Excerpt
Autumn 1975.
LP didnt hear the knocking on the door. Not at first. Instead he felt it, as if he were submerged in a vast ocean, and the knocking was a broad undulation heaving through the element, first lifting him toward the surface, and then drawing him deeper into darkness. It felt not like moving but being moved. Then again, knock knock knock, the sound piercing his consciousness this time, sharp like a hook, pulling him up to the watery surface.
Father, you have a phone call, the priest said.
LP hoisted himself onto one elbow and squinted at the doorway. He could see the priests silhouette in the wedge of yellow light, but couldnt make out the man.
Thank you, he said, sitting up. The words, the action came from a place beyond thought.
The door closed.
LP turned on the lamp beside his bed. It illuminated a narrow room with a small window framing a full moon. A worn kneeler leaned into the far wall, and above it hung a bronze crucifix. On the dresser beside the bed sat a dirty ashtray, an empty medicine bottle, and a rotary phone. He hesitated, afraid to pick up.
Hello?
LP? Is it you, dear?
Yeah, Ma, its me.
Did I wake you?
The alarm clock read 4:54 AM as best he could see. No, I was on my way to mass. Whats the matter? Is Pa okay?
Your Aunt Ida died this morning.
LPs immediate reaction was relief. He felt around the top dresser drawer for his lighter and cigarettes. Hows Uncle Paolo?
Okay, I guess. It was your Uncle August called.
A growing cloud of smoke shifted in deep circles over LPs head. Im worried, Ma.
You need to come home, dear.
I knew that was coming.
It would mean so much to Uncle Paolo.
I dont want any shit from Pa, Ma.
You broke his heart.
LP looked at the moon creeping beyond the frame of the window. I dont wanna discuss it.
Ill talk to him. Can you come home today and help with the funeral arrangements?
Im worried about Uncle Paolo.
I know, dear. Would you call Maria and tell her the news?
Yeah, Ill give her a call.
LP hung up the phone and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his long fingers through his black hair, grown too long, and sucked deeply on his cigarette. The smoke filled him in a way that nothing else could. So much had happened in the years away that Ontario Falls felt like another lifetime. He reminded himself to talk with the bishopto ask for yet another favor. He feared that this could be the straw.
Outside, the bell tolled 5:00 AM, meaning he was late for mass again. He rummaged through his dresser for his address book, an ordination gift from Ma. She had carefully inscribed the names, phone numbers, and birth dates of everyone in the family. When he had called to thank her, she pleaded with him to stay in touch. Charity begins at home, she said. Dont turn your back on your family. Ma had the annoying habit of reducing everything into the tritest expressions.
He dialed Maria and launched into the news, but it wasnt Maria on the line. It was some woman named Shirley. He wanted to apologize, but Maria answered before he could formulate a polite sentence.
Who is it? Maria said. She stretched the question across a yawn.
Its me, LP.
Whats wrong?
He lit another cigarette. It waved between his lips as he spoke. Aunt Ida died. We need to get back
Hows Uncle Paolo?
I dont know. Not well, Im sure.
Louise wont take care of him.
Of course not. Hes open game now.
Trust me, you dont know the half of it.
What do you mean? What do you know? LP paced the length of the room, stretching the phone cord to its limit.
The place has gone to hell, Maria said.
What happened?
I dont wanna talk about it now. I need coffee and a cigarette before I can think straight.
Alright, you can tell me in person. You wanna catch a ride with me?
When ya comin?
Now.
You know what this means for the farm, Aunt Ida dyin an all?
Yeah, I know. I wouldnt go back for anything less.
LP hung up the receiver. His impulse was to pack his things and take off without a word, but he knew better, especially in light of his recent reassignment to St. Pauls. He picked up the empty medicine bottle and turned it in his hand until he could read the label, zero refills available. Hed been meaning to take care of this for days, and now there wasnt time. He raised his eyes to the crucifix on the wall where Christ hung as he always did, head down and to the left, his body tense with agony. Then he looked out the little window, framing nothing now but a square of black.
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