Just Like Heaven (20 page)

“The rectory is too small,” he said, and she laughed. “When the babies start coming, we’ll have to sleep on the front porch.”

“We won’t have to worry until at least our third,” she said.

“The Carnahan place is up for sale. We could buy it and get started on those three kids.”

“Shh.” She pressed her lips against his back and he could feel her warmth. “We have plenty of time, Mark. An entire lifetime.”

Bishop Clennon flipped through the stack of papers on his desk, then looked across at Mark. “This is a handsome accumulation of recommendations. You should be proud.”

“I am,” he said, not pulling his punches. “I feel I’ve done some fine work the last two years.”

The bishop leaned back in his padded leather seat. “Which raises the question: why are you looking to leave a situation that clearly means a great deal to you?”

So this is what the other shoe sounded like when it finally dropped.

“That’s a complicated question.”

“Indeed,” said the bishop, “but the answer should be a simple one.”

“It is,” Mark said and opted for unvarnished truth. “The parishioners of St. Stephen were there for me during some very dark times. I’m glad to be able to help them out now when they need me.”

“So you’re repaying a debt.”

“To some extent, yes, I am.”

“There’s more to ministering to a parish than the repayment of old debts.”

“I know that. This was my old parish,” he reminded the new bishop. “I understand the needs of the parishioners.”

“Greenwood has changed in five years. Since the addition of the Maple Grove subdivision, the age of the average parishioner has gone from sixty to thirty-two. Young families with small children make up almost two-thirds of the Sunday worship. The other candidate is a young husband and father.”

“And you’re afraid that I won’t understand their needs since I’m not a husband or father myself.”

“We all bring specific gifts to the job, Mark. You proved that with your exemplary work in New Jersey.”

“Compassion and understanding are more important than hands-on experience.”

“That may well be true.”

Bishop Clennon rose to his feet, signaling that the meeting had come to a conclusion.

“I appreciate your candor, Mark.” He extended his hand across the vast expanse of polished mahogany. “I believe you’ve answered all of my questions.”

Okay, then. Case closed.

“And I appreciate the opportunity to address them personally, Bishop Clennon.”

“This has been a difficult decision for me to make,” the bishop went on. “The other candidate is a perfect fit in many ways. Young, enthusiastic family man with a theologian wife.”

Clennon clearly wasn’t ready to commit to a forty-something widowed priest who led AA meetings in his spare time. Who could blame him? He would pick the young family man too if the decision were up to him.

“Due to budget considerations, this is a one-year assignment,” the bishop went on, “but I’m sure you know that we fully hope this will be a long-term commitment to the congregation at Greenwood. Our choice must be willing to commit to a future here.”

The contract would be renegotiated this time next year and possibly extended for another five years. The new rector would be given the keys to the same house he had shared with Suzanne, the same church secretary, almost the same vestry, a travel allowance, someone to help out with gardening and general upkeep of the house, and a future that looked a lot like his past in many ways.

They shook hands and Mark was reminded of the nature shows on Discovery Channel. Jungle law in ecclesiastical robes. Maintain eye contact at all times and never let ’em see you sweat.

The bishop walked him into the reception area, where a pair of assistants carried on church business at a frantic pace.

“When can I expect your decision?” Mark asked. He didn’t remind the man that as of the end of May he would be homeless.

“Didn’t I make myself clear?” Bishop Clennon extended his hand again. “I’ll be countersigning your contract this afternoon.” They clasped hands. “Welcome back, Father Kerry.”

Kate had Paul drop her off at the shop on his way back to Manhattan.

“You want me to hang around?” he volunteered. “I can drive you home.”

“Thanks, but I’m walking,” she said. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You sure?”

“Paul, I’m not an invalid. The more I do, the faster I’ll be given the all clear to get back to work full-time.”

He didn’t look at all convinced, but too bad. He was her friend, not her keeper.

“Maeve said to call her if you change your mind,” he said as he rolled to a stop in front of the store.

“If I change my mind, Sonia will run me home. It’s not a problem, okay?”

Finally he ran out of excuses to linger and she waved him off down Main Street. For the first time in more than a week, she was out alone without adult supervision, and it felt spectacular.

She pushed open the door, grinning at the sound of bells and the scent of apples and vanilla. “Look sharp, everyone, the boss is back!”

Sonia let out a whoop and ran over to give her a huge hug. Liz popped out of the office where she kept track of the books and inventory, and burst into tears. Two customers she had never seen before exchanged glances and started edging toward the door.

Let them,
she thought. For once in her life, she didn’t care if all of their customers walked out. The fact that she was there, surrounded by her friends and colleagues, was more than enough.

“We sold the Seaweed & Shell pitcher,” Sonia was saying, “and the oyster plates Dianne Howell brought in on consignment.” The dollar figures were impressive.

“Wow,” she said, nodding her approval. “It looks like you have everything under control.”

“We try, boss,” Sonia said, “but it’s not the same without you.”

“It’s quieter,” Liz said, and they broke up into laughter.

Kate spent a few minutes on her computer, checking on the last week’s sales figures, stock, and wish lists. The boxes she had brought with her from her U.K. trip were stacked against the back wall of the common room. The trip seemed a lifetime ago. Without her lists in front of her, she couldn’t remember what was in half of them. Why not open one box a day, enter the items into the inventory, then phone customers who might be interested in a sneak peek before the items went public.

“I’ll start tomorrow morning,” she told Sonia over a cup of hot tea in the shop’s tiny kitchen. “I’m supposed to be out walking every day, so this will give me a destination.”

Sonia jumped up and gathered her into a major bear hug. “You don’t know how much we’ve missed you around here. Old Mrs. Covington came in yesterday and pitched a fit over some Limoges she said wasn’t up to standard.”

“Wait!” Kate said. “I know the rest: she wanted a forty percent discount and for us to pick up the state tax.”

“I came this close to telling her to stick the Limoges where the sun don’t shine, but I said to myself, ‘Now what would Kate do?’ and that wasn’t it.”

“Wise choice,” Kate said with a mock shudder. “Good thing I’m back to keep an eye on you reprobates.”

“You sure you don’t want a lift home? I need to make a bank run, so I’m going out anyway.”

“I’m only a half mile from home. I’ll be fine.”

“You have your cell?”

“My God, you’re worse than my mother.” She patted the pocket of her trousers. “Yes, I have my cell.”

“Call me if you change your mind about the lift, okay?”

“I promise.”

They all meant well, she knew that, but she breathed a huge sigh of relief when she escaped back out into the world.

“Hey, Katie!” Gigi from the café across the street waved to her from the front door. “Good to see you back!”

“Good to be back!” she called.

“I saw Paul dropping you off,” Gigi shouted across the din of traffic. “Tell Mr. Big Shot not to be such a stranger.”

“I’ll pass it on, Gee.”

“You look terrific, Ms. French!” Frank the mail carrier gave her a thumbs-up as he trudged down the street wheeling his cart. “We missed you.”

“Thanks for the flowers, Frank. That was so nice of you.”

“You gave us all a hell of a scare,” he said. “My wife made me get my cholesterol checked pronto.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad to hear it!”

It was slow going as she made her way along Main Street. News traveled faster than the speed of light in a small town, and it seemed her medical adventure had been discussed in every shop, café, bookstore, and office on the street. A few asked about Gwynn. A couple asked about Ed. A handful were surprised to see that she was still alive.

But absolutely everyone wanted to know about the priest in shining armor who had saved her life. By the time she turned off Main Street onto the relative peace and quiet of Elm Road, she had decided she would make up flyers recounting the incident and post them on every tree, lamppost, and bulletin board in town. In fact, maybe she should take out a full-page ad in the
Coburn Bugle
while she was at it. It would save her vocal cords and it might even be good for business.

She stopped in front of Lena Bradley’s house and leaned against her ancient Chevy Blazer. Maybe she wasn’t quite as all the way back as she had thought. She was a little out of breath and she wouldn’t mind giving her heartbeat a chance to slow down. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. A school bus squeaked to a stop at the opposite corner. Her cell phone turned into Tina Turner.

“I’m standing in the one working cell area in all of northern New Hampshire, so we have to talk fast.” It was Mark. “How did it go with the doctor?”

“Great,” she said as her smile grew even wider. “I’m a textbook case. In fact, I’m outside right now, walking home alone from French Kiss.”

He sent up a cheer that warmed her down to her toes.

“Did you have your meeting yet?” she asked. “I’ve had my fingers crossed all day and they’re starting to cramp.”

“Uncross them,” he said, his words breaking up thanks to the iffy connection. “The contract’s been signed and countersigned. I’m set.”

She started crying at the news, but let him think they were tears of joy.

“So when do you come home?” she managed. “The state isn’t the same without you.”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Unfortunately he had a youth club meeting at five, AA at seven, and a hospice visit scheduled for nine at a patient’s home.

He suggested a Friday morning run down to Spring Lake, but she told him about her plan to walk to work every morning, stay an hour or so, then walk home, all in the name of physical therapy. Not to mention her sanity.

They settled on Friday afternoon and the beach at Spring Lake.

“I better go,” he said. “Maggy’s finished what she was doing in the bank and we’re headed over to Greenwood to meet with the vestry.”

“Vestry? I’m going to need an Episcopalian-English dictionary if I keep hanging around with you.”

“You’ll catch on,” he said. “Your twelve years in Catholic school give you a head start.”

She started to make a flip remark about how her years at St. Aloysius had to be good for something but let the moment slide. Her lapsed Catholic stand-up routine was wearing thin, even for her.

“I want to hear more about this Maggy when I see you,” she said. “I’m picturing a nubile young church-woman with designs on you.”

“I’ll tell her. Believe me, she’ll love you for that.”

Swell,
Kate thought after they said good-bye. Maggy Whoever-the-Hell-She-Was would love her for that. She didn’t like the thought of them talking about her all the way up there in maple syrup country. She pictured a buxom farm girl type in a plaid shirt tied under her breasts and the Yankee Trader version of Daisy Duke cutoffs. It wasn’t a pretty picture, but it was a whole lot more attractive than the way she was feeling. Something ugly and green nipped at her side and she didn’t like it one bit. She had never been jealous of anyone in her life and now here she was getting all bent out of shape over a woman she would never meet and a man she barely knew.

They went from the bishop’s office straight to the hospital where Maggy’s father, Henry, was recovering from his second round of cancer surgery.

It was hard to see the once-robust farmer lying shrunken and frail in his hospital bed, and Mark was grateful for the training that enabled him to maintain his focus and composure.

They talked for a while about better days, and Mark gave his old friend a condensed version of his work in New Jersey.

“So why are you here?” Henry asked in his blunt fashion. “Not that I haven’t been waiting for you to come back, but sounds like you built yourself a good thing down there.”

“You sound like the bishop,” Mark said. “He asked me the same thing.”

“Times change, son. Sometimes the best thing you can do is let go and move on.”

Mark wasn’t sure if Henry meant the words for him or for himself.

“Don’t listen to him,” Maggy said as they crossed the parking lot to her car. “He’s on medication. It makes him say crazy things.”

He let her remark slide, but the old man’s words had resonated deeply with him.

For months it had seemed as if he were barreling toward a future that no longer seemed to fit. Through the darkest periods when his drinking was most out of control, the thing that had held him together was knowing that one day he would go home again.

Who knew that his definition of home would change when he wasn’t looking?

They made a turn onto Chapel Road and he muttered a word he hadn’t used in a long time.

“Don’t blame me,” Maggy said as they pulled up in front of the rectory. “I’m not responsible for this crowd.”