carver is made of (waterandwine) wrote in repose, @ 2016-04-21 03:24:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | *log, carver anderson, claire johnson |
log: claire and carver at the church
Who: Carver and Temperance
Where: the Catholic Church
When: after dark and fuzzy timelines
What: using the church multi-purpose room after hours
Warnings: tba
"That blind woman from the carnival, she got her sight back. Praise be to God." Mavis, the youth guidance leader, said on her way out of the chapel. The teens she was grooming for confirmation were streaming out into the parking lot, chatting with each other and enjoying what was left of their weeknight before school the next day. One of them got into their dad's sports car, revved the engines loudly and the girls giggled. Carver stood with Mavis, a Bible held to his chest with one hand as he watched to make sure they all had a ride home. He was glad that memories of being a teenager faded with each year.
"What?" He asked a full ten seconds later. Mavis was used to this from him and in fact she sort of prefered it. She had six kids at home, drove an ugly grey minivan and her voice was scratched up because once tried to kill herself by chugging bleach. She hated the noise and Carver was the personification of a quiet library.
"That woman from the carnival. She can see again. What a miracle." Mavis smiled, hope beaming out of half-dead blue eyes and Carver nodded solemnly. In his experience, miracles were a lot more random. For example, Thomas Aquinas could levitate, but why? What use was that to him? Did it help him write? A man like Thomas didn't even seem the type who wanted to have his feet off the ground very often. God suddenly deciding to heal a random blind woman didn't feel right, it made the voices in his head chatter with each other (not Thomas, he didn't care much for talking) and he was glad he wasn't expected to smile around Mavis.
"I'll finish cleaning up. You get home." Carver said and after Mavis tried to protest a few times, she left in that whale of a minivan. He hoped her kids would be asleep or her husband wouldn't hassle her. Mavis should get her own place, Carver thought. Mavis shouldn't have to keep teaching children, added one of the Saints in perfect Latin. Carver nodded in agreement. He turned and entered the chapel, making sure all the pews were clean and then closed the big doors after turning the lights off. He sat on the steps, looking up at the black sky that showed many more stars than Rome ever did.
He tried not to miss his home or feel anxious about the Bellatora showing up and decided to check the town forums to get his mind off of it. Cecilia sang, somewhere over in the tiny graveyard, a song she heard at Mass while staying with Carver. No one could hear it except him, but the temperature around the chapel turned comfortably cool and smelled of flowers.