Page 118 of I Could Never
In a last-second decision, I stepped on the brakes and turned my car around, ultimately pulling into the parking lot of the monastery. This place had been a mystery to me since I’d found all the notepads at the house. I couldn’t understand why it had been so important to Wayne. Maybe it wasn’t about the monks, but rather what they could do for him. But he must’ve had his reasons for giving those donations.
When I rang the doorbell to the main entrance, a series of chimes rang out. A man dressed in a long, black cloak opened the door.
What the heck have I gotten myself into?
His voice was low and gentle. “May I help you?”
I blinked. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No, no. I’m sorry.” I looked beyond his shoulder at a large religious statue Wayne had probably paid for in the otherwise empty vestibule. “I’m…just curious about this place. It meant a lot to someone who meant a lot to me.”
“Would you like to come in?”
I thought for a second. Even though it was getting late, I felt compelled to enter—like this place had been calling to me, and it was somehow not a coincidence that I’d driven by.
“Sure. Thank you.”
He brought me into a small sitting room just off the entrance.
“Are you from the area?” he asked.
“I’m actually moving back home to Woodsboro. I’m relocating from Chicago, but I grew up here.”
“What brings you back?”
“I’m going to be taking care of an adult family member with special needs.” I paused. “You’re talking to me. Why did I think monks were silent?”
He chuckled. “We do not keep perpetual silence here. That’s rare nowadays. Although we do have moments of silence and certainly avoid idle talk.”
I arched a brow. “This isn’t considered idle talk?”
“When conversation is necessary to help others, it is encouraged. I get the impression you’re in need of some guidance.”
You’re right.I spent the next several minutes filling him in on the situation with Scottie, without mentioning any names. But ultimately, I couldn’t help myself.
“Actually, you may know Scottie’s father.”
He folded his hands together on his lap. “Oh?”
“Wayne Longo.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Wayne Longo…yes, I do certainly recognize the name.”
“I figured you might. Clearly this place meant a lot to him. I found a bunch of notepads with this monastery’s name on them back at Wayne’s house. I assume he must have donated a lot of money for those.”
The monk nodded. “Indeed, he did.”
“Do you have any idea why? I mean, not that anyone needs a reason to give to your fine establishment, but—”
“People donate to the monastery with specific prayer requests. We then add their appeal into our daily benediction.”
“Was Wayne on, like, autopay or something?” I joked.
He didn’t crack a smile. “Wayne always had the same, single request: that we pray for his son, so that Scott should always be looked after, safe, and cared for in the event that anything happened to Wayne.”
I took a moment to let that sink in. “Really…”