The Prayers in Rossford

Acquainted with sorrow

Conclusion

On play nights, the lobby of the playhouse on Demming Street was brightly lit and filled with people. But today, and all business days, it was filled with the grey yellow light of winter and out of the windows Melanie could see the cars passing. The main door opened and Melanie went to help Todd.

“You brought all your equipment with you?”

“Some of it,” Todd said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m doing a play here. You thought I just lived at Temple Beth Shan.”

Todd laughed. “I guess I did.”

“And what are you doing here?” she said to Todd.

“I’m here to get some work done and visit with the boyfriend.”

Melanie cocked her head. “Do I know him?”

“If you’re doing a play you should. Fenn Houghton?”

“Oh, my… shit! Get out.”

“So you know all my friends, I guess,” Todd said. “Brian and Tom and Tara.”

“I know Tara.”

“What’s that look in your eye?” Todd smirked, and readjusted his equipment bag.

“There is no look in my eye!”

“Liar! Wench and liar.”

Melanie frowned and stomped her foot.

“All right, already. I may be… I might possibly be. Seeing Tara.”

“Oh, my God!”

“You sound so gay!”

“No,” Todd said. “This is when I sound gay. Oh, oh, shit, oh God baby, don’t ever stop fucking me, uh, shit, uh!”

Todd came out of his sex imitation. “That’s when I sound gay, and it’s a pretty fucking nice sound.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Maybe. But if you play your cards right, you and Tara’ll be sounding like that soon, too.”

Melanie looked at him.

“Unless you’re already sounding like that. I bet you dykes don’t mess around.”

Melanie punched him in the shoulder and readjusted her purse, pushing the glass door open to leave.

“You’re a mess, Meradan. The only one messing around is you.”

“So how do you know Melanie Fromm?”

“She did As You Like It for me a few years back,” Fenn said. “And she did one of Lee’s plays.”

“Me and Fenn first saw her out in Chicago,” Tom expanded. “We asked her to do one of our first plays. Neither one of us knew she lived around here.

“I mean, we asked her, she didn’t even have to audition.”

“The bitch is tough,” Lee mused.

“That is high praise coming from Lee,” Tom gave his lover a half smile.

“And how do you know her?” Fenn asked.

“From synagogue,” Todd said. “When I went with Will and Layla. They had a sign on the bulletin board for this group called NASIM. It’s sort of a para church thing for gay Jews. So I took a chance and went. I still go.”

“I didn’t know she was gay,” Tom said. “I mean, not right away.”

“Or Jewish for that matter,” Fenn said. “Though I should have. Fromm…” he murmured. “Well, Tara, you just learned a little bit more about your woman.”

“She’s not my woman yet.”

“Well, if she’s not your woman, whose woman is she?”

“You really should stop,” Tara told him.

“You know I can’t. You know I’m unstoppable.”

“Is she really religious?” Tara asked. “I don’t know anything about being Jewish.”

“She’s…” Todd thought. “I guess you’d say she’s spiritual. She doesn’t really do synagogue. Unless it’s a high holy day. But I think she’s really out of this world. You’re really lucky, Tara.”

“That’s right,” Fenn said. “So don’t screw it up.”

“I’m gon screw you up—”

“Let’s change the subject,” Lee cut it.

“Excellent idea,” Todd said. “What should we walk about?”

Fenn suggested: “We could talk about how your sister’s hanging out with a married man.”

The house Dena had spent her whole life in, the house her Grandfather Meradan had bought for her grandmother when she had come from Scotland to marry him, never seemed so large and so strangely threatening as it did now, in the January night, with no one in it but her. She was supposed to be gone now. She had become impatient and angry with Kevin the moment it was a minute past the time he was supposed to arrive.

Now she had been waiting twenty minutes, and before she went down the hall to the kitchen and took her mother’s car keys out of the little metal basket, a brief thought went through her head. That she should call first, that rushing in was just creating drama. She wanted some sort of drama. She wanted to be pissed off.

It was Mr. Daviswho opened the door when Will knocked.

“Come on in, Will.”

Closing the door, Simon shouted for Adele.

“It must look like I live here,” Simon said. “But I assure you I don’t. In fact, I am just getting ready to go.”

As Will nodded, somewhat cluelessly. Adele came down the hallway and said, “Will, it’s good to see you. Layla’s not here, but she has a message for you.”

Adele stopped. Will thought it must have been written down, but Adele said, “It’s a little embarrassing, actually. What she said is, ‘I’m not here. And you know why.’”

Will blinked, and shook his head.

“But… I don’t know why.”

“I’m sorry, Will,” Adele said, truly looking sorry. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

This was the same strip of Meridianthey’d been on a year ago when Dena did not want to admit that there was no way Brendan would work out. There was no Milo back then, at least not in her world. To her right, she’d just passed the hotel where Brendan had followed Hoot to, and now up this road, past a McDonalds, and a Burger King, a closed hardware store, a street light, an incredibly misplaced Catholic church, was the place where her father was staying,

“I could have fucking been skiing today.”

She didn’t want to ski. She’d never wanted to ski.

“I could have gone to the dunes.”

Balefully she drove round and around the parking lot in circles, looking for a space. When she got out of the car a part of her was dully aware that she had not parked as close as she could, that there were other spaces which were not too tight, really, but that this prolonged cold, the wind on her face, the patches of dangerous ice under her feet, fed her anger. They fed her anger as she found the steel and concrete stair and headed up to her father’s room.

Knocking could prepare him. Knocking could save him. It could save her. But she didn’t want to be saved. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to be mad. She wanted to be pissed off.

So Dena Reardon was strangely gratified when she flung open the door and the picture of Kevin Reardon, face tilted up in bliss, legs wrapped about Keith McDonald who was fucking him, gave way to panic, screaming and swearing.

Dena lifted up a finger.

“You missed dinner,” was all she said.

“I’ll see you later.”

And then she added, to the priest, “And I’ll see you at five o’clock Mass.”

So terrified they forgot to close the door immediately, they heard her depart down the wraparound, and then saw Dena go to her car, and at last, they heard the car starting.

Keith McDonald shut the motel door and, forgetting he was naked, wondered what the hell he would do.