laughter.
Buck watched all this in a seething cascade of emotion. Horror—he should have spent more money and bought more rocks. Sympathy—poor Ella, to be made to look so foolish. Amusement—the whole scene so off-kilter, how could you not laugh? And then, bewildered awe—what a stroke of luck! He wouldn’t have to say a word. Human nature being what it was, people would yak about this all through the luncheon. Ella would be embarrassed. Why, he could even come to her defense. She’d give it up, this ridiculous quest, and come back to him, relieved that she had escaped. They’d never have to speak of it again, and everything would go back to normal.
He felt vindicated, victorious, and by then, Reverend Kane had retrieved his footing and managed to raise Ella up out of the water, completing the phrase, “Risen to walk in newness of life.” Her white dress clung to her body in just the way Buck had feared, her blond hair wet and plastered to her head. She did not falter, but stepped serenely toward the shore where Lily waitedwith a large towel to drape around her dripping body. Reverend Kane made it to shore, too, without mishap, looking shaken and sheepish, met by his wife, who wrapped him and patted him and murmured reassuring wifely things.
Buck waited, all through the potluck luncheon, for someone to make fun of the minister’s folly. To his amazement, no one did. All anyone did was congratulate Ella as if she’d accomplished a tremendous feat, run a marathon or earned a purple ribbon at the fair. As for Ella, she seemed to have no awareness of anything having gone wrong. She basked in their attention, played the part of the gracious hostess.
When everyone finally went home, they had a light supper. They sat on the porch into the evening. Buck watched Ella for signs, sensing that something had changed, though he couldn’t say in what way. She thanked him for all he had done to help prepare for the day.
Later in bed, she nested her head against his shoulder, sighed deeply. Buck thought if she were a cat, she would purr. “It was lovely, wasn’t it, Buck?”
Buck swallowed. This was his moment. He could burst her bubble, bring her home. But then, he thought of Ella’s face as she rose from the water, translucent with joy. He couldn’t follow her there, and he knew it. He simply didn’t believe. Not like that. He wondered if she knew and what she would do with the knowledge once it came to her. He tightened his grip on her and made a noise low in his throat, not sure what he intended.
“I love you, Buck,” she whispered.
He heard her breath deepen. He knew sleep would not come easy and not for a while. He turned his head toward the window and the moonlit sky. Who would believe blackbirds could rain from the sky? Or, for that matter, that Sputnik could rocket into orbit? What else? he wondered. What else is out there, lurking and unexplored in the deepening night?
Confessions
Rev. Everett Kane carries a load of secrets into Pighetti’s Café on a rainy Monday in May. Everett sits in the third booth from the door, his customary spot, and watches the street. The front window offers a fractured view, the top scrawled with PIGHETTI’S in black and red script, the bottom draped with lace curtains. Everett watches all the same. He thinks of himself as a watcher, someone who stands by while other people suffer, bleed, get born and die. The best he can do is hold their hands. Pray, of course. He does that.
He takes note of Mr. Lindstrom, sheltered under the awning of Bert’s Drugs. The blind man and his dog wait patiently for a single customer who might buy a handmade broom from the bundle leaned up against the storefront. Arnold Summers ambles kitty-cornered across the street, returning to his hardware store from the post office, no doubt hung over from a bender the night before. Mr. Logan’s car, a brand-new 1955 Bel Air Chevy, is parked in front of his bank, I LIKE IKE stickered on the rear bumper.
Buck watched all this in a seething cascade of emotion. Horror—he should have spent more money and bought more rocks. Sympathy—poor Ella, to be made to look so foolish. Amusement—the whole scene so off-kilter, how could you not laugh? And then, bewildered awe—what a stroke of luck! He wouldn’t have to say a word. Human nature being what it was, people would yak about this all through the luncheon. Ella would be embarrassed. Why, he could even come to her defense. She’d give it up, this ridiculous quest, and come back to him, relieved that she had escaped. They’d never have to speak of it again, and everything would go back to normal.
He felt vindicated, victorious, and by then, Reverend Kane had retrieved his footing and managed to raise Ella up out of the water, completing the phrase, “Risen to walk in newness of life.” Her white dress clung to her body in just the way Buck had feared, her blond hair wet and plastered to her head. She did not falter, but stepped serenely toward the shore where Lily waitedwith a large towel to drape around her dripping body. Reverend Kane made it to shore, too, without mishap, looking shaken and sheepish, met by his wife, who wrapped him and patted him and murmured reassuring wifely things.
Buck waited, all through the potluck luncheon, for someone to make fun of the minister’s folly. To his amazement, no one did. All anyone did was congratulate Ella as if she’d accomplished a tremendous feat, run a marathon or earned a purple ribbon at the fair. As for Ella, she seemed to have no awareness of anything having gone wrong. She basked in their attention, played the part of the gracious hostess.
When everyone finally went home, they had a light supper. They sat on the porch into the evening. Buck watched Ella for signs, sensing that something had changed, though he couldn’t say in what way. She thanked him for all he had done to help prepare for the day.
Later in bed, she nested her head against his shoulder, sighed deeply. Buck thought if she were a cat, she would purr. “It was lovely, wasn’t it, Buck?”
Buck swallowed. This was his moment. He could burst her bubble, bring her home. But then, he thought of Ella’s face as she rose from the water, translucent with joy. He couldn’t follow her there, and he knew it. He simply didn’t believe. Not like that. He wondered if she knew and what she would do with the knowledge once it came to her. He tightened his grip on her and made a noise low in his throat, not sure what he intended.
“I love you, Buck,” she whispered.
He heard her breath deepen. He knew sleep would not come easy and not for a while. He turned his head toward the window and the moonlit sky. Who would believe blackbirds could rain from the sky? Or, for that matter, that Sputnik could rocket into orbit? What else? he wondered. What else is out there, lurking and unexplored in the deepening night?
Confessions
Rev. Everett Kane carries a load of secrets into Pighetti’s Café on a rainy Monday in May. Everett sits in the third booth from the door, his customary spot, and watches the street. The front window offers a fractured view, the top scrawled with PIGHETTI’S in black and red script, the bottom draped with lace curtains. Everett watches all the same. He thinks of himself as a watcher, someone who stands by while other people suffer, bleed, get born and die. The best he can do is hold their hands. Pray, of course. He does that.
He takes note of Mr. Lindstrom, sheltered under the awning of Bert’s Drugs. The blind man and his dog wait patiently for a single customer who might buy a handmade broom from the bundle leaned up against the storefront. Arnold Summers ambles kitty-cornered across the street, returning to his hardware store from the post office, no doubt hung over from a bender the night before. Mr. Logan’s car, a brand-new 1955 Bel Air Chevy, is parked in front of his bank, I LIKE IKE stickered on the rear bumper.
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