Page 20 of Crossed
I nod instead of voicing my thoughts.
“I’ve never wanted to do anything else,” he continues.
“You’re young,” I state.
“So are you.”
“Thirty- six isn’tthatyoung.” A grin tugs at my lips. “So besides the history of Festivalé, what is it you love about the town?”
“It’s just home.”
Envy hits me hard, because I can’t relate. I’ve never had a home. Not really anyway.
“Mr. Errien seems to think the people are straying too far from God.” I look over at Jeremiah as I say this, gauging his reaction. I don’t really need to hear his answer. I’ve already come to the conclusion that Parker just wanted me here to have another person in his pocket, but I’m curious about what Jeremiah thinks of him.
“Well, he’d probably know,” Jeremiah says.
“Would he?”
“People don’t come to Mass the way they used to. They don’t seek confession. Things are…quiet.”
“Hmm.” I’m not surprised to hear him say it. “And you trust Parker?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “He’s never given me a reason not to. He does a lot for the town. Got his own best friend the mayor gig, I’m sure of it.”
“And do you not think that’s wrong? To use your money and influence to ensure certain people end up in office?”
Jeremiah purses his lips. “With all due respect, Parker’s untouchable in this town. He funds the city programs and preserves the history by buying up the buildings instead of letting others tear them down. If hesentfor you, it’s because over the past few years, we’ve seen the drug epidemic bleeding onto the streets. Poor people panhandling at car windows. Father Clark didn’t care to help his own parish when they were in need.”
I quirk a brow. “So why doesn’t Parker handle it himself with his massive wealth and endless reach?”
“Well…” Jeremiah’s head tilts. “That’s why he called you here, isn’t it? To help.”
“Hmm, perhaps so.” I turn to stare out the window, letting silence envelop the car.
The seasons are on the cusp of changing, the icy blue sky like a painted canvas against the leafless branches and dark green pines. It’s different from what I’m used to, and the peace that comes with untouched nature skates over the tree line and paints itself on my soul. I sink into the feeling, knowing it’s a temporary respite from the constant battle I’m waging inside.
The tires of our car crunch over loose gravel as we turn off the mountain road and trek up a long, winding driveway, stopping in front of a cabin.
It’s an older building with a faded red roof. A- frame peaks jut out, shading the arched windows underneath. I wouldn’t say it’s an expansive place but large enough to comfortably house a handful of rooms and a small place to worship, and there’s a definite woodsy vibe that complements the atmosphere.
I get why the Carmelite nuns stay here. Solitude doesn’t sound so bad when this is what you’re existing in.
“How many people live here?” I ask, unbuckling my seat belt and opening the door to step out.
Jeremiah’s car door slams after mine, and he stretches, his back popping as he flips the car keys on his forefinger. “Sister
Genevieve.”
I lift a brow. “And?”
“That’s it right now.”
“She lives here alone?” I twist toward the building, staring up at the second- story windows.
He nods as we make our way up the small pathway to the front steps. “Not many people know of this place. And she prefers solitude.”
Despite the barren feel of the upcoming winter, this is a lush land, teeming with life. The smell of pine is strong, and there’s a small creek running along the left side of the driveway and disappearing beyond the monastery, the water gleaming with patches of thin ice, teasing the change of seasons.
