That evening the heavens opened. Rain fell like the world was ending, the nor’easter’s full anger reaching us.
Ronnie and I cooked chili in the kitchen, watching the weather channel and listening to sheets of rain hammer our windows. She browned the grass fed beef and I cut fresh tomatoes and peppers. We combined the full list of ingredients into a pot and set it simmering with the top on. Then I mixed cornbread while she played with Kix and listened to my account of Father Louis.
In a hurtful coincidence, she wore a blue hoodie embroidered with VCU’s logo, Rodney the Ram.
I told her everything she didn’t know, which included my foray into Louis’s basement, and she said, “He had photographs of both of us on his laptop?”
“Took your photo as you arrived at your office one morning, looks like.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“You look okay in the photo.”
“That’s not what I mean. What will you do now?”
“Louis’s career is over. He knows it. Trouble is, however, he can only be charged with minor crimes at this point. Trespassing and battery. Not enough to terrify him, because he’s already lost his job. If Jeremy and Nicholas are willing, we can get him for workplace harassment. But…”
“Those are misdemeanors. A slap on the wrist. Especially if he moves to Florida or some far off land of retired exploiters,” she said. “And you’re still not positive he actually took Alec.”
“Correct. He could be bluffing with the hope that I’ll back down.”
“But you doubt it.”
“But I doubt it.”
“And the vestry?” she said.
“Hugh Pratt is in Charlotte and his flight was canceled, so he’s driving in tonight. I’m meeting him at his house in a couple hours. Show him the video. He’ll call Louis and reason with him. If that’s unsuccessful, we see what help Sheriff Stackhouse can provide. I told her to anticipate a late phone call from me tonight.”
She had Kix on her lap and he watched the storm churn on screen.
“You’re worried that Alec might be killed soon, because of the flooding rivers. And you’re worried Louis will hire men to hurt me. Thus your urgency.”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I should spend the night in your bed. For safety.”
“I suppose you should.”
She made a happy gasp. “Be still my heart.”
“I didn’t say I’d be in it, Ronnie.”
“Don’t you dare get a girl’s hopes up and then hide, Detective,” she said. “I’ll come find you.”
“Maybe,” said Manny, reading a book in the corner chair, “you two crazy white people can wait until after chili to talk dirty? I’m losing my appetite.”
That night Ronnie put Kix to bed but he was restless and fussy, so I took the second shift. The rain pounded hard enough to form white noise and that took some getting used to, but after reading Goodnight Moon and some Shel Silverstein poems he consented to being tucked in. He gazed up peacefully from his crib.
There’s a girl in your room, father.
I paused, a hand on the rail. My heart, the coward, thundered.
What will you do with her?
“I don’t know,” I told him. “I don’t know what to do.”
I’m sure whatever you decide will be for her good. You’ve always been a good father.
“You’re cute when you’re exhausted,” I said.
And when I’m not.
“Goodnight, Kix.”
I pulled his door shut and stood in the hallway. Ambient noise from the television drifted from below—Manny watching baseball. The Nationals were in Los Angeles.
Ronnie was on my bed. Her legs were tan and long and shapely with muscle. She still wore the blue VCU hoodie as a night shirt. She held up a book of essays from my nightstand.
“Reading Mishka Shubaly? What do you think?”
“Fascinating guy,” I said. “He has more sex than me.”
“Well that’s your fault, not his.” She patted the bed next to her.
“I have to meet Hugh Pratt soon.”
“Mackenzie, I can tell you’re stressed. I know that my pursuit of you is one of the causes. So if you sit down and let me rub your shoulders, I promise to release you unmolested.”
I didn’t acquiesce immediately. I watched her. I watched her watching me, and I wondered if all girls would transubstantiate my bedroom the way she did.
And I doubted it.
I sat on the edge of the bed and she slid close. I faced away from her, toward the mirror over my dresser. We made eye contact through the reflection. Her legs went around my waist and she pressed her thumbs into the tender flesh near my neck, along the spine.
“You’re upset because it’s true,” she said. “Everything you didn’t want to be true about Louis, it turns out, is.”
“Something like that.”
“Good grief, Mackenzie, you are thick with muscles. And they’re knotty and hard. You need regular massages if you carry stress like this for long. I’m willing to play masseuse if you’ll be my patient.”
“Maybe stick to bartending,” I said.
“Why?”
“Your fingernails hurt.”
“Wimp,” she said. “Are you mad at God? Because of Louis?”
“I don’t know what I am. Maybe.”
“Talk it through. I’ll listen.”
“What is your hourly rate?”
“The Law Office of Veronica Summers charges three hundred and fifty dollars an hour,” she said.
“Oh my.”
“But because my pants are off, the rate goes up.”
“I’m not mad at God. I don’t think. Because the problem isn’t him. And the problem isn’t church, not even the Episcopal church. The problem isn’t sex, or sexuality, or even homosexuality. The problem is us. The people.”
In the mirror, I saw her nod.
“We’re evil. That’s why I can charge so much,” she said.
“We’re sick. We’re broken. And we break things that are good.”
“Things that are good?”
“Baseball, for example. Sports are good, but there was a fight last night and now guys are suspended and the pitcher from the Dodgers has a concussion. Sex is good but we pervert it. Church is good, but…there’s guys like Louis growing on it like a cancer, feeding off the goodness, and he infects and desecrates it. The church lets him remain, lets him take what he wants, as long as he’s making it grow.”
Her hands had paused.
“Does this apply to us?” she said.
“I think so.”
“You think that…” She sucked lightly at her lip, frowning thoughtfully and teasing the small hairs along my neck. I watched her do it. She was reasoning this through, trying to see the world as I did. “You think, if you give into me then you’re breaking something good.”
“Yes.”
“Me. By taking what you want, you’ll be breaking me.”
“Yes. And me. And us.”
“And my potential marriage,” she said. “And our potential future.”
I nodded. My hands were on her feet, massaging. I didn’t remember putting them there. They were strong, the feet of an active person, not a couch potato. Good arches, active toes.
She said, “If you give in to me, if you take what doesn’t belong to you, then you’re almost as bad as Louis. At least in your eyes.”
“Which are, in some ways, the most important eyes.”
“You have a tough head to live in, Mackenzie. I’m always impressed by your perspective on things, but holy shit, maybe you think too much. That’s why you’re so angry at Louis. Apart from all the perfectly good reasons, you’re mad because you see yourself in him, and he doesn’t have the courage to resist temptation. It makes you worry about yourself.”
Maybe that was true, but I didn’t want to think about it too long. I didn’t want to admit Louis had crawled that far under my skin.
“All I want is you, Ronnie,” I said.
Her breath caught. An absence of warm air near my ear.
“But if I give in, you and I are two ticks without a dog.”
She replied in a whisper, “I don’t understand.”
“A better analogy is, we’d be two lawyers without a client.”
“Oh my word. Why would we…what an awful thing to consider.”
“We’d be going through the motions. Both needy. But without any basis, nothing to sustain us. It couldn’t last.”
“That’s remarkably profound.” She pushed her hands under my arms to give me a tight hug from behind. I enjoyed the impression she made on my body. She kissed my neck and said, “I think I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. You see too much brokenness in the world and you can’t let yourself be part of it. All those men at the church should have done the right thing but they didn’t, and now you have to. Which means you have to stay above reproach, especially in light of Father Louis.”
“I haven’t earned the right to take him down, otherwise.”
“That’s not accurate.”
“I know. But I feel it.”
“You’re like a paladin,” she said.
“And you’re a succubus.”
She laughed but it was half forced. “You’re joking but I have enough self-awareness to detect the truth beneath it.”
“Only a little.”
“I don’t throw myself at men like this. No girl does, at least not the girls I know.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “But the chase was part of the fun. The temptation and forbidden romance makes me wild. You are worth the work.”
“Was part of the fun?”
“If I know you like I think I do, you’re considering staying at a hotel. The temptation will be too great when you return. Right?”
“I already checked. The Hampton Inn downtown has rooms.”
A soft sigh from her.
“I have to stop,” she said. “I know I do. A girl can dream, but eventually she has to wake up.”
“Ronnie—”
“Come home after talking with the vestry guy. I promise I’ll behave.”
“That’s no fun,” I said.
“If you’re lucky, I’ll flash you.”
I disentangled myself and stood. Turned, took her face, and kissed her. Neither of us expected it, one of those sudden eruptions that’s better for it. For half a minute we lost ourselves and admitted without words the hurt and the affection and the longing. Might be ill-advised; the pain was bad enough already.
I released her and stepped away. Steadied myself.
“You’re engaged. So that was platonic.”
“Didn’t feel platonic.” She laid backwards, flat on the bed. Her voice wavered with emotion. “I can’t breathe.”
We both knew. We had to stop. Had to grow up.
I picked up the three printed emails in case Hugh Pratt needed more convincing.
“Good bye, Ronnie.”
As I left the room, she took my pillow and covered her face.