Paul nodded, “You’re sure it’s no trouble for me to stay with you until I get this place in shape? It may take a while.”
“Not a problem Paul, take all the time you need.” They both stopped at the front door when they noticed the figure of a boy silhouetted in the dimming light at the bottom of the driveway. Father McCarthy squinted, trying to get a clearer look at the boy’s features. He pushed open the screen door to step out on the porch when suddenly the boy turned and ran up the hill. The old priest stood on the porch looking in the direction that the boy had gone.
“Do you know him?” Paul asked, stepping out on the porch.
“I think so but I can’t place from where,” the priest replied. Paul could see the old man’s wheels turning, trying to remember. “I’ll be right back, Paul. I need to see who that was.” There was a sense of urgency in the man’s voice that Paul was unaccustomed to. McCarthy headed to his car quickly and backed out of the driveway, leaving Paul to face his thoughts alone.
Paul sat down on the top step of the porch, pulled a wrinkled pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans, and unconsciously lit a cigarette. He was about to take the first drag when he remembered his promise. He looked at the butt for a moment, and then crushed it under his foot. He stood up and walked around to the backyard. Mother Nature had completely taken over the property in back. He slowly walked to the edge of the lake that bordered his property. The last bit of daylight slipped away as he reached the sandy shore.
Across to his left he could make out lights in the Barrows’ house. It’s not the Barrows’ house anymore, he thought. They’re all dead. He pushed that thought out of his mind and looked straight out across the blackness of the lake. No houses bordered it as far as he could see, only his, Barrows’ or whoever lives there, and the Lovells’ on the other side. Who knew if they were still there? Paul had grown up here, spending summers fishing, swimming and canoeing, and winters skating. He had a childhood full of happy memories from this place but the one that came to him now was not one of those. The vision of his past was so sudden and intense that it paralyzed him.
The rain was coming down in steady streams and the wind was unseasonably cold, pelting raindrops into Paul’s face like bullets. The canoe was dangerously close to sinking. Paul rowed furiously toward the shore, the rain rolling down his face mixing with tears. The girl on his lap remained motionless. Please let me be in time, he thought and increased his pace. Suddenly waves of dizziness overtook him, threatening unconsciousness. Paul closed his eyes for a moment and it passed. The wounds on his legs were bad. The water at the bottom of the canoe was a sickening weak-tea color from all the blood he had lost. Finally the shoreline came into sight. He expended all his reserve energy covering the last few yards to shore. But he had to go on. He picked the girl up from his lap. When I get her straightened out, I have to go back and make sure I killed it. He carefully stepped out of the canoe, knee deep in the lake. Panic overtook him when he thought of the possibility that it wasn’t dead and he frantically stumbled to the shore. His head was spinning now and the house seemed to be moving further away as he walked toward it. He realized the hit he took on his head may just be worse than his legs. I’ve got to be in time, he thought again. This was his last thought before collapsing to the ground.
A loud splash from across the lake pulled him back from the memory. Just a bullfrog, he thought, but suddenly began to feel fear creeping up on him. That was the first time he was able to remember anything about that day. But how did I end up with the girl, and both of us hurt so badly? And what did I think I killed that night? Suddenly Paul was not sure he wanted to remember. What he did know was that the girl died from her wounds and Officer Crawford found them both, arresting Paul for her murder. But I didn’t kill her, I tried to save her. I don’t remember but I know it’s true, and I think Crawford knew it too. He shook his head and started walking back toward the house to wait for the priest.
(9)
Denny was just approaching Cat-woman’s house when he saw the flicker of headlights behind him. For a moment he paused, debating whether or not to stop at her house for help. Some help, he thought and kept running. Sweat poured out of him and his breath came in desperate gasps. He was just fifty feet from his house when the dark car pulled beside him. “Slow down son, I just want to talk to you.”
Denny turned quickly and was surprised to see a priest’s collar on the driver of the car, although the driver’s face was hidden in shadows. “It’s Father McCarthy, son, slow down a moment.”
Denny looked again to his right as he reached the edge of his front yard. It was Father McCarthy! Denny stopped, suddenly feeling foolish for taking off like he did. He bent over and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
“Do you remember me from church, son?” the old priest asked. Denny nodded still unable to speak.
“I remember you but I haven’t seen you in a while and can’t place your name.”
“Denny… Dennis… O’Brien,” he managed between gasps.
Denny saw the look of confusion on the old man’s face clear when the name finally clicked. “How is your mother doing, Dennis?”
Denny had finally caught his breath. “She’s doing fine, Father.”
“We miss you at mass, Dennis, both of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps you’d like to come on Sunday?”
Denny was getting uncomfortable with the way this was going. He began to fidget, digging his sneakers into the dusty road. “You’d have to speak to my mother about that, Father.”
“That would be fine son. Is she home now?”
Oh no, Denny thought, this is going to be bad. “She was when I left after school, I’m sure she’s waiting for me with dinner.”
“It will only take a minute and then I’ll leave you folks to your dinner. Does that sound okay?”
“Sure, you can pull into the driveway.”
The priest maneuvered the car into the driveway and turned off the ignition. Denny waited as the old man got out of the car. As he shut the door behind him, the porch light blinked on and Denny’s mother looked out the front door. “Denny, did Billy’s dad drop you off?”
The old priest stepped into the circle of light thrown by the bare bulb above the screen door. Denny watched as his mother’s face registered surprise, and then quickly turned to something worse. She threw the screen door open and stepped onto the front step screaming, “What are you doing at my house? I want you out of here! Stay away from me and my son!” Her face had turned crimson when she first recognized the priest and now it was bordering on purple.
“Mrs. O’Brien, if you’ll just give me a minute…”
“I’ll give you nothing! Haven’t you taken enough?”
Denny was shocked at this outburst. He knew his mother had no use for religion since the accident, but he couldn’t believe she would talk this way to a priest. Father McCarthy’s face had paled, his expression unreadable. “Mom, he just…”
“No!” She took a step closer to McCarthy. “You people took my husband and son and now you come back for more?”
The old priest opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it. He backed slowly to his car as if he were afraid to turn his back to the woman. When he bumped into the fender he turned and got in. “Goodnight, folks. Sorry to have troubled you,” he mumbled as he backed out of the driveway. Denny stood for a moment, unsure of what would happen next. Suddenly his mother burst into tears. She put her face in her hands as her body was wracked by violent sobs. Denny ran to her and put his arms around her. “Mom…” Then he was crying too.