Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 19)
Chapter 7 Part II
Cindy Bradford
It didn’t take Patrick long to fall back into a routine at Notre Dame. He liked the small classes and diverse population, but most of all he enjoyed the Catholic atmosphere and of course, basketball. He learned quickly, however, that despite his height and talents, he was a small fish in a big pond. It was a humbling experience for someone who had been the star for two years. If anything, it had caused him to grow more introspective or had he matured? He wasn’t sure.
One year faded into two and then the third and Patrick’s days of playing college basketball came to an end. In some ways that was good because it gave him a chance to concentrate on improving his grades and taking the harder courses he had saved. He hadn’t planned to extend his stay this long, but his coach had insisted that he couldn’t take more than twelve hours a semester.
The best part was that he was able to move into an efficiency apartment and out of the dorm. His place on the third floor of an old brick building that had been a warehouse was only 280 square feet with a small refrigerator, a hot plate and the smallest bathroom he had ever seen. The Murphy bed enabled him to have a few feet of walking space, but he didn’t have to share a single inch of anything with anybody for the first time in his life.
To fill his free time he took a job at a coffee shop two blocks from campus. He had come here often late at night over the past two years and become acquainted with Tony, the owner, a slight, balding man with dark circles under his eyes and whose pasty, translucent skin looked ghostly. He wrote poetry and most nights played the guitar and sang ballads for the local group that hung out at the Java Café. Patrick liked it because Tony provided newspapers from major cities around the world, plus a large number of magazines. None were for sale, a customer needed only to buy a cup of coffee and he could linger and read for hours. Professors stopped by for morning coffee, but students dropped in all hours of the day and well into the night. Tony usually closed up around midnight, but had been known to stay open all night if he had an audience.
Patrick noticed his friend had been slowing down lately and worried if he might be sick. He wasn’t sure how old the little Italian guy was but had once heard him refer to being with his parents on Ellis Island in 1906. Whatever, it wasn’t like Tony to be late opening.
Patrick was doing his morning jog and stopped at the café at 6:45 only to find the door shut tight and the lights dim. When he came back later in the morning he found Tony there, but there was no clip in his step.
“I’m okay,” he told Patrick. “I overslept. Can’t a guy sleep a little for God’s sake?” he added in his raspy gravelly voice, enhanced by a two pack a day cigarette habit.
Smiling, Patrick said, “Guess I didn’t know you ever slept or ate for that matter.”
“Every now and then I do a little of both.”
“I can take on a few more hours here, Tony. You don’t even need to pay me.” Concern filtered through his voice.
“Thanks,” Tony said, patting Patrick on the shoulder. “I’ll be all right, really. But, you can put those newspapers on the shelves,” pointing to the bundles on the floor in a corner.
Patrick glanced at his watch and noted it was almost 8:30. These papers were always in their place by opening, but he said no more. Tony was a proud and private man. The next day he was dead from a massive heart attack.
Stunned, Patrick and many of the other patrons and employees just hung around the little shop once the maintenance man opened the door and said that’s what Tony had always said he wanted if something happened to him.
A day later his son and daughter-in-law arrived from California, locked the doors and hung a FOR SALE sign on the front window. Although it sold within a week and reopened within a month, Patrick never returned; it would have been too painful without Tony’s voice.
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With only a week remaining before graduation, Patrick called the police station in Townsend again. Ironically it had been three years to the day since he left and almost two and a half years since Sue’s disappearance.
“Still nothing,” the chief said quickly. “We’ve done all we know to do, but we haven’t closed the case. Something might show up one of these days, but I doubt it. I am retiring in a couple of months, and none of the younger guys will be as interested as I was. The new chief is not from around here,” he added. “I wish I could say something to make this easier for you. I wanted more than anything to solve this case, more than any case I have ever been involved with, but apparently it isn’t going to be on my watch.”
Patrick was silent as the chief continued, “You sure have a pretty little girl, son. They say she has your eyes. Now, if I don’t talk to you again, Good luck up there.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done, sir,” Patrick said, a lump growing in his throat. He wanted to say more, but stopped short, wished the old chief his best and hung up the phone.