They stayed for awhile. Barry talked about his sons, about Donna, about the Christmas outreach programs Galilee Pentecostal had organized. Meals for the infirm, a gift drive for the empty-handed. Lee sat with his face planted on his fist. He watched how Barry was solicitous in the telling. He badly wanted a cigarette.
— It makes me proud, said Barry.
Irene and Barry were both looking at him.
— Say what?
— I was saying it makes me proud, Lee. How you’ve been keeping your faith since the tragedy. You’ll be back on your feet before you know it.
— You done well, son, said Irene.
— I think maybe it’s time for a prayer, said Barry. He turned to Mrs. Petrelli and asked would she join them in prayer.
— Chiamare l’infermiera. Io sono affamati.
Barry took Mrs. Petrelli’s hand and he took Irene’s hand and he held them. Irene reached her other hand out to Lee and he took it in both of his own. Irene squeezed her eyes shut. Mrs. Petrelli gaped. Barry lowered his head.
— The burdens that are put on us, there’s nothing that’s not intended to strengthen us in Your service.
— Dear Jesus, said Irene.
— The body gets weak but the soul gets stronger.
There were tears collecting at the sides of Irene’s shuttered eyes. She whispered: Oh dear Jesus.
Lee watched his mother, wondering what these words were doing for her. He thought about the Bible, he thought about some of the verses he’d learned, or at least some of what he’d heard chaplains saying-hope in hard times, deliverance in the face of death. They spoke of God as the high tower, God as shelter from the wicked, God as the shield, God as the sword, God as the one who would escort you up from your earthly pain to heaven, where you would be pain-free for the rest of eternity. All you had to do was have faith. But faith in what? In these words? Was his mother squeezing her eyes shut from the words alone? Because all Lee could hear were the words, and they’d never sounded so hollow.
— Amen, said Barry.
— Egli ha sposato un ebreo, said Mrs. Petrelli.
Ten minutes later Lee stood to go. He kissed his mother’s forehead and smoothed back what remained of her hair. He went out and looked at the duty station, but the nurse was gone. Barry caught up with him at the elevator.
— Brother Lee, thank you for coming. It means so much to her.
— It would mean more if we got her into her own room.
— Honestly, I was a little surprised when I heard you say it. I thought we agreed on the arrangements.
— I agreed till I saw the room lately.
— Bed space is a major issue here, Lee.
— Don’t worry about that, Barry. I’ll find something to take care of it.
Barry clasped his hands together and smiled tightly: Can we agree it’s something to discuss with Donna?
— We can agree.
— Good. Are we still seeing you for supper next Thursday?
— I’ll be there. I’ll introduce you to my lady friend.
— We’ll be happy to meet her, said Barry.
— I’ll see you soon.
— Lee, there’s one other thing.
— What’s that?
Barry pushed a pamphlet towards him.
— It’s something to think about. Everybody is here to help, Brother Lee.
Barry went back to Irene’s room and Lee got into the elevator. The pamphlet showed a drawing of a figure contemplating a bottle. It advertised Alcoholics Anonymous. The meeting was held weekly at the Charles Grady Memorial Community Centre. Lee wondered if Barry had even noticed that part. Probably not. He managed a thin chuckle.
He carried the pamphlet with him into the smoking section in the cafeteria. He had a smoke among the ill and the dying, the relatives, the attendants. He put the pamphlet on the table and took his leave.
As he went outside, he thought of the call that faith was supposed to be, the call in your heart. He’d thought he’d heard it once or twice, perhaps, but now, everything that had gone before was doubtful. Everything, it seemed, was just words.
The sun was going down, making long shadows of the gas pumps. Duane was finishing with a customer and Pete was in the store. He kept looking at the clock on the wall.
— You seem like you’re in a hurry tonight, said Caroline. Big date?
Pete shifted his feet.
Caroline nodded: If it’s a date, you’ll have to tell us about it. Go take Duane a hot chocolate. Yes, you can have one too.
Pete went to the coffee stand and mixed powdered hot chocolate and hot water into two Styrofoam cups. He sealed the cups with plastic lids and went outside. The air smelled of cold concrete. He gave one of the hot chocolates to Duane. Duane spat a wad of chewing tobacco into an empty pop can.
— Thanks, said Duane. Feel like working, you dog-fucker?
— Not really, said Pete.
— I thought not. Hey, you know this guy?
Duane was pointing. A Camaro was parked across the lot. Billy was coming towards them at a brisk pace.
— What’s up? called Billy.
Pete crossed the distance to meet Billy halfway.
— What’s up? said Billy.
— I don’t know. What’s up?
— You tell me, you fucking traitor.
Pete did not reply. The heat through the Styrofoam cup was creeping into his fingers. Billy’s face was pale and etched.
— Where are you going tonight, Peter?
— I guess you know already.
— You fucking traitor.
Billy’s voice was gaining an edge. He was so angry that tears had formed in his eyes. He knocked the hot chocolate out of Pete’s hand. It hit the ground and the lid burst off. The hot chocolate steamed on the dark pavement.
— Say something, Peter.
— I don’t know what to say. It just … doesn’t have anything to do with you.
Billy pulled his fist back but then Duane swept between them, barrelled up against Billy, pushed him away. Billy kept calling Pete a fucking traitor. Pete happened to glance over at the store. Caroline was watching from the window. Duane walked Billy backwards, speaking to him all the while. There was no real fight in Billy anyway. There was only hurt etched on his face.
— You’re a fucking traitor, Peter.
A few feet farther on, Duane released Billy. Billy pushed Duane away and shook his shoulders. He pointed at Pete and said they were done. Then he slouched away in the direction of his car. Pete and Duane looked back at the gas pumps but no customers had come in the meantime.
— You okay? said Duane.
— I’m fine.
Pete bent down and numbly retrieved the Styrofoam cup. They walked back and Pete dropped the cup in a garbage can. His hands were shaking and the image of Billy’s hurt face seemed to have been burned into his mind.
