Pie Town (9 page)

Bernie studied the young priest. “Yeah, I reckon that’s probably the truth.”

Blushing without completely knowing why, Father George took the wad of wet napkins and threw them in the trash can at the edge of the shelter.

“Well, I just hope she ain’t got trouble coming with her or after her.” Bernie sat back down at a table.

Father George hadn’t considered that Trina might have friends who would join her.

“We don’t need no more drugs being peddled through here. We had enough of that with the sheriff’s daughter and her crew. Thank God they all left or got locked up.” He was watching the group of people coming in his direction.

Father George turned to study the rancher. The news of drugs in his parish, in this sleepy little town, surprised him, especially in reference to the sheriff’s family. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. “It seems like everybody from town is here at the party,” he finally said, changing the subject.

“Yep, it’s about the only thing this town can agree on, celebrating Alex, having his birthday party out here. I figure you’ll learn about our disagreeing ways before long,” Bernie commented with a grin. “We ain’t an easy town to motivate or resuscitate.”

George was about to ask for an explanation, but before he could ask the question the others had made their way into the picnic shelter.

“Father George,” called out one of the women, the first one to enter the shelter. She was older, thick around the waist, and hunched over. She pulled herself up to make the introduction. “Good to see you.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Fedora Snow,” she announced. “I’m in charge of the Altar Guild,” she added. “I’m sure you’ve seen my name on the programs. I had planned to drive out to the parish to introduce myself earlier this week when I had heard you arrived, but I figured you needed a few days to get settled. I expect I’ll have a chance to come by in the next few days to fill you in on how our Guild works here in Pie Town.”

Father George smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Snow.”

“It’s Miss Snow.” Oris had made his way back to the shelter too. “She’s never married, although I suspect she’s spied enough on other folks’ marriages to know what she’s missing.” He pinched her on the behind as he walked past the two of them, making his way to the coolers.

“Oris Whitsett!” Fedora yelled out, falling into the priest. “You are a sorry son of a bitch!” She suddenly realized what she had said, and in what company, and she immediately turned a bright shade of red. “I’m so sorry,” she sputtered. “I, he, I . . .” She struggled with her words. She backed away from Father George.

“Oh, hush up, Fedora,” Oris called out. “You might as well let the good father know who he’s dealing with. No need trying to act like the saint everybody here knows you ain’t.” He laughed a bit and took a soda from the cooler. He sat down at one of the tables.

Fedora made a huffing noise and quickly turned to walk to the front table in the shelter, a place as far away from her neighbor as she could manage.

Father George cleared his throat. His discomfort with the conversation was obvious, and he struggled to find a way to change the subject or move things along.

“I’m Malene.” A middle-aged woman had walked up from the field with the others. She was pushing an older woman in a wheelchair, and she stopped the chair just in front of the priest and greeted him. “I’m Alex’s grandmother and that old geezer’s daughter,” she explained, glancing over to Oris. “He’s a handful, and you should be glad he was forced to leave the church years ago,” she added. “And this is Mrs. Henderson.” She smiled down at the woman in the chair.

“I quit the church,” Oris explained before anybody else could speak. “Nobody forced me out. I just got fed up with all that mumbo-jumbo you say every Sunday and the way the hypocrites always take over.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Henderson,” Father George said, ignoring Oris. He stuck out his hand to the old woman, and she rolled her eyes and waved his hand away. He hesitated. “Nice to meet you, Malene,” he said, turning to her and trying not to appear distracted by the older woman’s rejection. “I was just saying what a lovely gathering this is for your grandson,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “This is Father George, Mrs. Henderson.” Malene spoke directly in the woman’s ear. “He’s the new priest at the church.”

Mrs. Henderson shook her head and grimaced.

“Are you from around here?” Malene asked as everyone turned in his direction, curious about his answer.

“Ohio,” he replied. “I was born and raised in the Midwest.”

Malene nodded. “Then I expect living out here will be a big change for you.” She leaned down to Mrs. Henderson in the wheelchair. “He’s from Ohio,” Malene yelled to her.

“I don’t care,” Mrs. Henderson yelled back.

Malene shook her head and wheeled the woman over to a table.

“You got any boots?” Bernie rejoined the conversation.

Father George shook his head.

“Well, you’re going to need some boots. That parish house has always had a den of rattlesnakes take up residence there every summer,” Bernie noted.

“I think you’re talking about inside the church,” Oris responded. “And you’ll need more than boots to handle that brand of venom.”

Fedora turned around and made a hissing noise.

“See what I mean,” Oris said. “Your Holy Family Church is sort of like this little village.”

The priest seemed confused.

“Ain’t no pie in Pie Town and no holy family in that church,” Oris explained.

Malene locked the brakes on Mrs. Henderson’s wheelchair and walked back over to where the priest was standing. “Do you need anything to help make your transition more comfortable?” she asked, ignoring her father’s comments.

Father George was glad to focus on something other than the two old feuding neighbors. “I can’t think of a thing,” he replied. “Father Joseph got everything ready for me, and the house committee has gone out of their way to make sure the refrigerator and cabinets are well stocked.” He nodded with a big smile. “Now I just look forward to the opportunity to meet the members of the congregation and learn how best to serve each and every one of you.” He had practiced that opening line a number of times, and he thought it came off quite sincerely.

“You need some boots,” Bernie repeated. “And just make sure you keep that back door to the sanctuary closed.” He turned to Oris, who had sat down beside him. “You remember that time a skunk wandered in there?” He laughed. “Father Joseph tried to shoo the damn thing out and got the whole place sprayed.”

“I remember him swinging that incense bucket two or three times before and after Mass for about a month. Still didn’t cover up that skunk smell!” Oris slapped his leg.

“We had to dry-clean every altar cloth in the sanctuary, not to mention Father Joseph’s vestments.” Fedora shook her head. “It was terrible.” She placed her hand over her nose.

“You know, I still think Father Joseph sort of smells like that old skunk,” Oris commented.

“Daddy, that was more than twenty years ago,” Malene responded.

“Still, don’t you think he sort of took up that smell?” Oris asked. He turned to Bernie.

“You know, come to think of it, Oris, you might be right. You know how they say people start looking like their pets? It’s pretty lonesome out there at the church, way up that long dirt road. Maybe he and the skunk made friends.” Bernie winked at his old friend. “Instead of looking like each other, they started smelling like each other.”

“I heard of stranger things happening out in the desert.” Oris grinned. “It can seem a mighty long ways from town after midnight,” he added. “A skunk can be good company even though it can take a lot of Bible reading to get one baptized!” He and Bernie laughed.

Malene shook her head again. “They’re just teasing you,” she explained to the new priest. “You are only five miles from town, there’s plenty of people who’ll be coming and going from the church, and with three parishes to serve, I doubt you’ll get so lonely you need to take up with the wildlife.”

“Still, keep the door closed just the same,” Bernie repeated. “Old skunk might come around looking for his best friend. Besides, y’all do seem to dress in the same colors.”

The group in the shelter all turned to the priest, noticing his attire.

“Keep the doors closed,” Father George played along. “I’ll remember to do just that.” He smiled and felt the sweat roll down his back. He suddenly wished he had packed more than just the black wardrobe.

Chapter Thirteen

T
hat was a fine hit.” Trina had made her way to Alex, who was sitting by the dugout as his team took the field.

“Hey, Trina!” he exclaimed. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Just in time to see you score a run,” she said with a smile. She reached over and tousled his hair. “Happy Birthday.”

“You bring Father George?” Alex asked.

“He was already here,” she replied.

Alex glanced over in the direction of the picnic shelter. He nodded, even though he couldn’t see who was there. “Y’all didn’t come together?” he asked with a grin.

“Now, Alex, what are you trying to say?” she asked, grinning as well.

The little boy shrugged. “I thought y’all made a nice couple,” he said. “That you came together to make your home in Pie Town.”

Trina rolled her eyes. She knew the boy was only teasing her. “Well, even though we arrived at the same time and might both be calling this place home, I suspect God would have a few things to say about the ‘being a couple’ part.”

Alex shielded his eyes as he squinted up at the girl. “I think God likes couples,” he said. “He did make Adam and Eve, after all.”

“That’s true,” Trina responded. “But I guess the priests have a different idea about that.” She leaned over and fixed the mess she had made in the little boy’s hair. “I think Father George is scared of girls. Maybe one bit him when he was your age.

“You throw quite a party,” she commented as she glanced around at all the people on the field and gathered in groups under trees and back at the shelter. “This must be everybody in Pie Town.”

Alex smiled. “They come every year,” he said. Then he turned to Trina. “When’s your birthday?” he asked. “We can throw you a party.”

Trina smiled. “December,” she replied. “December 16. Usually it’s too cold for a party. Or too close to Christmas.” She squatted down and sat next to Alex’s chair. “At least that’s what they always told me,” she added.

“You never had a party?” Alex asked, sounding surprised.

“I always got a card and a bag of candy from my granddad,” she replied.

“But no party?” Alex asked. “No cake, no family standing around you singing the birthday song?” He paused. “No candles and wishes?”

Trina shrugged. “Didn’t really have much of a family,” she answered, and then noticed Alex’s concern. “But it’s all right,” she said, sounding reassuring. “I left home pretty early, so I never gave anybody much of a chance to plan a party for me. Besides, I make my own parties . . . and my own wishes.”

Alex smiled. He turned back to see what was happening on the field. “I got my wish already,” he said.

“That home run?” Trina asked. “It was a beauty,” she said, following his gaze to the field.

“No, not the home run,” Alex replied. “They let me hit one of those every year.” He smiled. “I always act like it’s a big deal, but I think it makes them happier than it does me.”

Trina glanced up at the boy. It surprised her to hear what he was saying. “Then if it wasn’t the hit, what wish came true?” she asked.

Alex didn’t answer at first. He glanced down at Trina. “You,” he said softly. “You were my wish this year, and you showed up.”

Trina didn’t respond at first. She thought about his answer, trying to figure out what he meant.

“You wished for a girl from Texas to come to Pie Town for your birthday party?” she asked.

Alex shrugged and watched the team on the field. “Well, I didn’t care whether or not you were from Texas, but yeah,” he replied. “I wished for a change in Pie Town, something or someone new to come here, give the place something to think about other than just me and my disease.”

Trina didn’t know what to say. She was surprised at the boy and his birthday wish, surprised that she had arrived at just the time he was wishing it, and she wondered if he had brought her there. She thought of her own wishes of the past weeks, her own desire to leave everything old behind her, start a new life, and forget all the pain that had followed her from Texas and Tucson. She thought about Father George and wondered what part he had in the fulfillment of Alex’s wishes. She thought about the Indian woman she met on the Apache Reservation, the one who took care of her when she collapsed after walking so far, the one who sent her to Pie Town with a new pair of shoes, and the one who seemed to recognize the sorrow and hope and all the rest that Trina was carrying inside her.

“Looks like the game’s over,” Alex announced, shaking Trina from her thoughts, drawing her attention to the members of the team as they approached. “And we won,” he added.

Trina stood up as everyone gathered around Alex, congratulating their only home run hitter. She backed away a bit so there would be room. Roger, Alex’s grandfather, walked over to Alex, saw Trina, and headed over to her. He took off his hat and began wiping his face and neck with a handkerchief. “You been here the whole time?” he asked.

Trina shook her head. “Just in time for the big hit,” she answered. “You pitch a mean curveball,” she said with a smile.

Roger grinned. “I have my moments,” he said. He put his hat back on his head. “Everything okay in the apartment?” he asked. They hadn’t spoken since she moved in a few days earlier. His schedule at work and caring for Alex got him out early every morning and home after dark in the evenings.

“I like it,” she replied. “It’s perfect for me. The bed’s soft, just the way I like it, and there’s a nice breeze always blowing through the place.” She stuck her hands in her back pockets. “I like the little room in the back the best,” she said. “Was that Alex’s nursery?”

Roger nodded. “He never really got to stay in it,” he said. “Alex spent most of his early years in the hospital.” He looked over at his grandson. “But Angel,” he said, turning back to Trina, “his mother, she wanted him to have his own room.”

Trina listened, glancing over at Alex as the other team members came over to congratulate him.

“When she moved in, it had just been a little storage room, a closet. But she emptied everything out of it, cleaned it up, and painted it all those bright colors. She wanted it to be special for him, you know.” He slipped his handkerchief into his pocket. “She worked on it a long time, but then after they kept putting him back in the hospital or making him stay down in Albuquerque, she just quit.” Roger paused. “She just quit decorating.” He blew out a long breath. “Then, when we did get him home, the stairs were just too much. She didn’t hang around much after that.”

“And now she’s in Taos?” Trina asked.

“Last we heard,” Roger answered. “She tends to like to wander,” he added.

“What about his dad?” she asked.

“Never really knew the answer to that question,” Roger replied. “Angel would never say, and we really aren’t sure. Although I have my suspicions.”

Trina studied the man. “Guess being sheriff means you hear a lot of chatter, huh?”

He nodded. “I hear stuff,” he answered.

“Yeah, I suspect so.” She stretched her arms out to her side. “But I get your daughter,” she noted. “I never stay too long in one place either. I’m sort of a gypsy at heart too. Like to keep moving, you know.”

Roger turned to the young woman. He realized that Alex was right. She was very similar to Angel. She didn’t physically resemble his daughter very much, but there was something that seemed to connect the two of them. Maybe it was the wandering, maybe it was something else.

“Did you find work?” he asked, remembering that she was trying to get a job at the diner.

“I’m filling in for the dishwasher and the waitress while they take a few days off this month, but I don’t think Fred and Bea have anything too permanent for me,” Trina replied. She looked over at Roger. “You know of anything?” she asked.

Roger thought for a minute and shook his head. “We can ask Malene.” He stopped. “She’s my ex-wife,” he explained. “She’s an aide over at the Carebridge Nursing Center. Maybe she knows something over there.”

Trina nodded. “I can do about anything,” she said. “I mean, as long as it isn’t technical or anything. I don’t know much about computers, but I’m good with fixing stuff, and I work hard and I learn fast.”

Roger smiled at the young woman. “Did you finish school?” he asked.

“Tenth grade,” she answered. “But I read a lot, and I figure I could pass the GED if I took it. I know a lot of kids who took it who had a harder time reading and doing math than I do.”

“Then why haven’t you ever taken it?” Roger asked.

Trina shrugged. “Never stayed long enough in a place to sign up for it,” she replied.

“Well, if you did take it and passed it and wanted to go to college or technical school and could do anything you wanted, what kind of work would you like?” Roger asked. “Can you bake pies? ’Cause we could certainly use somebody to bake pies.”

“Nah, I’m no baker.” She reached up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “But I’m pretty good with engines, auto mechanic stuff. My grandfather fixed buses for the school system. I used to ride along with him. He taught me a lot and I liked it. He said I had a natural talent for engine repair and that it was something I could be good at because my fingers are real small.” She shrugged. “But that was a long time ago, and he was probably just trying to make me feel better about myself.” She held out her hands. “And besides, my fingers aren’t so small anymore.” She slid her fingers into her pockets.

Roger studied the young girl. “Maybe we can find you something over at Frank’s. He runs a garage not far from the house.”

Trina rocked back and forth on her heels. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I never did anything by myself. I just did what he told me.”

“Still,” Roger continued, “no harm asking him if he has work for you. Or if he’s willing to train an apprentice.”

Trina smiled. “Yeah, maybe so. What about Alex?” she asked.

Roger wasn’t sure what she meant.

“What does he want to do when he grows up?” she asked. “Be a policeman like you?”

Roger looked over at Alex. The group was starting to head over to the shelter. He shook his head. “Alex doesn’t talk too much about that far in the future. He’s had enough setbacks that we all just sort of take it one day at a time. He’s good with numbers, and he knows a lot about computers. So I don’t know. If he makes it to be an adult, I expect he’ll surprise us all with what he chooses to do with his life.”

Trina seemed surprised. “What do you mean, if he makes it to be an adult? Isn’t he just paralyzed or something?”

Roger lifted his ball cap and scratched his head. “He was born with spina bifida. You know what that is?” he asked.

Trina shook her head.

“It’s a birth defect. It means the baby’s spine isn’t completely formed. He had what is called myelomeningocele.”

“Damn, how long did it take you to learn how to say that?” Trina wanted to know.

Roger smiled. “A couple of months,” he replied. “Anyway, he had permanent nerve damage from the defect, and he’s had a lot of surgeries.” Roger shook his head. “He’s having more trouble now.” He took in a breath, recalling what the doctor had told him during the last hospital stay. “He has more pain, in his legs mostly. And there just seem to be more infections. He gets pneumonia every year.” He shook his head. “I don’t say this much, but I just think his little body is wearing out.”

Trina followed Roger’s eyes as he watched his grandson being celebrated by so many people.

“So that’s the reason we throw these massive birthday parties. And they just seem to get bigger every summer. I suppose we celebrate his birthday, but we also celebrate having a miracle every year he’s still with us.” He paused.

“Well, you could say that about everybody, couldn’t you?”

Roger turned back to her.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s sort of a miracle any of us are still here?” She glanced around the field. “You running around with a loaded gun on your belt all the time, going into all kinds of crazy situations, driving too fast at times.”

Roger raised his eyebrows at the girl.

“I’m just guessing,” she said. “But think about it, you in your line of work, Fred and Bea alone at the diner at all hours of the day and night with their doors unlocked and their cash registers full. And from what I see, half the people at this party look like they’re ready to fall over any minute.” She slid a piece of hair out of her eyes. “I know there are a few things I survived that I didn’t have any business making it through.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m weird, but I figure every day for anybody is a miracle.” She faced Roger, who didn’t respond.

They both looked over at Alex just as the boy turned around. He grinned and motioned for Roger and Trina to join him.

“Guess we need to get moving,” Roger noted.

“I suppose so,” Trina responded.

And the two of them caught up with Alex, and they all headed in the direction of the picnic shelter.