LaRose



THE FEARSOME FOUR still meet, only now they really are fearsome. They get together in Tyler’s garage. They have another electric guitar to compete with the old one. Their noise is louder and they smoke weed, drink beer, share cigarettes, talk. They have girlfriends, but only Buggy’s lets him do everything he wants. He tells them all about it, and the other boys save his stories in their heads. They have not forgotten Maggie, but it’s different with her. She beat on them! Back then, they respected her. Now when they think about it, they’d like to kind of dominate her. Show her. They got big and she stayed spindly. The way it goes. But then, she’s unpredictable and quick. Her nut kicks now living on in legend. Buggy had to get some outpatient surgery. His parents considered sending the doctor bills to Peter and Nola Ravich. But Buggy didn’t want everyone to know. Also, Maggie’s family is now associated with those Irons from the reservation. Maggie’s got her danger girl Indian sisters, Josette and Snow. The Fearsome Four are much aware. Yes, those girls go to another school but they could come right over with a posse, ambush their asses, no problem and there’s those older brothers, Coochy and the one who worked in construction, Hollis—ripped dudes. Bummer though it is, Maggie is off-limits unless one of them gets ridiculously high. They hardly even talk about her, except for sometimes, in low voices, wondering if she ever told anyone about what they did.

It didn’t go too far, anyway.

Nothin’ nothin’ really. We never crossed, you know, a line there.

For sure. No line was crossed. Was it?

Dude, we hardly touched her. She just got mad for no real fucken reason!

Will you guys get off it? That was so long ago. Nobody remembers. Nobody cares.

Anyway, says Buggy, she wanted it and she still wants it.

The other boys are silent, taking in this line of reasoning. They all nod, except Brad, who stares off into the air like he hasn’t heard them. Though he has for sure heard what they said, he is Christian, and that doesn’t sound right at all.

Block. Punch. Side kick. Knife-hand. Block. PunchPunch. Snap kick. Block. Block. Poor kid, thinks Emmaline, LaRose’s got Landreaux’s exact nose, okay on an adult but too big for a boy’s face. Yet he is a handsome kid. And those eyelashes. Landreaux’s, again wasted. Expressive brows. His sisters shouldn’t put makeup on him, but they do. A year’s growth and he won’t let them. Maybe Emmaline should stop them now.

Father Travis stands beside her. She rises from her chair.

He wasn’t going to speak of it. He was going to make a simple announcement. Next Sunday Mass. Or the Sunday after. But— I’m being transferred.

Leaving.

Yes.

Her gaze is fully fixed on him.

When?

I’ll help the next priest for a few months. After that, I go.

Where?

I don’t exactly know yet.

He laughs uncomfortably. Mutters something about a new line of work.

Emmaline turns away, and when she turns back, Father Travis is unnerved to see that she might be crying. It is hard to tell, because she’s talking at the same time as tears well up and disappear without spilling. Father Travis knows that Emmaline rarely weeps. When she cried on that terrible day in his office, it was a rent soul leaking quietly, eclipsed by Landreaux’s tearing sobs. She tries to speak but she is incoherent, which undoes him. Even when emotional she has always made sense before. Emmaline shakes her hair across her face, creases her brows, bites her lips, tries to hold back words, then blurts out nonsense. Father Travis listens hard, trying to understand, but he is rocked by her emotion. She stops.

I’m blubbering! I’m having trouble absorbing this. You’ve always been here and you’ve done so much. Priests blow through here, but you’ve stayed. People love you . . .

She looks down at the balled-up tissues in her hand, not knowing how the clump got from her purse to her hand, stunned that this wave of language poured out of her and what did she say?

What did I say?

I don’t know, but I’ve fallen in love with you, says Father Travis.

She sits down hard in the plastic chair.

Behind them, LaRose is still practicing his forms. Punching air with increasing ferocity, so he doesn’t hear. Everyone else is gone, so nobody sees the priest kneeling before her, offering the large white handkerchief he keeps on his person for out-of-office emergencies. Emmaline puts the square of white cloth on her face, holds it to her temples, and cries beneath it. There is no question now. She is really crying beneath the handkerchief. Father Travis waits for a sign. This is what he began doing when he was a soldier. This is what he has been doing ever since he became a priest. Kneeling, waiting for a sign, comes so naturally to him now that he hardly notices. He focuses on not taking back or apologizing for what he just said. He leaves it all with Emmaline.

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