Read Online The Solace of Leaving Early by Haven Kimmel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Haven Kimmel
Tags: Fiction
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her—no, no,
not
in love with her—because although he was capable of any sin or transgression or
pettiness, he thought, he would never have allowed himself that one. He was not that sort of man. He had never, ever been the sort of man who fell in love, and that was what plagued him when he saw Alice, that was what kept him awake at night, during those first few weeks. No woman had ever moved him to such thoughts. Alice was another of those wrenching shadows, the shade of a pure possibility unchosen and unlived, and at night he was almost able to feel her lying next to him in his bed, nearly in his skin: the heat and the pull and the breath and the sanity of a woman. Life. Life itself.
*
On the fourth Sunday, Alice brought her husband, Jack, to church with her. While they sang and even during his sermon, Amos surreptitiously studied this man who was married to a woman like Alice. Jack was tall and broad, very handsome in a rugged way, nearing forty. All through church he kept a hand on Alice, sometimes rubbing one of her shoulders, sometimes clutching her fingers. He wasn’t just proprietary; he was worried about something. Alice permitted all of Jack’s various physical manipulations with a pliant unresistance. She sat up when he wanted to put his arm around her waist. She leaned in when he pulled her, offered her hand when he reached for it, but didn’t initiate any contact.
What does this mean?
Amos wondered, trying to imagine how it would feel to have another person controlling his body.
Alice and Jack stood around in the pews talking to Beulah until all the other church members had gone through the receiving line, until just the four of them were left in the church.
“Pastor Townsend, I don’t believe you’ve officially met my daughter, Alice Baker-Maloney,” Beulah said, as he approached them.
“How do you do,” Amos said, offering her his hand. Her handshake was firm; her palm hot and dry.
“And this is my husband, Jack,” Alice said, directing Amos’s attention away from her. Jack wore dusty cowboy boots, blue jeans with a hand-tooled leather belt, and a soft, white cotton work shirt. Either he was a man who always looked a part, or he was the thing itself. As they shook hands, Jack nodded his head once at Amos.
There is something so grim in his
— Amos was interrupted before he could finish the thought.
“I’ll be going, Alice,” Beulah said. “Come by the house when you’re done here.”
Beulah turned and walked down the aisle toward the swinging doors that led to the vestibule. Alice and Jack were there for him, apparently.
“Could we have a moment of your time, Mr. Townsend?” Alice asked.
“Of course, yes. Of course. Do you want to go to my office?”
“No, thanks. This will be fine.” She smiled at him, and then looked at Jack. “We’re seeking your guidance, actually.”
Amos was struck again by how completely at ease she seemed. There she stood, a virtual stranger, asking Amos for a favor, and she didn’t seem the least nervous or sheepish. But she also didn’t appear to feel entitled, and that was a line Amos had seen few people walk successfully.
“I don’t know how much guidance I’ll be good for, but please. I’ll help if I can.”
Genuine,
he thought.
She’s just genuine
.
“Jack and I are having problems—we’ve been having problems for a few years now. We’ve done pastoral counseling with the priest at our own church—at the Sacred Heart of Mary, in Hopwood—that’s Father Leo, a dear man. We’ve seen him once a week for a year, and also we’ve seen a, what do you call him, a secular therapist, I guess you’d say. Robert Collins? Do you know him? We’ve gone together and Jack has gone alone. And Jack also has a, well, mentor in this organization he belongs to—”
“My goodness.”
“Yes. I think we’ve explored the range of possibilities. My mother said you had been very helpful to a number of people in this congregation, and I just
not
in love with her—because although he was capable of any sin or transgression or
pettiness, he thought, he would never have allowed himself that one. He was not that sort of man. He had never, ever been the sort of man who fell in love, and that was what plagued him when he saw Alice, that was what kept him awake at night, during those first few weeks. No woman had ever moved him to such thoughts. Alice was another of those wrenching shadows, the shade of a pure possibility unchosen and unlived, and at night he was almost able to feel her lying next to him in his bed, nearly in his skin: the heat and the pull and the breath and the sanity of a woman. Life. Life itself.
*
On the fourth Sunday, Alice brought her husband, Jack, to church with her. While they sang and even during his sermon, Amos surreptitiously studied this man who was married to a woman like Alice. Jack was tall and broad, very handsome in a rugged way, nearing forty. All through church he kept a hand on Alice, sometimes rubbing one of her shoulders, sometimes clutching her fingers. He wasn’t just proprietary; he was worried about something. Alice permitted all of Jack’s various physical manipulations with a pliant unresistance. She sat up when he wanted to put his arm around her waist. She leaned in when he pulled her, offered her hand when he reached for it, but didn’t initiate any contact.
What does this mean?
Amos wondered, trying to imagine how it would feel to have another person controlling his body.
Alice and Jack stood around in the pews talking to Beulah until all the other church members had gone through the receiving line, until just the four of them were left in the church.
“Pastor Townsend, I don’t believe you’ve officially met my daughter, Alice Baker-Maloney,” Beulah said, as he approached them.
“How do you do,” Amos said, offering her his hand. Her handshake was firm; her palm hot and dry.
“And this is my husband, Jack,” Alice said, directing Amos’s attention away from her. Jack wore dusty cowboy boots, blue jeans with a hand-tooled leather belt, and a soft, white cotton work shirt. Either he was a man who always looked a part, or he was the thing itself. As they shook hands, Jack nodded his head once at Amos.
There is something so grim in his
— Amos was interrupted before he could finish the thought.
“I’ll be going, Alice,” Beulah said. “Come by the house when you’re done here.”
Beulah turned and walked down the aisle toward the swinging doors that led to the vestibule. Alice and Jack were there for him, apparently.
“Could we have a moment of your time, Mr. Townsend?” Alice asked.
“Of course, yes. Of course. Do you want to go to my office?”
“No, thanks. This will be fine.” She smiled at him, and then looked at Jack. “We’re seeking your guidance, actually.”
Amos was struck again by how completely at ease she seemed. There she stood, a virtual stranger, asking Amos for a favor, and she didn’t seem the least nervous or sheepish. But she also didn’t appear to feel entitled, and that was a line Amos had seen few people walk successfully.
“I don’t know how much guidance I’ll be good for, but please. I’ll help if I can.”
Genuine,
he thought.
She’s just genuine
.
“Jack and I are having problems—we’ve been having problems for a few years now. We’ve done pastoral counseling with the priest at our own church—at the Sacred Heart of Mary, in Hopwood—that’s Father Leo, a dear man. We’ve seen him once a week for a year, and also we’ve seen a, what do you call him, a secular therapist, I guess you’d say. Robert Collins? Do you know him? We’ve gone together and Jack has gone alone. And Jack also has a, well, mentor in this organization he belongs to—”
“My goodness.”
“Yes. I think we’ve explored the range of possibilities. My mother said you had been very helpful to a number of people in this congregation, and I just
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