Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
He smirks and turns off the car. Once again, he’s illegally parked out front. It’s like he has no regard for any laws.
He comes around to open my door to lift me out. “I was raised by a man of the cloth, bunny. This place doesn’t scare me.”
“Wait, you were?” I’ve accused him of not knowing me, but I don’t know much about him, either. “Where did you grow up?”
“On the streets of New Rome,” he says so easily that I stiffen. “But not for Father Francis’s lack of trying.”
At my guidance, he carries me around the side of the building to the stairs leading to the basement where the Narcotics Anonymous meetings are held.
A trio of smokers stand off the path. They do double-takes at the sight of me and Jaeger, and I give them a wave. I’ve gotten so used to Jaeger carrying me that I barely notice the stares.
“Wait,” I ask as we enter the musty basement, passing more groups of chatting people to enter a long, low-ceilinged room filled with folding chairs. “Who is Father Francis?”
“A priest at St. Xavier’s downtown. He founded Hieronymus’ School for the Lost.”
I’ve heard of St. Xavier’s. It’s a medieval-looking church on the edge of midtown. Now that I think of it, I’ve heard of the school. It’s an orphanage.
“You and Kaiser went to St. Xavier’s?”
Jaeger finds us seats on the edge of the room. Most people have congregated by the entrance or the table in the back that holds boxes of day-old sugar donuts and a coffee urn that dispenses black tar.
He’s positioned me so he’s between me and the door. He’s also constantly sweeping the place. He keeps a hand on my thigh, and I feel lucky he didn’t make me sit on his lap.
“Yes and no. We attended mass only on the coldest days. Father Francis founded a soup kitchen, and we started to bring in street kids, the ones too young to fend for themselves. That’s when the Father founded the school and raised the money to build the dormitories.”
I stare at him. I’ve sensed his upbringing was rough, but I had no idea it was this bad. “How old were you?”
He shrugs. “Nine or ten.”
I suck in a breath. So young. “Did you stay at the school?”
“A night or two. Kaiser and I were too wild to stay put. But Hieronymus is where we met the Devil and St. James. They’re the ones who ended up founding Fraternitas.”
There are tons of rumors and speculation swirling around the brotherhood and the man called the Devil. Honey would be delighted that I could give her answers.
I don’t care about Fraternitas. I want to ask more questions about Jaeger and Kaiser, two school-age kids without a home.
But the meeting is about to start. More people flood the room.
“Hey, Elodie.” One of the meeting attendees shuffles closer, donut in hand. I recognize his blue hair and thin face.
“Hey, Tommy.”
“Hiya.” He raises a hand to greet Jaeger. Jaeger just looks at him.
“Tommy, this is Jaeger,” I say quickly. “A… friend.”
Jaeger cups my hand with both of his.
“More than a friend,” I amend.
Tommy’s eyes flash down to the ring on my hand and then Jaeger’s skull ring. “Uh, got it. See ya.” He backs away, beating it for a seat by the door.
I sigh. “Please don’t intimidate people here.” I met Tommy in my early NA days. He and I have exchanged numbers so we could support each other through the twelve steps.
“I won’t.” Jaeger dips his head so only I can hear. “Just any friends who are more than friends.”
“There isn’t anyone like that here.” I check to see if Tommy’s okay, and he’s chatting with someone else while eating his donut. I transfer my glare to Jaeger. “Besides you. You know this.”
He sits back, looking satisfied, but keeps my hand between both of his.
Today’s meeting has a speaker, so after we welcome newcomers and recite the Serenity Prayer, a woman with box braids stands and shares her story.
The church basement is both cold and drafty and clammy, with the heat of all the bodies crowded together, and it smells like sweat and stale smoke.
I let the speaker’s story wash over me, crying a little at the sad parts like I would at a movie. Her story has a happy ending, though, because she’s here and sharing. For a lot of people in this room, the story won’t end well, but that’s life. We all live a million stories, and whether the theme is horrific or heroic depends on which moments you choose to showcase.
Jaeger’s hands are warm on mine. In this crowd, he stands out, not just because he’s bigger than anyone else. He has a sort of glow, like a saint in a classical painting. Maybe it’s his handsome face or golden hair. Or his air of calm command. He looks more real than everyone else, spotlit so the rest of the room fades away.