You said that? That you were trying to catch the truth?
Kix and I trotted along the Greenway. The April drizzle had abated, yielding to thin fog. Like jogging through a mystery.
“I am humiliated.”
Yeah that’s a mortifying thing to say. Catch the truth.
“I’m getting dramatic in my old age.”
You’re what, thirty-five? That is so old. I’ll never be that old. Is it scary, close to death?
Dusk descended early because of the fog. We were alone and I took the turn near the middle playground and increased pace. Kix bounced around, enjoying himself.
You seem angry, Father.
“I’m angry, Kix.”
I don’t much care for omphalopsychites or their self-involved musings. But I’m willing to suffer yours.
“I’m angry that Ronnie is engaged and won’t break it off, either with me or with the other guy, the prick.” I was breathing hard and working to keep the stroller on the path.
In this situation the blame is mostly hers. But not entirely.
“It’s my fault for letting her back in. For not having self-control. But now she’s back, I can’t stop thinking about…I like her.”
You like her? Quite the poet you are.
“On a pro and con list, she’s almost entirely pros. But that one conflict…”
Yes, she’s engaged. That’s a doozie. Also, be a darling and keep your eyes on the path. You’re veering into the grass and I’m afraid I’ve spilt my juice.
“That’s why I’m mad.”
We overtook another patron of the Greenway, went by so fast I barely noted it was a woman wearing the hell out of her spandex running outfit.
“And something else…” I said, sucking a lot of air now.
More? You’re a conflicted guy. Do you see that fallen tree branch? Please do not push the stroller overtop. Do you see? Watch out…Well there’s juice just everywhere now.
“I’m angry because a kid is missing. Alec Ward. I’m angry because this has happened before and it ended in disaster for Jon Young and his family. And I’m mad because it overlaps with my investigation, and I don’t enjoy coincidences.”
Kix remained quiet.
“I don’t want a kid to be missing. I don’t want the leader of a church to be promiscuous. I don’t want the church to have such a bad reputation that pastors’ affairs are barely worth mentioning.”
We reached the parking lot. I slowed to a walk and paced behind our car to cool off. Without the street lights, it would soon be dark. My sneakers crunched on gravel and the nearby Roanoke River gurgled beyond the grass bank.
So what happens now?
“I need hard evidence that Louis is pressuring his way into sex with persons not his wife. Although that’s gross too. Maybe it’s not rape because he doesn’t use physical force, but if I can prove he’s coercing others who were unwilling, that’s enough for the vestry.”
How do you do that?
“I need to keep pressuring Louis. Make him mad. Talk with Nicholas, the other clergy on staff. Locate more of Louis’s sexual partners and get them to confess. Videos would be ideal.”
Sex tapes? Gross. You adults.
“I want to find more than enough evidence for his vestry and Bishop to fire him. I want to nail his ass to a jail wall. Assuming he’s guilty.”
It’s almost like you’re taking this personally. Is it time to go? I need a change.
“I’m taking this personally. I’m not sure why—still working that out. I’m unreasonably furious with him.”
Maybe because you’re worried you’re culpable for the missing kid on some level.
“I’ve already decided Louis is involved with that missing kid somehow. He’s guilty until proven otherwise. Which is prejudiced and wrong, but that’s my frame of mind.”
Oh my.
“I’m feeling a little more orderly and codified, saying all this out loud.”
Hey, here comes the girl wearing the tight black pants.
My breathing had slowed. I unbuckled Kix and hoisted him out of the stroller.
She’s walking by. Right there. She’s pretty. She’s looking your way. Do you not even care?
“You’re wet, Kix. You spilled your juice,” I said, setting him into his car seat.
For an investigator, you’re unusually dense. Good thing I love you.
That night, as hypnagogia settled like a blanket, my phone beeped. A text message. From Ronnie Summers. The Ronnie Summers.
She’d sent a selfie, displaying her from the navel up. She was wearing…it wasn’t quite lingerie and it wasn’t quite a tank top. Some kind of red, diaphanous, silky, lacy, tight…wonderful garment that shouldn’t be sent to a lonely bachelor. Also it had tiny shoulder straps.
>> Come have a drink?
I issued a masculine grunt. Not a groan.
Manny said, “Amigo. You having a bad dream? Or maybe a good dream.”
“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Everything super fine and I’m not miserable. Going to sleep now. Probably.”
“Bueno. Glad to hear it. Keep it down up there. Some of us on the floor are trying to sleep.”