A Prayer for the Devil (2 page)

They met on the lawn. She hugged him as tears flowed down their heartbroken faces. “Mom, I’m so sorry.” That was all he could say before his voice cracked and he began to sob. She held him tight and tried to comfort him, just as she had so many times in this modest house when he was growing up. Releasing her grasp, she placed her soft hands on either side of his unshaven face. “Try to be patient with your father. Please, Luke, understand that he is in a great deal of pain.” He nodded as she reached up and removed the white linen Roman collar from his shirt while pulling him down to place a black kippah
on his head. “Luke, just for today, don’t be a Catholic, be a Jew. Please, just for today.”

Luke’s mother was a lifelong Catholic. When her boys were born, however, their father insisted that they be raised in the Jewish faith. She never fully agreed with this decision, but like many women of her generation, she reluctantly surrendered to his demand. When the children were born, she insisted that she pick one of the names. She chose Luke, a person that many theologians believe was the only Gentile to write portions of the New Testament. She was secretly happy and proud when, to his father’s chagrin, Luke converted to Christianity in high school. Even more surprising was his decision to enter the priesthood. Family members often wondered if this was a true religious conversion or just a way to embarrass his overbearing father.

When his father realized that Luke was going to give up a University of Massachusetts baseball scholarship in order to enter the seminary, he disowned him. To many in Boston, baseball is the only religion. As much as Luke tried to make him understand, their relationship would never recover. Over the past several years they had become somewhat civil to each other, but unspoken tension still existed.

Luke entered the small, well-maintained house and immediately saw his father sitting in the dark at the kitchen table. As Luke walked across the familiar wooden floors, his dad stood and raised his arms to greet his only living child. This affectionate welcome completely surprised Luke, who quickened his pace to embrace his heartbroken father. For the first time in his life, Luke saw, heard, and felt his father cry as he wept in his strong arms. After a few undisturbed moments, he felt his mother’s embrace as she joined them.

Several heart-wrenching minutes later, Luke heard a soft knock on the screen door as the limousine driver discreetly tried to get their attention. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Mr. Miller, but there’s a lot of
traffic and I wouldn’t want you to be late for the service.” Within minutes, they were sitting in the back of a black limo, on their way to the funeral with only one stop to make along the way. Not a word was said until they pulled up to Aaron’s house in the exclusive suburb of Newton. “Wait here. I’ll go get her,” Luke mumbled dolefully, as the limo pulled through the open metal gates. As he exited the car and began walking up the long stone path toward the imposing house, the front door opened and Deborah appeared. Before leaving, she turned to say a few words to the live-in housekeeper, who held Alessa in one arm and Abel by the hand. As Luke walked to meet her, he heard Alessa yell out, “There’s Daddy!” and he watched as Deborah crumbled to her knees in agony on the hard walkway.

AS A PRIEST, LUKE
had attended and presided over many funerals, doing his best to comfort the grieving families. For the first time in his life, he finally realized the depth of their distress. Now he was the one wracked with despair, and he wondered how he could ever recover. As he watched his elderly father struggle to pick up the shovel and stumble as he threw dirt into the burial hole, Luke questioned his faith. How could God allow these innocent people to die? How could someone exist who was depraved enough to not only want to kill innocent people but also to kill them in such a horrific way? The more he kept envisioning Aaron’s body being blown apart, the more he felt anger and rage well up inside of him. These were unfamiliar feelings for a priest.

On the third day of Shiva, Luke had to excuse himself to go back to his parish. At the request of the Diocese of Boston and the Thompson family, he had reluctantly agreed to preside over the funeral of Brad Thompson and his wife, Jordan. His mother understood, while his father just shook his head.

As Luke donned his vestments, he could hear the sounds of police cars and the crowds lining the streets. This event had captivated the nation and was newsworthy throughout the world. Nearly every priest from the diocese would attend this funeral, along with the country’s most powerful politicians, businesspeople, and community leaders, with one notable exception: the president of the United States, who was traveling abroad. Over the past two days, the parish had been besieged by requests for interviews, most of the reporters wanting to talk with Luke.

Earlier in the day, Luke had called Brad Thompson’s mother to express his condolences and to see if she had anything specific that she wanted him to say about her son. She spent most of the conversation telling Luke how sorry she was that his brother was murdered, while deflecting the attention away from her own grief. After hanging up the phone, Luke thought that she would have been a great person to meet under different circumstances. Maybe he should have tried to get to know Aaron’s friends and business partners before passing judgment on them.

It had been more than a year ago when Aaron’s law firm was contracted to represent a wealthy investor who wanted to redevelop part of the waterfront in suburban Boston. Unfortunately, this project would require that several elderly citizens be ousted from their homes, and it would destroy the neighborhood homeless shelter where Luke volunteered. Local politicians got involved and created an ad campaign promoting the development, touting the benefits of increased tax revenue and tourism. When Luke saw the news reports, he led the vocal opposition to their plan. Soon, the press figured out that Luke’s brother’s firm was involved in the project, and the unwanted publicity caused by the hometown priest destroyed the deal. After a heated argument
regarding the virtues of eminent domain, the brothers stopped talking to each other. Luke would regret that day for the rest of his life.

Walking to the altar in the overcrowded church, Luke looked out at the sea of mourners. He recognized many famous faces sitting beside some everyday parishioners. Noticing the commotion when the audience saw his face for the first time, Luke addressed the confused crowd, saying, “For those of you who may not know me, I’m Luke Miller, Aaron Miller’s identical twin brother.”

Even though Luke had only met Brad and Jordan Thompson on a few occasions, he did an honorable job describing their love for each other and their lifelong commitment to helping the less fortunate. Luke’s crystal clear voice, exceptional looks, and the unique way he prayed, with his hands fully extended out to his sides, made him a compelling figure on the altar. By the time the service ended, everyone was in tears. Just as he did each time he celebrated mass, Luke stood at the back of the church and shook everyone’s hand as they left. His smile widened as Rebecca Bruno and her husband, Sal, the very last people in the church, approached.

Rebecca, an elegant Italian woman in her sixties, attended mass almost every day. Ever since Luke had arrived at the parish three years before, she made sure to attend all of the masses that he presided over. When the church wouldn’t release the priests’ schedules in advance, Sal got involved. Rumored to be a tough businessman with ties to the mob, Sal was a man of few words. After a meeting with Monsignor Swiger to “discuss the issue,” the mass schedule was published in the church bulletin the following week.

Luke kissed Rebecca on both cheeks. She took his hand in hers. “Luke, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about your brother.”
She turned and looked at Sal. “We are both heartbroken for your loss.” Sal extended his calloused hand and shook Luke’s firmly without saying a word. She continued, “We know you have to get to the cemetery, so we won’t hold you, but if you need anything, please call.” Luke thanked both of them sincerely and headed toward the door. Before he could exit, Luke was startled to hear Sal’s words echo in the empty sanctuary. “Hey, Father Miller, if you need anything, call me. I’ve got connections.”