'Thanks.'
As the car rolled up the alley he ran his window down and cocked his head toward the throaty sound of the engine.
'Listen to that. Like a lion purring. Real leather, too,' he noted, rubbing the edge of the seat.
'Absolutely.'
'What'll she do?'
'I don't know. I've never opened 'er up.' She tossed him a glance. 'I wouldn't take you for a speeder.'
'I'm not really, but sometimes a person gets the urge. 'Specially when there's a full moon.' He sent her an arch glance. 'Damn moon can make you do all kinds of things you shouldn't.'
He seemed like a totally different man tonight, as if he, too, had been anticipating this get-together. It was easier than ever to spar with him.
'Hey, Kenny, know what?'
'What?'
'There's no full moon.'
'There isn't?'
'There's no moon at all. It's not up yet. And if I'm not mistaken, when it shows it'll be about one half.'
'Is that a fact? Must be something else that got into me then.'
She gave him a second, longer glance. He was watching her from the corner of his eye, as if half-interested, relaxed in his seat. Everything about his pose was flirtatious and teasing. His clothing was a surprise. He was wearing pressed khaki trousers and a short-sleeved shirt in a bunch of wild summer colors featuring a ludicrous design of sunglasses and fish and seaweed. Very trendy and not at all the kind of thing she'd expect him to break out in. He was freshly shaved and smelled good, too. She'd noticed it as soon as he'd gotten in, and with the window rolled down the woodsy smell went grapevining all over.
'Pretty wild shirt,' she told him, returning her eyes to the road.
'Damn right,' he said smugly.
She gave the steering wheel a jerk, just to throw him off balance. He flew to the right, bounced off the door and grinned.
'Showoff,' he said.
'But then I always was, wasn't I?'
He eyed her openly, not trying to hide it. 'So what happened to the huge earrings tonight?'
'These were more reverent.'
'Big improvement,' he said.
'Thanks a lot,' she said sarcastically.
'Hey, you know what? I read that about you, that you have a very cutting sense of humor.'
'Oh, so you read about me, huh?'
'Sometimes.'
'That surprises me.'
'Why wouldn't I? An old schoolmate. Hometown girl. Mary's daughter.'
'The bane of your youth.'
'That, too.'
They arrived at First Methodist, a red-brick structure with a white bell tower and traditional ogive windows. She parked at the curb and they climbed the front steps together. Twilight was coming to a close as he opened the heavy wooden door for her and she stepped into the wine-hued dimness of the vestibule. Steps curved up to the choir loft from Tess's right. She climbed them without waiting for Kenny and stopped to look down at the nave, while in the dim recesses below he switched on lights that came on over her head. The sound of the switches echoed through the sanctified silence, followed by his footsteps on the wooden stairs. The church smelled exactly the way she remembered, of old wood and candle smoke and memories. It brought peace and a sense of suspended idleness; empty as it was tonight.
Kenny arrived and stopped beside her, looking down at the pews and altar, the familiar lines of the roof, windows and side pillars. Even the burgundy carpet down the center aisle seemed timeless.
'Churches never change,' she said.
'No.'
'We used to sit right down there.' She pointed. 'I remember coming to Sunday services when Daddy was still alive.'
'I remember your dad. He used to call me sonny. 'Well, let me see if I've got any mail for you today, sonny,' he'd say, when I was way too young to get any. Then he'd hand me the letters for my mother and warn me not to drop any on my way into the house. Once when he came along the sidewalk with his great big leather mailbag I was sitting there trying to get my chain back on my bike, and he stopped and put down his mailbag and fixed it for me. Do you think mailmen still do that today?'
She smiled up at him. 'I doubt it.'
'Another time he was back by the burning barrel in the alley, breaking up a cardboard box, the kind that's from big bottles, like liquor bottles, you know? And he gave me the cardboard divider from the middle of it so I could play post office with it. I set it up on the front step to be the post office boxes, and I pretended my baseball cards were the mail I stuffed into them.'
It was a nice moment, standing there remembering, their voices murmuring back to them in the quiet while the shadows grew darker in the space below. Whatever Kenny had been like as a boy, being with him now felt vastly nostalgic.
'Did you always go to this church?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'I don't remember you here. I remember you in a lot of other places but not here.'
'We used to sit down there.' He, too, pointed.
A door opened downstairs-an intrusion as it clacked and echoed-followed by other footsteps ascending the stairs. A boy appeared, tall, gangly, with freckles and a red crew cut.
'Here's Josh,' said Kenny. 'Josh, come and meet Tess McPhail.'
Josh Winkworth was a high school senior who played the organ and reacted with a blush when introduced to Tess. He had a long bony palm that was slightly damp when he shook her hand, and she could tell he was totally flustered to be meeting her.
Josh escaped to unlock the key cover on the organ and Kenny moved to the top tier of the choir loft, straightening the black metal music stands. 'I don't know who's going to play the organ for us next year when Josh isn't here anymore. 'Course, by then I hope either Mrs. Atherton is back directing, or somebody else besides me.' Tess moved along a lower tier, helping him with the stands. Voices sounded below and other choir members began arriving.
Casey and her friends made their appearance and Tess had the extreme pleasure of being able to tell her, 'I talked to my producer, Jack Greaves, and he likes the song and wants to include it on the album.'
'Are you serious?'
'Absolutely. You're going to be a published songwriter, one who gets royalties.'
The squeals of excitement might have been the slightest bit out of line in the church, but giving Casey the thrill of her life gave Tess one of her own. Casey hugged her and thanked her while Brenda and Amy exclaimed, 'Oh, Casey, wow! On a real album!'
Thirty-three people showed up for choir practice and Kenny performed a simple introduction.
'I know you all recognize Tess McPhail and know who she is, so make her feel comfortable by not asking her for her autograph tonight, okay?'
A ripple of laughter relaxed everyone and they got to work. Kenny warmed them up with the old warhorse of hymns, 'Holy, Holy, Holy,' and from the moment he raised his arms he became a different man. He became, in all respects, a leader, one who directed with animation and expressiveness. His choir liked him, and he them. They were not professionals. They were people who enjoyed singing, and it showed in how they responded to him.
For Tess, being directed by Kenny was not the trial she'd imagined when first asked. It was wholly pleasant, and blending her voice with the other thirty-three took her back to the Sundays of childhood when she did it regularly. She'd been placed with the sopranos, curved around on Kenny's right, while Casey stood with the altos on
