The red Volvo lay charred in the driveway, remnants of a night of debauchery from one of the village troublemakers. The middle-aged pastor sighed as she looked out the window, trying with all her heart to summon forgiveness for the perpetrator. It was hard for her to fathom the mind of one capable of such self-indulgence, having been brought up amongst more altruistic social traits. Her eyes strayed toward the chapel next to her garden, where a light flickered in one of the doorway lanterns. Forgiveness was, after all, the nature which she was sworn to maintain.
Marianne Parsons was known as a charitable figure throughout the entire Norwich community, and this was an identity which she had proudly displayed for twenty-two years. She lived a comfortable life. A bit overweight perhaps, her indifference to this made up for whatever issues it would have otherwise presented. True to the cleric of her namesake, she would stand at her podium and preach the sermon of both testaments every Sunday. During the week, she would look for ways to exemplify her morality. Whether this meant contributing to the town’s food shelf, renting out the spare room in her cottage to weary Appalachian Trail travelers, or showing up to town meetings every month, the overriding consensus of Mrs. Parsons’ character was that she was a fine pastor who ‘wore the stole proud’.
Marianne closed the drapes, grabbed her cane from beside her bedroom door and walked downstairs. She put a pot of water on the stove and turned on the gas. Grabbing a brand-new padlock from a drawer in the kitchen counter, she made her way to the front door of the cottage. Freydís, Marianne’s old greyhound, let out a sharp bark as she opened the door.
“Quiet Frey.” Marianne waved Freydís back with a large yawn.
She closed the heavy front door and let the screen door bounce as she hobbled down the porch stairs. The sun was beginning to cut through the morning haze. Close to the Connecticut River, Marianne was used to the heavy mornings. Dewdrops hung to every leaf of her garden as she passed. The sunlight glistened through the dew and bounced off her zucchini vines. She had lived at her Main Street Cottage for nearly twenty-five years. Now, in her late fifties, she found pride in each plant that made its way through the smog of New England’s temperate climate and the drift from the oil refinery across the river. It was somewhat surprising to Marianne, especially in times such as these, that her garden was as healthy as it was. Her smile faltered as she passed her zucchinis and reached the chapel.
Most Sunday mornings, Marianne would already be behind her podium. She thought about her stole, carefully folded in the top drawer of her dresser. Her organist, JT, was at home, likely still asleep. The town hall was yet to host its first meeting since the lockdown, and so a decision was yet to be made for how she would hold a virtual sermon. She felt a tear materialize in her retina. She let it fall as she strapped the padlock around the door handles. There was no need to leave it open while service was barred. Just one tear, and she made her way back to the cottage.
Marianne looked at the red Volvo, half blackened by fire in the driveway. She sighed again and hobbled up the porch stairs. A newspaper was laying on the top step. She hadn’t noticed it on her way to the church, but the bold headline caught her attention as she opened the screen door.
“VILLAGERS PITCH IN TO KEEP GENERAL STORE AFLOAT”
A picture of Maisy’s General Store filled up half the page beneath the headline. Beneath the picture was an article full of interviews from various village residents. Marianne recognized the name of one man near the top of the article.
“Not my beloved Maisy’s!” The high-pitched voice of Donnie Packert rang out through the print on the page.
Marianne chuckled as she read on about the townspeople and their efforts to keep the store in business despite the lockdown. The water was boiling when she entered the kitchen, and she let her tea steep as she continued the article. As it turned out, Donnie Packert wasn’t the only resident who felt obligated to help the store in its time of need. Desdemona Lewis from the farm stand up the road also had quite a bit to say:
“Maisy’s has always been there for us.” Says Lewis. “I can remember countless times when I was running low on pot soil or tomatoes, and Maisy’s was always just a short walk away. Arnold needs our help in these dark times, and we owe it to Maisy’s to step up to the plate.”
Arnold Emmons, co-owner alongside his brother Owen, and manager of the store, says that he is overcome with gratitude for the town’s response to this crisis. Besides Mrs. Lewis and Mr. Packert’s endorsement, an astounding turnout has shown face at Maisy’s over the past week. George Kohn, owner of Kohn Welding, has offered to help with delivery to those who cannot leave their homes for medical reasons. Matthew Mcreory has taken time off from his cattle to pitch in at the cash register. Amira Wadlow, who all the villagers know from her…
But what Amira Wadlow was known for, Marianne was unable to find out, for at that moment Freydís let out a tremendous bark at something outside the window.
“Frey!” Marianne rebuked, flattening the paper on the table.
She stood up, realizing that Freydís hadn’t yet been outside that morning.
“Silly dog.” She chimed. “Come here, let’s getcha on your leash.”
They left the cottage and walked to the entrance of a small path in the woods behind the church. Though the sky was overcast, the sun shone through a few hours to noon. Marianne glanced behind her at the charred Volvo, and then decided that a walk in the woods would do her mental health some good. She tugged at Freydís’ leash and breathed in the rich air of the woodland area. The path she was on, as far as she knew, would take her all the way to the Connecticut River, should she decide to hike all the way out. Marianne never undertook this excursion. To make it to the river and back on foot was a three-and-a-half-hour trek. She preferred the solidarity of her own woods. She felt safer, and somehow more self-aware knowing that she was unlikely to come across any strangers on her morning hikes.
Her forest was vibrant and loud. There were more birds around than Marianne could remember seeing in a long time. There were woodpeckers high in the hardwoods and sparrows within the maples. She even spotted a few canaries singing a duet in the middle of a thicket. The dewdrops seemed brighter on the moss which also seemed greener than usual. Freydís chomped on a mushroom which Marianne recognized as poisonous.
“Spit it Frey! Spit it!” She grabbed the mushroom fragments from the dog’s mouth and tugged Freydís along.
As they made their way back to the cottage, Marianne wondered if it was time for a cup of coffee. She remembered her tea, still steeping on the kitchen counter. Inside the cottage, she picked up her copy of Paradise Lost and motioned for Freydís to follow her back out to the porch. Freydís lay down next to Marianne as she read and sipped her chamomile. It was nearly noon, and the sun found its way through the clouds as Marianne followed Gabriel’s messengers on their way to the Garden of Eden. Her tulips flared like torches in her garden as Satan took the form of an adder in Milton’s landscape. A doe and her fawn pranced through the field behind the church and disappeared into the woods right near the path’s entrance. As Eve ate the fruit, Marianne remarked on how the garden of Eden might just as well be her own.
Thoughts of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained encompassed her as she read, and slightly before dusk, she awoke to find that she had passed into slumber sometime mid-afternoon. The Volvo had a dusting of pollen on its cracked windshield, a development of the past few hours. Freydís was on the other end of the porch now, absorbed in a blissful sleep of her own, but she stirred as Marianne stood, releasing a huge yawn for her owner’s benefit. Marianne gathered her things and called Freydís inside. She ate a small dinner: a salad and a baked potato, before retreating upstairs to her bedroom, where she resumed her sleep and her dreams of a garden worthy to be called paradise.
The pastor slept through the night, and Freydís’ barking shook the windows of the small cottage shortly after sunrise on Monday. Marianne quickly got out of bed, understanding Freydís’ barking to mean that someone was at the door. She pulled back the curtain to her bedroom window and saw an old pickup truck parked next to the caracassed Volvo. The outline of a man, or possibly a boy, was visible in the truck’s passenger seat. As quickly as she could, the fifty-eight-year-old pastor pulled on her overalls, grabbed her cane, and made her way downstairs.
She opened the front door to reveal a man with sandy gray hair. The man was Donnie Packert, local handyman and frequent patron of Maisy’s General Store. He smiled somewhat goofily, and Marianne smiled back.
“Hello Marianne!” Donnie’s high-pitched voice pierced the haze and pulled her right out of her morning stupor. “I hope I’m not disturbing you at this early hour!”
“Hey Donnie! Yes, it certainly is early. What’s going on?”
“Oh, not much, I’m just on my way to work. Was wondering if you had a minute… if I could ask you something.”
“Oh,” Marianne yawned, “Yeah sure. Of course, that’s alright. Can I make you some coffee?”
“Don’t mind if you do!”
Donnie laughed and made his way inside the cottage, leaving a trail of dirt on the tiled floor as he did so. Marianne raced over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for the handyman, who slumped down into it and picked up the paper from yesterday. He laughed again as she began to fill the kettle.
“Some article!” Donnie pointed at the front page of the paper.
“Oh yes, I saw they interviewed you, Donnie.”
“Sure did! They got me on my way-out last week with an armful of groceries. Told me that Maisy’s might be closing. I think they did a good job getting the word out with this though.”
“I agree!” Marianne took the seat opposite Donnie. “So do you think it will?”
“Will what?” Donnie asked.
“Close.”
“What, Maisy’s? Close?” Donnie threw down the paper. “Of course not! Arnold has kept the store afloat since he inherited it from his dad twenty years ago. If you think a little flu is gonna take Maisy’s down, just wait!”
“But it’s not just a flu. Donnie, the CDC’s been saying that—”
“Oh, to hell with the CDC! What do they know? Listen Marianne, that’s not what I came here to talk to you about. I came here to talk about my nephew.”
Marianne glanced out the kitchen window and saw the outline more clearly of the passenger waiting in Donnie’s pickup truck.
“Your nephew… What’s happening with your nephew?”
“Well… to be honest with you, his mother, my sister, that is, she doesn’t know what to do with him. The boy’s not even a junior in high school and apparently, they already don’t think he’ll graduate.”
“Well, maybe he just needs a proper tutor.”
“That might be it,” Donnie moved his chair closer to Marianne, “But honestly, I think he needs better discipline in his life. And that could be where you come in.”
“Me? Donnie, what do you mean?” Marianne sipped her coffee.
“There are only a few weeks left in the semester and at this point, Benny’s mother doesn’t know where to turn. She knows you have a record of taking people in. That’s why she asked me to come here. I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but… well… lord knows I can’t take him.”
Marianne grasped her warm cup of coffee in both hands. She glanced up at the clock on her wall, then out again at the silhouette in Donnie’s truck. She looked back at Donnie, who was also looking out the window, frowning slightly at his truck and the passenger inside.
“That him out there?” She asked.
“In the cab? Yep, that’s him. I’m taking him to school until his mother fixes her vehicle situation.”
“What’s her vehicle situation?”
“Ah yes, well, apparently, he and his buddies thought it would be a good idea to go for a joyride last week. They messed up the power steering on Colleen’s Jeep. Maybe Benny can fill you in on the finer details.”
“That sounds scandalous.” Marianne thought of her Volvo. “But Donnie, say I decide to ignore my better judgment and let him stay. What would he do here? This isn’t a detention center. Also, why isn’t he asking me this himself?”
“Well… To be honest, he refused to get out of the truck. Kept saying this whole thing is stupid. But I’ll make sure he comes here right after school… And I don’t expect you to pay him either. Lodging for labor, feel me? And as for what he’ll do, you’ll come up with something. Have him run errands. Have him clean up around the church. Throw him a spade and have him go to work in your garden…”
“Ha! Nobody sets foot in my garden except myself and the Lord Almighty!” Marianne pondered the cloud of milk in her coffee, which somewhat resembled a horse-drawn carriage. “Why can’t you take him?”
“You know my schedule, I’m on call twenty-four seven! Also, to be completely honest with you I don’t have the slightest idea where to start with the kid. We speak different languages.”
“Hmm… Well… alright Donnie, if he works hard and keeps his nose clean, I don’t see why he can’t stay for a while.”
“Thank you, Marianne, Thank you!” Donnie stood up, beaming as he shook her hand. “Well, I best be off, lots of things to fix today, and I don’t want Benny to be late for school again!”
“But I want to meet with him first… before I make my final decision!”
“Of course!” Donnie began to close the door behind him.
“I expect him to be cordial!” Marianne felt a note of panic rising, somewhat unsure of what she had just agreed to.
“I’ll make sure of it!” Donnie’s smile vanished as he turned.
“And he is not to step foot in my garden!”
The windows shook once more as Donnie closed the door, likely more forcefully than he had intended. Marianne watched him from the kitchen window. Donnie walked over to the pickup truck where his nephew sat, eyes glued to his cellphone. Donnie hopped up onto the driver’s seat, happy that he could finally give his sister some good news about her son.
For the rest of the morning, Marianne went about her business while trying to work off a nervous energy. Shortly after Donnie’s departure, she grabbed her cane and walked the half mile to Maisy’s for some fresh milk and eggs. She got back to the cottage at around nine and fed Freydís. She made herself an omelet while considering what to do next.
After an hour of weeding in her garden, a cup of tea comforted her as she picked up Paradise Lost and made her way to the porch. Donnie Packert’s visit that morning had somewhat disturbed her, and though a bit of gardening and tea postured her back into her natural element, she found it hard to concentrate on Uriel, Gabriel, and the shape-shifting Satan. She felt as though she was forgetting to do something.
The doe from the day before was back. She stayed, partially hidden in the tree line, as her fawn went forward into the meadow behind the church. The grass in the meadow was yet to reach its full potential of the year. It only reached the fawn’s kneecaps as he scampered, somewhat camouflaged, through the brush.
Marianne raised her eyes from her book and smiled at the fawn’s attempt to be stealthy. He reached the charred Volvo at the edge of the meadow and walked right up to the edge of the garden. For a moment, Marianne considered calling out to scare him away. But she was in awe of the spectacle. The fawn grabbed a mouthful of leaves from her zucchini plant and started to chew. He looked up, and she could have sworn he looked her right in the eye as he swallowed. Freydís let out a growl, and in an instant, the fawn darted back into the meadow and to his mother in the woods. They vanished before Marianne could grab her bookmark.
That afternoon, Marianne was writing an email to the Norwich Historical Society about a vandalized Bible when she heard a knock on her front door, followed by the inevitable bark from Freydís the greyhound.
“Quiet Frey!” Marianne stood up with a rush.
She walked through the kitchen and opened the door to reveal a teenager with the same sandy blond hair as Donnie Packert. The boy was pale and riddled with acne, but he didn’t look all too menacing; not nearly as menacing as Donnie had implied anyway. He had the aura of a dog that had been left in the kennel too long with the other dogs. A little rough around the edges perhaps, but not entirely damaged.
“Hello!”
“Hello.” Said the boy.
“You must be Benny. Your uncle said you might need a place to stay.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Please, come in! Stay back Frey!” Marianne grabbed Freydís by the collar and dragged her back so Benny could enter the kitchen space.
“Please take off your shoes. You can leave them on the rack there.”
Benny took off his shoes and stood on the doormat, waiting for further instruction. Marianne struggled to get Freydís into her crate, and then turned around, brushing the fur off her hands.
“So, Benny Packert! Please, wash your hands and then have a seat.” She pulled a chair from the kitchen table.
“It’s James actually.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My last name… It’s James. My mother changed her name when she got married.”
“Ah. James it is then!”
Benny let the straps from his backpack fall to his elbows.
“You can leave your pack above the shoe rack. Yes, the hooks should be fine.” Marianne sat at the table, patiently rapping her fingers on the tablecloth. “Please, wash your hands in the kitchen sink.” She said again.
Benny rinsed his hands for a few seconds in the sink, and then sat down across from Marianne. He raised his head slightly to meet her cheerful gaze. Half of his face was somewhat concealed by his bangs.
“So, Benny. What’s going on?”
She remembered the boy now. Though never a frequent attender, she recalled sometimes seeing Benny at service with his mother. His uncle Donnie would sit up front, while Benny and his mother would sit in the back, making little effort to join the communion. Marianne felt a strong urge to rehabilitate the child.
“What do you mean?” Benny looked up.
“I mean, what’s going on? This is hardly a normal arrangement, especially given the current climate. Surely, we can agree on that much, at least?”
“I didn’t ask to be brought here.” Benny glared at her.
“Of course not. I didn’t mean….”
“My mom just needs a break. That’s all.” He looked back down.
“I understand.” She tried to adopt a sympathetic tone. “Well Benny, as I told your uncle, you’re welcome to stay here for a few weeks. Under a few conditions…”
“You won’t even know I’m here. Can you just show me to my room?”
“…Under a few conditions.” She said again. “Firstly, I’d prefer it if I did know that you were here. This isn’t a hotel, Benny. You are to wash your hands regularly, especially before and after meals. I’m going to have to ask you not to bring anyone over unless under extreme circumstances. If it comes to that, you must ask me for permission first, and they’ll need to wear a mask.”
“Geesh. Alright… Anything else?”
“Yes. I’ll need your help around the property with a few things.”
“What things?”
“Oh, this and that.” Her eyes glinted. “A few groceries here and there. Maybe take Frey for a walk.” She indicated Freydís behind her. “Oh, and some help keeping the church tidy. I’m almost sixty, after all, and it’ll have gathered a bit of dust since the lockdown. You don’t have to worry about helping me in the garden. In fact, I would prefer it if you stayed out of there..”
“Got it. When you say groceries, do you mean…”
“Maisy’s, I’m sure you’re familiar. It should take you much quicker than it takes me to get there and back. And be sure to wear a mask when you go.”
“Okay.”
Benny looked around the humble kitchen, sizing it up. Marianne wasn’t quite sure what to make of the boy. He certainly seemed polite enough. That was no reason for her to let her guard down though. She remembered what Donnie said about the grades and the joyride.
“One last thing. I’m not sure what’s been going on with you and your mother, and I’m sure it’s none of my business, but while you’re here, I expect you to be on your best behavior, understand?”
Benny looked her in the eye, and she found it impossible to get a grasp of the young man’s cognition.
“Of course.”
“Great.” Marianne let out a sigh of relief. “And you can take the bus to school. It picks up right in front of Maisy’s, I believe.”
She showed Benny to his room, where he promptly fell flat on the bed and started scrolling through social media on his smartphone. She informed him that she would be serving roast chicken later in the evening, and that he would be welcome to join her. As she walked down the stairs to begin cooking, she heard him laughing at something on his phone.
The two ate dinner together sometime around sunset, and Marianne was surprised at how well-mannered the boy was. He ate everything on his plate save the chicken bones, and after dinner offered to help with the dishes. Marianne thanked him and took Freydís for a walk around the property.
“See Frey…” She fed Freydís a handful of kibbles from her palm. “See what just a few hours in the Parsons’ household does to a person. The boy’s practically a saint!”
A week went by, and Marianne’s opinion of her new tenant hardly changed. The boy went to school in the morning, and when he got back, Marianne put him to work. The first couple of days, he dusted and washed the pews and the altar in the church. He went to Maisy’s and bought a lightbulb with his own money to replace the faulty bulb above the church’s entrance. Marianne told him he didn’t have to do this, but he insisted.
The old red Volvo was covered in dust and pollen. One night, while the two were eating shepherd’s pie, Benny glanced out the window at the torched car. He looked at Marianne, whose mouth was full of mashed potatoes.
“I can scrap that for you… If you’d like.”
“Scrap what?” She swallowed.
“That Volvo out there… looks trashed. I bet the parts would salvage for a few hundred dollars though.”
“Oh… Yes, I guess I haven’t really decided what to do with it yet…” The car was still a soft spot for Marianne. “I’ll probably just let it sit there for a while.”
Benny stopped eating and watched the pastor for a moment. She ate, completely oblivious to his observation as she enjoyed her peas and potatoes. Shepherd’s pie had always been one of her favorites.
“Dammit Marianne!” Benny shouted. “I was offering to help!”
Marianne slowly stopped chewing, swallowed, and looked Benny in the eye.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry… I just mean…” Benny mumbled sheepishly. “You could let me help with the car. You don’t have to just wait for help to come…”
“Why do you want to help with the car?” Marianne raised an eyebrow.
“No reason.” He looked down. “Just forget I mentioned it.”
“Benny,” The boy’s humility overcame Marianne’s shock, and she resumed the same tone of sympathy she had used his first night in the cottage, “I appreciate your offering to help, and I’ll let you know if you can, but I must ask you to refrain from using that kind of language in my house.”
Benny apologized and offered to help with the dishes. The next day he went to school, and Marianne ventured further than she ever had before, both in Paradise Lost and the path behind the church. When Benny got back to the cottage at the usual time, Marianne had all but forgotten about his outburst the night before. She sent him to Maisy’s to pick up a rotisserie chicken.
“Remember your mask!” She called after him.
She hummed as she cooked that evening, contemplating the potential of her young tenant. She imagined a counterpart of the boy who was trying to turn his life around. The counterpart combed his hair out of his face, rarely swore at all and, if he was to be believed, was getting better grades in all his classes. After they ate dinner, Benny took out the garbage and started on the dishes while Marianne went out to the porch with Freydís to watch the sunset.
Marianne slept in late the following morning, the first time she had done so in weeks. It was a Friday, and she trusted Benny to get himself to school. She was surprised at how much she was beginning to trust the boy. She had even stopped wondering when Donnie was going to collect him, deciding that the boy’s company was really something to be desired; his rehabilitation was almost complete.
When she got up, she made herself some tea. Freydís barked to be let out, so Marianne took the greyhound to their usual path and walked a quarter mile before turning around. She went back to the cottage, poured another cup of tea, and then settled herself on her porch to read her book with Freydís beside her.
Some part in the back of her mind hoped to see the doe again with her fawn, but the deer hadn’t been seen since the day of Benny’s arrival. Marianne watched the midday sun turn to afternoon, and she fell into a light sleep as afternoon changed to evening. At dusk, she realized the time and went in to see if she had dozed off and missed Benny’s return. There was no one in the cottage aside from her and Freydís. Deciding that perhaps the boy was running late, Marianne pulled yesterday’s leftover chicken from the fridge and began to assemble a sandwich for herself. As she was layering on the second coat of mayo, Marianne heard the growl of a broken exhaust pipe. She looked out the kitchen window to see an old VW Beetle pull up next to the incinerated Volvo.
A girl she had never seen before was driving the Beetle, but she recognized Benny in the passenger seat as the engine died and the pair exited the vehicle. Benny put his arm around the girl’s waist as they walked from the driveway to the porch, and the girl was poking him repeatedly in the stomach, laughing hysterically. Marianne walked over to the front door and stepped out onto the porch to greet them.
“Hello Marianne!” Benny said, his features blushed.
“Hello Benny! You’re late for dinner! Who’s your friend?”
“Quit it Lace!” Benny took a step back from the girl. “This is Lacey Jackson. Lacey, the pastor, Marianne Parsons.”
“Very nice to meet you!” Lacey Jackson grinned widely; her eyes shut tight.
The girl had bleached white hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed for a few days, smudged eyeliner that might have been used to cover for a lack of sleep, and a rotten molar which suggested a diet of more tobacco than vegetables. Ever the empath, Marianne thought she detected a sweetness in the girl. Benny liked her. She couldn’t be all bad.
“Why don’t you two come inside?” She smiled. “I was just fixing some sandwiches.”
Lacey and Benny started up the porch.
“However,” Marianne stopped them halfway up, “since there are three of us, I am going to have to ask you both to wear masks.”
“A mask… Really? I don’t have a mask.” Lacey glared at Marianne.
“Yeah, you do.” Benny chimed in. “It’s in the car. I’ll go get it for you.”
Benny retrieved a mask for each of them. Marianne opened the door wide for the teenagers. Freydís barked at them as they entered.
“I was just gonna show Lacey around the cottage Marianne, and then we were gonna head to the football game over in Hanover.”
“Nonsense!” Marianne laughed. “I won’t have you two romping around on empty stomachs. Here Benny, help me fix these sandwiches. They’re leftovers from yesterday but should be just what we need.”
“You have a lovely house Mrs. Parsons!” Lacey stood, wide-eyed in the entrance to the living room, staring at a light fixture above her.
“Thank you dear. And you can call me Marianne. It’s always Marianne, or Pastor if we’re in service. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get you something to drink?”
“Thank you!”
“Certainly. So, what would you like?”
“To drink? Umm…. Do you have lemonade?”
“Lemonade… wow!” Marianne laughed.
“What? You don’t have to insult me.” Lacey folded her arms.
“Oh no dear, I would never. It’s just, I haven’t had lemonade in the longest time..”
“Uh-huh…” Lacey narrowed her eyes. “Well, if you don’t have lemonade, then what do you have?”
“What do I have? Well…” Something about the girl’s tone made Marianne feel very uncomfortable. “Well… we have seltzer water! Do you like seltzer water?”
“Plain tap water would be divine if you can manage it. Miraculous. Simply spectacular. Thank you, Marianne.”
The girl’s sarcasm did not escape the old pastor, who raised her eyebrows as she poured them all a glass of water from the kitchen sink and sat down at the kitchen table, adjacent to Lacey Jackson. Lacey took off the flower-patterned mask that covered her mouth and took a sip of her water. Benny finished fixing the sandwiches and brought them over on individual plates. He sat down between the two women, his back to the kitchen window. He removed his mask from his face.
“How lovely!” Exclaimed Marianne, removing her own mask. “Let’s say grace, shall we?”
“Grace?” Lacey raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think so.”
“Yes dear. No matter how extravagant the meal is, I always give thanks. Especially in times like these.”
Lacey looked at Benny; her eyebrows still raised.
“Take my hand, Lace.” He smiled.
“Shouldn’t we at least wash our hands first?”
“You know what,” Marianne smiled at her, “that’s a terrific idea Lacey. Let’s all wash our hands first.”
They took turns washing their hands in the kitchen sink, and then returned to their places at the table. Marianne took Benny’s hand, and then extended her other hand to Lacey, who rolled her eyes before taking it in her own. Benny cleared his throat.
“Ahem… Dear lord, we thank you for this wonderful dinner that you have given us in these trying times. We pray that you forgive us for hurting those we love, and honor us with the strength to learn from our mistakes. Amen.”
“Amen!” Marianne cried. “That was beautiful Benny. Where did you come up with those words?”
“It was nothing.” Benny smiled. “I learn from the best.”
“You two are adorable.” Lacey rolled her eyes. “Can we eat now?”
As Marianne dug into her sandwich, she looked over the table at Lacey, who was taking the crust off her sandwich with a knife and fork.
“So, how did you two meet?” Marianne asked Benny.
“De-fen-tion.” He blurted out and a few crumbs fell onto the tablecloth.
“Finish chewing please!”
“Sorry…” He swallowed.
“Yes, we met in detention.” Lacey chimed in. “I had just been caught letting Tommy Stevens cheat off my algebra test, and Benny… well… perhaps you’d like to tell the pastor why you were in detention that day?”
Benny shifted between the two. He took a sip from his water and turned to Marianne.
“Well, not that it matters, but I was in detention that day for stealing the principal’s Subaru.”
“His Subarau? Heavens Benny. Why would you do such a thing? How did they catch you?”
“Ha!” Lacey cackled. “That’s the best part.”
“Well, the thing is, they didn’t catch me. Otherwise, I’d be expelled right? Like honestly, they don’t give me enough credit. I made it to the gas station and back without a scratch on the thing. If it weren’t for Jeremy Reynolds…”
“Who’s Jeremy Reynolds?”
“He’s the brat who ratted on Benny.” Lacey said with her mouth full. “See, Principal Shillen couldn’t prove anything. All he had was little Jeremy Reynold’s word on it. That’s why Benny only got detention. And that’s why we got to talking. And that’s why we’re madly in love!”
“Madly in love, are we?” He finished his sandwich and stood up from the table. “Well Marianne, we’ve got to get going to the game, would you like some help with the dishes before we leave?”
“Oh no, dear. I can manage them fine. You two go have fun!” She smiled, and Lacey raced around the table to embrace her.
“Thank you so much Marianne!” She cried dramatically. “You’ve been a wonderful hostess.”
Lacey stopped hugging Marianne. She then proceeded to kiss Benny on the lips, after which she went outside and lit a cigarette. Marianne looked down at her from the screen door, shook her head, then walked over to the dishes. Benny laced up his shoes in the doorway.
“Bye Marianne!”
She laughed as she bid the boy farewell. Scrubbing the dishes as she watched Lacey from the window, she felt a peculiar worry as she watched the girl standing on the stones lining her garden. Lacey was still smoking as Benny walked over to her.
“That wasn’t cool.” Benny said.
“What wasn’t cool?”
“Telling her about detention. Christ Lace, I’m living with the woman.”
“So what? What do you care about some old pastor?”
“You really don’t get it.”
“I guess not. Maybe I’d get it if I had some more of her chicken sandwiches.”
“Shut up Lacey.” Benny’s eyes glinted.
“Fuck, I was only joking. Here, you want a drag?”
She handed Benny the cigarette, and he eyed it precariously before taking a long puff.
“It’s just, we have to be careful Lace. You can’t just go around telling people I steal cars.”
“Especially her right?” Lacey cackled. “Imagine if the old bitch found out it was you who torched her Volvo.”
Marianne stopped scrubbing the plate in her hands, trying to understand what she had just heard. As her heart began to pound against her chest, she took a deep breath, trying to repress the feeling of anger she hadn’t felt in years. Blood rushed to her temple, and as if in a fugue state, Marianne left the dishes on the countertop, walked over to the front of the cottage and grabbed her cane to steady herself. She kicked open the screen door and stomped down the porch stairs. Freydís barked from her crate in the kitchen. The old pastor walked right up to Benny until she was a book-length from his face.
“That was you?” She asked, breathing heavily.
“W-What do you mean?” Benny blinked, frightened at the cleric’s contorted features.
“I’ve been letting you sleep… in my house. And yet… some part of me… The day you showed up… I knew it was you.”
“Listen Marianne, I’ve been doing a lot better. You don’t understand.”
Marianne tried not to soften at the look in Benny’s eyes.
“Oh no? Enlighten me.”
“It’s like this,” Benny began speaking rapidly, “ever since I moved in with you, I don’t even… feel how I used to. Like… I’m doing better in school, and that’s not just bullshit. But Marianne, I feel awful. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll work until I have enough money to fix your car…”
Marianne looked at the young man, whose complexion resembled an odd mixture of fear and determination. She glanced at the burnt Volvo behind them, then at the garden beside her, and finally at the church next to the garden. She took a deep breath.
“It’s not the car that I care about. Listen if you promise to—”
The last thing Marianne Parsons saw was a fawn at the edge of the meadow. The last thing she felt was a hot sting on the upper right back side of her head. She fell to the ground. Her torso lay in the garden, while her lower half remained on the front lawn. Blood ran from the wound in the back of her head onto the vines of the blooming zucchini plants, and Lacey Jackson stood, holding a stone from the garden, gazing down at the pastor’s lifeless body.
“What the fuck Lacey!” Benny shouted.
“She was gonna call the cops.”
“You don’t know that!”
“And you were prepared to take that chance?” Lacey waved her arms in the air. “Look Benny, it’s done.”
