The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“I’m not.”

“Just visiting?” I said.

“You being a wisenheimer?”

“No,” I said. “I’m glad to see you.”

“That’s a tough sell.”

“Did something happen in there?” I asked.

He looked at me warily. “Can those guys tell other people about what you say to them? I mean, if you’re not Catholic, can they tell?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“What does that mean?”

“No, they can’t tell anyone.”

He looked back at the church door, then at me. Then he stared at his convertible parked in the sunlight. The top was down, the white folds snapped against the body, every inch of the paint a creamy pink you could eat with a spoon.

“It’s not over between us,” he said.

“What isn’t?”

“Nobody slaps me in the face.”

“If I could undo it, I would. Anyway, it’s over for me.”

He had tried to change the subject, but it hadn’t worked. He humped his shoulders and scratched at his upper arm, narrowing his eyes, imitating the slouch and look of the street hoods he probably envied. “Sometimes you can do some shit you don’t set out to, know what I mean?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied.

“That stuff I told you about Valerie, about getting it on with her? It’s not true.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to say anything more. He wrapped his arms across his chest. “You tell anybody about this, you know what’s going to happen, right?”

“Tell anybody about what?” I asked.

“Me being here.”

“Don’t get mad at me, Grady, but I’ve got news for you. Nobody cares whether either one of us is here. A bird just splattered your windshield. Nobody cares about that, either. These are not big events.”

“You’ve always got the cute comeback,” he said.

What do you say? I wondered what had occurred inside the confessional. I didn’t want to ask, but I thought I knew. “Can I help you, Grady? I’ve had a few hard times. We got off to a bad start. It doesn’t always have to be that way.”

His face was like a portrait painted on air, the eyes flat, the lips still. “No,” he said.

“No, what?”

“No, I don’t need help with anything.”

“I’d better get to work. See you another time,” I said.

The sun hadn’t climbed above the church, and the air was blue with shadow in the lee of the building. Purple roses bloomed against the stucco wall. He shook his collar as though he had overdressed and his body heat was trapped inside his shirt. He coughed on the back of his wrist. “How’s she doing?”

“Who?”