***
The only churches I could ever remember being in were in Mexico, and they were all colorful and Catholic. Where they’d been filled with statues and candles for the saints, this one was stark and cold by comparison. Nevertheless, I hadn’t come to see the church, but the young lady I hoped to find sitting somewhere near the front.
I arrived at the last minute to avoid chit-chatting with strangers. I’d had to wait a week before the black eyes faded to a pale citrine color and the swelling had gone down on my nose. I shuffled in just as the doors were being closed and took a seat in the closest pew.
The organ struck the chords for the processional, and I looked up and saw Liane seated at the keyboard. Her back was to me, but there was no mistaking the long hair. She wore a retro-looking white sweater, and when the music was concluded, she turned full profile to look at the pulpit. I could tell, even at this distance that she had full breasts and legs that could put Gucci shoes to shame. I felt myself harden and quickly laid a hymnal over my lap, crossing my legs to disguise it.
A man in a suit approached the pulpit from his high-backed wooden chair, pre-Victorian in design. He laid a Bible on the pulpit’s face and straightened his tie after adjusting the height of the microphone before him. This had to be Liane’s father. There was a very vague resemblance, but when he began to speak the opening prayer, his accent confirmed my assumption.
I listened absent-mindedly, standing and opening the hymnal to a random page when others around me stood. I couldn’t take my eyes off Liane. I wanted to inscribe in my memory every nuance of the way she looked and how she held herself. She was very slender, despite her curvaceous figure, and almost wraithlike in her pale skin. Her hair seemed to almost overwhelm her, hanging below her waist and pooling on the organ bench on which she sat. She had an unconscious gesture of pushing her hair behind her right ear before putting her hands on the keyboard. I realized then that she was right-handed and needed her hand to be free to move forward and turn the pages of music from which she read.
Even from my distance, I heard her sweet voice joining in. Like her speaking voice, it was melodic and soprano in range. She swayed a bit with the rhythm of the music, telling me she was creative and sensitive in nature — she was too responsive to be otherwise. I let my mind go to the vision of making love to her. Surely she would be as responsive to my love making as she would be sweetly tactile in handling my cock. I imaged those long fingers closing around me.
My groin began to ache, and I knew if she spotted me, I would be lost. I chose the coward’s retreat and left just before the closing prayer. There was a limit to what I could stand and the fact that she was so overwhelmingly magnetic convinced me I needed a plan.
I paced all afternoon when I got home. I couldn’t concentrate on my work and even working out Diablo didn’t help. I took a cold, long shower and remained restless, even after I jacked off to visions of her spread before me.
Grabbing my keys, I headed to my part of town. Murphy’s was the ideal place as it was Sunday and only beer would be sold. Murphy saw me enter and had it waiting. I ordered a plate of ribs, and Mrs. Murphy brought them out to me. She flashed a wink indicating she was interested if I was. I lost my appetite at that point and merely pushed the boned meat around on the plate with a fork.
I had, somewhere along the way, become a master at blending in, never conspicuous, even with the scars. They had faded, and I’d been told on more than one occasion that they made me look rugged and mysterious, but I kept the worst hidden by a pair of aviators.
I also blended in by only making innocuous comments and never argued, never challenged. It was called survival, and I was very, very good at it.
Kenny wasn’t around, and I was almost glad. While I had no one to talk to, it also meant I wasn’t obligated to talk when all I wanted to do was think. I laid a twenty on the bar for my beer and ribs but didn’t leave. Murphy put the bill in the cash drawer and the change in his pocket. That’s the way things were there.
I had to find some way to get a grip on myself. I’d spent years planning this return. Years of waiting for word from my father that never came. Years plotting what I’d do when I stood on this land. I had to be hard to carry out those plans. I couldn’t have a conscience, couldn’t be forgiving. This was winner take all. I had to keep total focus on my revenge.
Liane had changed those rules, all in the space of a couple days. I couldn’t keep my mind off her for more than a few minutes at a time. Her beauty was captivating, but there was so much more. A goodness surrounded her. Emanated from her. It seemed to cast a glow on everything she touched.
Too bad she was the exact opposite of me.
My entire life was a lie. How could I explain that to her? How would I justify what had to be done to set things right? Would I be forced to choose between revenge and regeneration? Was I capable of that, if she was even interested in me at all?
So many questions.
I missed Bernie. He’d always had the right words, even if they were bullshit. He and I had one particular thing in common. We both lived off lies. They were a currency in a world where discovery could mean your demise.
CHAPTER SIX
Worth
Auggie seemed to have resolved, at least for the time being, the sadness that had shadowed her lately. She’d never known a hard life and genuine sorrow. She simply didn’t have the coping skills. This made me feel guilty. Not only had I made the decision that had brought this on, but I was a trained professional who should have been able to help her deal with it. I couldn’t even help myself deal with it, and I wasn’t nearly as empathetic as she was.
Mark had reported that the neighbor had been spotted watching Carlos Acres again. It was hardly a criminal offense, but it bothered me a bit that he’d chosen to watch from afar rather than drive right in and introduce himself. That indicated he had some reason for maintaining secrecy.
I’d asked around town and among our friends. No one had met him. They didn’t even know what he looked like. I had nothing more than Mark’s vague description to go by, and I didn’t want to question him too thoroughly, or he’d get spooked. I’d decided to let it lie but keep my ears open.
I was working at the clinic in town that day. My cell rang, and I saw that it was Walter, Auggie’s dad.
“Hey!” I greeted him upon answering.
“Worth, it’s your mother.” The words seemed to be pushed from her throat. “She’s sick. We’re at Norton’s emergency.”