Divine Temptation (5 page)

“Prefer chickens to dogs, do you?” Maggie asked with a teasing twist to her lips. “Probably a wise move though, in your position.”

“Glad to hear you agree. Do you need any more help with anything?”

“Nope. I’m all good here. Thanks for meeting me.”

“You’re welcome—I’m always happy to help. Have a blessed evening.”

“You too.” Maggie tended to her work as inconspicuously as she could, sheathing the plain plastic containers in clay pots and arranging them on the altar. When she finished, she stepped back and imprinted the precise layout into her memory. She wanted to be able to pinpoint exactly which aspects of her design Sarto had rejected when she’d undoubtedly find the plants rearranged within the next day or two. A peek at her watch told her Father Tom would be occupied with confessions for another fifteen minutes, so she went to one of the pews and prayed until the door of the confessionals opened for the last time and the lights above them went out.

When the pastor exited the confessional from his side and stepped through the sacristy into the narthex, he found Maggie waiting for him. “Do you have a minute?” she asked.

“Of course. Let’s go talk in the usher’s room.”

She followed him to the side room, located just before the doors leading into the church. Although the lounge also served as a pre-ceremony gathering place for brides and their bridesmaids, the décor was distinctly masculine with rich brown carpeting and furniture. The room was situated in the center of the building and had no windows. Rather than flipping on florescent lighting to wash away the blackness, Father Tom turned on a single table lamp. He then pulled a key from his pocket and fitted it into a cabinet at the back of the room over a narrow counter and small sink.

“I ran into Monsignor Sarto at the greenhouse today,” Maggie said. “He said I should talk to you about some changes to the archeology presentation.”

Glass clinked as Father Tom pulled two tumblers and a decanter from the cabinet. “I’m afraid it’s no longer an archeology presentation.”

“What? He changed the
whole thing?”

Father Tom filled one of the glasses half way with a tawny liquid. “Don’t get yourself worked up. We’ll reschedule my original presentation for the summer. And the new topic is not an unworthy one.”

“But what about all the information we’ve put out there about an archeological talk? Aren’t people going to notice if the topic’s completely changed?”

“Thus far no one outside the parish has registered, so a simple announcement of the change at the end of Masses and a blurb in the bulletin should be just fine.” He tilted the decanter toward the other glass.

“None for me,” Maggie said, remembering how her throat had burned after the last time she’d accepted a drink from Father Tom. “But thank you. So what’s the new topic?”

“The armor of God. Monsignor Sarto seems to think we could all use a refresher on steeling ourselves against Satan.” Father Tom sighed, and Maggie didn’t like the forlorn sound of it. He settled into the leather armchair with his glass not leaving his hand, but not touching his lips either. The drink took on a reddish cast directly under the dim blaze of the lamp. “You have something else you’d like to talk about,” he stated.

“Yes. But it can wait.”

“Sit down, Maggie.” He tilted his head toward the overstuffed leather chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. Maggie lowered herself into the seat, but stayed on the edge with her legs tensed. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

“I’ve been thinking about an annulment again.”

Father Tom nodded and tapped his finger on the edge of his glass. “What’s changed since last year when you decided against pursuing it?”

“Nothing…and everything. I still can’t see ever getting remarried myself, but Carl’s been seeing someone, and it seems serious. I know he doesn’t buy into the Church’s position on divorce and adultery—he’s satisfied that a civil divorce was enough to free us both to remarry and doesn’t see the need for a decree of nullity. But I guess I buy into it enough to think I should reconsider setting him free in the eyes of the Church too, should that become important to him down the road.”

“Nullifying a marriage is more than just a matter of wanting it. As we discussed before, the tribunal would need proof that at least one of you entered into the marriage without proper intention to either stay faithful or procreate.”

This was the point on which Maggie had stumbled and given up last time. She hadn’t wanted to face the possibility that her marriage had never been what it had seemed. “I think a case could be made that Carl never intended to stay faithful, or, at least, was ambivalent about it on our wedding day.”

Father Tom set his glass down and folded his fingers together, resting his joined hands on his portly stomach. “You were married for twelve years before his indiscretion.”

“Before he confessed to indiscretion. Who knows how many others there may have been?”

“He told you there’ve been none. Do you not believe him?”

She hesitated before answering. “I do.” But she’d also believed him when he’d told her he was working late, or that he was going on a fishing weekend with the guys. Even if she could’ve brought herself to forgive him, she knew she’d never forget. Every time he was out of her sight, she’d have doubts about what he was really doing. She couldn’t have lived that way. That’s why she hadn’t even considered counseling or the crisis-marriage retreat Carl had begged her to try. “The vows state until death, not a decade plus. If he’d intended to stay faithful to me for our whole marriage, he sure didn’t try very hard.”

“You’ve told me he was remorseful afterward. And he confessed without provocation. That would imply it was something that happened without prior forethought. A mistake he deeply regretted. Had he never intended to stay faithful, why would he feel such strong regret?”

In a strange way, Carl’s willing confession was something she resented. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t have gone on living with the guilt of his nasty secret instead of burdening her with it. “Well, the regret obviously hit too late. He probably didn’t realize how horrible it would feel to look at his kids and kiss his wife afterward. That doesn’t mean that on our wedding day he didn’t fully expect that one day he’d stray into another field when his own pasture wasn’t looking so green anymore.”

Father Tom stayed silent and watched her. She knew he was waiting for her to work it out for herself.

“I wasn’t exactly happy in our marriage at the time either. I know I wasn’t the model wife, but I
never
considered going to someone else’s bed, and I just don’t see how he could’ve done it so easily—not unless he’d always kept it in mind as an option.” She shook her head and swiped at an angry tear. She hated how much pain she still felt at her husband’s betrayal. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“There’s no need to apologize. But I think you see how this process will reopen old wounds. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“Obviously not.”

“Well, when and if you decide you are, I’d be happy to speak with Carl about it, if you like.”

“Okay. Thanks.” The priest smiled kindly at her, and she suddenly felt very selfish. “How are you doing? With all the changes going on around here?”

He separated his hands and waved one to brush away the question. “I’m doing just fine. It’s all part of the territory—once you get too comfortable, something comes along to wiggle the rug a little.” He picked up his glass and swirled it, staring at the turbulent motion within.

“He’ll be gone next month, and then that rug will stop wiggling.”

He lifted his gaze to her. “This too shall pass, eh? Well, I suppose you should be getting home to those children of yours.”

Maggie took the cue that he wanted to be alone and said good night. When she turned to pull the door to a gentle close, she saw that he was again contemplating the thick, red drink.

Alone in her bedroom that night, Maggie let her thoughts turn toward the angel. Had she been imagining things at the garden? The guy had been masked by branches and shadow; her mind could’ve easily morphed his features into those of her angel. Then she remembered the almost hypnotic power of the urn, the way it had called to her, and wondered exactly what kind of herbs were in that Mexican food she’d had for lunch.

Even still, she couldn’t shake the conviction that the angel was more than a dream. With determination, she propped herself up against a stack of pillows, lifted the novel from her nightstand, and settled in for some late night reading. This time if he visited, she’d know that it happened while she was lucid.

A few hours later she awoke with the light bulb blaring and a horrible crick in her neck from the way it had bent after she’d slipped half way down her pillow mountain. She flicked off the light and pulled on her eye mask, calling off the hunt.

Chapter 4

“T
HE
D
EVIL’S
N
OT
R
EAL
,” Kirsten said from the passenger seat.

Maggie kept her eyes on the road but jerked her head back. “What makes you say that?”

“Nothing
makes
me say it. It’s just what I believe. I think the devil is just a made up thing that God lets people believe to keep them in line.”

Maggie’s insides eased when she understood that at least her daughter wasn’t questioning the existence of God too. She knew sending kids to a parochial school was no guarantee their faith would remain intact forever. So rather than slam a two-ton Catechism down on their curiosity, she tried to discuss more than lecture, firmly believing that turning their own minds around an issue was what would bring them closer to God in the end. After all, it was only after decades of mistakes that she herself had started to truly nurture that relationship.

“Well, what about the people who don’t stay in line?” Maggie asked. “Can they just sin and kill and turn their backs completely on God but still get a free pass at the end?”

“At the end they’ll see God, and they’ll be sorry, and he’ll forgive them.”

“What if they’re not? They’ll still have free will, right? What if they use it to flip God off? Is he still going to set a place for them at his table so they can spit on his food?”

Kirsten was silent for a moment before answering. “I guess I don’t know how it’s all going to work, but if God loves us so much, he’d never throw anyone into hell forever. Oh, I know! Purgatory. That’s where he’ll send them until they can get their act together.”

“So, you don’t believe in eternal damnation, huh? You don’t need the threat of hell to be a good girl?” Maggie smiled. “That’s pretty cool, actually. I’m sure he’d much rather have you follow him because you love him, not because you’re afraid.”

“So then I don’t have to go to this stupid lecture tonight?”

“Ah, but you do believe in extra credit points for theology class, right?”

“Only like five. It’ll hardly affect my grade.”

“I know, smarty pants, but I have to be there anyhow and I think this’ll be good for you to hear. You might not believe in the devil, but do you believe evil lurks in this world?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Father Tom’s lecture is going to be all about using the protections God gave us against evil of all kinds.”

“Then why doesn’t Liam have to go?”

“He’s too young to get it in the terms Father will be using tonight. But you’re old enough and I need you to be prepared for the evils of high school next year.”

“Ha ha.” Kirsten rolled her eyes. They pulled into the lot, and she sulked all the way into the narthex, where she was instantly cheered when she saw a couple of her school friends. After agreeing to meet Maggie in the basement afterward, she disappeared into the church with her friends to get a seat for the lecture.

Maggie dashed downstairs to the linoleum-tiled gathering hall and began setting up for the dessert reception while greeting and chatting with the parishioners who’d volunteered to drop off baked goods and beverages. When she’d finished spreading paper tablecloths across the long tables, arranging the sweets, and brewing coffee, there were still ten minutes left of the allotted question and answer time, so she returned upstairs. Quietly entering the church, she stood at the back, behind several rows of wooden pews.