Have You Seen Her? (10 page)

Conceiving Brad that night in the back of his father’s Olds made him change his life path. Gone were plans for the priesthood, which had broken his mother’s heart until she’d held her first grandson in her arms. Steven had gone to college, become a cop. He and Melissa had two more beautiful sons. They’d been a happy family for a time. Melissa may have even been happy . . . for a time.

And look at me now,
he thought. Successful career. Disastrous marriage. Unhappy children. A lonely widower. Lonely and . . . scared.

No, he was terrified. For years after Melissa died he’d held his family together. But now his family was unraveling and he had no clue what to do about it. The idle promise to confess the lie he’d told Helen pricked at him all night, bringing back a host of memories about this place, about the peace he’d always felt here. He tried to remember how long it had been. It hadn’t been a watershed moment, but a gradual thing. Week after week he sat in the pew, feeling the priest’s eyes on him, his priest’s disapproval of what he’d done. Knowing just as clearly there was not one iota he’d change. The cycle of guilt continued until he’d started finding all the reasons he couldn’t go to Mass. Then he just stopped going altogether.

So here he stood. “Go in or go home, Thatcher,” he said harshly.

God knew he didn’t want to go in. Devil of it was, he didn’t want to go home even more.

So he yanked at the heavy door and slipped inside. He’d known it would be open. It always was. He hesitated for a moment before pushing himself to the altar. He hesitated even longer before dropping to his knees. Crossing himself.

Opening his heart.

He’d lost track of time, deep inside himself until a noise behind him brought his head up and his hand to the weapon in his holster.

“I wondered when you’d come home, Steven.”

Slowly standing, he turned and regarded the man sitting in the pew two rows back. Noted the silver at his temples. He was older now. They both were. They’d been children together, served in this very parish together. Been best friends together. Until four years ago when everything changed.

Four years ago when Melissa died and Steven found himself confessing one of the greatest sins of his life to the only man he knew he could trust to keep it secret. To the man sitting in the pew two rows back whose white collar was a stark contrast to the tanned column of his throat.

Steven swallowed. “Mike.”

Mike raised a bushy black brow. “That’s Father Mike to you.” He smirked. “My son.”

Steven felt the smile bending his lips despite the turmoil within him. “Stick it. Father.”

Mike shook his head in mock chagrin. “I should order you to say five Hail Marys for that.”

“For ‘stick it’?”

“No, for the impolite words you really wanted to say.” Steven met his friend’s eyes and both sobered. “I should say a whole lot more than five.”

“Why are you here, Steven?” Mike asked softly, his voice carrying in the quiet of the church.

Steven looked away, turned around to focus on the statue of the Madonna and Child. Tried to figure out the answer himself as he gazed on the serene countenances, so at odds with how he felt inside. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “I guess I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

“That’s as good an answer as any,” Mike said. “I’ve missed you, Steven. I thought I might see you after the trouble with Nicky last spring. I called . . . a number of times, but . . .”

Steven listened as his friend’s voice trailed away and Mike wasn’t Father Leone anymore, but the best friend of his heart. A friend he’d wounded through neglect. “But I didn’t return your calls,” Steven finished, dropping his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry, Mike.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have tried harder. I should have come to you.”

Steven lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know that it would have done any good. You know.”

Mike sighed. “I’m sorry about that, too. How are they?” Steven looked over his shoulder to find Mike in the exact same position. That was one of the things Steven had always admired about his friend—his calm patience that seemed to settle the most anxious parishioner. “I wish I could say they’re fine, but they’re not. Of the three, Matt is the most normal.”

“Matt?” Mike tilted his head. “I find that hard to believe. What happened to Brad?”

The weight suddenly seemed heavier. “I don’t know.” Steven’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what to do, Mike. Brad changed . . . overnight.”

“People rarely change overnight,” Mike observed. “Brad did,” Steven insisted. “And I don’t know what I or anybody did to trigger it. I thought it would pass, but . . .”

“But it’s gotten worse.”

“I guess you hear this all the time.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Sit down, Steven. Please.” Mike leaned forward and patted the pew in front of him. “You’re making me nervous. You’re wound tighter than a spring.”

Steven dropped into the pew, sitting sideways and resting his arm along the wooden back. “I met one of Brad’s teachers today. He’s failing chemistry.”

“Ouch.”

Steven nodded. “I asked him about it when I got home and he acted like he . . . hated me,” he finished in a shaky whisper. “I don’t know what to do.” He flinched when Mike covered his hand with his own, but didn’t back away. It was so like . . . old times. Emotion welled up in his throat and Steven swallowed hard to force it down before it became overwhelming. He drew a deep breath and waited until he could speak normally. “Like I said, Matt is the normal one now and Nicky’s improving every day.” He made himself smile. “Helen’s the same as ever.”

Mike was quiet for a long time, then squeezed his hand. “So Brad is troubled, Matt is maturing, Nicky is improving, and Helen is the same old Helen. But how are
you
, my friend?” he asked softly. “How is your life?”

Again emotion pushed up his throat and again Steven shoved it back. “My life is . . . what it is.”

“You can do better than that, Steven,” Mike said dryly. Steven smiled in spite of himself. “It was a bit theatric, wasn’t it?”

“A bit.” Mike waited, and when Steven said nothing, trudged forward. “And your personal life? Have you changed your mind about taking another wife?”

The corner of Steven’s mouth quirked up. “Taking another wife. It sounds so archaic when you say it that way.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Steven.”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” Steven squared his shoulders, preparing for the argument he knew was just ahead. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. I won’t be marrying again. At least not until the boys are grown.”

“Nicky won’t be grown for ten more years, Steven,” Mike said quietly. “That’s too long for you to be alone.”

Steven narrowed his eyes. “You’re alone.”

Mike smiled. “That’s different and you know it. Besides, I have the Church.” Mike lifted a wry brow. “I’d bet it’s safe to say you don’t even have that.”

Steven looked away. “Below the belt, Mike.” But he was right. Of course.

“Wherever it does the most good. Ten more years is a long time for you to be alone.”

Steven stared at the Madonna and Child, knowing where this conversation was headed. “You said that already.”

“And I was right both times. Hasn’t Helen found
anyone
you like?”

Steven jerked his gaze back to where Mike still sat patiently. “What do you know about Helen’s matchmaking?”

Mike shrugged. “She and I chat from time to time.” Steven rolled his eyes. “I bet she’s confessing all the lies she’s told to set me up with every Tania, Dorothy, and Henrietta this side of the Mississippi.”

“That would be privileged,” Mike informed him archly. “Yeah, yeah,” Steven muttered and Mike grinned, then sobered.

“So tell me, Steven. You haven’t met anyone? In four years?”

A face flashed before his eyes. Black hair, violet eyes, kind smile. “No. Yes.” Steven closed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said miserably.

“I like the ‘yes’ answer the best.”

“You would,” Steven muttered.

“What’s her name?”

Steven stood up. “This is ridicu—”

“Sit down, Steven.” It was a soft roar, a command meant to be obeyed.

Steven sat.

Mike nodded and tilted his head. “So . . . Her name is . . . ?”

“Jenna.” Steven glared over the pew. “If Helen gets a word of this, I swear I’ll . . .”

“It’s privileged,” Mike said and leaned forward. “And you met her when?”

“Today,” Steven snapped and watched Mike’s eyes grow round. Looking at his watch Steven added, “Seven and a half hours ago, to be most accurate.”

Mike sat back in the pew. “Well,
now
your visit makes sense. So what do you plan to do about this woman? This . . . Jenna?”

Steven clenched his jaw. “Nothing.”

Mike pursed one side of his mouth. “Oh, please, Steven. You’re here. You’re troubled.” Mike folded his arms across his chest. “Not all women are Melissa, you know.”

“I know. But I refuse to expose my kids to any woman until I’m sure she’s not.”

Mike waved his hand. “And because you can’t afford time away
from
the boys, you don’t have the time it would take to get to know a woman well enough to bring her home
to
the boys. I seem to recall having heard this argument before.”

Steven shook his head stubbornly. “I can’t . . . no, I won’t put the boys through that again.”

“You didn’t put them through it the first time, Steven,” Mike reminded him.
As if he could forget.
“You brushed the truth under the rug and let the world believe what you wanted them to believe.” Mike frowned, his voice growing stern. “You lied to your children.”

Steven squeezed his eyes closed, clenched his fist tight. “I know. Dammit, don’t you think I know?” Then Mike covered Steven’s clenched fist with his steady hand and just held it there.

“I know you know, Steven,” he said softly. “And I know you believe you did the right thing by the boys by not telling them the truth about Melissa’s death.”

“I
did
do the right thing,” Steven hissed, feeling it all come back. Four years of hurt he’d so successfully buried came rushing back. Now he remembered why it had been so long since he’d been to church. “What
good
would it have done them to know she was deserting us? To tell them her
lover
smashed up her car because he was too drunk to walk, much less drive? That she was hurrying to the airport with her married
lover
?” He spat the word, knowing no other way to make it sound as bad as it really was. “What good would it have done to tell them she didn’t even intend to say good-bye to her own
children,
that she just left me a
note
?” He squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “What good would it possibly have done, Mike?” he whispered, his voice shaking. “
Tell me.
Please, tell me.”

Mike sighed heavily. “I don’t know, Steven,” he murmured. “But I do know that in spite of all you’ve done to protect your family, it hasn’t made any of you any happier.”

There was nothing to say to dispute that so Steven said nothing and Mike removed his steadying hand and leaned back in the pew.

“I take it I’m still the only one who knows,” Mike said after another minute of quiet.

Steven opened his eyes, then narrowed them. “You are.” “Hmm. So I’m the only person you could come to when you finally realized you’ve painted yourself in a corner with this ridiculous ban you’ve put on marriage.”

“It’s not ridic—”

“Hush, Steven. Save it for yourself because I’m not buying. So tell me about this Jenna.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Steven insisted through clenched teeth.

“I sincerely doubt that. What’s her last name?”

Steven twisted in the pew so he faced forward, his arms pulled tightly across his body. “Marshall,” he answered.

“And what does she do?”

“She’s a teacher.” He threw a sour look over his shoulder. “She’s Brad’s teacher.”

“Oh. Well, now the picture’s a bit clearer. I bet she’s kind.”

“Yes.”

“Pretty?”

Steven drew a breath, irritated. “Yes.” Let it out. “She’s kind and pretty.” Anger started to simmer deep inside him. “You want to know the truth,
Father
Leone? You want to know it all? Every last dark thought in my
soul
? Okay,
fine.
I want her. I haven’t had sex in four years and
I want her.
” He exhaled, the burst of temper leaving him drained. “But

I can’t have her.”

“Because you choose not to marry her.”

Steven stiffened at the disapproval in Mike’s voice. “That is correct, Father.”

“You’re a fool, Steven Thatcher.”

“Why, because I believe in sex within the sanctity of marriage? I thought that would earn me some brownie points,” Steven said bitterly.

“It earns you a hair shirt and a flogging strap,” Mike snapped back. “If you want to be a martyr, do it in somebody else’s church, because I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

Steven turned back in the pew to find Mike red-faced and visibly trembling. “What does that mean exactly, Father Leone?” he asked coldly.