One Insatiable(20)

“Doris, I have plans for today.”

“Your plans can wait,” she turns and makes her slow progress back toward the house. “It’s a condition of renting the room. You have to escort me to church on Sundays.”

I catch up with her in a few strides and put a large hand on her shoulder. “Hang on a second and look at me.”

She pauses and lets her old eyes move slowly up my body. “I see you.” She nods. “You look good.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what kind of church you attend, but I’m guessing I have to wear something better than this to go.”

She nods and resumes moving at her slow pace, using her cane to keep her balance. “Come on.”

I watch her go through the silver screen door before hustling up to catch it and follow her inside. It’s the first time I’ve been in Doris’s small house, but it’s exactly as I would’ve expected — ancient.

The kitchen is a tiny square. Wooden cabinets and counter tops are painted spring green, and the floor is a network of tiny white tiles with green ones here and there in a design. Built-in shelves hold large dinner plates and platters, and her refrigerator and stove look like they’re left over from the 1950s.

I only have a second to note her small, metal table and four chairs. She’s through the house calling me to come back wherever she is. The living room is next, and a large recliner with a pink crocheted blanket thrown over the top is positioned in front of the television. A TV table is beside it holding a remote and what looks like Doris’s empty breakfast plate.

“Where are you?” I call, scanning the dark-wood paneled room.

A picture of Jim in a cap and gown is in a frame on an end table under a lamp.

“Back here,” she calls. “I’ve got something you can wear.”

Aw, shit. After all this, I can only imagine the clothes I’m about to encounter. At least I’m confident whatever lime-green polyester leisure suit she’s got waiting for me won’t fit. Making my way down the short, dark hall, she’s in the first room to the right.

I step inside and freeze. “What the…” The words die on my lips.

She’s standing beside a charcoal suit that looks like an Armani. A white button-down and silver tie are on the single bed that has a patchwork quilt for a coverlet.

“You’re going to look mighty fine escorting me to church in this.” She grins, smoothing her fingers down the suit.

“Where did you get it?” I can’t believe my little old landlady just happened to have a suit exactly my size waiting around for me to show up and wear.

“Midge Henderson had a garage sale.” She waves her hand and starts for the front. “Services start in half an hour, so move your butt.”

I take the hanger off the closet door and scoop up the shirt. Only two things are missing. “I don’t have shoes.”

She’s back with a plastic bag. “You have pretty regular-sized feet for how… big you are everywhere else.”

I’m going to let that pass. “Okay,” is all I say.

“See if any of these will work. Mr. White had a weakness for shoes. Most of them are Italian.”

“I’ll take care of them.”

She waves a hand as I leave. “Wear them out. Shoes are no use to you when you’re dead.”

They sure come in handy when you’re living, I can’t help thinking. Back in my apartment, I dump everything on the bed. Sleek black loafers in exactly my size spill out along with canvas slip-ons and sneakers I know an old man would never wear. I squint an eye back toward the house and wonder what else Doris White has up her sleeve.

The church is a one-room wooden building that looks as old as Doris. She holds my arm as we slowly climb the concrete steps leading up to the white structure. We’re just entering as organ music blasts triumphantly. I feel her giving me a scowl and look down.

“You made us late,” she gripes.

“It wasn’t on my schedule for today.”

“As if you have a Sunday schedule.” She smiles to an elderly man in a suit handing out folded-paper programs.

“Good morning, Doris,” he says smiling at her. When his eyes move to me, the smile dissolves.

I don’t smile back. The last thing I need is to give these guys any ideas about my interest in membership.

“You must be…” he waits, and Doris hastily fills in the blanks.

“My nephew Kona. He’s visiting from the islands.”

It’s an internal struggle, but I keep my expression neutral. What the hell?

“The islands?” The old man frowns.

“We’d better get inside,” she says, giving my arm a tug.

“Nice to meet you,” I mutter, escorting her through the narrow door and down a skinny aisle.

She takes the lead, going straight to what I can only assume is her designated spot. I don’t make eye contact with any of the parishioners, but I do notice Jim sitting next to Sally at the end of our pew. She’s in a burgundy dress with little white flowers on it. Jim’s in a suit with his light-brown hair combed back, and I have to give him a second glance. He actually cleans up well. They’re both smiling way too much to be in church this morning.

A tug on my arm reminds me to sit down. My ass hits the pew just as everybody’s on their feet again, hymnals in hand. I don’t know any of the songs, but I hold the hardcover red book and do my best to follow along.