From Comfortable Distances Read Online Free PDF Page B

among women and blessed is the
fruit of your womb. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at
the hour of death.”
    His voice was gentle,
soothing. Not what Tess expected to come out of him. His clean-shaven scalp
glistened in the flickering light. The way his chin jutted into his chest
reminded her of a child—shy, insecure—and she felt foolish for having yelled at
him, for following him this evening. She moved in the pew, sending the prayer
book to the floor with a thump and he looked up, slowly, as if he had been
caught.
    “I’m sorry to disturb
you. I thought I was alone,” he said.
    “You were,” Tess said.
She placed the prayer book back in its slot and stood up.
    She followed his eyes and
looked down at herself. The way he was looking at her made her feel as if a
giant spider was crawling up her. “Is something wrong?”
    “No,” he said.
    “Well, excuse me, then,”
she said, preparing to leave.
    He nodded and smiled at
her, taking all of her in, so that she wasn’t sure what to say or do next.
    “You know, you ought to
be more careful where you walk or ride your bike. Someone will run you over if
you dally in the middle of the street.”
    He smiled and nodded
again; he looked as if he was amused. Either that, or he was stupid.
    “Well, I’m going,” she
said.
    “Goodnight,” he said.
    She pursed her lips.
There was something penetrating about him and kind and open at the same time.
If she were out selling a house to someone with those eyes, she guessed that he
wouldn’t be an easy customer, that he would do his homework on the house,
uncover whatever there was to uncover, and share his knowledge with her, a
smile on his face, his voice low and sure as he demanded a better price. She
would like to spar with him like that, settle once and for all who was made up
of what.
    “I’m Tess,” she said,
holding out her hand. “Of Best Reality.”
    The moment she said it
she felt stupid, ridiculous. He stared at her hand, and bowed his head again.
Tess retreated her hand, her eyes on him. Perhaps he had a disease and didn’t
want to touch her. He was attractive: smooth ski-slope nose, hollowed-out
cheekbones, soft, pool-blue eyes. He had the face of someone who never raised
his voice.
    “You haven’t told me your
name.”
    “Neal. Neal Clay.”
    “So now when I see you
strutting in the middle of the street I can yell at you by your name.”
    “You were on your way
out?” he said.
    “Yes,” Tess said.
    “After you,” he said,
following her. Neal opened a door of the chapel that led into the church’s
deserted hallway, so that for a moment Tess was disoriented. She had expected
to be back out in the street.
    “You’re the woman on the
bus stop ad,” he said.
    He watched her with an
intensity that made her uncomfortable. She shifted her weight from one foot to
another and jingled her car keys in her blazer pocket, wedging the sharp-edged
key in between her knuckles.
    The hall was narrow and
long; Tess’s stilettos made a clicking sound against the pale ivory linoleum.
    “Do you like what you do?”
he said.
     “I’ve been in the real
estate business for over thirty years now. It’s all I’ve ever done,” she said.
    “Just because you do
something for a long time, doesn’t mean you like it.”
    “No. I suppose it
doesn’t,” she said.
    Neal stopped when they
got to the end of the hallway. “But then again, you might like what you do.
Blessed are those who love their work.” He looked up at the ceiling,
insinuating God. Tess couldn’t tell if he was in earnest or poking fun.
    “I guess I do love my
work. Although I don’t always love how much I work,” she said.
    He had a way of being
quiet after she spoke that made her unsure of what to do or say next.
     “Do you live in Mill
Basin?” Tess said.
    “I’ve come to visit for a
while.” Then, as if it would shed some light on his visit, in a lower voice, “I’m
writing a book.”
    The end of the hall