Under the Moon in Illinois
I went to see the Pastor because I was desperate and needed money. It was the second time he’d called me to do a job, and how he got my number I don’t know. This guy, Pastor Yeshevsky, of the Most Redeemed Church, he’s not the sort you’d expect to run in my crowd. But he had a job he wanted done and people around town know how to reach me when they need help with something that’s, you know, less desirable.
There was a farmer hired me to watch the road while he dumped some bad-smelling shit on his neighbor’s field. That went well for him, so then he hires me to follow his wife from her night shift at the hospital, to see if she’s cheating. Not a week after that, a cop whose name I won’t repeat pays me to sit in his squad car outside the high school so he can hook up with that farmer’s wife! That’s just one example.
I knew two things about Yeshevsky. First, when he took over the church five years ago, he added the word ‘Most.’ This struck me as funny, because aren’t you either redeemed or not? I’m no expert on religion, being raised Catholic, but it strikes me that one guy can’t be more redeemed than another. Anyway, the second thing I knew is that the Pastor hired me to take some pictures of a couple coming out of the Good’n’uff Tavern late one night. The whole thing was handled through this lady realtor I met on a job. She said it was a birthday surprise, not that I asked. I never met the Pastor, but he paid me well for it. So when he called again, I figured, why not?
It was a warm spring day so I rode my little Honda 250 along the country road to the church. On the way, people waved. I like how people wave around here, much more than in other places. It helps, probably, to be a huge guy on a tiny motorcycle on a warm spring day. Still. Some of them knew me, but most not. They just wave because, I don’t know. They just do.
The church sits right next to the river with an old cemetery in between. The secretary, Ms. Dalyrimple, had me wait in a comfortable chair in her office. She used to be the school nurse when I was a kid, and she was really good at it. If you had a scrape or if you’d been bullied or maybe just tired from not sleeping --she’d fix you up, sometimes just with a big, soft hug.
She says, Make yourself comfortable, dear, it won’t be a moment.
I say, Well, it will, won’t it? (Because it’s a weird expression right?)
She looks at me in her soft way and says, I’m so sorry about your mother.
And this is weird too, because that happened a long time ago, but people still say it to me. Nobody asks about Dad, but then neither do I.
Soon enough, Ms. Dalyrimple says, Pastor will see you now.
So I go in.
[End of excerpt]
This story is part of the collection Under the Moon in Illinois, which will be released soon in print, ebook, and audiobook. To learn more (and read the rest of this story), sign up for my newsletter. Just use the form at the bottom of this page. Thanks!
