Page 25 of Monk
I blow out a long breath. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“I’m going to keep on you about this, kid,” he says. “And it’s not just for the club. It’s for you. One of these days, you’re going to lose it on the wrong guy.”
I kick at the grass under my boot and nod. I know he’s right. Opening up to share my feelings and shit has never been my strong suit. Therapy for me is something to be avoided at all costs. But I know Cosmo’s only harping on me about it because he cares about me.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll make an appointment through the VA,” I tell him.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon is soon?”
“Jesus,” I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Good lad. Okay, I’m gonna take off. You’ve got the booth.”
“Where’s Prophet?”
“With Father Gilson.”
I nod and look around at the crowd, but I don’t see Prophet anywhere. He’s got such a pipeline of information in Blue Rock, if word of what’s happened at the gas station is anywhere on the street, he’ll know about it. So, I kind of want to see him coming and get a read on his face before he gets to me.
“Okay, man. Go home and nag your wife and kids,” I tell Cosmo.
“Don’t need to tell me twice.”
I step up to the table as Cosmo takes off. An older woman stops by my table. She’s no more than five-two, a bit stooped, and has thin white hair. She’s got lines etched deep into her face, but her dark eyes still sparkle with intelligence—and probably a hint of sorrow. Her flowery dress is a bit worn and threadbare and has seen better days. She’s obviously one of Blue Rock’s seniors who can’t make it on Social Security alone.
“How you doin’ today, hon?” I ask.
She gives me a smile. “Why, I’m doin’ all right today. I just want to thank you boys for doin’ what you’re doin’.”
“If we don’t take care of each other, then who will?”
She smiles and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. Her hand is so small and delicate, but she’s surprisingly strong. I give each of her hands a pat, then I pick up one of the bags from under the table and hand it to her. She opens it up and looks inside.
“Nothing too fancy, but it’ll help fill the void.”
“Oh, it looks wonderful to me,” she says.
I suppose if you don’t have much, what we’ve managed to put together is a step up from what some of these folks are used to.
“Bless you. You are good boys. Don’t let the uptight jerks around here get you down. Just keep being yourselves,” she tells me.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
I smile as she puts the bag into a wheeled basket and moves off. And so it goes for the next hour. I hand out bags with bread, tuna, lunch meat, mayo, peanut butter, jelly, some other canned goods, and oatmeal. Like I said, it’s nothing fancy, but it’ll help fill those empty bellies. At least for a little while.
A little while later, Prophet comes over with Father Gilson, Sister Cathy, along with Poe, and Doc, Tony Jefferson, who served as the medic in Prophet’s unit when they were serving in Iraq together.
“Father. Sister. Fellas,” I greet them, shaking hands with everybody.
“It’s nice to see you out here with us, Monk,” Father Gilson says.
“Good to be here,” I reply.
Father Gilson studies me closely, making me shift on my feet. Prophet frowns at me, and that look’s enough for me to know he’s already heard about the incident at the gas station. The grapevine here in Blue Rock wastes no fucking time. With the way the priest is looking at me, I can’t help but feel like he’s been conspiring with Prophet and the others—a thought that’s quickly confirmed when the others step up to take over distributing the bags of food as Gilson beckons to me.
