guess that’s your call. You know best.”
There was that knowing twinkle again. It was beginning to bug him.
“What’s on your mind, CJ ?” the sister asked, and before he could offer a protest, she added, “When you walked up the steps you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
On the tail of that statement Thor snorted in his sleep. CJ smiled at the appropriateness of it.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been a practicing Catholic, but aren’t priests the only ones allowed to take confession?”
“I didn’t say anything about a confession, Charles.”
“No, I suppose you didn’t.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she said, “Home is always confusing when it isn’t home anymore.”
“Home is where the heart is, isn’t it?” He’d meant it to be glib, but the severe look on the sister’s face—a look very much like that of the typical nun, at least in CJ’s estimation—told him he’d said something wrong.
“If that were true, would you be living above Mr. Kadziolka’s store?”
Historical precedent almost demanded that CJ make some witty response, something to deflect the probing nun’s question. For some reason, though, that tack seemed distasteful to him— probably because he knew where he wanted to be. So guilt caused him to let the comment go unanswered.
The sister studied him for a few seconds and then sighed.
“Are you staying here because you think it will help you deal with some of what you’re carrying around with you?”
“You have no idea what I’m carrying around,” CJ snapped, unsure how this amiable meeting had turned into an exploration of his metaphysical baggage.
“I know exactly what you’re carrying around,” the abbess answered. “And it’s not yours to carry.”
CJ was stunned. He’d come here for a number of reasons— not the least of which was to put some distance between himself and Julie—but while he’d also been hoping to gain a bit of clarity about some of the issues that, if Sister Jean Marie was correct, he wore on his person like race-car advertisements, he hadn’t expected a cut as deep as the one she’d just delivered. It made him feel uncomfortable enough to consider leaving, but one did not take stalking off on a nun lightly.
“I don’t know what to say,” he managed.
“Then don’t say anything. Listening is a skill as valuable as any you possess.”
CJ shifted in his chair. “With all due respect, Sister, it’s been a long time since we’ve talked. I think I’m a pretty good listener.”
“You’re good at spite, Charles.”
“And you at psychoanalyzing.”
She ignored that.
“You have a hard time letting go of it.” She gave him a sad smile. “You always did.”
At that he almost stood, collected his dog, and left. Instead he let the strong urge pass, finished the rest of his lukewarm tea, and allowed the sister’s words to roll through his mind.
After a while he looked up at Sister Jean Marie and, with a sad smile of his own, said, “And I don’t think I’m ready to give that up just yet.”
Chapter 16
As CJ walked up the steps he kept asking himself what he was doing here. He had no obligation beyond blood, and he’d allowed that to thin enough over the last seventeen years that he didn’t consider it a compelling enough reason to act responsibly. But without the genetic element, his presence had no legitimate explanation.
This was only the second time he’d been to the house on Lyndale since arriving in Adelia two weeks ago, and as the first visit had gone so poorly (his neck still occasionally ached from when Graham had clotheslined him) it was no wonder he’d avoided it. But Graham’s wife had told CJ this was where he would find him.
This time CJ just walked in.
He noticed that the hallway smelled damp as he headed toward the great room and he wondered if water was collecting near the doorstop. If the sill was tilted incorrectly, rainwater could find its way beneath the door, where it could seep into the subflooring, where it could rot the joists over time.
He wondered who would get the house. Sal Jr., by virtue of being the eldest, had more claim than any of the others, but he had a nice spread outside of town, and CJ couldn’t see him moving into this place. He might own it on paper, but he wouldn’t live here.
Either George or Edward was an equally likely candidate, but they were in the same position as Sal Jr., with properties bought and paid for.