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“Any idea why he seems to have a problem with me?”
Scratching the small patch of skin above his beard line, he huffs. “While they’re not all that religious, folks in this town can be superstitious and suspicious. ‘Specially toward what they deem agabachowho shows up out of nowhere. Probably doesn’t help that Father Javier didn’t speak too highly of you coming last Sunday.”
“He’s not fond of newcomers, either, is he?” Running my hand over the back of my thigh reveals the knot I can feel forming beneath my skin where I was hit.
“Always found him a little strange. He has a way about things. Very private man.”
Private indeed. I still find it curious that he’s chosen to live across town from his church, when there’s a perfectly good and well-maintained rectory right up the street.
“In the case of Rafael, the kid who swung a homerun on your leg there.” Gordon nods toward my thigh that continues to throb beneath my hand, as I rub the ache through my slacks. “I think he blames the last priest for his brother ending up in prison. Seems Father Vasquez wasn’t quite so patient about their pranks as you seem to be.”
It has nothing to do with my patience, but I don’t tell him that. I don’t need the police nosing around right now.
A quick glance around shows a number of cars parked along the street curb, any one of which could be his. “Do you live around here?”
“Few blocks over. The lessaffluentpart of town.” It’s only then I notice his flannel shirt is somewhat worn, along with his jeans and shoes.
“The rectory is right here,” I say, pointing to the house on the corner. “Can I offer you a coffee, or something to eat?” Admittedly, I haven’t even looked in the fridge yet, to see what Ramira stocked for me.
“No, thank you for your generosity. I’m just gonna mosey on over to the church to get my confessions out of the way.”
“I’m happy to take confession for you, if you’d like.” One hobble toward the church, and I notice the tight stiffness forming in my thigh muscles.
Perhaps taking notice of my limp, he shakes his head. “No, that’s quite all right. Kinda got accustomed to doing it in Spanish, ya know? Makes it easier to come clean.”
“I see. Well, thank you again, Gordon. I hope to see you at Mass sometime.”
“Same. And give these kids a bit of time to warm up to you. They do, eventually, believe it, or not.”
“Thanks. I’ll certainly believe it when I see it.”
* * *
“So, when do I get to spend the night?” Ivy asks, between chomping whatever she’s eating on the other end of the line.
Peering through the bedroom window of the first floor, I stare down at the empty street, before pulling the curtain closed. “It’s not a good idea to come here. The locals have been somewhat hostile.” I’d have taken one of the two nicer rooms upstairs, but the thought of climbing a staircase with a battered leg has left me content with the simpler room. Besides, after the night’s events, I’d prefer to sleep where I can hear what’s going on.
“How so?”
I scratch the top of my head and limp toward the bed, falling onto the mattress there, and massage the lump on my thigh. “Let’s just say, I’ve learned more about spray paint than I ever cared to before.”
“Oh, no. Seriously?”
“They advised that Igo fuck myself.”
She snorts a laugh. “That’s horrible. Why would you fuck yourself when you’ve got someone eager to do it for you?”
“Perhaps I should’ve made the drive north tonight, in spite of the graffiti on my car.”
“I certainly would’ve made it worth your time.” The slurping sound announces she’s reached the end of whatever she’s sipping. “I met a friend today.”
“Ivy ...” The reflexive pinch of my muscle upon hearing that makes me flinch. “Thought I told you to lay low.”
“I am.”
“Making friends isn’t laying low.”
“Well, he insisted.”
