Wrapped in Rain(95)

That night, I carried Jase, tired from a long day of playing in the snow and defending the princess, to Miss Ella's bed, wrapped the covers around his neck, and said, "Good night, little buddy. Sleep tight."

Jase stretched out his arms, wrapped them around my neck, and said, "Unca Tuck?" His eyes were crystal, giving me a straight shot all the way to his heart. No inhibitions, no walls, no scars, and no coffin to stumble over. "I lub' you, Unca Tuck." I listened to the sound of his voice ringing in my ear. A sweet tune, one I had known at one time, then forgot, but now remembered. I looked down at Jase, rubbed my hand through his fuzzy head, kissed him on the cheek, and managed, "I ... I love you too, Jase."



Katie followed me out of Miss Ella's bedroom, sat me on the couch, and dug her shoulder beneath mine.

Feels good, doesn't it?

I didn't answer. I leaned back, Katie rested her head on my chest, placed her legs over the top of mine, and laid her hand over my heart. We were wrapped together like two vines and bathed in firelight that cast a dancing shadow on the wall. The fragrance from Katie's hair and skin filled my lungs and smelled like a hug.

Merry Christmas, child.





Chapter 43


I DIDN'T SEE MUTT FOR THREE DAYS. I SAW TRACESmore missing soap, disappearing tools, the truck engine feeling warm when I hadn't driven it, and footprints in the mud around the barn-but never actually saw him face-to-face. That troubled me, and I began to worry, because Mutt was nowhere that I had ever looked before. He wasn't swimming in the quarry, digging in his tunnel, camping at the foot of the cross, bathing in the scalding pot, taking a dip in the water tower, playing chess in the loft, or deconstructing any part of the house. Mutt had vanished without a word.

New Year's Eve arrived, and Katie saw the worry pasted across my face. "Do we need to call somebody?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. He might be fine, or he might not be. I just don't know."

"Where have you not looked?" I leaned against the kitchen counter and looked out the back window across the back porch, the statue of Rex, and the pasture. "Where's the one place Mutt would go? A safe place where his mind would be at peace?"

"Katie, I don't know. I've looked everywhere. He could be riding a train five hundred miles from here."

Katie put her hand on the back of my neck and rubbed it gently. "Where would Miss Ella go?" With each passing day, Katie's touch reached further inside me.

I looked out the window, feeling her fingers on my neck. Her fingernails gently scratching my back. Mother Teresa was right. I'd gladly give up bread for love.

That's where it hit me. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. It was so simple. I turned to Katie and said, "Stay here. I'll be back."



"Where are you going?"

"The same place Mutt went."



I kicked the chipped brick out of its wedged position in front of the door and unhooked the muscadine vine. The door released, swung a few inches, and I squeezed through. The smell of bleach, fresh paint, stain, and glue flooded through the door. I walked into the sanctuary and didn't recognize it. The pews had been sanded and stained. The walls had been spackled, sanded, and painted pure white. The beams in the roof had been replaced by squared heart of pine some six inches across. A new aluminum roof had replaced the old, but the pigeon nests had not been disturbed. Several fat pigeons sat warm and dry and flying in and out of the freshly caulked windows that were open and airing the inside. The floors had been sanded and now shined beneath several coats of polyurethane. The rotten and waterlogged purple pad had been pitched along with the roach-eaten prayer book. Parts of the railing had been rebuilt or replaced, and the entire thing had been sanded and stained, as had the butcher's block altar. Jesus had been straightened and his head, knees, and arms cleaned and restained. He shined like he'd been rubbed with linseed oil.

I read Mutt's signature in every brushstroke and dovetail. In a lifetime of work, this was his masterpiece.

Mutt lay on the floor beneath the railing, curled up in his sleeping bag like a cannonball and facing the altar. I couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. He was covered in sawdust, spackling paste, and paint. I walked around the side of him and saw that he was blinking, his pupils dilated to the size of dimes; his eyes sped around his eye sockets, chasing the light, his face contorted and quivered, and his arms wrapped tightly about his shins.



I pulled the plastic box from my jacket pocket, broke the seal, popped the cap on the first syringe, and squeezed out the air. Mutt's arm was cold when I lifted his shirtsleeve and inserted the needle.

Mutt turned his head and tried to focus his eyes on me. "Tuck?"

"Yeah, pal," I said, my thumb resting ready on the top of the syringe.

"I didn't mean to let him hit her. I promise. I didn't want him to."

"Mutt, it's not your fault. Never has been."

"Why can't my heart believe you?"

"Because, like mine ... it's broken."

Mutt mouthed some words but uttered no sound. He recannonballed himself, and finally the words came. "`Love is a choice. It's a decision.' She told us, `It flows into, through, and out of each person like a river. If you try to stop it, it'll snake around until it finds another heart and breaks through.' Rex never made that choice. He built a dam that not even Force 10 from Navarone could have blown up. Nothing remains now but cracked mud, dust, and bones, and it would take Elijah to bring them back to life. But," Mutt said, swallowing hard, "she was right; love snaked around and found her. She had the love of ten people, and Rex the love of none. He was Salt Lake, and she was Niagara Falls."