Deadlock

Your mom’s a goody-two-shoes, they said.

Millie tried to get away, but the girls grabbed her arms.

Nobody likes you or your mom, you Bible thumpers. That’s what you are. Why don’t you dry up and blow away?

“I told your father about it,” Ethel said, snapping Millie back to the present, “and he laughed and said ‘She’s your girl.’ And whenever you used to crawl away with a book, not talking about things, I’d say to myself, ‘She’s going back in her turtle shell.’ ”

“Mom – ” Millie stopped herself. If only her mother had ever told her she approved of Millie, even though she had rejected her childhood faith, maybe they could talk more openly now.

“Why don’t you take a walk?” Ethel said.

“Walk?”

“Like you used to. Can you? I mean, with your ribs.”

“Oh, yes. Dr. Cross told me to walk.”

“Down to the square. You used to like to do that. Go on. I’ll have dinner for you when you get home.”

4

As Millie strolled, dusk dropped its red and orange cloak over the valley. She followed a dirt path lined with rabbit bush and scrub oak that wound its way from the back of Ethel’s home into town. Millie could see across the valley to the Santa Lucia range, where the legendary mountain, the Sleeping Giant, lay. The outline of the mountains, from around Henderson up toward the 232 highway, gave the impression of a man sleeping on his back if you looked at it just right. It was the only tourist attraction in the town of Santa Lucia.

Climbing a small rise, Millie came to the outskirts of town. Santa Lucia looked the same to Millie. It was as if a dome had been placed over it, preventing any aging. There were paint jobs, of course, and some sprucing up. City Hall had a new flagpole, with a grand, golden eagle on the top.

If there was any difference it was that fewer people seemed to be out at this time of day. She could remember balmy summer evenings when the streets were teeming with families. That was in the early sixties. When cable TV got to the valley, people stayed indoors more. They could watch the tube, and also avoid the bad things they thought might float down from San Francisco or up from Los Angeles.

Millie found a bench facing the town’s only fountain – a double decker erected by the Rotary in ’59 and dedicated to the fallen heroes of World War II. She settled into the bench and opened the book she’d brought with her, On Death and Dying. There was barely enough light to read.

“Howdy.”

Millie looked up. Jack Holden stood there, dressed in casual blue jeans and a T- shirt – as if he were a rancher or a farmhand. He still had that odd bead necklace on. She hoped he would not ask to join her.

“May I join you?” he said.

She nodded reluctantly.

Holden sat down. “Saw you over here and thought I’d apologize for earlier. I think I sort of hit the wrong note.”

“Thank you. I apologize, too. I was a little tired from my trip.” You can go now.

“See, I’ve got this little problem. People sometimes think I’m a little, what’s the word I’m looking for…”

Obnoxious?

“Persistent,” Holden said. “I get a little carried away sometimes, especially when I talk about the church. But it saved my life, you see, so I guess that’s why.”

Millie gave him a quick nod but said nothing. She did not want to invite further conversation.

“So,” Holden said. “What are you reading?”

Millie placed her hand over the cover of her paperback. “Oh, just a little book.”

“Like to read myself,” Holden said. “Wish I had more time for it.”

Shifting uncomfortably – her blouse was sticking to her back – Millie cleared her throat in a way she hoped would finally end the conversation.

“May I ask you a question that’s a little personal?” Holden said.

No. “Personal?”

“I don’t mean to be… persistent. You can tell me to go jump in the lake if you want to.”

“What’s the question?”

“We’ve been praying for you, after your accident and all. I was just wondering how you’re feeling. Not just physically, but every way.”

She didn’t know which she liked less. The fact that he was looking at her so seriously, or the fact that she almost wanted to answer him.

“Reverend Holden?”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps that jump in the lake?”

Holden put his head back and laughed. “I will respect your privacy,” he said. “But I wonder if I might try this again. Would you do me the honor of attending my church on Sunday?”

Millie had to at least admire his persistence. “Thank you, that’s very nice, but I’m just not a churchgoer.”

“Well, we don’t discriminate at our church. Non-churchgoers are welcome.”

She shook her head slightly. “Again, thanks for the invitation.”

Holden didn’t leave. “It really would be an honor to have a Supreme Court justice visit us. Though in the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that I don’t agree with your judicial opinions most of the time.”

She was aghast. Not so much that he would disagree with her, but that he had read enough of her opinions to reach such a judgment. “You’ve actually read my opinions?”

“All of them,” he said.

“But why?”

“Why not? I’m a citizen. And your mother is, after all, a member of my flock.” He stood up and nodded. “Well, hope to see you on Sunday. Thanks for the chat.” And with that he turned and walked away.

Stunned, she watched him go, noticing for the first time that he had a slight limp. Now she was curious. He had, in the last few minutes, transformed from a stereotype to a man of much more complexity.

A clergyman who read her opinions? Now she wanted to know just why he disagreed with her. She wanted to ask him questions, like she would have done to a lawyer arguing before her. For a moment she considered calling him back.

“Don’t,” she said out loud. Then she forced herself back into her book. But, unable to concentrate, she finally gave up and walked back to her mother’s house.