What Have You Done(33)
“I already checked this floor. All clear.”
“You’re not a floor captain.”
“Just trying to help. That alarm came out of nowhere. Wasn’t sure if it was a drill or not.”
The sergeant dropped his flashlight. “All right, let’s get out of here. Follow me. FD’s on its way. ETA one minute.”
Liam followed the sergeant back down the hall, out the green fire door, and down to the first floor. When they got out into the street, he turned and walked in the opposite direction of where the rest of the precinct’s personnel had gathered. He’d done it. The phone records were now in his inbox and deleted from Keenan’s. He’d need to edit the records and resend to Keenan before noon. Otherwise, he’d risk Keenan calling down to place a rush himself. Timing was everything. His life depended on it.
23
There were still a few hours before he was due to show up at the station house, and with the extra time, Liam found himself turning off of Broad Street and onto Passyunk Avenue. The brick row homes he passed by brought a sense of joy as well as the familiar weight of dread. He’d spent the beginning of his childhood playing out on these very streets in endless games of stickball and tag and touch football and hockey. But with those memories came the nightmares of his father’s death and his mother’s attempted murder-suicide. South Philly always had an air of both joy and misfortune. Whenever he traveled through the streets here, he never quite felt at home, but he couldn’t deny the comfort that was also there. It was unmistakable.
South Street Mission was nothing more than a redbrick facade, a metal door, and a small sign fastened to the side. There was ten-minute parking out front, so Liam knew there’d be a spot when he pulled up. The mission’s tow policy was no joke. Outside, a few kids played hopscotch inside chalk boxes that had been drawn on the sidewalk. The chalk itself had almost been washed away by the recent rain, leaving a ghostly outline instead. Small puddles splashed up as the kids jumped from one end to the other. Liam pulled over, turned off the car, and decided, without really thinking, to go inside.
The aroma from inside the mission was always the same no matter how many times he’d walked through those doors: bleach, finger paint, and paste. It was one of the most distinctive smells in the city, and it hadn’t changed for more than two decades. The mission had originally been founded as an after-school program, daycare facility, and meeting room for support groups or hobby clubs or whomever wanted to rent the space. After the tech bubble burst in 2000, and then again after the housing crash in 2008, the mission had converted itself into a homeless shelter and food pantry, eliminating the space for clubs but keeping the after-school program and half of its daycare. It was a place of peace. There was a sense of calm here.
Liam walked down the hallway into the administration office to find Father Brennan sitting alone behind a desk filled with stacks of paperwork—so much so, the desk’s wood surface was completely hidden. Father Brennan was short and pudgy. He was pushing seventy. His face looked like pink Play-Doh, with cheeks so round the older women in his congregation couldn’t help but squeeze them as they exited his service each week after Sunday mass. A full head of silver hair was still intact. His green eyes shone. The priest was beloved in the neighborhood, a staple at Saint Agnes, and helped run the mission. There wasn’t a soul in South Philly who had a bad thing to say about him.
“Liam!” Father Brennan shouted when he saw him standing outside the office. He rose from his chair and scurried around to wrap his boy in a giant hug. “How are you?”
Liam couldn’t help but smile as he was engulfed in the old man’s embrace. “I’m good, Father. I’m good.”
“Come in. Sit! Sit!”
For a brief time after their father died, and on a more regular basis after their mother had been taken away, Liam and Sean had been enrolled in the mission’s after-school program. At that time, Father Brennan had still been fairly new to the parish, but his overwhelming sense of joy and ability to see the good in every situation had made him someone the boys had gravitated to and admired. As the years passed, despite living across the river with their grandparents, both brothers had become altar boys at Saint Agnes, and they still kept in touch through letters and an occasional visit. Liam hadn’t been back in years. It felt good to be there again.
“So what brings you by?” Father Brennan asked as he sat back behind his desk, sliding one of the paper stacks to the side so he could face his visitor. “It’s been so long. You passing through the neighborhood?”
“I guess you can say that, although truth be told, I pass by the neighborhood every day on my way into work. I guess I just decided to pop in this time. Sorry to come unannounced.”
“Nonsense! You never have to be sorry about coming here. You’re always welcome. How’s Sean? And Vanessa? Tell me!”
“Good. Everybody’s doing good.”
Father Brennan took his glasses from the desk and put them on. He stared at Liam for a moment. “Well, now,” he said. “That’s a half-truth if I ever heard one. Something’s troubling you. I can see it. Just like I was able to see it when you were little. Nothing’s changed. Talk to me, boy. What’s on your mind? Consciously or not, you wouldn’t have stopped by unless you wanted to talk. You might’ve driven here, but trust me, God steered. Out with it.”