The Boys Upstairs (Father Jay Book 2) Page 7

  But here it was, months later, and that had been the first moment of Spider's turn-around, a moment where God had succeeded when Jay thought his own efforts had failed.

  Dear God, let it come down to that moment with Nick, where the weeding would be done and Jay could begin planting. Spider had turned around. Jay himself had turned around. God could turn Nick around too, given time. Given prayer. Given patience and love. And those were all gifts God had in abundance.

  Eight

  At midnight on December 23rd, the restaurant owner approached Holly and told her she could have their leftover bread for the Caf. She dialed Kevin's cell phone and reached him at work. “I was wondering if you could stop by and pick it up so Jay will have it in the morning.”

  “I don't think Jay wants to talk to me right now.”

  Holly paused. “Could you just leave it with someone else? I'm not sure if I'll have a chance to get there tomorrow.”

  Sounding reluctant, Kevin agreed.

  The restaurant officially closed at midnight, but a group of six had been seated at eleven-thirty and was still finishing their meal. Holly had two tables remaining; the only other waitress on duty was Sara, with the party of six and no one else. Holly began cleaning up in preparation for closing.

  At twelve-thirty, Kevin walked in the door, and Holly escorted him to the kitchen where Luis and Cassandra were putting together a box for St. Gus. There was the typical give-and-take between the restaurant owners and a police officer—here, have something on the house, no I can't, no please, I can't accept—

  Sara rushed into the back with tears on her face. “Those creeps left me a religious tract for a tip!”

  “They did what?”

  “It looks like a twenty on the front, but it's an invitation to their church—”

  Holly snatched it from Sara's hand and raced for the front of the restaurant. She heard the chair scrape behind her as Kevin got up.

  His words hung in the air behind her: “Don't make me arrest you for assault.”

  Holly didn't pause to grab her coat. It was easy to find the group in the parking lot. They hadn't yet gotten into their car.

  “Excuse me,” she called, “but which of you is responsible for this?”

  They all turned.

  “A tract alone is not a tip.” Holly handed it to the man preparing to get behind the steering wheel. “I don't know where you come from, but in my world, waitresses need to pay for milk and bread with real money at the grocery store.”

  The woman in the passenger seat stepped out of the car. “You cannot serve both God and money.”

  “The worker is worth his hire. You wouldn't be happy with me if I were to go to your church and drop our take-out menu in the collection basket.” Holly folded her arms. It hadn't started to snow yet, but the cold was bitter. “Call it what you want, but what you did was theft of services. How you treat the poor man is how you treat Jesus himself. Your server stayed an hour late taking care of your party while her son is sleeping on her mother's couch. She has to tip out the busboys from your check whether you give her the money or not, so she actually lost money for the privilege of bringing you dessert and refilling your coffee.”

  The woman looked shocked.

  The man said, “I don't like your tone, miss.”

  “I'm sorry if you don't like it. No one liked what Jesus had to say either because it was the truth.” Holly turned away. “Don't just preach to the world and tell the poor to be warm and well-fed. Show some compassion—for God's sake.”

  The man shook his head. “You clearly don't know the Lord.”

  “I know the Lord quite well. I would never dream of tipping with only His Word.” Holly rubbed her frozen arms. “You want to make an impact—leave a real twenty and your tract.” She took a step away, then looked over her shoulder. “By the way, my name is Holly if you want to get me fired. The woman you stiffed was Sara.”

  Back inside, Holly found Kevin at the door. She couldn't read the look on his face as he said, “You okay?”

  “I hate that.” She rubbed her eyes. “I don't care if they're cheap, but don't glorify it by saying God wants it. Waitresses get this kind of garbage all the time—'Why would I tip fifteen percent when God only gets ten?' God doesn't have to pay the bills.” She leaned against the wall and tucked her chin. “This stinks, Kevin. She should have had eighteen dollars at least off that table. They ordered drinks and dessert, the works.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Come on in back.”

  “I've got to check my tables. I'll be there in a bit.”

  Holly went to the last two tables, apologized if they had been waiting for her, and refilled their coffee.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said. “Miss?”

  Holly turned and found the woman from the car. “If you don't mind—” The woman's eyes were already watery, and now the dam burst. “I— We were wrong.” She wiped her mascara-stained cheeks. “Could you—”

  She held out some money to Holly, and Holly reached out to embrace the woman. Holly felt her breath catch and her eyes burning. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

  “You should have.” The woman bit her lip. “You were right.”

  Sara came from the back, and Holly waved her over. The woman gave her the money and apologized again, and she hugged Sara before leaving.

  “Oh my goodness,” Sara whispered, “she gave me forty dollars!”

  Holly laughed. “Real this time?”

  “Real. Do you know—” Sara looked at her. “Now you're going to make me cry. I can get Justin something else for Christmas. I only bought that sweatshirt for him. He'd have been happy with it, but there was a train set at Odd Lot, and now I can get it for him.”

  Holly smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

  And then she caught sight of Kevin's astonished face as he watched her from near the coat rack.

  “She came back?”

  Holly beamed. “She did!”

  “I wouldn't have believed it.” Kevin blinked. “What do you think changed her mind?”

  Holly laughed. “I think it must have been God.”

  Nine

  The morning of December 24th, Jay opened the front door to a sheet of glass.

  Unbelievable. Yes, last night's weather reports had predicted freezing rain—but this defied description. As smooth as a hockey-rink, the front steps of the rectory were only the first obstacle Jay needed to pass in order to get into the church for the morning Mass. Even with all his balance and perfect eyesight, he'd have been nervous.

  Behind him, Eddie said, “You okay, Father?”

  “Can you see any cars in the parking lot?”

  Eddie slowly counted to seven. Jay had been hoping for zero. He shut the front door while he found his crutches in the coat closet, then pulled the little teeth-ends over the rubber stoppers. He fit his wrists into the guides and gripped the handles.

  Eddie said, “I'll take you.”

  Jay glanced sideways. Eddie sounded determined, so Jay let the boy help him down the three ice-coated front steps, then directly across the parking lot to the closest of the church entrances. He would have broken his back if he'd tried this alone. Even Eddie had trouble making the walk, wearing rubber-soled sneakers. But with Eddie supporting him under one arm, Jay managed to get to the church and the relative safety of the carpet.

  He thanked Eddie, who beamed with pride. With any luck, the boy would make it back without busting a leg.

  After vesting up but before starting the service, Jay knelt in the chilly church in front of the tabernacle and tried to clear his mind. Too much Christmas clutter, he prayed. It's hard to listen. It's hard to keep focus.

  Momentarily he felt a question: What is most important for the holiday? What does the Nativity mean? And then, What do you want for Christmas?

  A dozen needs flooded Jay's mind: all of those boys upstairs who distrusted the world, the three little kids who'd rather be dead together than alive apart, Eddie and his yearning for a meani
ngful role in the world, and on the other extreme Holly who would all but pay Jay a stipend trying to take care of him. There was Kevin and all of his baggage, his anger and his brooding distances—and it was too much. There were so many more gaps. His parish needed so much. Fighting Iraqis hadn't sapped half as much out of him as St. Gus could on its busiest days.

  Oh, God... Jay lowered his head to hide the nervous chuckle. All I asked for was an electric can-opener.

  As Jay made his way back into the sacristy, he noticed those who entered through the side door had amused smiles. As he passed, one parishioner tapped twice on the holy water in the font: the water had frozen solid.

  After morning Mass, someone came into the sacristy. “Father Farrell?”

  He recognized the voice. “Hi, Mrs. D. Big day ahead.”

  “Wouldn't have it any other way. Listen, last night I was baking, and I ended up with too many cookies.”

  Sure. She had “ended up” making too many cookies in the same way she had “accidentally” bought too many turkeys at Thanksgiving and picked too many apples in October.”And I thought to myself that the boys upstairs might want some Christmas cookies. They might never have had any before in their lives. Would they like them?”

  Jay accepted the weighty box—tied with a blue satin ribbon He assured her the cookies had no chance of surviving until Christmas morning.

  The door opened, and Jay glanced aside enough to recognize Eddie. Relief surged through him. The treachery of the parking lot might have kept him in the church building doing odd jobs until the Municipal Road Crew—that is to say, the sun—had gotten to work.

  Mrs. D. turned to see who'd stepped in, then gasped. “Oh, how sweet!”

  It took Jay a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Eddie, but rather about the halo-haired boy by Eddie's side. Mrs. D. was kneeling in front of Jamie with her hands on his shoulders. “What a doll! I didn't see him at the Caf yesterday.” She turned to Jay. “He reminds me so much of my grandson when he was this age.”

  Jamie was looking at the woman with a hungry curiosity.

  Jay said, “Jamie, meet Mrs. D. She's the woman who cooked the meal in the cafeteria yesterday, and today she brought cookies for you and all the other boys upstairs.”

  “Maria too?” said Jamie.

  “Yes, her too.”

  Mrs. D. said, “He's so young. Those two kids with the rolls yesterday are his brother and sister?” She paused. “Is the little girl okay in with all those boys?”

  “Maria smacked around two of them the first night for swiping her pillow, so she's got their respect. I'm not sure what their situation was. I'm told it was pretty drastic.”

  “Oh, what a shame.” She tried to straighten the boy's too-small coat, then sighed. “How awful for you to have to be here, and so young.” Standing, she turned to Father Jay. “Well, time to get the day started.”

  “It's already begun,” Jay said with a chuckle. “Thanks for the cookies.”

  Eddie waited almost until the woman had left before adding his own, “Thank you.” Jamie just watched the woman leave without saying a word.

  Kevin and Bill responded to a call at a park due to some noisy teenagers. The kids all hastily extinguished cigarettes as the cops approached--and they really were “kids”. Thirteen or fourteen years old, hooded sweatshirts instead of winter jackets, bushy hair down to their chins on the guys and past their shoulder blades for the girls.

  Bill handled it all, Kevin silent and imposing behind him. The kids claimed they hadn't been making much noise at all, other than a couple—maybe just a few—shrieks during a snowball fight. And they'd been breaking ice sheets off the playground equipment, maybe throwing just a little bit of it—

  Kevin had heard it all before. Normal kids having normal fun, a little old lady irritated that she was able to hear them from within her house just beside her window if she turned off the television and listened hard with her ear pressed to the glass—and how dare those kids throw snow? Someone could get hurt. Time to call the cops.

  The kids agreed not to smoke any longer (yeah, right) and promised not to make any more noise (at least for fifteen minutes) and the officers turned to leave.

  As they trekked out of the park, Kevin stopped in front of a hump of ice-covered snow.

  It stood about waist-high, about as wide around as it was tall. “They have boulders in this park?”

  “Not last time I was here.”

  Someone could have hauled in a boulder, but it was unlikely. “What on earth is this?” Dear heaven, not a frozen homeless man, huddled under a blanket like an Eskimo in his igloo.

  Kevin brushed off the tip, and with a crack some of the ice came away, bringing needles with it.

  “Holy cow! That's a pine tree.”

  Bill huffed. “I didn't know they could bend like that.”

  Kevin brushed it again, revealing more branches. He realized the kids were watching, and Bill was watching too, but he kept pushing the snow off the lump of bent tree. Armfuls of icy snow came off, and at any moment he expected the tree to snap upright, released from the weight. Instead it only rose a little taller.

  Bill joined him. Together, the two police officers shook the branches loose, excavating the trapped branches underfoot, and making the tree taller and taller. Maybe it had stood six feet without the snow, but now it was almost four feet, and its head remained bent.

  “Do you think it can survive this way?”

  “I have no idea.” Bill shrugged. “I took criminal justice, not botany.”

  “But the trunk isn't snapped.”

  “Well, remember that blizzard last year? The chief said the most flexible trees survive the worst ice storms.” Bill began digging around the base now, releasing the trapped branches from the standing snow. “Either they've got to be so strong that nothing can take them down, or they have to be able to bend when it comes.”

  “This is crazy, though.”

  Kevin looked up to find the kids all standing around him.

  “Whatcha doing?” one said.

  “This is a tree. Recognize it?” Bill grinned. “We're the city's finest. We'll help anyone.”

  One of the girls moved in to help dig.

  Bill and Kevin were beaded with ice chips. Kevin dusted his gloves against one another. The highest point of the tree had reached about five feet, and still the crown had risen only knee-high off the ground. As the teenagers set to work, Kevin and Bill stepped back.

  “We could leave.” Kevin couldn't take his eyes off the tree as the kids pulled every bit of ice off all of the branches, circling like a triage team, shouting instructions. They were actually more organized than some ambulance corps he'd worked with. That little old lady would call back to report them again if she had her television off. (“9-1-1? There are some kids digging out a tree--and two armed men making them do it! Send a whole squadron!”)

  Bill had a faint smile. “We can stay.”

  “Hey!” One of the kids laughed. “The ground is totally bare under here!”

  “It's like a neat home for a squirrel.”

  “I bet something could hide from the storm under here!”

  Kevin stepped back and regarded the tree for a long moment. By now it stood about eight feet tall, so he had to pull his head back to see the crown. Although it stood bent a little, it had straightened as much as it could for the moment.

  “You were right.” Bill rubbed his gloved hands together. “That tree was going to stand tall again.”

  Chills shot up Kevin's back, and not just from having his boots in the snow. He looked at Bill, but he didn't say anything.

  As they rode in the patrol car, Kevin stayed wrapped in his own thoughts. It just seemed too...too strange. Too coincidental. Hadn't he told Jay that someone bent double by tragedy could never stand straight again? And there before him, a tree crushed by ice had risen out of the ground as if from the dead.

  What could it be if not coincidence? Did God exist? Was God answeri
ng Jay's prayers just to string them both along, the better to laugh in their faces later? Did Jay have so much belief that he'd rearranged the world? It was quantum theory or something—someone wanted something so much, or could visualize it so clearly that the thing had no choice other than to happen. It didn't make sense any other way. Jay with his will that could bend iron bars had bent the laws of the universe, bent that tree, and placed it just where Kevin would find it.

  But that meant Kevin had brushed the ice off the tree while in thrall to Jay's will. That made no sense either. And had the kids said what they did under Jay's spell? For once, it made more sense to believe it was an act of God.

  Jay would say—if Kevin cared to mention it to Jay at all—Jay would say that God wanted to “make nice” with him, or that God had shown He cared.

  But what about all of the times God had shown He didn't care? Was one straightened tree supposed to undo all the hatred Kevin had seen? What about all the broken trees? What about all the pain, all the waste, all the useless losses?

  No one gets a second chance. Even if a tree got a second chance, what about all of the people snuffed out like a candle? What about that girl who had died two years ago on Christmas Eve?

  Kevin folded his arms as another call came in, reaching for the radio to respond even as Bill turned on the sirens to speed across a city where a man got only one chance.

  Ten

  The remainder of Jay's day blurred together on “fast-forward.” The sun burned off the ice; parish volunteers arrived to decorate the church; more parishioners brought gifts or holiday goodies; the boys upstairs devoured one hour of Mrs. D's baking in five minutes; and Jay made final phone calls, pleas, and threats to get everything ready for Christmas.

  In the kitchen alongside the Caf, he opened the refrigerator to pull out one of the bowls, and his hands hit the top of the bowl. He paused. What the—?

  He tapped it again, then winced, remembering the frozen holy water. The refrigerator was freezing things. Just what he needed, for the refrigerator to die on Christmas Eve.