The Grave Soul (14 page)

“Morning,” mumbled Kira. She poured herself a cup of coffee and stood across the room from him, hip pressed against the counter, both hands wrapped around the mug.

“Are you hungry?” Mike asked.

“I'm not much of a breakfast person,” she said. “Where's Gram?”

“Out in the hayloft, I think.” It was what they called the barn's second floor, though it had been entirely remade as a kind of small apartment. He closed up the dishwasher and turned it on. Sitting back down at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice, he motioned for her to join him.

She seemed hesitant, but eventually curled her thin frame into one of the ancient bentwood chairs, setting the mug on the oilcloth-covered table and turning it around in her hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“First, can we keep this conversation just between you and me?”

“If that's what you want.”

“I do.” She raised the mug to her lips, but set it down again without taking a sip.

“Are you angry at your family?” He had to ask.

“How could I not be?”

“Have you talked to your father about your feelings?”

“I can't talk to anyone until I work through everything and figure out what they are.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did you know my mother?”

Of all the subjects she might have brought up, this was the most difficult. “Of course I knew her.”

“I was only five when she died. I remember she made cupcakes once with pink frosting. They were for Gracie's birthday, but Gracie got to them before the party and ate all the frosting off. Mom totally lost it.”

Father Mike smiled. “Sounds like the little Grace I remember.”

“Gracie and I used to go into Mom's makeup drawer when she was out and try on all the lipstick, the eye shadow. Gracie drew these heavy, dark eyebrows on me once. I thought I looked like a movie star until Dad made me wash them off.”

“So you remember your childhood.”

“The thing is, I don't. Not as well as I'd like.”

“I'm sure your family has talked to you about your mom.”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Gram never liked her.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Come on. Tell me I'm wrong.”

He couldn't exactly argue the point. “You know, Kira, when I came to St. Andrew's, the first people I met were Evangeline and Henry. They became, in every way that counts, the parents I never had. Your father and Doug were like my younger brothers. Hannah, like a sister.”

She drew closer to the table. “That's why I thought you'd be the right person to talk to.”

“Then I'm glad you came to me. I think we have more in common than you realize.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “In what way?”

“Well, my childhood was difficult, too, though in different ways than yours. I never knew my dad. He left my mother before I was born.” He stopped, then asked, “Would you like to hear the short version of my story?”

“Sure. I suppose.”

It wasn't a ringing assertion of interest, but he went ahead anyway. “My mom died when I was two years old. I don't remember her at all. Nobody ever gave me the details, but from what I could piece together, I think she died of a drug overdose. I lived with my grandmother until I was seven, and then was sent away to stay with Aunt Bette, in Lima, Ohio. That's where I graduated from high school. My aunt was a single parent with three children of her own, so I was kind of lost in the shuffle. I was a very angry kid. Very self-conscious about the fact that I was shorter than all the other boys. I don't know what would have happened to me if my tenth-grade algebra teacher hadn't taken an interest. He was a deeply religious man. He took me hunting and fishing, got me out into the woods and taught me how to take care of myself. Taught me to box. Helped me get involved with the wrestling team at my school. I thought the world of him. I see now that I entered the priesthood not because it was something I wanted, but in order to please—and perhaps impress—him.”

“Are you sorry you became a priest?”

“No,” he said. “Not anymore. Early on, it was a struggle. I went through the motions, but between you and me, I felt like a fraud. I fell into a relationship with a woman—not physical, but emotional—and I almost left.”

“What stopped you?”

He gazed into her quick sparrow eyes, so much like Evangeline's. “Your grandmother. She saved my life, Kira. You don't get many second chances, but she gave me mine.”

“How—”

“She listened. Didn't judge or condemn. She helped me find my way back to my faith.” It was clear that Kira wasn't all that interested in his crisis of faith. She wanted to talk about her mother. She had no idea that the two subjects were, at least for a time, interwoven.

“You said you knew my mother. What did you think of her? What was she like?”

“She was … strong-willed. Very beautiful. And very troubled.”

“She drank too much. I remember that. I remember my parents arguing a lot, how scared it made me.”

“They both loved you, Kira. There was never any doubt about that.”

“But did they love Grace?”

His jaw tightened.

“Dad may have. But Mom—I think she hated her.”

“Unfortunately, if that's true, then the feelings were mutual.” He regretted saying the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

Kira bent her head. “Yeah, you're right. I never understood what really happened the day Mom died until I came for a family meeting a few days ago.”

“What did your family tell you?” He needed to know.

“Have you talked to them about it?” asked Kira.

“I've heard some of the story. I doubt I know it all.”

Folding her arms around her stomach, she said, “Gracie didn't go to school the day Mom died. For some reason she stayed home. Mom promised my dad that she wouldn't smoke in the house. She'd always go out on the deck, even in the winter. That morning, Gracie locked the door after her. It was bitterly cold. I assume Mom must have yelled for Gracie to open up. If there'd been any furniture on the deck she might have been able to break the window and get inside, but Dad had dumped all our old stuff. He was planning to buy a new table and chairs in the spring. When Gracie wouldn't let her in, Mom must have panicked. Gram figures she climbed over the rail and tried to drop onto this narrow strip of snow that ran along the edge of the backyard fence next to the ravine. Instead, she fell wide of it.”

“Such a tragedy,” said Mike.

Kira's gaze jerked away.

“Can you forgive your sister for what she did?”

“I remember the way Mom treated her when we were little. Those are my most vivid memories. I never talk about them, not to anybody.”

“But you understand now why your family needed to cover up the truth.”

“I guess. It's just—”

“Just what, Kira?”

“I have a hard time believing Gracie would do something like that.”

“You think your family is lying to you?”

“They've lied to me before.”

“But they explained all that. Told you everything.”

“Have they?”

He was confused by her response. “Yes.”

Pushing her coffee mug away, she got up. “Let Gram know that I'm going for a drive.”

“Please tell me you trust your family to be truthful.”

She didn't answer right away. “Sure. You're right. I'm being silly. Again, please keep this conversation between the two of us, okay? It's just … I'm having a hard time taking all of this in.”

“Of course you are. No worries. And if you need to talk again, remember, I'm always here for you.”

She offered him an unsmiling nod and left the room.

When he heard the front door click shut, he collapsed against the back of his chair. He sat like that, immobile, his stomach roiling, until Evangeline entered through the kitchen door a few minutes later.

“Oh, my, you did the dishes,” she said, walking over to pour herself a cup of coffee. “You didn't have to do that.” When she turned and saw his face, she said, “What's wrong?”

“Kira left.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, that girl. She doesn't understand yet. She will. It's simply going to take some time.”

Forcing himself to smile, he said, “I have to get back to the church.”

“You better take off that apron.”

He laughed. “Not a very priestly look?”

“You're my dear, dear friend. What would I do without you?”

 

21

Jane had hoped to get out of town Wednesday afternoon, but it was early evening before she was able to leave for New Dresden. During the time that she and Cordelia had spent in town, she'd noticed a
HELP WANTED
sign in the window of Kevin Adler's Sportsman's Tavern. If he ever needed someone to help him, it would be this week. Like so many other small-bar owners, Kevin undoubtedly understood the psychological nature of the week between Christmas and New Year's. Family gatherings might be fun and festive, but as the clock ticked away and one person became annoyed at Uncle Bill's politics and another got outright pissed at Aunt Beverly's snarky remarks, a good thing could turn sour. Now that all the presents had been opened and the hit each person's bank balance had taken began to sink in, the neighborhood bar started looking like the place to spend a little quality time.

Following a couple of women inside, Jane immediately noticed a sign that said:
LAST OPPORTUNITY TO BUY TICKETS FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE STEAK RAFFLE. ONE TICKET PER CUSTOMER.
She figured it might be one reason the place was so packed. People stood three and four deep waiting for their drink orders, talking, laughing, even dancing. Kevin was doing his best to handle the orders. An older woman was helping him, alternating between ringing up the sales and working as a bar back. The mood was boisterous, the TV tuned to a replay of an old Wisconsin Badgers game.

Stepping to the side so that she could get a closer look at the bar setup, Jane was glad to see that there were two jockey boxes. Kevin was only using one, though both had been prepped. The pour spouts on the liquor bottles were all needle noses, which Jane preferred. The glasses were generic sizes. Nothing silly. Four beers on tap. Favorite call liquors directly behind the box. Two blenders on the back bar. Freezer below holding the chilled beer glasses. Small refrigerator. All the necessary juices in a row next to the ice. A couple muddlers next to that. Shakers and strainers, all cleaned, organized, and ready to go. Everything looked straightforward.

Hearing Kevin curse as he knocked over a bottle of gin, Jane moved around him to the open jockey box and slapped a napkin on the counter. Customers began to line up in front of her.

“One Manhattan on the rocks,” said an older woman. “And one vodka tonic.”

When Jane looked over at Kevin, she found him staring at her.

“You know what you're doing?” he called.

“I better,” she called back. “Just need the portions.”

“Ounce and a quarter, mixed. Ounce and three-quarters up or rocks.”

“Got it.” She smiled at the woman in front of her and began pouring. It had been a while since she'd worked a bar this busy, but it all came back to her, the moves, filling the glasses with ice, then slapping them on the counter, counting out the pour, using both hands, hitting the glass with the liquor and the mix gun at the same time. It took a few minutes to get the speed rail arranged the way she liked. As she worked, she laughed, talked, and mixed it up with the crowd. Every now and then, Kevin would glance her way and nod. She was saving his ass and they both knew it.

The crowd didn't start thinning out until close to one-thirty. After pulling himself a beer, Kevin moved over to Jane, stuck out his hand, and introduced himself. “You looking for a job? If you are, you got one.”

“I don't know,” said Jane, spraying soda water on the bar mop and wiping down the lacquered wood counter. “I'm kind of, you know, in between at the moment. I've got some friends in Duluth. They invited me to stay with them over New Year's, so that's where I'm headed.”

“Is your plan set in stone?”

“Not really.”

“You from Wisconsin?”

“I've lived all over the country. I don't seem to stay in any one place very long. Could be I'm searching for home.”

His gaze roamed the room. “From one fellow traveler to another, I hope you find it. You got a license to pour?”

“In Minnesota.”

“Good enough.” He spoke with his hands in his pockets, never taking one out except to hoist the beer glass to his mouth. Nodding to a group of men as they passed on their way to the door, he continued, “Even if you only stay a week, two weeks, a month, you could really help me. I've got a lot on my plate right now. Would be nice if someone who knew the business could handle the place for me. I'd pay you extra.”

“You mean, like, take over? Open and close.”

“I'd close up every night, set up the bank for the next day. I've got a guy who can open, work the early part of the afternoon. But yeah, if you could do the rest—sweep, clean up, prep the garnishes and set up the boxes, then stay until I can get here, that would save my life. What do you say? You interested?”

This was perfect, thought Jane. She needed a way into the Adler family. She'd been hoping that the
HELP WANTED
sign would be her ticket to ride. “Let me think about it.” She didn't want to seem too eager.

“You got anything better to do? Who knows? You might even decide that New Dresden is heaven on earth.” His grin was infectious—a genuine smile, crooked and friendly.

Jane found herself smiling back. “Okay. You found yourself a bartender.” Folding the bar rag, she asked, “Do you mostly work alone?”