The Passenger by Jacqueline Druga (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📗

“Oh, so you only stop by for the coffee.”

“Pastor Rick likes to keep the law caffeinated.”

Marge smiled. “Go check on Chip, and make sure he ate. That boy is still skin and bones.”

“I’m sure he ate. Rick always boasts he starts out his day with a hearty breakfast.”

“From a freezer box.”

“Breakfast is breakfast, Marge. Go to church.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a nod.

Marge walked ahead to the church, alone, without her husband Old Joe.

Joe stopped going to church not long before. Russ understood why. Old Joe had his reasons for not going, he just hadn’t found his reason to go back.

Sipping the refreshed coffee, he got from the contemporary service mingle, Russ walked around to the side of the building.

He didn’t really know what to expect, he just knew not to expect much.

Pastor Rick told him he sent Chip out to work the flower beds on the side of the building. The kid didn’t know his name, how in the world was he to even remember gardening?

Russ was wrong.

He hadn’t seen the flower bed look so wonderful, not since the Pastor’s former wife tended to it.

Chip was on his hands and knees, planting what looked like the last batch of annuals.

“Will you look at this,” Russ said. “Did you remember how to do this?”

“Actually, no,” he replied. “Pastor asked if I wanted to fiddle with it. He told me to start on the side that way if I messed up no one would see.”

“You didn’t mess up.”

“My hands just took over.”

“Did you have one of those memory feelings?”

“Once I started it, it was automatic.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Then I just didn’t …”

Russ waited. Chip just paused. “Are you alright?”

“Your coffee mug.”

“My daughter got this for me. Ugly isn’t it?”

“It seems familiar. I don’t know why. The pattern. The cheese curl pattern is just …I’ve seen it. I know it.”

“Maybe you have one.” Russ held it up. “Or a love of cheese curls.”

“Maybe.” He chuckled.

“Keep up the good work. Pastor Rick is going to be proud. That’s impressive. Are you … are you going into service?”

“Me?” he scoffed. “No. No. I heard the organ music and mass choir style singing earlier. Not for me.”

“Oh, this service is the rock band.”

“Rock band?” he asked. “A church rock band.”

“Well, not rock. The older folks call it noise,” Russ explained. “Pastor Rick is still hoping it will be the draw. Bring younger folks in from other towns around here, he kept telling the church counsel over and over it will pack the house.”

“It hasn’t?”

“Hmm. Not yet. All it will take is one good Sunday. I believe that,” Russ said. “Word spreads fast in these parts. I’m gonna head out on patrol. I think the front of the church should be your next move.”

“I’ll tell Pastor Rick. Have a good day, Chief.”

Hearing him say that as he walked away, gave Russ pause. “Yes, thank you, Chip. You as well.”

As he walked away, he looked back at the newcomer. The young man with the slightly bruised face and boy band haircut.

He came into town screaming and angry. It had been one week since that accident, and already he saw a change in the young man. It could be short lived or the fact that he couldn’t remember anymore why he was so angry. Whatever the reason, Russ was starting to think for the young man’s sake, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all to encourage him to stay in town.

◆◆◆

Jonas had no intention whatsoever of going into the church. He had his fill after just hearing the sounds of the morning service. It made him tired. But the second he heard the drums, something kicked in him. And it wasn’t just the overly loud bass drum.

He was curious. Was there a drummer in there practicing or did it sound differently inside than it did out?

Something about the sound of the music pulled him, and he didn’t know why.

He thought he could slip in the back of the church unnoticed and listen. Perhaps because the music called to him so much it would trigger something.

His thought of being unnoticed went out the window when he saw there were only a couple dozen people in the church. Unlike earlier where he saw hundreds of people walking in.

Jonas didn’t remember much, but he was certain his dirty tee-shirt and ‘I was just digging in the dirt’ look wasn’t church appropriate.

He stayed in the back and watched. There was a drummer, a couple of guitar players and an older woman singing.

Those in attendance tried to follow along, looking at the screen for words that were totally mismatched from what the worship leader sang.

He spotted Maw-Maw a few rows up. Then as if she had some sort of radar on him, she looked back and over her shoulder.

She smiled and waved for him to come join her.

Jonas shook his head.

She had this insistent look and he relented and walked to her.

She grinned at him and scooted over.

“I’m not dressed for this,” Jonas whispered.

“No one cares,” she replied. “Here.” She handed him a program. “Sing.”

“No. It’s off.”

“I know. They try. God love them. They’re pouring their hearts into this. Look at them.”

Jonas did. He could see it on their faces, they were feeling, singing praise. But he couldn’t hear it. The drums drowned out everything. He couldn’t distinguish one guitar from the other and if the singers were singing in tune, Jonas wouldn’t know.

He didn’t understand why, but it stirred an antsy feeling in his gut. He didn’t understand why he felt so upset that it sounded so wrong.

It was missing its point. Music was supposed to move and inspire, but it was distracting. At least to him.

“Maw-Maw, who is running how this sounds?” Jonas asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone has to be controlling what we’re hearing.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone is controlling it,” she said. “Pastor Rick sets everything back there.” She turned and pointed to the back