Wrapped in Rain(78)

I looked at the railing and back at her. "It's not right."

"That's not what I asked you."

I shook my head and let my eyes follow Mutt down the aisle.

She raised her eyebrows. "Don't you think he might need some help?"

"No"-I shook my head-"I have a feeling he's done this before."

Child, this is the Lord's House. It wouldn't have hurt you to walk up there with your brother:

I know, Mama Ella, but maybe I need to deal with a few other things first.

Like what?

Your absence.

And?

I thought of Rex. Him.

She paused about five seconds. You finished yet?

Mutt reached the railing, knelt, and extended both hands like a man who'd been in the desert for days with no water. His eyes were trained on Father Bob. The first priest held out the plate of bread, and Mutt, rubber gloves and all, tore off a chunk large enough for fifty people's communion. He stuffed the whole bite in his mouth, using both index fingers to squeeze it between his cheeks. With more bread than he could possibly chew, Mutt waved the priest on to the next person and started chewing quickly, making every attempt to swallow before the cup came around.



Swallowing loudly, he waited for Father Bob, who was methodically making his way down the railing. Father Bob approached Mutt, and rather than bend, he knelt opposite Mutt. "Hello, Matthew," he whispered.

Mutt nodded, and Father Bob offered the cup, which Mutt gently took out of his hands. Mutt locked his fingers about the cup, turned it upright, drank the entire thing in five loud gulps, and wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve. Having emptied the cup, he pulled the spray bottle from his back pocket, sprayed the cup and the railing in front of him, wiped both with four paper towels, polished everything with a fifth, and then, with two hands, gave the cup gently to Father Bob. Father Bob smiled, placed his hand on top of Mutt's head, whispered a blessing, and then returned to the altar for more wine.

The parishioners next to Mutt stood open-mouthed, wide-eyed, and speechless. Mutt nodded, half-knelt, crossed his heart four times, and followed the procession away from the railing. As Mutt returned to his seat, most eyes in the church were trained on him, and the only sound was the spray bottle bouncing up and down on the back of his left leg as he walked.

With communion completed, the organist started the recessional and brought us all to our feet one last time. As the lady in front of us turned to leave, Mutt quietly picked the caterpillar off her back with a paper towel. She never even knew. He then washed down our section of the pew and walked out carrying two used pairs of rubber gloves and eight or ten used paper towels. At the door, Father Bob stopped Mutt, looked him in the eye, and gave him a bear hug that lasted several seconds. He said, "My friend, it's good to see you. I've missed our conversations."



Mutt nodded and tried to say something but couldn't net it out, so he mumbled, "Me too." He threw away his trash, hopped in the back of the truck, and lay down. I shook Father Bob's hand and then followed Katie and Jase out to the truck. By the time I got in the cab, Mutt's eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling with a measured and deep rhythm.





Chapter 32


IT WAS ELEVEN BEFORE KATIE TURNED OUT THEIR lights. Mutt had climbed into the loft after we returned from church, but I doubted he was asleep. I climbed up after him and poked my head above the floor. His sleeping bag was nowhere to be found. Neither was Mutt. I turned around, dangled my feet above Glue's stall, and watched him balance on three legs with his eyes closed. Glue and I sat in silence for several minutes while moonlight spilled through the holy wall and spotlighted the corners of the barn like a disco ball hung from the rafters.

I knew I needed to go looking for Mutt, but I was tired. I grabbed a flashlight out of the truck and shined it atop the water tower. Nothing.

When I got to the quarry, all was quiet. Even under the moonlight, I could see Rex's aluminum boat resting on the bottom beneath forty feet of crystal-clear water. I didn't think he'd be soaking in the scalding pot, but I circled by. The water was cold, as were the coals below. There was only one other place that I might find him, so I backtracked through the pines.

Mutt was lying at the foot of the cross, curled up like a kid inside his sleeping bag with his head on a pillow of pine straw. His shoulder was sticking out of the bag, and I could see he was still wearing his suit. His eyes were wide open, and when he saw me, he pulled his sleeping bag high around his neck.

I turned off the light, lay down in the pine straw opposite him, and looked up through the cathedral of limbs. They were old pines, sixty feet tall and maybe forty years old. I folded my arms behind my head, and for several minutes we sat staring at the beams of the cross, glowing under the moon. The air was cold, and my breath made smoke. Christmas would be cold this year.



Somewhere after midnight, I stood and fingered the ground for my flashlight. Mutt opened his eyes, saw me shivering, and unzipped his bag. Using the pine straw as a mattress, he spread it like a blanket, buried himself and his nose under one half, and closed his eyes. He was still wearing his shoes and rubber gloves, and the cleaning bottle was still hooked through a belt loop.

I thought about the house, the dank basement, and the memory of a little black-haired boy being tugged by his earlobe up the steps and thrown through the front door. "This is Matthew Mason ... Apparently, he's my son." I thought about him playing with my toys, the Lego castle, of building intricate machines out of simple components, of sitting in Miss Ella's lap and smiling while vanilla ice cream dripped off his chin and around the knuckles holding the melting cone. I thought of the funeral, of Mutt's appearance, matted hair, forgone hygiene, and of the few weeks that followed. I thought of my frustration, my anger, and my hasty departure to carry him south to Spiraling Oaks. And most of all, I thought about dropping him at Gibby's doorstep and of never looking back. Of writing him off. Mutt was the purest and most innocent human being I had ever known, and yet for most of my adult life, I had treated him the same way Rex had treated me. And there, beneath that old, handpolished tree, I saw it. And it hurt.