Gun Church

Thirty-One

By the following Monday, I was able to get around again. If not completely without pain, then with much less pain than I’d had in the days immediately following getting shot. At least I could breathe again. Weird thing, I felt like I’d been holding my breath for the last decade and had only now exhaled. I’m not sure I can explain it or if I even want to, but that’s just how I felt. I didn’t much enjoy the tape job the doctor had done on me to stabilize the ribs while they healed, but there were a lot of things I’d liked less, things that hurt more and hadn’t done a fucking bit of good for me.

Truth was, the broken ribs were another one of those unexpected blessings that had been coming my way lately. While it gave me many more hours of uninterrupted writing time, it also gave me an excuse to avoid discussing with Jim my decision to step away from the chapel. I was certainly in no shape for running or shooting, and I wouldn’t be for at least another week or two. Jim did come by on Thursday morning to see how I was doing and to tell me how proud he was of my shooting, but I was still in a lot of pain, a little drug addled, and in no real mood to chat. He seemed to understand.

The weekend had been pretty quiet. Renee left on Friday night to go see her folks, who she said lived about ninety minutes north of Brixton in the middle of the state. I thought the timing of her visit, a few weeks before Christmas, was kind of strange, but she said she didn’t know if she’d be going home for the holidays and that she wanted to make sure to spend a few days with her brother Jake, who was on leave from the Army. And while I was glad for the time alone, I had my newfound guilt to keep me company.

I’d pretty much lived with Renee for three months. We had fucked our brains out on an almost nightly basis. She’d endured my occasional foul moods and dealt with my legendary vanities and insecurities. She’d followed my routines, lived her life by my clock. Yet I’d never once asked what her parents did for a living or where they lived or even if they were alive; and, until she mentioned Jake, I didn’t know Renee had a brother. The guilty part was not that I hadn’t asked but that I hadn’t cared to ask. I hadn’t cared. Worse still, I hadn’t yet told her I was leaving. This guilt thing was a pain in the balls.

Renee’s absence also allowed me to call Meg without worries of being overheard. I hadn’t spoken a word to Meg since our dinner with Dudek because I was still supremely pissed off at her for the shit she pulled with Amy. I was also displeased that my check from her was long overdue. Meg had her own ideas when it came to sending me large sums of money. Apparently, I hadn’t quite erased all her doubts about the reformation of Darth Kipster. In the past, I’d appreciated her attempts to hold back funds so I couldn’t purchase Costco-sized bags of cocaine. That was then.

“Kip!”

“Where’s my check?”

“Fine, thank you, and yourself?”

“Sorry, Meg, I’m not in the mood for small talk, especially not after that stunt you pulled with Amy. How could you do that to me?”

“You needed to know there was something to come back to, you idiot.”

“I know this is hard for you to accept, but I’ve finally learned how to tie my own shoes and everything. I can even manage the activities of daily living without adult supervision.”

“Says the man who’s shacked up with a twenty-year-old girl and lets himself get shot with live ammunition. Yes, Kip, I’d say that instills a lot of confidence in me about your recent maturation.”

“Well, try this on for size: I’m moving back up there at least until the end of the summer. You need to find me a one-bedroom apartment close to Manhattan, but not in it. Maybe in Brooklyn or Long Island City somewhere and you need to find it soon.”

“Are you fucking around with me, Weiler? Because if you are, I’m not laughing.”

“No joke, Donovan.”

“Is this with or without … what was it you called her … the St. Pauli Girl?”

“Without. I might have Renee come up for a week. I owe her that, but she won’t be staying, no. And don’t you dare call Amy.”

“You needn’t fret. She’s as angry with me as you are. Angrier, probably. What did you do to her exactly that got her so bent out of shape?”

“It’s what I didn’t do, but that’s not the point.”

“I promise I won’t let her know you’re coming. I’d cross my heart, but I’d have to have one to make it a meaningful gesture.”

We both had a laugh at that. I think I laughed a little too long to suit her, but I didn’t really care.

“You haven’t even cut my check yet, have you, Donovan?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Well, keep the funds until I get up there and use whatever you need for the apartment. But when I get into town, I expect the check that day. You with me?”

“Like a conjoined twin.”

“There’s an image I could have done without.”

“So when’s the big move?” she asked.

“The middle of January, I think. I can’t be any more specific about it now, but I’ll let you know.”

“Look, Kip, I can’t believe I’m even uttering these words, but do you think you’ll be able to finish the book back here? You’ll be leaving your cradle-robbing and gunplay behind, after all.”

“I’ll finish it.”

“You’re certain?”

“No, not really, but the chances are just as likely I’ll finish in New York as here. Besides, if I feel myself slipping, I can come back to Brixton. I’m taking a sabbatical, not handing in my resignation. Burning this bridge would really be a bridge too far. In any case, I have a lease on this house that I’m responsible for for several more months.”

“Okay, I’ll have my assistant get to it on Monday. Will you need a parking spot for your car? You do still have that Porsche, don’t you?”

“Renting a parking spot in New York would cost more than my rent on this house. It’s moot anyway. The Porsche’s staying here.”

“Suit yourself,” Meg said. “Ta.”

And that was it. I was committed now, sort of. Sort of, because if there was one lesson being the Kipster had taught me, it was that there wasn’t a commitment in the world that couldn’t be broken. Well, I suppose once you’ve jumped out the window or pulled the trigger, there are no U-turns. I wondered if my father had time to wish he hadn’t pulled the trigger. I was on my way to taking one more step away from Brixton and towards New York.