Fields of Wrath (Luis Chavez Book 1) (29 page)

“Where are you coming from?” Luis asked, unable to banish the innuendo from his voice.

“Where do you think?” Oscar scoffed.

“What’s her name?”

Oscar said nothing for a moment. Then shrugged. “Can’t tell you that.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?” Luis asked.

Oscar shrugged again.

“Sounds like love,” Luis said.

“It wasn’t, then it was, then I found out a little about her, then it was complicated, and I thought we’d have to go our separate ways. But then we both realized neither of us want to.”

Luis didn’t know what to make of this, so he quietly sipped his beer. He wondered if Oscar’s “work” had ever led to anyone winding up here.

“I’m proud of you, Luis,” Oscar said quietly. “You did something good out there.”

“It was God, Oscar,” Luis replied. “I was just his instrument.”

Luis felt Oscar’s eyes peering at him through the darkness. When he tried to meet his gaze, all he saw were two tiny pinpricks of light at the center of twin black orbs. It was like looking into the face of a spider. He turned away.

“What’s crazy is that you believe that,” Oscar said.

“You don’t believe in God?” Luis asked.

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t think God gives a good goddamn what we do. He’s not trying to tell me how to live my life.”

Luis shot back the rest of his beer. Oscar offered him another, but he shook his head.

“Yes, he is,” Luis said. “Just because you’re not listening, doesn’t mean he’s not there trying to get through to you.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Oscar chuckled. Luis reached out and took his hand. Oscar froze.

“Pray with me,” Luis said. “Just pray with me.”

Oscar seemed so thrown by Luis’s hand on his that he didn’t respond at first.

“Pray with you?”

“Yeah, Sunday school style. On your knees, head bowed, eyes closed. Pray with me.”

Oscar moved as if to leave, but Luis tightened his grip. When Oscar tried to bounce to his feet, Luis kept him anchored.

“Thought we weren’t going to do any of this ‘change your ways’ shit,” Oscar tried.

“I’m not asking you to pray for yourself,” Luis said. “I’m asking you to pray for me.”

Luis felt the tension leave Oscar’s hand. He still seemed confused but now amiable.

“How do we do that?”

“Get on your knees, bow your head, and close your eyes.”

Oscar did as he was told.

“Now, without speaking, imagine that you are before God and you are alone with God.”

There was a long pause. Then finally, “Okay.”

“Now let him ask you a question. When he does, you answer in whatever way you’d like. And I’ll do the same.”

Luis watched as Oscar’s features relaxed. His breathing remained steady as his shoulders rose and fell. He closed his eyes now and found his brother still there waiting for him. He tried to see if he looked proud of him, angry about his tactics, or conflicted about what had happened. He waited to see if he would say anything. He waited until Oscar had fallen asleep, until the sun began to rise in the east, and until the morning dew rose on the grass around him.

And when it was too late to wait anymore and he had to get back to St. Augustine’s to change clothes before heading over to teach at St. John’s, he heard the tiniest voice whisper:

Wait just a little longer . . .

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to acknowledge the contributions of the many talented people who took this book apart and put it back together in a clearer, more readable form each time, including Lisa French, Charlotte Herscher, Kjersti Egerdahl, Marcus Trower, and Will Tyler. Also, his agent, Laura Dail, who had faith in the piece since day one and who encouraged the early and most significant cuts (and a thank-you to Sarah Mlynowski for slipping it to Laura in the first place). Finally, he would like to acknowledge the contribution of filmmaker and frequent collaborator Morna Ciraki, with whom he spent hours discussing this story, as he does just about every writing project.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2015 Morna Ciraki

A Texas native, Mark Wheaton studied English at the University of Texas at Austin and playwriting at Indiana University. In addition to writing novels, he has worked as a journalist, screenwriter, comic-book creator, and video game scribe. He lives in Los Angeles.

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