Hunter's Moon (21 page)

The enormous, modern campus that appeared before him bore no similarities to the old, painfully small, idiosyncratic building he remembered. That structure was gone, and this single-level brown-brick monster had been put up in its place. CJ wondered about the money involved in something like this, and if the Franklin County prisons were responsible for the sort of influx of cash such a project would have required.

He let out a low whistle, which drew Thor’s attention from the smells beyond the car window.

“It’s a lot bigger than it used to be,” he explained to the dog, wondering as he did so if there was much difference between that and his boss talking to a scarecrow.

At least the football field was in the same spot. CJ could hear the crowd noises coming from behind the school, and he found a place to park in the packed lot in the front. He affixed the leash to Thor’s collar and set off.

When he rounded the school, which took quite a while considering its sprawl, he saw that while the field was in the same general spot, it too had been upgraded. Most noticeably there were twice as many bleachers and not a one of them appeared to be rusted.

He paid his money at the gate and then stood to the left of a long set of bleachers, watching the action on the field. It was the fourth quarter, and the scoreboard had Adelia up 24 to 17. CJ watched from his spot as the visiting quarterback approached the line. He barked the snap count, took the ball and handed off to the running back, who looked for a seam on the right side of the line. But the Adelia linebackers sniffed it out and took him down for a loss. It seemed that just about everyone in the stadium rose as one to cheer the play—everyone except the section next to where CJ stood. A closer inspection revealed that he’d allied himself through proximity with the visiting fans.

“We’ve crossed enemy lines, boy,” he said to Thor, who was busy sniffing the dirt beneath the nearest bleachers. CJ gave the leash a tug and went off in search of the concession stand that, he was happy to see, sat in the same spot it had always occupied. He ordered two hamburgers and then set about finding a spot among the first row of seats, which required him to make a circuit around the field. Once he was seated, he unwrapped one of the burgers, pulled the meat from between the bun, and dropped it on the ground for Thor.

About ten minutes passed as CJ watched the game, although he found that he wasn’t paying much attention to it, except to cheer and to sit and stand along with everyone else. He was simply enjoying the atmosphere, allowing the brisk air, the game sounds, the smells of various concessions, and the feeling of being in a crowd to relax him, to strip away the portions of the day that had not gone so well.

In fact, he was so disassociated from his surroundings that he had no idea how long his dog had been missing. Thor’s leash disappeared beneath the bleachers, and CJ looked down through the gap between the seats to see the Lab finishing some dirt-laden delicacy only a dog could love. He tried a pull on the leash, but physics decreed that Thor had worked himself into a spot that made him impervious to repeat tugs delivered around a curve. So CJ gave up and let the dog be.

Fate, however, seemed intent on disallowing him the same courtesy. He spotted Ben first, yet Julie was only a few steps behind. They must have just gotten back from Albany. CJ remembered now that their son was on the team. Their seat search took them to within twenty yards of CJ before they found a spot. CJ let his eyes linger for a time, until he felt that he was crossing some line that would turn him into, as Elliott had said, a stalker.

After releasing a sigh, he stood and moved to a spot where Thor’s leash straightened sufficiently to increase the effectiveness of CJ’s tug on it. The dog came out from beneath the bleachers with a happy wag. Without a look back at his cousin and his wife, CJ worked his way around the field and toward the parking lot.

When fifteen minutes later he’d parked in the street in front of Sister Jean Marie’s convent, he found he couldn’t put a finger on his mood. As he got out of the car and reached for Thor’s leash, he wondered if the sister would appreciate this extra visitor.

As a former altar boy, CJ was familiar with the rectory, which in the case of St. Anthony’s was attached to the church, and he knew there was nothing overtly spiritual about a priest’s living quarters. Minus the biblically themed artwork and the occasional hanging crucifix, it was just a place to live.

The convent, on the other hand, was an entirely different animal. While it was near the church—on the other side of the street—there had never been a reason for CJ, or any other altar boy, to darken its doorway. This had lent the place an air of mystery that was missing from the priest’s home. And when one threw in the historical terminology, like
cloister
,
solemn vows
, and
Mother Superior
—not to mention that, as a boy, CJ had thought the average nun looked a good deal more imposing than any priest he could call to mind—it was easy to see why the sidewalk on that side of the street always carried less traffic.

CJ hadn’t attended the parochial school attached to St. Anthony’s and so, unlike most of his fellow altar boys, he had little experience with the nuns outside of the church walls. He didn’t see any of them teaching classes, organizing music programs, or otherwise displaying their human sides. Sister Jean Marie had been the exception with the amount of time she spent at the church, and the fact that she had a ready smile and kind eyes. Learning that she loved baseball was the clincher. She could talk Yankees and Mets as if she’d spent time in both dugouts, and she threw a fair fastball.

What CJ found amusing as he stopped on the sidewalk in front of the sister’s home was that the place couldn’t have looked more benign—surely not a place that harbored yardstick-wielding, mean-tempered old women. His youthful mind had substituted brooms for the yardsticks and a steaming cauldron for whatever secret activities they performed in their lair, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if research proved the whole modern-day perception of witches had been formed among the students of whatever was the medieval equivalent of a Catholic school.

The convent was a two-story brick building with copper gutters and stone steps that had weathered in all the right places. Atop the steps was a large solid-looking wooden door with a small window behind wrought iron. It was the only thing that belied the otherwise genial nature of the place. And it was immediately offset by the vibrant garden that stretched from either side of the steps. What little CJ knew about gardening came from his having spent a single summer working on a landscaping crew. He recognized the hostas, azaleas, amaryllis, and freesia right off. Other plants and flowers, though, were new or their names forgotten. What made this garden so striking was the obvious care that had gone into its planning. There were thick areas, with plants of all kinds and colors arranged in a wild but complementary harmony, along with sections of thinly populated ground that held their own whimsical beauty.

Thor, who seemed to share an equal appreciation for the foliage, if on a more empirical level, had his nose buried in a chrysanthemum. CJ put a quick stop to any ideas the dog had with a tug on the leash.

The door opened before CJ reached the top step.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to pay me a visit.” The abbess looked down at Thor, who was not quite straining against the leash to get a better look inside but was near enough to that state that CJ gave the leash a little pull.

“Although I’m not sure what the other sisters will say about this one.” She looked back to CJ. “He won’t drink the holy water, will he?”

CJ saw the twinkle in her eye as she asked it, and if there was any doubt about her true sentiments, she went to a knee to work her fingers behind the Lab’s ears. But he decided not to answer the question on the off chance his dog would indeed do something unholy if allowed inside.

Although he’d seen her at Sal’s funeral, it wasn’t until now that he realized how much things must have changed since he was a boy in the Catholic Church. Rather than a habit or the more casual blue skirt and white shirt he remembered from years ago, Sister Jean Marie was dressed in jeans and a New York Rangers T-shirt. In fact, except for a cross on a chain that hung from around her neck, he might not have guessed any religious affiliation.

After a few moments the sister stood and led CJ and Thor inside, into a good-sized room with two small couches, four chairs, a couple of oil paintings, and a large potted plant that CJ couldn’t immediately judge as to whether fake or real.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you the full tour,” she said. “Really, you’re not supposed to go any farther than the front room, but the kitchen’s a nicer place for a chat.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “But I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” CJ said. “And you’ve won Thor over, so I’m pretty sure he won’t rat you out.”

As Sister Jean Marie led him out of the front room and down the hallway, CJ decided that while he didn’t know what a convent was supposed to look like—to feel like—this wasn’t it. If anything, it seemed more like a standard home than did Father Tom’s rectory. There was also something like the feel of college dorm, without the loud music and pizza boxes.

“How many rooms are in this place?”

“Twelve bedrooms,” the sister answered. “But only five of them are occupied.”

CJ couldn’t tell if that was resignation he heard in her voice, but he decided to let it go.

The kitchen was enormous. It was done in a pastel green that evoked a country charm, dominated by a large island that CJ could imagine several nuns working around during meal preparation. Right now the kitchen was empty save for the abbess and her visitors. She moved a teakettle onto a burner and then pulled two cups from a cupboard before motioning CJ to an adjoining breakfast nook and the small table that sat by a bay window. CJ let Thor off the leash, and after a quick circle around the immediate area, nose to the floor, the dog curled up beneath the table.

“Thor?” Jean Marie asked as she sat opposite him.

“Short for Thoreau.”

She waited a beat before responding. “Of course it is,” she eventually said.

Before he could ask what that meant, she smiled and said, “So what do you think of Adelia after being away so long?”

He took a moment to answer because, while he’d considered the question some since he’d been back, he hadn’t pressed himself for a response succinct enough to fit into a real conversation. After a while he said, “I think the parts that have changed are dwarfed by what’s stayed the same.”

She nodded, and CJ saw a hint of a smile touch her lips.

“An accurate answer without a value judgment,” she said. “You know, that’s a skill.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” he said with a grin.

The low whistle of the teakettle came to them from the stove, and the sister rose and crossed to it, followed by Thor. As she poured the water into the cups she said, “I was surprised to hear you’d decided to stay.”

“It’s very temporary—just until I can work a few things out.”

“Rumor has it that you and your wife have called it quits.”

“Calling. Not quite called,” CJ corrected.

“Oh, so there’s hope still?” She’d returned to the table with a serving tray carrying two cups, spoons, cream, and sugar.

“Don’t know,” CJ said, “but it’s not looking good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jean Marie said. “Janet, right?”

He nodded.

“Most of your books are dedicated to her,” she said in response to his unasked question. “All but the last one.”

“I realized I’d never dedicated a book to my dog,” he said with a shrug. He reached for a spoon and emptied three spoonfuls of sugar into his cup.

“How’s that arm of yours?” she asked. “Still have that slider?”

That drew a laugh. He hadn’t thrown a ball in a very long time, not to mention one that’s notorious for ruining many a good pitcher. He’d wondered a time or two if his preference for and skill with the slider spoke of some unknown desire to exit the game as quickly as he could—torque the arm to the point where no major league team would take a chance on him.

“I take it that’s a no?”

“Sister, I’d throw one pitch and wind up in the hospital.”

They drank their tea for a while in silence, until they began to hear dog snores floating up from beneath the table. Even then, they let that be their background music.

“Adelia’s an odd Walden,” the abbess said, which pulled a smile out of CJ.

“What makes you think this qualifies? I hardly think this place signifies disengagement.”

Jean Marie took a sip of tea, considering the question. After a time she said, “I guess that’s your call. You know best.”

There was that knowing twinkle again. It was beginning to bug him.

“What’s on your mind, CJ ?” the sister asked, and before he could offer a protest, she added, “When you walked up the steps you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

On the tail of that statement Thor snorted in his sleep. CJ smiled at the appropriateness of it.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been a practicing Catholic, but aren’t priests the only ones allowed to take confession?”

“I didn’t say anything about a confession, Charles.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.”

When he didn’t say anything else, she said, “Home is always confusing when it isn’t home anymore.”

“Home is where the heart is, isn’t it?” He’d meant it to be glib, but the severe look on the sister’s face—a look very much like that of the typical nun, at least in CJ’s estimation—told him he’d said something wrong.

“If that were true, would you be living above Mr. Kadziolka’s store?”

Historical precedent almost demanded that CJ make some witty response, something to deflect the probing nun’s question. For some reason, though, that tack seemed distasteful to him— probably because he knew where he wanted to be. So guilt caused him to let the comment go unanswered.

The sister studied him for a few seconds and then sighed.