plates of macaroni and cheese to set on the kitchen table and passed out bowls of tomato soup.
Peter took his last sip of hot chocolate. “Like Dad always said, dessert should always come first.”
I put my empty mug in the sink and sat at the table. The soup steam warmed my nose. Every time I talked to Peter, I liked him more. Something sad had happened to his dad, but he didn’t avoid the subject, the way I would have. He hadn’t avoided telling me he was a hunter, either, or telling me what he thought about my opinions. Alive. The word floated to the front of my mind as I slurped a spoonful of soup. Maybe I could bring Peter as my example for my word study project. Was he so alive, so open, because he had grown up around Vivian? She was the kind of person who turned everything right side up again.
Vivian smiled across the table at me. “I haven’t told you about my husband, Sadie, and you’ve been too polite to ask. He died two years ago. He’d been working on our roof, and he fell.”
I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay, Sadie.” Peter put down his fork. “There’s nothing to say, really. I used to wonder what would’ve happened if I had been home helping him repair the leak? But then one day, I realized all that wondering was smothering me, and smothering Mom too. So I stopped wondering. I think that’s when I started letting go.”
Vivian motioned to my food. “Eat. Or it will get cold.”
The mac and cheese was stringy with cheese and topped with crunchy breadcrumbs, delicious, but hard to swallow. Even though Peter had said there was nothing to say, silencedidn’t seem right either. A question burst out before I could stop it. “Can I come to Compline with you tonight?”
Vivian looked up from her dinner. “You want to go?”
“I think so. No, yes. I mean, yes, I would like to go.”
Peter cleared the table. “You’ll love it, Sadie.”
I called home again, and Dad gave me permission to go downtown with Vivian and Peter. In the truck, Vivian turned on jazz, and we all sat quietly, listening and thinking. As we climbed up the cathedral steps, a sign requested silence as we entered. Stained glass windows lined the building, their colors intense in the candlelight. It was strange, slipping into a church pew in the dark, not greeting anyone. The air was thick with the smell of wax and incense.
Quietly, mysteriously, a song started from the back of the church. Men’s voices filled the rafters with words I didn’t understand, but which seemed as old, and felt as soothing, as my evening prayer. I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the harmony wrap around me. I’d thought I’d come to Compline for Vivian, but now, after hearing the music, I wondered if I might come again on my own. When I opened my eyes again, I noticed Vivian sat perfectly straight with her eyes closed, as though the music lifted her up out of her seat. Above us finely detailed paintings filled the ceiling, images of robed people and lions and angels. Their eyes drew my attention. Whoever had painted the church understood how to give eyes the spark of life — people shouting in victory, crying in anguish, dancing with joy.
As the final chord faded, the room grew even more silent,even more still. No one had shuffled or coughed during the singing, and now everyone in the room held their breath, as if collectively holding on to one last moment of pure joy. The choir broke the silence when they filed out. I followed Vivian, not wanting to talk, not wanting to lose the lingering echo of the music.
Chapter 19
Living and Breathing
I crossed out another day on my calendar. September 29. Twenty-seven more days of hunting season.
Please make it
,
Patch
, I thought.
Please hide. Go hibernate. Do something. Whatever will keep you away from Jim.
Dad honked. I grabbed my backpack and hurried downstairs. The tires screeched as Dad pulled out.
“What’s the hurry?”
A gunshot echoed and Dad
Peter took his last sip of hot chocolate. “Like Dad always said, dessert should always come first.”
I put my empty mug in the sink and sat at the table. The soup steam warmed my nose. Every time I talked to Peter, I liked him more. Something sad had happened to his dad, but he didn’t avoid the subject, the way I would have. He hadn’t avoided telling me he was a hunter, either, or telling me what he thought about my opinions. Alive. The word floated to the front of my mind as I slurped a spoonful of soup. Maybe I could bring Peter as my example for my word study project. Was he so alive, so open, because he had grown up around Vivian? She was the kind of person who turned everything right side up again.
Vivian smiled across the table at me. “I haven’t told you about my husband, Sadie, and you’ve been too polite to ask. He died two years ago. He’d been working on our roof, and he fell.”
I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay, Sadie.” Peter put down his fork. “There’s nothing to say, really. I used to wonder what would’ve happened if I had been home helping him repair the leak? But then one day, I realized all that wondering was smothering me, and smothering Mom too. So I stopped wondering. I think that’s when I started letting go.”
Vivian motioned to my food. “Eat. Or it will get cold.”
The mac and cheese was stringy with cheese and topped with crunchy breadcrumbs, delicious, but hard to swallow. Even though Peter had said there was nothing to say, silencedidn’t seem right either. A question burst out before I could stop it. “Can I come to Compline with you tonight?”
Vivian looked up from her dinner. “You want to go?”
“I think so. No, yes. I mean, yes, I would like to go.”
Peter cleared the table. “You’ll love it, Sadie.”
I called home again, and Dad gave me permission to go downtown with Vivian and Peter. In the truck, Vivian turned on jazz, and we all sat quietly, listening and thinking. As we climbed up the cathedral steps, a sign requested silence as we entered. Stained glass windows lined the building, their colors intense in the candlelight. It was strange, slipping into a church pew in the dark, not greeting anyone. The air was thick with the smell of wax and incense.
Quietly, mysteriously, a song started from the back of the church. Men’s voices filled the rafters with words I didn’t understand, but which seemed as old, and felt as soothing, as my evening prayer. I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the harmony wrap around me. I’d thought I’d come to Compline for Vivian, but now, after hearing the music, I wondered if I might come again on my own. When I opened my eyes again, I noticed Vivian sat perfectly straight with her eyes closed, as though the music lifted her up out of her seat. Above us finely detailed paintings filled the ceiling, images of robed people and lions and angels. Their eyes drew my attention. Whoever had painted the church understood how to give eyes the spark of life — people shouting in victory, crying in anguish, dancing with joy.
As the final chord faded, the room grew even more silent,even more still. No one had shuffled or coughed during the singing, and now everyone in the room held their breath, as if collectively holding on to one last moment of pure joy. The choir broke the silence when they filed out. I followed Vivian, not wanting to talk, not wanting to lose the lingering echo of the music.
Chapter 19
Living and Breathing
I crossed out another day on my calendar. September 29. Twenty-seven more days of hunting season.
Please make it
,
Patch
, I thought.
Please hide. Go hibernate. Do something. Whatever will keep you away from Jim.
Dad honked. I grabbed my backpack and hurried downstairs. The tires screeched as Dad pulled out.
“What’s the hurry?”
A gunshot echoed and Dad
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