Works and Days

Retreat

Conclusion

Chayne scarcely heard the knock on his tent.

“Come in.”

Thom crawled in, looked around and said, “Nice place you got here. The boys back yet?”

“Nope.”

“Are you worried?”

Chayne, who had been reading an open volume of poetry before the lantern, shook his head. “Half our group is out in the woods. Diggs over there snuck in and passed out an hour ago.”

“Is he really passed out?”

Chayne looked over at his hamster faced friend snoring lightly with his mouth open and said, “Stick a fork in him. He’s looking pretty done.”

Nodding, Thom agreed.

“Is there anything you came here for, Thom? Not that I don’t love your company, just that I’m sure you had a purpose and all.”

“Ah, yeah. Yeah,” Thom said, looking like he was just waking up.

“I,” Thom took his hands through his hair and it stood up in dark spikes. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Chayne raised an eyebrow.

“Chayne, I know we’ve had our differences.”

“I don’t think there has ever been a truer phrase spoken.”

“But,” Thom shook his head, “tonight I was listening to David and Bill talk about their friendship, about how close they were and all that, and I realized that I didn’t have that. And even Jeff and Chuck. I don’t... I don’t Chayne, I’m not sure if I really have friends. I mean, especially with David and Bill, it’s like they’re brothers.”

“They are,” Chayne said. “They’re in-laws squared.”

“But they were close before that. Then I realized that there was someone who was like that to me.”

“Like a brother?”

Smiling, Thom nodded.

“Finn—”

“No—”

“Cause really he is your brother.”

“No.”

“John.”

“Yes, but he’s not here right now. Chayne, I meant you.”

Lacking in grace, Chayne said, “Get the fuck out, Lewis, you’ve lost your mind.”

“Chayne, I’m serious!”

`    “I know,” Chayne closed his book, “and that’s why I’m  telling you you’ve lost your mind.”

“We’ve known each other.... sixteen, seventeen almost eighteen years.”

“I’ve known Ford that long too! Hell, I’ve known Graham my whole life. I still can’t stand the son of a bitch!”

“But he’ll always be your father, and no matter how much we fight and don’t see eye to eye you’ll always be my friend.”

“In twenty years you’ve never said anything like this to me. Thom, I don’t know how to say this, but you haven’t really been decent to me until now. Well, there, I guess I did know how to say it.”

“I know, and you’ve always been more than decent to me. You’ve practically raised my son. You understand him when I cannot. You won him back for me, you went to bat for me with Russell—”

“I hate baseball metaphors.”

“You were the one that told me not to give up. You brought me and Patti back together again .You’re always—except for now—gracious with me. No matter how mean I get. And I know I’ve been mean. I know that, and the fact is I’ve told you things. You know things about me that no one else does, and about me and Patti. And take it or not, call me crazy or not. I wanted.... I wanted to tell you that. That I realize that no matter what you might think of when you hear the word friend, no matter why you did it, for Russell’s sake or Patti’s sake or whatever—I’d kind of like to think that part of it was for my own sake. You’ve been a real friend to me, Chayne Kandzierski. And I wanted to say that if you ever need me to do anything, I will.”

Thom ducked his head and then said, “I’ll be going now.”

“Thomas?” Chayne said as Thom prepared to go.

“Yeah, Chayne?”

“How come you never spoke to me in high school? Did you not know who I was?”

“No,” said Thom. “No, I knew you. But...” he shook his head.

“And in college, when I moved down to South Bend? When me and Felice would come over to Patti’s apartment....

“No...” Chayne shook his head over a private discovery, smiled and said, “Never mind. Thom, thank you.”

Thom stopped in preparing to exit. He had realized something now too.

“Chayne, I’m sorry.”

Chayne shook his head and moved the lantern, looking as if he were preparing for bed.

“I didn’t—” Thom started. Then. “Do you mind if I stay here? You—I asked you to come on this retreat and maybe I shouldn’t have. I, I don’t know how to show the way I feel. I don’t know how to make that up. Do you mind if we just... talk for a while. I don’t know about what.”

“No,” Chayne shook his head wearily. “I don’t mind. But we will have to talk with the lantern off and you should get a pillow for yourself, cause I need to at least start to fall asleep.”

The sleep Chayne started was interrupted at about two in the morning. The boys tried and failed to be quiet. Robert Heinz was louder than all of them. Cassidy stepped on Chayne’s thigh and muttered, “Sorry, Mr. Kandzierski,” which Chayne didn’t know to be pleased or disgusted about.

When Cassidy shifted, Ted Weirbach, who slept beside Chayne, shot straight up, his glasses half off his face.

“Sorry, Mr. Weirbach.”

Ted did the closest thing to a frown any of them had ever seen.

“Dad?” Russell whispered, settling down before Chayne, and looking at the sleeping form on the other side of his friend.

“Shush, don’t wake him. He’s kind of cute that way.” Chayne said. “You smell like a cigarette by the way.”

“Good night, boys,” Father Heinz whispered, and let the tent flap fall.

“Goo’night.”

“Goo’night”

“Goo’night.”

“Goodnight!” Ted said, sounding, maybe, just a little irritated.

“Goodnight night, Chayne.”

“Good night, Robert,” Chayne waited for the priest to leave and then said. “I think I could almost like him.”

“Really, I think you could,” Russell told Chayne, rolling over to go to sleep. “He’s not bad at all.”

“Getting back to the point that you smell like a cigarette...”

“Yes?”

Chayne sighed and said, “I just wouldn’t let your father know if I were you.”

“Know what?” Thom muttered, half awake.

“That the unicorns are coming from Gibralter, Tommy,” Ted suddenly lied, “Now go to sleep,”

“Okay, Ted,” Thom nodded. “Thanks, Ted.”

And he went back to sleep.

“Nicely done,” Chayne said.

Ted grinned, and then leaning over Russell, kissed Chayne.

“Speaking of fathers,” Cassidy whispered in the dark, “has anyone seen mine?”

Robert Heinz was making his way to the second silent tent when he stopped. The moon cast a white light through the greening branches on a just barely spring night, and silvered the lapping waves on the surface of Lake Chicktaw. There was silence and a light breeze. It all was so perfect. He had to stop and hug himself. His family could never understand how he could live life alone, but they didn’t understand these moments when you realized the grass and the hills, the water and the trees were your friends. How could you ever be alone?

Robert heard someone crying. At first he wasn’t sure, but then he heard it again, and he didn’t really hesitate to go in the direction of weeping. He was surprised to see, some distance off, in the midst of a stand of trees each so large you couldn’t wrap your arms around them and have your fingers meet, Jim Addison.

“Jim?” Robert said quietly, coming near the man. “Are you all right? Well, no,” he sat down beside Jim Addison. “That was a foolish question.”

“What kind of retreat is this?” Jim sobbed. “What kind of place is this? What kind of church? I was so... happy, so sure a few days ago. This was the right place. This was the one that was true. This was the Church that would make sense, and now the people I’ve been preparing with for this whole time, they’re not who I thought they were and they’re not serious like I thought they were. I say, if you’re gonna start drinking I’ll get up and leave. And they just get up and start drinking and I leave. And no one cares...  And it’s even that way with Cassidy. The kids gave him such a cold shoulder because he’s... he’s more religious than they are. He’s more of a grown-up.”

“Actually,” said Robert Heinz, “Cassidy really had fun tonight. Especially him and Russell.”

“See, I’d think that Russell boy would be the one Cassidy wouldn’t like.”

“Or who wouldn’t like Cassidy?”

“Yes,” said Jim, sniffing, and sitting up straight. “Whaddo you suppose happened?”

“I don’t know,” Robert shrugged. “Seems to me that maybe he just got down from his high horse long enough to stop being himself. So he could be his self. Himself. Does that make any sense?” the priest looked dead at Jim Addison.

Jim Addison looked at the priest for a while and finally, slowly nodded.

 “Yes, I think I see what you’re saying.”

The stillness of the warm black night was punctuated by a few bugs and squeak chirp of crickets and now, as they approached the tents, they saw the tall and the shorter form of Chayne Kandzierski and Ted Weirbach, carrying their bags.

“Going home?” Father Heinz said.

“My back,” Chayne said, “has had more than enough retreat.”

“Well, it’s three in the morning, and frankly, I’m surprised you all stayed this long,” the priest replied. “Have a good night. See you two on Sunday.”

Chayne and Ted, feigning back ache and sleepiness, trudged to the hearse. Chayne had always been forthright, but he knew the difference between speaking one’s truth and losing all tact. He would have slept in that tent till eight, gladly, but he felt Ted’s fingers touch his palm, and then he turned to look at Ted and he knew by now what the other man wanted, and that he wanted it as well, that this tall quiet poet who had declared his love a few hours ago wanted to express it and be alone with him. He did not trust himself to drive. He handed the keys to Ted, who opened the door for him and then rounded the long hearse, climbed in the driver’s seat and kissed him with more hunger and less discretion than he had a moment ago.

Suddenly Ted laughed and grinned merrily, shoving the keys into the ignition, and red taillights glowing after them, the long black hearse wound down Thompson, up Colum, to Kirkland, to 1421 Curtain Street, and home.