With the Father (8 page)

As kids, Kate and I
climbed the big old tree every summer. The limbs were close enough together
that even the shortest little legs could climb them. You could go as high as
you were brave. Kate had always been the more courageous one, encouraging me to
follow her to the top where we’d sit for hours.

She’d been drawn to
the immature blooms and would peel the petals off the closed white buds like an
onion. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she would ask when she’d get to the pod in the
center with
it’s
curling yellow fingers and hard, red
stalk. ‘Just as pretty on the inside as the outside.’

I, on the other
hand, ignored the flowers in favor of the tree’s more mature fruit. I picked
the red seeds one at a time and dropped them to the ground with a ‘he loves me’
or a ‘he loves me not’ for each one.
 
Even as children, we’d been so different, her looking inward for
happiness and me trying to find it in someone else.

I reached under the
bed, bumping into Aurora who was spread out on the floor. She snorted but
didn’t wake. I felt around until I found what I was looking for. Sitting
cross-legged on the bed, I began with the first page again and read until I
couldn’t stand to read any more. I didn’t make it far.

Before I left the
house, I put it on Kate’s bed and hoped it would disappear while I was gone.

KATE

The
house was quiet when I got home. Based on the empty driveway and the dark
windows, I knew that the homebodies were out.

I ran up the stairs to change my clothes and skidded
to a halt when I got to my room. The proof of Jonathan’s indiscretion was
laying
on my bed. I grabbed it and tossed into a drawer of
my dresser, not wanting to look at it any more.

I had just enough time to sneak in a run and a
shower before I had to get ready for dinner with Maddox. With one hand, I dug
through the bottom of my closet for my running shoes while yanking a t-shirt
off a hanger with the other. Minutes later, my shoes were tied, my hair was
pulled back, and my headphones were stuck in my ears. I stepped onto the
sidewalk in front of the house.

I’d gotten all of a mile when the summer heat
started bearing down on me. Even though I’d grown up here, I wasn’t used to it
any more. It was a wet heat
that
 
permeated
your lungs and
saturated you from the inside out. As I ran, I ignored the stinging in my side
and pushed myself harder, begging the pounding of my feet to drown out the
thoughts that had been spinning around my head all day.

The playlist that I’d put together for a
thirty-minute run was on the last song when my stomach cramped up, forcing me
to stop and walk. With my arms over my head, I tried to catch my breath. I
looked longingly at the gas station as I approached and wished I had brought
some money for water.

While staring at would-be oasis, my eyes fell on a
certain exquisite ecclesiast. He was putting gas in his car and whatever breath
I’d just found left me again.

He looked
unpriestly
again in a blue t-shirt and jeans. I forced myself to look away. All things
considered, the feelings he stirred in me were not right.
The
most obvious being that, despite what he was wearing
,
he
was still a priest
.
 
The less
obvious being that he’d all but admitted to being in love with my sister. The
combination should have been enough to stop me from looking at him like I was,
but it wasn’t.

I forced my gaze on the road ahead of me and
walked faster.
 

“Kate!” he called from the other side of the
street. I waved but mandated my feet to keep walking. I needed to get home. I
needed to shower. I needed to stop looking at my friendly neighborhood priest
like he was a piece of meat, and I was a rabid dog.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him jog across
the street, and I cursed under my breath. I was a sweaty mess.

I stopped walking only after he injected himself
into my path. “I can’t believe you’re running in this kind of heat.” He shook
his head disapprovingly but looked truly concerned. “Do you have any water?” If
I said I wasn’t enjoying his apparent concern, I’d be lying.

“I’m fine. I’m headed home now.” I tried to
nonchalantly wipe the sweat off my forehead. My stomach clenched, and my heart
raced. I told myself that it was because of the run and not because of the man
in front of me.
 

“You should run early in the mornings. You’re
going to kill yourself out here at this time of day.” He looked me up and down
as if he was checking to make sure I truly was okay. An eyebrow arched and the
corner of his mouth turned up in a hidden smile as his eyes fell on my t-shirt.

I looked down, unsure of what I’d find. I hadn’t
been paying any attention when I’d thrown on clothes for my run. ‘My Dad Still
Thinks I’m a Virgin,’ was emblazoned across my chest. “Sorry,” I said,
stumbling over my words. “I wasn’t really paying attention when I dressed.”

He grinned and shrugged. “It’s funny.”

“Well, I probably shouldn’t wear it around here.
My dad won’t like being played for a fool.” I regretted the words as soon as
they were out of my mouth. I didn’t want Paul to think I was some sleazy whore
that slept around a lot. I mean, I had slept around a little here and there,
but I was a long way from reaching sleazy whore status.

He chuckled, and the green in his eyes came to
life. After last night, I was glad to see it.

Now that I knew that he was in love with her
– and I was positive that I hadn’t misread that – he was even more
intriguing to me than he’d been before. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be
to be in love with someone and not be able to do anything about it. I also
couldn’t imagine how Grace had missed it.

“Yeah, so I’ve got to head home,” I said.

“I’ve got to get going, too.” He gestured over his
shoulder toward the gas station but didn’t move in that direction.

I nodded and started to move around him. As I
started to pass, he reached out and touched my arm. “Is our girl better today?”

“This hasn’t been one of her better days.”

“I can imagine.”
 

“It’s hard, you know?” I asked. “There’s nothing I
can say to make any of it better for her. I’m a distraction at times, but I
know I’m a poor substitute for whom she really needs.”

We continued to talk for several more minutes. As
usual, Paul offered to do anything he could to help. “Well, I think my gas is
probably finished pumping,” he said, nodding toward his car across the street.

“Yep, and I think my legs are seizing up. I better
get moving.”

“You know,” he said, backing away slowly.
 
“I usually run early in the mornings. If
you want a partner.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “I don’t know. How
early are we talking?” It would be nice to have a running partner, but he
probably wasn’t the best choice. That thought led to another. I wondered if he
knew Grace had been an early morning runner, too – that they had that in
common. Once again, I was going to be a poor substitute for the real thing.

“Six. You can do it,” he said, flashing me his
most persuasive smile, clearly oblivious to my inner dialogue.

I should have said no. Meeting him was a bad idea.
One of two things were bound to happen: I’d either make a complete ass of
myself when he left me in his dust, or I’d make a complete ass of myself when I
threw myself on the ground in front of him in hopes that he’d try to
resuscitate me. Either way, it wasn’t going to end well.
 
“I don’t know. That’s really early.”

My tone lacked conviction, and he jumped on it.
“Tell you what, I’ll be in front of your house tomorrow morning at six.
If you come out, great.
If you don’t, well … I’ll chalk it
up to you being a bigger Yankee than me.”

He coughed when he said Yankee and I couldn’t help
but laugh. “I’m a lot of things but a Yankee isn’t one of them,” I said.
 

“Whatever.
 
We’ll see who’s tougher.”

“Tougher?” I asked, laughing even harder. “Who’s
out here running when it’s 100 degrees?”

“A dumb ass,” he said, smirking.

I fake scoffed at him. “Watch your mouth, Father
Paul.”

“What happened to Friend Paul?” he asked.
 

‘He’s in love with my angel of a sister,’ I wanted
to say, but he was already running back across the street.

GRACE

I placed the two magnolia blooms on top of the headstone, saving the
third for my mom and backed away slowly.

There’d be no singing to my family today. I could hardly even think of
any words to say to them, let alone sing. I wanted to be near my children. I
needed to be here, but I also felt compelled to sit as far away from Jonathan
as possible.

I wiped the sweat
from my forehead and looked around for some shade. A concrete bench I’d never
noticed before sat under a large oak tree about 10 yards away. I couldn’t
believe I’d never noticed it.

Walking over to it,
the lush green grass that surrounded my family faded into a gradual brown. The
thirsty grass crunched under my feet as I walked to the bench. I pulled out a
book and opened it though I knew I wouldn’t actually read it. I’d read enough
for one day.

Before reading
Jonathan and Hope’s conversation, I’d told myself that it hadn’t meant
anything, that it had been a one-time thing.
A slip up.
A mistake. By the third page, it had become clear that was not the case. When I
couldn’t take any more, I placed it on Kate’s bed and left the house. I didn’t
want to see it ever again. My perception – or misperception – of
the life I’d had was obliterated. I’d been married to a man for 11 years, but I
hadn’t known him at all.

From the little
parts that I had read, I knew that she’d meant something to him. They had met
at hotels. They’d met at her house. At least once, he’d even had her over to
our house, cooking dinner for her when I’d taken the kids to see Kate in New
York.

He’d been too busy
to go with us. That had been his excuse.

I could tell from
her messages that she’d known intimate details of our lives. She had
know
when I’d be busy with Karen’s Kitchen. She’d known
where our kids went to school. He’d shared these things with her. I felt like
she knew me well. Yet, I didn’t know her at all.

“Mind if I sit?”

The sound of Father
Paul’s voice brought me back to the present and stilled the restless urge to
scream that was brewing inside of me. “Go ahead,” I said, without looking at
him but moving over to make room for him all the same.

“I missed you today,”
he said.

The
dog park.
I’d never made it. I
nodded unable to speak.

There’s a moment
when you know you’re on the brink of a breakdown and the mere presence of
someone else causes the dam to break. That was where I was at that moment. I’d
barely been holding it together before he’d sat down with me. Now that I wasn’t
alone, I could no longer hold it in. Though I couldn’t understand how it was
possible that there were any left, the tears fell.

He wrapped an arm
around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. He didn’t shush me or tell me
it would be okay. He didn’t do anything to help me feel better at all. He
merely sat with me while I released it all.

When I was done, I
gathered what was left of my dignity while I looked through bleary eyes at his
jean clad legs. “Are you not working?” I asked, glancing in the direction of
the church.

It was a Wednesday
afternoon. He should be preparing for evening mass not hanging out in the
cemetery, wearing jeans and holding up a desperate woman in the middle of a
meltdown.

He dropped the arm
that had been draped around my shoulders and moved to put a little more space
between us. “No, I took the day off.”

“A vacation?” I
asked. I hadn’t been to church in months and yet the thought of him not being
there
side-swiped
me in the most surprising way.

“Something like
that,” he said, his New England accent heavy with an undercurrent he was trying
to hide.

I’d been so caught
up in my own problems for so long that I sometimes forgot that other people had
problems, too. As hard as it was for me to imagine, there was suffering in the
world that wasn’t related to mine. “How long will you be gone?” I asked, wiping
the last of the tears from my face.

“I’m not going
anywhere,” he answered.
 

“But you’re on
vacation?”

He shifted uneasily
next to me. “No, I’m just taking a few days off to reevaluate some things.”

“What are you
reevaluating?” I asked.

“Everything and
nothing. ”

I nodded at his
non-answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“This isn’t really
the right time.”

“Please, can we
talk about you?” I begged. “I want to think about someone else’s problems.”

He was quiet for a
few seconds. “Okay. How about I tell you a story?”

“Yes,” I said in a
hushed voice.
Yes, make me forget.

 
“There was this boy, a loud boisterous
boy that was full of life. He was born into a family that didn’t appreciate
loud boisterous boys, and I’ll admit that he was a bit of a troublemaker.” He
smiled as if that
wasn’t
 
necessarily
a bad thing. “He was another mouth to feed when they
already had too many. So the family who had largely ignored him most of his
life tossed him out to fend for himself.”

“At the age of
twelve, this boy ran the streets of Roxbury, stealing to eat, and sleeping
behind boxes in alleys. He learned to fight because he had to. He protected
himself when he needed to. He did things that he didn’t even know he was
capable of doing. Things he’d regret later though he thought there had been no
other way at the time. He relied only on himself. No one came to his rescue and
he didn’t need any one to save him. Or so he thought.”

“After about five
years of living this way, the kid was tougher, but tired. He’d seen more than
most people see during their entire lives. He was tired of fighting, tired of
trying to find a way to stay ahead of the trouble that always seemed to find
him.”

“One day he found
himself in a small church on Blue Hill Avenue, hiding in a confessional of all
places when a throat cleared on the other side of the lattice. It was ironic
because a confessional was exactly where he should have been even if he was
there for the wrong reasons. Not believing that there was an act of contrition
powerful enough to cleanse his soul, the kid ran. And do you know what
happened?”

I shook my head.

“The priest
followed.”

“Did you catch
him?” I asked.

“No. Father Russell
did and talked some sense into the kid. For the first time in years, someone
actually cared what the boy had been through. And because Father Russell
listened, the boy also listened. Without judgment, Father Russell
offered
 
him
an
alternative. He gave him a home, and for the first time in his entire life, he
had a safe place to live. Then he followed him to the church, and for the first
time, he had a safe place to think. He followed him to somewhere much better
than anywhere he’d been before.”

He stopped talking,
and a few seconds passed before I realized that the story was over. “Is the kid
okay today?” My voice hurt from a day’s worth of crying and came out as a
croak.

“Very much so. He’s
in a very good place actually,” he said, standing up. “Come on. It’s getting
late. I’ll walk you to your car.”

As we walked past
St. Vincent de Paul and the Madonna, I didn’t look back at the plots where I’d
buried a piece of my heart. For the first time, I felt like there was a chance
that it could grow back. Someday. Somehow.

Outside the gate, I
saw Paul’s car parked behind mine. “Paul?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re not
working, how did you know I was here?”

“Kate,” he said. “I
was getting ready to drive over to San Antonio to pick up a friend from the
airport, and I ran into her.”

“What did she tell
you?” I asked.

“Enough,” he
admitted, running his hand over the top of his short hair. “She’s not the
enemy, Grace.”

“I know.” I was
still furious with her, but I’d never been any good at staying angry with her.
“So then I guess we know everything there is to know about each other.”

“Not quite,” he
answered. “But soon. Will I see you at the dog park tomorrow?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

I still couldn’t
make any promises, but something about the way he looked at me made me want to
try.