Seeing the priest up close, while also finding Alice on the verge of collapse was a shock I’m still not over. If I was carrying a gun, I’d have been pointing it at the guy’s chest. Possibly even pulling the trigger.
The guy’s face is printed on the top of my mind. His soft, pale eyes, the folds of skin around his thin-lipped mouth, the way his lips moved when he smiled his smiles that seemed as fake as strawberry-flavored candy, which never tastes like real strawberries, no matter how hard they try.
I’ve just been driving around, giving Alice the time to calm down and giving myself the same. Night has fallen and there’s so few houses in the area where we are, that the darkness is black. The few lights I can see in the distance are inviting, like little havens we can aim for to find safety. But there won’t be any of that. Not for Alice. Not until we get rid of the priest.
“I think we’re gonna have to start taking notes on all the lies we’ve been telling,” I say and squeeze her hand again. “We’ll probably have to hire an estate agent, if nothing else to make our story more believable.”
She smiles at me weakly. “I don’t think we need to have much contact with anyone in town from here on out. I think the cameras and mics will give us plenty. Soon, I hope.”
“Sorry for saying we’ll be there for Mass on Sunday,” I say. “I know that wasn’t part of the plan.”
She laughs in a short burst—way too short. “Not much is going according to plan so far.”
She can say that again. If I had my way, we’d still be in that hotel suite in San Diego right now.
“But that’s how it always is with plans,” she says. “No matter how well-laid they are.”
“Like us storming that warehouse a couple of months ago,” I say before I think better of it. Reminding her of the time she almost bled out in my arms is probably not the best way to cheer her up.
But she squeezes my hand again and smiles. “Like that day, yes. But you were there to save me then just like you were there to save me tonight.”
Her voice is soft, dreamlike. Saying things I wish I could take as an invitation to show her more of how I really feel about her. Probably isn’t. But it’s as close as.
We’ve reached a small town that I didn’t read the name of as we entered. I pull into the parking lot of a bar and grill type restaurant, parking between two pickups. Still holding her hand and before turning off the engine, I lean over and kiss her. Her lips tighten under mine, probably just the initial shock, because she returns my kiss right after, squeezing my hand so tight it hurts.
But nothing can hurt when she’s kissing me back. Not really.
It doesn’t last though, she pulls away much too fast.
“Let’s go in,” she says, pulling away from me and opening her door.
I don’t let go of her hand as she tries to let go of mine. Our eyes meet then. Her’s shocked, a little scared, a little sorrowful. Mine hopefully holding all the questions I can’t ask her. Mostly the whys. As in, “Why are you always running from me when kissing you is so good?” and similar.
She shrugs, something like an apology entering her eyes. And I realize that’s the best I’m gonna get. And also, that it won’t ever be enough.
I let her go, hoping that old wisdom, the one that says if you love something, you gotta let it go and it will come back to you, holds truth.
21
Alice
I wasn’t hungry to begin with, I just figured he was and that is why I suggested we go into the bar and grill for some dinner. And then he kissed me.
The kiss was exactly what I needed. Made me feel soft and warm inside where there was only ice before, old dusty ice, covering my worst memories that seeing Gael again brought to the surface. Even holding his hand didn’t touch that ice. But the kiss did.
The kiss was also the last thing I needed. I’ve been sitting across from him, watching him eat his ribs while my chicken sandwich cools untouched in front of me. I’m on my second beer and it’s doing nothing to mellow me out.
“I think we should stop kissing,” I blurt out, because it’s the right thing to say. I shouldn’t lead him on, even if he’s the one stealing kisses and I’m not offering them.
He narrows his eyes at me, a glint of something dangerous crossing his eyes. It’s the same sharp anger that was in his eyes when he met Gael earlier. And I don’t think this anger is for me. For my rejection. But it might be.
I take another long gulp of my beer and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t. Just keeps looking at me.
“Like I already said, I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me,” I say. “But we can’t go down that road. We just can’t.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “But you want to go down that road, as you put it. I can see it.”
Indignation is a nuclear blast in my chest. Probably that much stronger because a part of me knows he’s right.
