I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(31)

Lost my way? Well, that’s a nice way of putting it. It’s interesting, though, that Kay and I have something else in common. Both of us were dealing with tragedies around the same time, though mine was purely of my own making.

There’s not much else to say, and I sense Father Maridale is readying to go. But I have one more thing to ask, something I’ve been thinking about since coming back. I tell him I would like to rent out the apartment I lived in before I went to prison, the one above the detached garage on the property that I’m still getting used to saying is mine. I could use the extra money, and some company out there in the country might be nice.

I figure if I put flyers up in the church, there’s a better likelihood I’ll end up with a steady, reliable tenant. The apartment is such a great little space and I’d like to get someone in there who appreciates it, not someone who might f*ck it up all to hell. I’ve heard horror stories of nightmare tenants and I certainly don’t want to take a chance by posting flyers just anywhere. I worked too hard to make the place nice, I intend for it to stay that way.

In the month or so I lived there, back when I was twenty, I made a lot of improvements. I updated the kitchenette by installing all new appliances. Though, to be honest, those improvements were at my grandmother’s insistence. Kitchens were very important to her. Me? Not so much. But once I got started on fixing things up, I decided I might as well make the whole place nice. So I constructed and put in wood beams all along the sloped ceiling, in between skylights my dad installed years ago. I painted the place too, laid all new carpeting, and fixed a bunch of small things.

The work kept me busy. At the time, I was hoping it would also keep me away from the drugs that were starting to consume my life. No such luck there. I still recall being high as f*ck the day Tate helped me carry a couch over from the main house. We were already lit, but we smoked another bowl once the couch was in place and we were setting up the TV. Another night, I went to a party at Kyle’s and ended up snorting a shitload of coke. When I finally got home, sometime the next day, I was so restless and wired that I spent hours and hours refinishing an antique iron bed that I found down in the unused garage portion of the building.

I shake my head thinking of how out of control I used to be, how my burgeoning addiction ruled my life back then. Thank God I didn’t fall back into that trap and succumb to cocaine’s siren call last night.

Father’s brow is crinkled as he watches me. “Is everything all right, Chase?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say quickly, too quickly. “I was just thinking about the apartment.” Oh, and all the drugs I used to do.

“Well,” Father says, standing up, “I don’t mind if you put up flyers. You can even ask Kay to run off some copies for you, if you want. I’m sure she won’t mind. Did she tell you she’ll be working at the church office all summer?”

“Yeah, she did.” I nod as I answer, and then we basically wrap things up.

When I go back out to the parking lot, I open the door to my truck, but I don’t get in right away. Instead, my eyes wander to the area behind the church, to the cemetery, where the iron gate that marks the entrance is barely visible now that all the summer growth has filled in.

I still can’t get over the story Father Maridale just told me, Kay losing her sister in such a tragic manner. And her sister was so young. I can’t even imagine walking in Kay’s shoes, handling a tragedy of that magnitude. I think back to when my own sibling was six. Will was the sweetest kid back then, always trying to be a big boy, always wanting to be like me.

It’s hard to believe, but once upon a time I was a really good role model, courteous and kind, a nice kid. I got excellent grades, drew crazy-cool pictures that everyone loved, and excelled in an array of sports. No surprise Will wanted to do everything I did back then. Sadly, it didn’t always work out so well for him, at least not at first, and definitely never in athletics.

My brother was persistent and determined, though. With a lot of studying and hard work, he started to pull down some decent grades. The drawing thing he always had in spades, so he was okay there. My brother has natural ability, just like me. But his art has always been different than mine. Whereas I can recreate anything in real life—people, objects, places—my brother’s talent lies in graphics. Like comic book-type drawings, cartoons, caricatures. So, with art he was cool, but when I think of that kid and sports I have to chuckle.

I was good at everything athletic, but Will, not so much. Though he’s slowly coming into his own now, in those early days, my kid brother was a gangly, uncoordinated mess. There’s a nine-year age difference between us, so that may have played a part. Still, it didn’t stop Will from wanting to do everything I did, including sports.

Against my better judgment, I usually gave in. I’d lob baseballs to him in the backyard, baseballs that he’d swing at and miss. I’d shoot basketballs with him in the driveway where Dad installed a hoop. But Will would miss the basket by a mile all the time. And the kid always begged to join in when he’d see me and my friends playing football in the empty sand lot next to our house. Of course, I could never say no.

So I’d prep everyone to go easy on him ahead of time. Then, Will would come out in his little pads, and big helmet my mom always insisted he wear, and hell if he wouldn’t try his damnedest to keep up. There we’d be in the field, one of us throwing Will the football, all gentle and light. But my brother would invariably forget to put his hands up in time to catch the ball. Sometimes he’d not turn around at all, and the ball would bounce right off his back. I knew some of those hits had to hurt, but I never saw him cry. Will just remained the same kid as always, determined. He never gave up.