The Night Before (7 page)

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” Joe said.

“It Friday,” the younger one spoke up.

His partner shot him a dour look before returning his cold eye to Joe. “We know that the fuck tomorrow is,” he said. “It's Christmas. And you're Santa Claus. What else you got?”

“My wife…” Joe said.

The two kids stopped to exchange a glance, their brows stitching.

“Yo' wife?” the one standing before him said. “What the fuck? What about yo' wife?”

“Something happened,” Joe said. “At home.”

“Somethin' ‘bout to happen right here,” the kid said, raising the knife a few inches. “I know that ain't all of it.”

The young partner stepped up and began slapping Joe's pockets. When one of his hands found the edge of the zebrawood box, Joe flinched and the kid said, “Uh-oh. Whatsat?” He grabbed the shoulder of Joe's coat in one thick paw. “Give it up.”

Joe shook his head. “No.”

“No? You crazy? You give it up or I'm -”

“Y'all leave the man be.”

Three heads turned in a startled second. Reverend Callum stood in the middle of the street, his arms stiff at his sides. Though his eyes glinted like opals, they were steady. The van was parked down the cross street. Neither he nor the two muggers had heard the vehicle or the man approach.

The reverend's studied gaze settled the kid with the buck knife. “You know who I am?” The kid's eyes skittered. “Yeah.”

“Who am I?”

“Reverend from the church down Iron Avenue.”

“That's right. And I know who you are, too. Know where you live. Both of ya'll. Know your mamas and your grandmamas, all them.” He paused to give a slow shake of his head. “And look at y'all out here. Shame on you both.”

The kid's eyes and the blade in his hand dipped downward. His partner's face had closed and he joined in fixing his gaze on the snow at his feet. Out of his daze, Joe recognized expressions he knew well. His kids wore those same abashed looks when caught red-handed at something.

“Let go of that knife you're holding,” Reverend Callum said.

The kid made an angry sound and dropped the weapon into the soft snow.

“Now give back whatever you took,” the reverend said. The kid didn't move. “Give it back.” A few flakes of snow swirled. The kid heaved a breath, then relented and handed Joe the wallet and phone. For a reason he couldn't fathom, Joe felt ashamed for the boy. Reverend Callum said, “They take any cash off you?”

“They can keep it.” Joe said. He was about to add, “I've got plenty,” then thought better of it. “No,” the reverend said. “Those are the rewards of sin.”

The kid said something under his breath and held out a stiff hand, the bills folded in his cold fingers. Joe reclaimed the money.

The reverend said, “And whatever else you got.” The mugger returned Joe's wedding band. “Now go on. Get in your car, go home, and stay there. It's Christmas Eve.”

The two turned away and ambled off in childlike silence.

“And go to church on Sunday,” Reverend Callum called out as they crossed the street and climbed into the Chevy. “You two shame your mothers.” The car coughed to a start and rattled and smoked down the avenue. The reverend fixed an eye on Joe. “Are you all right, sir?”

Joe, still three moves behind, stared at the reverend, who now stepped up to extend a hand.

“I'm Franklin Callum,” he said. “Reverend.” He steadied Joe's grip in his own. “It's all right. They're gone. You're lucky they weren't like some of these others.”

Joe looked over the reverend's shoulder. He could make out the arc of hand-painted scroll on the side of the van: “The Light of the World” with “Tabernacle” printed in sturdy block letters beneath it.

Reverend Callum said, “What's your name, sir?”

“Joe. Kelly.”

“What are you doing out here? You lost?”

“I was…” Joe found his mouth still dry and his stomach churning. “Walking,” he said and pointed east. “Downtown.”

“That's quite a walk.” Reverend Callum peered at Joe with polite interest. “There somewhere I can carry you?”

Joe was befuddled. “I don't know,” he said.

The reverend bent down to retrieve the knife. With a sigh of regret, he folded the blade and tucked it away. Then he looked at Joe and said, “Well, come on. We can at least get you off this here street.”

Slouching in the welcome heat, Joe replayed the mugging in his head. He had gone into a mild state of shock and the reality of the incident was just dawning. It was odd that he hadn't been afraid. In fact, he'd flipped out a little and then got weird. He thought about the looks on the kids' faces when he went off about Mariel and snickered to himself.

The man behind the wheel glanced his way. “You sure you' all right?” he said.

“I'm okay.” Joe undid the top button of his coat. “What are you doing out tonight,

Reverend?”

“I run a service out of my church for homeless folks and transients,” the reverend said. “Find them a place to stay. At shelters and so forth. I'm on my way back from carrying two gentlemen to St. Mark's.

“You don't get to be with your family?”

The reverend's smile moved away. “So happens I don't have any family here,” he said. “The church, my congregation, that's my family.” They sat in silence for a moment. “And what about you, sir?”

“I live on Crescent Drive. It's up by the college. I have a wife and two kids. And…” And what?

“Crescent Drive?” Reverend Callum said. “Afraid I can't drive you there right this minute. If that's where you' wanting to go, I mean. I got to get back to the church.”

“I guess I can call a cab.”

“Cab might take you awhile tonight,” the reverend said. “That's all right,” Joe said.

“You're welcome to ride in with me. Get wherever you're going from there.” Joe thought for a moment. “I don't know where I'm going.”

Reverend Callum produced a curious glance but did not inquire further. He put the shifter into drive and went about manhandling the old van over the snow-laden streets.

“Beautiful when it's like this, ain't it?” he said presently, then began humming a tune in a minor key.

Joe leaned his head against the cold glass and watched the dark shapes of buildings that they were passing. The facades of houses and storefronts stared back blankly. Here and there, he saw a string of lights, brave against a bleak frame. Nothing was moving.

Though it wasn't that far to downtown, the warmth and noise and camaraderie of the bars didn't seem so appealing anymore. He yearned to lie down and sleep for a long time. This brought thoughts of the bed that Mariel and he shared, the house, and the kids, and for a moment he felt like he wanted to cry. Instead, he stiffened his jaw and allowed himself a shaky sigh.

The reverend's hummed melody ended on a mellow note. After driving in silence for a block, he said, “Did something happen to you tonight, Mister Joe? I mean along with getting stuck up in here.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Something happened.”

“You have a loss?”

“Nobody died, if that's what you mean.” Joe said. “Something went wrong. At home.”

“On this night?” Callum shook his head gravely. “I'm sorry to hear that.

Joe was tempted to blurt his story to this kind man, to paint the narrative with graphic details, from the thrill of his astonishing success to his grand plan to share it with his wife and kids, arriving at that same wife bent in a lewd posture over their dining room table.

He only got as far as, “I was…”

“Sir?”

“Nothing,” Joe said. “Something happened, that's all. It's over now.”

The reverend gazed at him for a final frank moment before returning to the business of pulling the creaking van to the curb in the middle of a quiet and empty block lined with vacant stores and a few ramshackle shotgun houses, all of them dark.

“This is it right here,” he said, tilting his head. “You're welcome to step inside, get warm, have a cup of coffee.” He wrenched his door open and slid from the seat.

Mariel survived another half-hour of the party by sticking with Karen. They huddled in the kitchen, chatting about this and that, helping with the food and drinks, wandering into the living room just enough to be polite, and avoiding any mention of the night's drama. It was Mariel's good fortune that most of the other neighbors were too sloshed to pay her much mind. Betsy buzzed by to blabber for as long as she could fix her thoughts before careening back to her guests.

As soon as the clock ticked on eleven, Mariel figured she had done enough and stood at the top of the basement stairs to call down to the kids. She herded them through the crowd and out the front door with a gasp of relief that would have been audible except for all the loud tidings that followed in their wake.

Karen walked with them to the next corner. Pulling up the hood of her coat, she said, “People see me like this, they think I'm a fucking Eskimo.”

Mariel shook her head in a forlorn way. She thought Karen looked beautiful and serene, and longed to trade places with her. When they reached the corner, Karen wrapped her in a final hug and whispered, “Call me if you need to,” before trudging off down the middle of Leafmore Drive.

Mariel turned around to find Hannah eyeing her in a faintly accusing way, as if she suspected that something was wrong. It would have been no surprise if she did; the girl had always possessed antennae that could pick up the slightest tremor of trouble with either of her parents.

“Where's Dad?” she said and when Mariel failed to produce a snappy reply, turned on a peeved heel and continued on her way.

Mariel felt her heart sink, even as another sob rose in her throat. They were good children, beautiful children, and did not deserve what was about to be visited upon them. It wasn't fair and it was all her fault. She stood still and bit down hard to keep from coming undone in front of them.

Christian had stopped and was watching her. “Mom? You okay?”

She didn't move. He and his sister exchanged a glance, then made their way back along the sidewalk. Hannah peered at her with Joe's gray eyes, as if he was playing a long-distance prank on her, one that wasn't funny.

Hannah saw her mother's melancholy smile and touched her arm. “We should go home and wait for him,” she said.

The church was a converted storefront of concrete block with a flat roof upon which a sturdy cross had been erected and was now cast in the blue glow of a single spotlight.

Reverend Callum unlocked the front door and held it wide. Joe stepped inside to find six pairs of pews arranged along either side of the small room and facing a low platform with a lectern at its center. The street windows had been covered with patches of colored plastic to emulate stained glass with the odd touch of heavy steel mesh affixed to the frames. A reed organ that appeared to be a relic from the 1960s had been pushed into the corner next to the door through which the reverend now led Joe.

Joe gestured toward the windows. “You have to worry about break-ins?” he said.

Reverend Callum said, “About what? Oh. Yes, sir. Desperate people will do wrong, even at a church. These things happen. But don't worry. We're safe here.”

He led his guest into an office in the back of the building. It was as tidy as a space cramped with two desks, several sets of bookshelves, a credenza, a folding cot made up to military precision, and a trio of file cabinets could be. The lamps on each desk cast the room in shades of amber. A Christmas hymn played softly from an old radio in fake wood grain that was perched atop one of the file cabinets.

Reverend Callum dropped his gloves and keys and waved a hand to the desk in the corner. “Have a seat,” he said. “Warm yourself.” He peered at the telephone. “No calls,” he murmured. “That's good. Thank God.”

He began puttering about his desk, shuffling papers. Joe settled into the chair and as the music whispered kindly from the radio, he rested his head on his folded arms and closed his eyes. An image of his house drifted into his mind, a postcard blown on a breeze, the outside lights glowing against the fallen snow and the tree that took up a whole corner of the front room visible through a misty window. Though a pleasant portrait, it seemed strange, as if from a foreign place. How odd it was that he would feel that way after so much time?

In the next frame, his children's sweet faces appeared at the window and he felt a dark chill run through his bones, a sudden sickening notion that one or both weren't his. Whose, then? Don's? Some other long ago lover's? Who knew how many there had been over there twelve years? He felt panic rise in his chest, his heart thumping so hard that he could—

“Mister Joe?”

Reverend Callum was standing before him, his brow stitched in concern. “You all right? You were making some noise over here.”

Joe raised his head, blinking blearily. “Sorry. I dozed off.”

The reverend was holding two butter cookies on a napkin in one hand and a cracked coffee cup in the other. “Thought you might like a little something,” he said.

Joe stared at the offering for a long moment. “Thank you.” He accepted the snack and went about nibbling and sipping dutifully.

The reverend stood back to regard him in a pensive way. He said, “You want me to call you a cab? Or you got some friend or family you want to come collect you?”

Joe thought about it. Mariel had not left a message on his cell phone and he wasn't ready to talk to her anyway. He could try Billy again, but phoning a noisy saloon from such a hallowed place seemed somehow profane. Also, he still wasn't sure he wanted his best friend to know of this night's shame. So he said, “I'll just stay for a while, if you don't mind.”