Page 161 of My Cowboy Freedom
I was pleased to see Rock would be singing a solo. Not a song I knew, but whatever, I always looked forward to hearing Rock sing.
As people filed in, so many of them stared at Chandler. A dull flush crept up his neck as he endured it. One after another, people put their hands on his shoulders, leaned in, and spoke some words. Whether they were inspirational or humorous or just plain nonsense, people were trying, you had to give them that. He clasped hands with some, let others pat his back, his knees.
But it was like sitting next to a hungry polar bear just biding his time. Or a volcano building up pressure.
A man like Chandler doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy.
I glanced at the altar and happened to catch Rock watching me. His head gave that lazy tilt, and he smiled. I smiled back.
Then the service started, and we sang. Someone said a prayer. Someone else read scripture. More singing. More talk.
Then came the homily. Sermon.Whatever.
It wasn’t the youth pastor from the night of Rock’s seizure. This guy was talking about looking forward to the harvest, and he was wrapping a lesson about cause and effect into that.
You can’t plant tomatoes and expect to harvest green beans.
I let the words fall. The music. My mind was busy replacing all of that with a memory of better times.
Of bees humming, and the call of larks, scrub jays, and warblers. Of my dad laughing at something my mother said, while Sterling Chandler told us kids all about the prodigal son.
At the piano, Rock started playing the intro to “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” I opened my eyes in surprise.
I was deeply touched.
I knew what that song meant to Rock.
I know I am the sparrow he’s talking about.
He leaned into the mic and sang, every note carrying me to a place of warmth and safety. A place of belonging. A place where even the memory of prison disintegrates around me and I am whole, and I’m not my stepfather’s plaything or Nando boy. I am no one’s boy because I finally have a real man I can look up to—Rock.
Rock wanted me to have faith in the future. He wanted me to invite my sister to spend the summer in Texas. He wanted me to call my mother and give her “the opportunity to surprise herself.”
He was not religious. I didn’t know what he expected me to have faith in. The time we’d had together since he’d gotten back was so limited, we agreed to disagree about everything in favor of fucking.
He’d told me I would find something to believe in. He’d sent me half a dozen links to church websites. And also, something about Freemasons. I think that was a joke.
Still, I swore there were more goddamn churches in that part of Texas than there were people.
While the pastor said the final prayer, I felt nothing. Or rather, I felt nothing you had to dress up and go inside a fancy building for.
As we left the church, Elena’s smile was so wide and happy. She wheeled the boss along the receiving line. Chandler shook Pastor’s hand.
Rock joined us.
While we waited for Elena and the boss, Rock detangled Maisy’s leash and slipped his backpack onto his shoulders.
The pastor waved good-bye, and Rock waved back. We all walked out to the parking lot. Rock helped Chandler into the car. I was just about to shut the trunk when Rock paused to give me a soft pat on the shoulder.
I winked.
Then I heard skidding tires, a shout. Curses in Spanish and English.
I stumbled around with no idea where to look first.
I hear barking.
Maisy! Oh Christ. Thank God, Maisy’s fine.
