A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [97]
“Don’t you think God has forgiven you?”
“To tell you the truth, Father, I don’t think about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . because it’s so irrelevant!” he said in exasperation, shocked by his disrespectful tone yet empowered by it.
“Why? Because you can’t forgive yourself?”
“Because no matter what I think or say or do, she’s gone, she and her baby,” he blurted, as close to anger as he would allow himself. Like so many others, it was the priest who needed to forgive him, the priest who needed to make sense of what he had done. “Because it’s an emptiness that can never be filled. And it would be wrong for me to even try.”
The priest had been shaking his head. “Do you think God wants you to suffer forever, to keep on punishing yourself like this?”
“He doesn’t want anything from me.” He would not speak the name.
“Of course He does!” The eager benevolence spread like warm honey. “You’re here for a reason, Gordon. We all are.”
“So in other words, everything’s all really out of our control.”
“No! No, not at all. What I’m saying is that we’re born, we’re human, we’re here, and so it’s up to us to find out why.”
Now more than ever Gordon wanted this intrusive little man to leave. He disliked him intensely. Any further pretense seemed unnecessary. He stood up. “I’m very tired now. I need to wash the dishes.”
It was long past midnight when the dog jumped off the bed, barking. Jada stumbled after him to the front door, then, still benumbed by sleep, stood staring at the turning knob.
“Ma!”
Her mother rushed past her into the bathroom. “Don’t turn on the light,” she said from the toilet.
“Where’ve you been, Ma? I’ve been here all alone.”
“You should’ve called Uncle Bob. I told you to.”
“No, you didn’t. You said you’d be right back. That’s all you said.”
“Well, I don’t have to tell you everything, do I? I mean, you should’ve known. You should’ve called him.”
“The phone’s shut off.”
“You should’ve gone up and used Inez’s.”
“I didn’t want her to know you were gone.”
The toilet flushed, and Jada turned on the light. “Oh!” she gasped as her mother cringed from the glare. She was deeply tanned, but so skinny that her arms and legs were like sticks. Her hair was lighter and had been braided in cornrows. “You look so nice, Ma. Your hair, I like it like that. Who did it?” she said, following her into the bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the bed, holding Leonardo while her mother undressed in the dark.
“Some guy. I don’t know, it’s like this thing they do. They just come along the beach and they do it. Here, feel.” Her mother held out a braid, but Jada didn’t move. “They even put these little bead things in.”
“You were at a beach?” She was wide awake but deeply tired. Her mother hadn’t been in detox. She wasn’t clean at all, just high on the curve between hits. Leonardo wiggled, straining toward her mother, but Jada wouldn’t let go.
“There was so many different ones I don’t even know where I was half the time. There’s so many boats parked, you can’t even see the water, they’re all crowded in so close. And to get on the dock you just walk on the boats, one to the other.” She lay down. “That’s all you have to do.” She yawned.
“You were on a boat?”
“Yacht’s more like it. You should’ve seen it, baby, you wouldn’ta believed it,” she said as she petted Leonardo, who’d burst from Jada’s resentful grip. He sprawled on her mother’s chest, squealing and trying to lick her face. Her mother clamped her hand around his snout. “They even have, like, their own private chef.”
The window rattled and Jada sat up. “What’s that?”
“Chef. It’s a French word. It means a cook that cooks fancy food.”
“Ma, Feaster wants his money. He said you did this big buy and then you took off.”
“Why do you have to ruin everything all the time?” her mother groaned. “I should’ve just stayed there, that’s what the hell I should’ve done. The only reason I came back is because of you, and now you won’t even listen.”
“I am, I’m listening, but—”
“You know what I ate every single night?”
“No, but Feaster’s mad, Ma. I been really