to tell me?”
Wiri tensed and fixed his gaze on the roan mare. A bay gelding approached her depleted pile of hay and she turned her backside towards him in warning of a swift kick. Even the scudding clouds seemed to still as though waiting for Wiri to dig himself out of a different kind of hole. The rain-soaked grass had dampened his trainers and his toes squirmed in protest. Larry said nothing, waiting with enough patience to suggest he encountered many walls of resistance in his line of work. His mana filled the truck’s interior, projecting outward as trust, confidence, and honour. Wiri exhaled and forced himself to face Larry, the boulder he carried in his chest seeming to lighten at the prospect of sharing its weight. He swallowed and licked his lips. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.
Larry shrugged. “Then let’s go somewhere and get comfortable,” he said.
***
Pastor Larry lived in a villa next door to the Anglican church. He left his beaten up Toyota on Leilah’s driveway and tucked Wiri’s truck between two hedges, which cried out for a trim at the vicarage in town. Wiri sat in the passenger seat and gazed up at the filigree details in desperate need of a lick of paint. He imagined bringing Phoenix home to their own place, and a warm sensation trickled through his limbs. The Plan required enough money for them to survive and he worried about where that might take them. His heart sank at the unwelcome reminder of the credit card bill which would land in his emails in the next few weeks. Vaughan had thanked him for saving him the embarrassment of unloading the lumber, but he hadn’t actually mentioned repaying him.
“I think one of Mari’s pies is in order,” Larry said, his voice filling the truck’s interior as though he readied himself to preach a sermon. Wiri jumped and his concerns settled back on his shoulders as a dead weight. “Take my key.” Larry’s work-worn fingers held out a bunch and Wiri took them with a sigh. “You might find the lounge sofa comfy enough to lie on while I fetch us some kai.” He dipped his head and frowned from beneath bushy grey brows. “You look beat my friend.”
Wiri stared down at his fingers, stretching them out to study the warm earthy undertones of his skin. The cut on his middle finger smarted, and he sighed. “Thanks.” He accepted the key, testing the weight in his palm as Larry released it. Remembering his manners, he pushed the cooler bag with the toe of his damp trainer. “I have some cash in my wallet.”
“Don’t worry.” Larry waved a hand in dismissal. He picked up the truck key and dropped it on top of the one for his front door. “You sort yourself out and I’ll fetch us some food.” He exited the vehicle, and the truck rocked as he slammed the heavy driver’s door. Wiri took his time clambering out of his seat and reaching back into the cooler for his phone and wallet. He pushed them into his jeans pockets before retrieving the bracelet, which he secured in a bag pocket.
His legs ached as he climbed the steps of a wraparound porch. The truck locked automatically as the key moved out of range of its internal sensor.
Larry’s house had a sparseness, which took Wiri by surprise. He let himself in through the front door and groaned as he bent to release his laces. Leaving his trainers in the wide hallway, he padded through the rooms one at a time in search of the promised sofa. Christian artifacts hung in prominent spots on the walls. Larry had introduced little of his own personality into the space and generic, abandoned furniture occupied the downstairs rooms.
Wiri found the lounge at the back of the house. He eased himself with care onto a corduroy sofa the colour of diarrhoea. He got himself comfortable and then stilled, listening for the sound of Larry to clatter up the porch steps in his work boots. Unable to relax in someone else’s house, he leaned against the cushions and stared at the textured ceiling. Original features called out from the ornate fleur-de-lis pattern overhead to the intricate details surrounding the single light bulb, which dangled beneath a ceiling rose. “Phoenix would love this,” he sighed to himself.
Larry arrived back in a cloud of bluster, bringing pies and take out cups of Mari’s dubious coffee. Wiri heard him slam the front door before kicking off his shoes and padding towards the back of the house. “Here you go,” he said, holding out a white paper bag with grease seeping through the cheap wrapping in a grey arc. “Steak and cheese.” He placed a cardboard holder on a low coffee table and wrinkled his nose. “The coffee isn’t great, but it’s drinkable.”
“Thanks.” Wiri’s stomach sent a coherent message to his brain, telling him it wasn’t hungry and warning him what might happen if he pushed his luck. The painkillers caused acid to burn below his ribs and he reached out for the coffee Larry handed him, placing the pie in the space it vacated. “I’ll just try this for now,” he said, smiling up at the pastor.
Larry sank into the only other seat in the room, a sagging brown armchair with the kind of fraying which suggested a cat used it as a regular scratching pole. He sipped his coffee and bit into his pie with a sigh. His eyelids fluttered closed with pleasure. “This is good,” he breathed. Crumbs scattered around his stomach and landed in his lap. Wiri sipped his coffee and forced away his concern about the mess. Untidiness and disarray triggered his uncle’s fastidiousness and the Du Rose children had learned to clean up after themselves if they wanted dinner on time.
Except Edin.
Perceptive and devious, she’d realised early that if she left a mess, someone else would take care of it without her needing to lift a finger. Wiri’s mind conjured an image of his half-sister and he wondered if she missed him. An involuntary shrug of his shoulders told him she wouldn’t.
“So, what did you want to tell me?” Larry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a line of pastry dappling his right cheek.
Wiri sipped the strong coffee, sensing the moment the caffeine hit his lagging brain. He blew out a ragged breath and stared across at Larry. “Can I trust you?” he asked, his tone low. The moot question seemed laughable. He had no one else to tell.
“Vicar’s honour.” Larry held up the fingers of his left hand and performed an enviable Vulcan salutation. Wiri snorted.
He set the coffee cup on the table and released his muscles against the back of the sofa, each one sending out messages of discomfort until his body stilled. “Okay,” Wiri said. “Well, this starts a while ago and ends up with someone trying to kill me yesterday.”
