The Saint
Page 8
“What happened?”
“Life’s expensive. Business isn’t great.”
“Business isn’t great,” she repeated. “You mean the car-stealing, chop-shop business? Did that get hit by the recession, too?”
“You have a smart mouth,” her father said, all affection gone from his voice.
“If you weren’t going to buy me a car, you shouldn’t have promised me one.”
“You want to keep this one?”
“You’re the car thief in the family, not me.”
“Can you back off me for five f**king seconds, please?”
Elle pulled over a block from her house, where there would be no chance of her mom seeing her with her father.
She turned off the car and sat in silence.
“Elle … baby … I’m sorry. I wish I could buy you anything you wanted, but I can’t right now. I owe some money. I have to pay it back.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t be like that. You know I love you, and I’d do anything for you.”
“I know,” she said, although she wasn’t certain that she did. “I gotta go.”
Her father grabbed her forearm, pulled her over and gave her a gruff kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t be mad at your dad. He’s doing the best he can.”
“Tell my dad I’m not mad.” Her shoulders sagged. Her heart sagged. Her hopes sagged. “I just wish things were different.”
“Yeah, well … you and me both, kid.”
She gave him a faint smile and got out of the car.
She shut the door behind her and said under her breath, “Don’t call me kid.”
As she walked the final block to her house she choked back tears of disappointment. Two years ago, on her fourteenth birthday, he’d promised her with all his heart and all his soul he would get her a car for her sixteenth birthday. And she’d believed him even though deep down she knew better. He made promises all the time and never kept them. I promise I’ll see you at Christmas. I promise I’ll make the school play. I promise I’ll get a new job so you won’t have to worry about me. Promises made, never kept. One day she’d learn.
Maybe it was her fault. Maybe nobody could be trusted to do what they said they’d do. Once in her life she’d love to have someone who gave enough of a shit about her to make her a promise and keep it. For once she wanted someone to treat her like she mattered.
Nice pipe dream there. That happening was about as likely as her getting banged by an angel like St. Teresa.
Eleanor unlocked the back door and walked into the kitchen. The car was in the driveway, but where was her mom? Her mom worked the night shift as a motel manager and did bookkeeping part-time for a small construction company. If she wasn’t at work, she was either asleep or at the kitchen table with her ledgers and adding machine. Eleanor made herself dinner—a bowl of cereal—and went into the living room to eat.
She found her mom in her shabby bathrobe curled up on the frayed paisley couch, wiping her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Elle asked her mother. Her mom swiped at her face with a tissue. “Did Father Greg die?”
“No,” her mother said, pushing a hank of black hair over her ear. “But he’s probably not coming back. Not anytime soon.”
“I’m sorry,” Elle said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her mom never let her eat on the furniture, which made no sense. The furniture was old and threadbare and stained. Like a little cereal on the couch was going to make things any worse than they already were. “What’s going to happen?”
“We’re getting a new priest in the meantime,” her mother said, entirely without enthusiasm.
“That’s good, right?”
“No, it’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“The new priest is …”
“What?”
“He’s a Jesuit.”
“A what?”
“A Jesuit,” her mother repeated. “They’re an order of priests. They founded your high school, although I don’t think any Jesuits teach there anymore.”
“Are they bad priests?”
“They’re scholars,” she said. “Scientists. And very, very liberal.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“Jesuits are … They can be … It might be fine. I would have preferred a loving shepherd to a scholar, though.”
“Well,” Elle said, taking a bite of her cereal, “maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe this new priest will really love sheep.”
Her mother glared at her.
“I know. I know,” she said for the second time today. She gathered her food and her books and went to her room. Did no one like having her around?
She finished up her cereal in her room and stared at her pile of homework. But how could she even think about doing homework with so much shit going on? Her dad wasn’t getting her a car for her birthday like he promised. Her mom was having a nervous breakdown over the new priest. And she was turning sixteen in a couple of weeks and had no boyfriend, no money, no car forthcoming and no hope that things were going to get better, now or ever. Her stomach felt like someone had punched it. Her head ached and her throat itched. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry or both at the same time.
Instead she walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
“Life’s expensive. Business isn’t great.”
“Business isn’t great,” she repeated. “You mean the car-stealing, chop-shop business? Did that get hit by the recession, too?”
“You have a smart mouth,” her father said, all affection gone from his voice.
“If you weren’t going to buy me a car, you shouldn’t have promised me one.”
“You want to keep this one?”
“You’re the car thief in the family, not me.”
“Can you back off me for five f**king seconds, please?”
Elle pulled over a block from her house, where there would be no chance of her mom seeing her with her father.
She turned off the car and sat in silence.
“Elle … baby … I’m sorry. I wish I could buy you anything you wanted, but I can’t right now. I owe some money. I have to pay it back.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t be like that. You know I love you, and I’d do anything for you.”
“I know,” she said, although she wasn’t certain that she did. “I gotta go.”
Her father grabbed her forearm, pulled her over and gave her a gruff kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t be mad at your dad. He’s doing the best he can.”
“Tell my dad I’m not mad.” Her shoulders sagged. Her heart sagged. Her hopes sagged. “I just wish things were different.”
“Yeah, well … you and me both, kid.”
She gave him a faint smile and got out of the car.
She shut the door behind her and said under her breath, “Don’t call me kid.”
As she walked the final block to her house she choked back tears of disappointment. Two years ago, on her fourteenth birthday, he’d promised her with all his heart and all his soul he would get her a car for her sixteenth birthday. And she’d believed him even though deep down she knew better. He made promises all the time and never kept them. I promise I’ll see you at Christmas. I promise I’ll make the school play. I promise I’ll get a new job so you won’t have to worry about me. Promises made, never kept. One day she’d learn.
Maybe it was her fault. Maybe nobody could be trusted to do what they said they’d do. Once in her life she’d love to have someone who gave enough of a shit about her to make her a promise and keep it. For once she wanted someone to treat her like she mattered.
Nice pipe dream there. That happening was about as likely as her getting banged by an angel like St. Teresa.
Eleanor unlocked the back door and walked into the kitchen. The car was in the driveway, but where was her mom? Her mom worked the night shift as a motel manager and did bookkeeping part-time for a small construction company. If she wasn’t at work, she was either asleep or at the kitchen table with her ledgers and adding machine. Eleanor made herself dinner—a bowl of cereal—and went into the living room to eat.
She found her mom in her shabby bathrobe curled up on the frayed paisley couch, wiping her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Elle asked her mother. Her mom swiped at her face with a tissue. “Did Father Greg die?”
“No,” her mother said, pushing a hank of black hair over her ear. “But he’s probably not coming back. Not anytime soon.”
“I’m sorry,” Elle said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her mom never let her eat on the furniture, which made no sense. The furniture was old and threadbare and stained. Like a little cereal on the couch was going to make things any worse than they already were. “What’s going to happen?”
“We’re getting a new priest in the meantime,” her mother said, entirely without enthusiasm.
“That’s good, right?”
“No, it’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“The new priest is …”
“What?”
“He’s a Jesuit.”
“A what?”
“A Jesuit,” her mother repeated. “They’re an order of priests. They founded your high school, although I don’t think any Jesuits teach there anymore.”
“Are they bad priests?”
“They’re scholars,” she said. “Scientists. And very, very liberal.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“Jesuits are … They can be … It might be fine. I would have preferred a loving shepherd to a scholar, though.”
“Well,” Elle said, taking a bite of her cereal, “maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe this new priest will really love sheep.”
Her mother glared at her.
“I know. I know,” she said for the second time today. She gathered her food and her books and went to her room. Did no one like having her around?
She finished up her cereal in her room and stared at her pile of homework. But how could she even think about doing homework with so much shit going on? Her dad wasn’t getting her a car for her birthday like he promised. Her mom was having a nervous breakdown over the new priest. And she was turning sixteen in a couple of weeks and had no boyfriend, no money, no car forthcoming and no hope that things were going to get better, now or ever. Her stomach felt like someone had punched it. Her head ached and her throat itched. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream or cry or both at the same time.
Instead she walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
