Page 9 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
Silence fell again and I accepted it for a few minutes and then did some probing of my own. “What about you?”
“Finished with college.” He tore into another box, this one filled with clothes.
“So you’re . . . how old?”
“Twenty-three.”
Even younger than I’d thought. “And what do you do? You must work if you’re not in school anymore?”
“I don’t go to church if that’s what you’re on your way to asking. And based on the ad your dad posted in the paper, it’s not a requirement for apartment tenants.” He stood, took the books from my arms, and nodded toward the front door. “Thanks for the help, Audrey. I can manage from here.”
JACK CUPS MY cheek with one hand and plants a kiss on my forehead. “I think we should dance, don’t you? A wedding dance.”
“That sounds nice.” My smile might be fake, but I know he hears the honesty in my answer.
He strides across the room and I’m studying every movement, memorizing him, while he sifts through his record collection. I love Jack’s music and his record player almost as much as I love him. The first couple weeks after he moved in, I’d purposely placed myself in the smaller chapel, directly underneath this apartment, and listened to him play album after album. Sometimes he’d repeat songs four or five times. Janis Joplin, Johnny Cash, and Elvis Presley were among Jack’s most frequently played artists. He kept to himself and never sought out attention from anyone. Sitting in that room below him, staring out the stained glass windows and listening to “Jailhouse Rock” for the fifth time in a row was the only way I could get to know Jack Sanders.
Until he came to church one Sunday.
I’d been up front with the choir, but when we rose and took our places at the altar to sing another hymn, I’d spotted him.
He stared straight ahead, his eyes glassed over, his thoughts obviously far from the church, and I knew he hadn’t seen me. An hour after the service, my mother sent me in search of Dad so we could head home for our Sunday dinner. I found Jack all alone, still seated in the sanctuary. I knew him just by the back of his head, which was bowed slightly, like he’d been praying. I froze in place when I saw my dad approaching from the side. He took his time moving toward Jack and left a two-person–sized space between them when he finally sat down in the pew.
I knew that I should have left them alone. I could feel the importance of this moment, but just like a train wreck, I couldn’t look away.
“It’s peaceful here,” Jack said eventually, raising his head when he spoke, but not looking at my father. “Don’t know about this God person, but I do think the demons are a bit scared to come inside.”
“Finding peace doesn’t always involve God,” Dad said, “We all have a place where we can leave our bags outside and enter with a lighter load. Perhaps this is your spot.”
“Maybe,” Jack said.
Dad clasped a hand around Jack’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Stay as long as you’d like, son.”
When my father stood up to leave, there was no escaping. He saw me right away, paused, and then headed up the aisle toward me.
“Mom told me to come find you.” The guilt of being caught eavesdropping couldn’t be hidden from my voice but Dad didn’t scold me, so when we’d distanced ourselves from the sanctuary, I added, “He told me he didn’t go to church.”
Dad tossed an arm around my shoulder, leading me toward his office where Mom waited. “He’s in church, sweetheart, not at church. There’s a difference.”
And from that point on, I ran into Jack inside the church building daily. His mechanical skills were at a level above any other members’ and the old building was too much of a temptation for him to resist offering himself up to repair a leaky faucet or a broken ceiling tile or rewire the electrical system in the sanctuary.
JACK LIFTS A record from the pile. “Give me a minute to find the perfect song.”
“Anything but ‘Son of a Preacher Man.’ ”
That gets another smile from him.
“Well, technically I am now. But no, that’s not the right choice.”
I close my eyes and wait patiently for the music to fill the room, to slide inside us and join us together, closer than we’ve ever been.
The first few bars of Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good” play and a dozen different emotions rush over me all at once. The warmth of Jack’s body hits mine as he takes me in his arms, swaying to the music. I lay my cheek against his chest, the cool silk of his blue tie pressing into my skin. His hand rests above the zipper of my mother’s wedding dress, finding plenty of bare skin to brush his fingertips over.
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me.
Jack flips my hand over, kisses my palm, my wrist, then works his way up. I swallow a lump in my throat. Pain fills my chest, threatening to explode outward. It’s too much of an ending when it should be a beginning.
