The knock came during the worst spring storm in recent memory. A moonless night shrouded the uninvited guest in shadow. The seventy-year-old woman remained frozen in her chair with the hope that strong wind and heavy rain were playing tricks. She muted the basketball game that kept her up late on Thursday evenings, her one indulgence in a life of sacrifice. The knock came harder this time, startling her from the recliner. She thought of grabbing the portable phone from its dock, but instead whispered a silent prayer as she shuffled toward the front door. For half her life, she occupied this same home, never once feeling unsafe surrounded by her sisters. But they were gone now, some retired, others called home eternally. In isolation, she had performed more prayers for victims seen on the local news and read about in the paper, leaving her with constant worry for the world around.
A louder knock this time nearly prompted a response of “Who is it?”, but she squelched it before it escaped. A rhythmic thudding in her chest pumped fear and stress throughout for the first time in decades. She pressed her eye against a cloudy peephole and flipped the switch next to the door, forgetting the parish maintenance man had yet to come around to fix the porch light. Lightning struck in the distance, but did little to illuminate the stranger’s face. Thunder masked a hammering fist on the door.
Gripping the rosary in her pocket, she affirmed her beliefs and remembered that nature was a gift from God. Even as a child, the worst storms brought much needed rain for the crops on her family’s farm and those it fed. But this was unlike anything she had experienced in over fifty years. A line of storms brought tornadoes and flooding rivers to the Midwest. The wake of destruction left thirty-four dead and hundreds of millions in property damage thus far. The storm had raged for five days in the dying town, reminding her that nature brought God’s vengeance in the book of Genesis. A knock shook the door so hard she imagined a meaty fist splintering the wood and crashing against her face. She breathed deeply and squeezed the silver pendant of Jesus crucified, until her knuckles whitened and palm bled. With a free hand, she turned the knob. A gust threw open the door, pushing her slight frame backward. She would have hit the wall if not for having the wherewithal to release the door as it smacked against the stop.
A man in a hooded rain jacket stood at the threshold, blocking the worst of the rain blowing in from the West.
“Sorry to bother you, but my car broke down up the street. Can I use your phone?” The stranger asked.
She hesitated, but remembered what she had taught class after class of third grader about judging books and not trusting in the Lord. At her age, there was nothing she could do to stop him anyway. She stayed partially hidden between the door and wall of the entryway.
“In the living room, next to my chair,” she said, pointing in the general direction.
She left the door open, lagging behind, remaining closer to the exit than the stranger.
“Yeah, Lander’s Towing? I got a car broke down off Walnut street. A gray Chevy Traverse. Keys are in it.” He hit “End” on the portable phone with over-sized numbers. They stood in the living room together, with only a dim lamplight and that of the TV illuminating the space. In that light, she noticed a familiarity in the stranger’s appearance. He was dark-haired with a youthful, round face, but eyes blackened by a life of sin.
“Have we met before?” She asked.
He ignored the question and directed his gaze toward the television.
“Celtics or Warriors?” The stranger asked.
“Celtics.”
“Got any money on it?”
She smiled at the absurdity of the question.
“Right. Vows of poverty and all that.”
Her smile faded with his answer. The stranger knew more of her than she of him. She caught herself squeezing the rosary again. Discomfort filled the living room as blind-shuttered windows lit with another lightning strike. He existed for moments like that, thriving on the heaviness in the air. While she felt the oxygen seeping through the cracks of the old parish home, the stranger drank in the new atmosphere.
He split the blinds, glancing down the street at the Chevy. A black tow-truck was parked in front, a man leaned into the driver’s-side door. A Ford Escape pulled up behind the Chevy as it was being winched onto the back of the truck. The Ford’s driver exited, spoke a few words, then climbed into the passenger seat of the tow truck. Once the Chevy was secured, the tow truck pulled away, leaving the Escape parked against the curb.
“My ride’s here,” the stranger said as he peered through the blinds.
He turned and reached into his jacket pocket. Her breath caught in her throat. The stranger pulled out a roll of cash, slipped it free from the rubber band, and peeled off a hundred dollar bill. He placed it next to the base of the phone, then smiled as he walked past the visibly shaken woman.
“I appreciate your hospitality, Sister Agnes.”
She said nothing as he exited, but quickly shut the door behind, slamming the deadbolt. She didn’t bother with the lamplight or television, but climbed the stairs faster than she had in years. She climbed into bed fully clothed, pulled the covers, and prayed the beads now clutched against her chest until sleep took her.
"She breathed deeply and squeezed the silver pendant of Jesus crucified, until her knuckles whitened and palm bled. Interesting construction and word-choice there. I also appreciated the recliner, the phone with oversized numbers., the irony of “I appreciate your hospitality, Sister Agnes.” (Not sure about that $100?) Nice build up of tension here. Another satisfying story, Mr Smith. Sharron at 🍁Leaves