With the Father (4 page)

“Yes,” Kate
answered. “Dad and Grace are all I have. We are family.” She sang the last
sentence to the tune of Sister Sledge. Father Paul looked at her curiously but
swallowed any question he may have had as the waitress walked up to take our
order.

While we waited for
our food, I sat quietly, trying to disappear into the tall-backed seat. I
studied my silverware. I counted the cars in the darkening parking lot. I did
whatever I could think of to keep myself from looking around the restaurant. I
didn’t want to know who was there and if they were staring.

“So what inspired
you to become a priest,” Kate asked after our food arrived.
 
I poked at my burger while waiting for
his answer and flicked some sesame seeds off onto my plate.
 

For a moment, I
wished that Arden
was
here with me. She would have
loved to hear his answer. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen much of her during the
past few months. Maintaining a relationship with her had become too difficult.
I knew I could call her if I needed her, but the connection we’d once had was
missing. Me, with my inability to talk to anyone on any kind of real level, and
her, with her very alive family, it was just too hard. Out of necessity, I’d
distanced myself from her.

I finally looked up
because an awkward amount of time had passed since Kate asked the question. I
was also interested in his answer. Similar to me, Father Paul was staring at
his plate like he expected something to move on it. Finally, he looked up and
said, “Life. Life happened. Sometimes unexpected obstacles are thrown at us,
and we have no other choice but to embrace them. Sometimes our path in life is
not of our own choosing.”

It was a trademark
Father Paul-ism. The formerly talkative Kate stared at him and blinked.

“I just meant that
we don’t always have a choice in things,” he added. “You have to cope the best
way you can. Grace knows what I am talking about.” He threw an encouraging and
sympathetic smile in my direction.

If he was expecting
me to talk about the
unchosen
path that I was on or
the obstacles I was currently hurdling, he had another thing coming.
I
knew all about life choosing you instead of you choosing it. However, I wasn’t
going to talk about it. If the two of them had thrown together an impromptu
grief counseling session, they were going to be supremely disappointed. I had
nothing to say on the subject of coping. I was fairly certain I was failing
miserably at it anyway.

I nibbled on the
end of a cold French fry before tossing it back on my plate and looked up to
find Father Paul still watching me. He smiled his most reassuring smile. It was
a lifeline that he usually reserved for the most hopeless souls coming through
the soup kitchen.
 
“You’ll get
there. Takes time.”

“Well, I have
plenty of that.” That was the honest to God truth. All I had was time. I pushed
the burger around on my plate, hoping that if I continued to move it, no one
would notice that I was no longer eating.

I wasn’t hungry. In
fact, I was never hungry. The days of looking in the mirror and worrying that
my stomach was too big, that my ass was too round, and that my thighs were too
flabby were a thing of the past. I didn’t need to worry about those things any
more. I was wasting away, but I didn’t care. With any luck, one day I’d just
completely disappear.

“The fries are
really good,” he said as if he’d read my mind and thought he could persuade me
not to give up.

“Father Paul,” Kate
interrupted. “So, where’d you grow up?”

“How about we ditch
the ‘Father’?” he asked, looking at me while answering Kate.

“Isn’t he always
with us?” she asked, teasing him.

He redirected his
gaze to her and laughed loudly. “Indeed. Kate, are you making a joke?”

She giggled like a
schoolgirl. “It’s a specialty of mine. If you need pointers, I’d be happy to
help.”

“I’ll keep that in
mind.”

“So do your friends
just call you ‘Paul’?”

“Typically, yes.”
His expression indicated that he thought the question was a ridiculous one.
“Though nobody around here does, I guess.”
 
He grew quiet, as if considering the implications of that.

Kate smiled warmly.
“Well, fantastic. Grace and I will be your first
uncongregational
friends in
Merriville
. We would be happy to call you
Paul.”

“Every now and
then,” he started, his eyes darting to me before he finished, “it’s nice just
to have dinner with a couple of
friends.
” He emphasized the last word as
if he was trying it out.

I stared at him.
Unmoving and unbending.
I’d spent a lot of time with him
while working at Karen’s Kitchen, but he was always ‘Father Paul.’ I didn’t
feel comfortable calling him anything else.

“Can I ask you a
question, Friend Paul?” she asked. “Even if it’s vocationally related and
you’re technically off the clock and we are decidedly
uncongregational
?”

He pushed away from
the table and leaned back in his chair intrigued. “Sure. Go for it.”

“Okay, confession
time,” she said, her voice a hushed conspiratorial whisper.

“You have one?” he
asked, taking a sip of his water.

“No. That would
take us all night. I want to know what’s the juiciest, most exciting thing
you’ve heard during confession.
 
No
names, of course.”

“No names, of course,”
he said, clearly entertained. “Well, you know I can’t answer that. Even without
names.”

She pouted for a
few seconds while her eyes darted between my untouched bacon cheeseburger and
her grilled chicken salad.
 
“Okay,
tell me this then. Coveting. How bad is it, really? I mean, let’s say that I
covet my neighbor’s … rose garden.” She reached for my burger. “I might,
theoretically, wander over there and take a look around. Maybe I even pick a
flower every now and then, but I leave the bush behind.” I smacked her hand
just before she picked it up. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it? Any
chance at redemption?” she finished.

Father Paul was
amused. “Well,” he began, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … so
I’d say you’re in a bit of hot water here … theoretically, of course. Even if
you’re only picking a flower every now and then and leaving the bush where it
is, it’s still your neighbor’s bush.”

“So you’re saying,
‘don’t touch the bush’?”

“That’s what I’m
saying. Don’t touch the bush. You’re going to get burned.”

“Some bushes do
that,” she said, nodding seriously.

He laughed. “Maybe
you should conduct mass for me on Wednesday,” he said, pointing at Kate.

“Only if you want
the place to burn down.”

“Okay, your turn.
Tell me about your job. I believe I heard that you’re a travel writer. Tell me
about somewhere exciting that you’ve been.”

That was all Kate
needed. As she recounted her adventures in exotic places like Madrid, Cambodia,
and Machu Picchu, I don’t think she even realized that he’d avoided her
question and never really answered why he’d become a priest.

I stayed quiet
while they talked throughout the rest of dinner. Kate could on carry a
conversation all by
herself
, but Father Paul somehow
managed to interject questions and comments here and there. He seemed genuinely
interested in and amused by what she had to say.
 

At times, it felt
like I was watching a first date, except without the awkwardness that comes
with not knowing what’s going to happen. She flirted with him, flipping her
dark hair, cocking her head, and batting her smoky shadowed eyes at him. Only
Kate would flirt so unabashedly with a priest. However, he didn’t seem to mind
and actually seemed almost oblivious to it. Or maybe he was as captivated by
her as everyone else always seemed to be.

“ –
but
I’m taking some time off right now,” she finally
finished. “I’m trying out something different.”

“A new job?” he
asked.

“No.
Just a temporary thing.
I’m helping out over at Grace’s
company.”

My head snapped up.
“What?”

 
“They need you, Grace. I’m just filling
in and helping Maddox out until you’re ready.” Her voice was low and smooth
,
 
her
words
chosen carefully.

Maddox Grayson had
been Jonathan’s right hand man after I’d left the company. We hadn’t talked
about it, but I knew that he took over everything after Jonathan’s death. I
couldn’t imagine what my travel-writing sister was doing for him. I also
couldn’t believe she’d been withholding this information from me. I looked at
her through narrowed eyes. “What are you doing there? You’re just a writer.”

Her eyes widened
and her chin dropped as if I had slapped her. “The hell.” Her gaze shot back to
Father Paul, her shocked expression replaced with a guilty one. “Excuse me,
Father.”

“Paul.”

“Yes, excuse me,
Father Paul.”

“Or just Paul.”

“Right. Well, in
that case, since we’re dropping formalities, you should expect more of such
language from me,” she said, nodding in his direction before returning her
attention to
the me
. “I have a degree in economics,
Grace. True, I’ve never used it. I’ve never wanted or needed to until now. But
its not like I’m a complete imbecile.”

“What are you doing
then?” The mood had shifted.
 
The
light banter that Father Paul and Kate had been volleying back and forth had
been replaced with accusations, justifications, and excuses.

“Well, I’m not
really doing anything related to the business,” she conceded. “Maddox and the
others do all that. I’m just going through some office things, cleaning some
things out, and doing whatever I can to help him keep the place afloat until
you’re ready to take over.”

Take over?
I had no plans to take anything over.

I shook my head. My
thoughts were a jumbled mess. I was torn. I had an insatiable need to hear
everything. Yet, a part of me wanted to stay in the dark forever. “I guess it’s
confession time after all. Do you go in every day?”

“At first, it was
just a couple of days here and there. But I’ve been going in more lately.”

“What are you
cleaning up?” I asked. My heart pounded in my chest while I waited for her to
answer.

She lowered her
gaze and shifted on the bench beside me. I could feel her reluctance. “Maddox
wanted someone
you
trust to go through it. He didn’t think you’d be able
to handle it. Not any time soon anyway. There’s stuff in there that he needs,
and he doesn’t have time to sift through it all. Honestly, Jonathan wasn’t very
organized.”

The utterance of my
late husband’s name in an unfavorable light caused everyone at the table to
become unnaturally still and quiet. A child cried somewhere in the diner,
echoing my thoughts exactly.

“Can we go?” I
asked. “I need to get some air.”

Father Paul took
out his wallet and slipped some money on the table. He was immediately on his
feet and gestured for us to follow him.
“Let me take her to her car,” he
said to Kate. “I need to grab something at the church anyway.”

She turned her lost-puppy eyes on me. “I guess so,
if that’s what Grace wants.”

I nodded resolutely without meeting her gaze. I
needed to put some distance between us. I certainly didn’t want to be trapped
in a car with her all the way across town.

The two of them
talked quietly as we walked through the parking lot. When we got to the cars,
they said their goodbyes while I got into Father Paul’s car.

We traveled several
blocks before he pulled over against the curb and finally spoke. “Are you,
okay?”

I wasn’t. “I’m
fine.”

He turned in his
seat and cocked an eyebrow at me. The way he was looking at me, like he could
see straight into my marred soul, like he knew the depths of my grief, only
made me angrier. It also had the bizarre effect of making me want to talk, even
if it was just to lash out.

“Sometimes I feel
like I can’t control what’s going to come out of my mouth. I’m just so angry.”

“What makes you
angrier?” he asked. “The fact that she didn’t tell you until now or the fact
that she’s going through Jonathan’s things?”

I was now in the
exact situation I’d been trying to avoid. Our dinner had turned into a Father
Paul counseling session. I didn’t want counseling. I didn’t want grief groups,
psychiatrists, or priests, poking around in my brain, stirring up emotions that
were better left unexpressed. If I let them rise to the surface, I might not
survive it. So I said nothing.

“Talk to me, Grace.
Please.”

I balled my fists
and pressed them into my legs. “I don’t know,” I spat. “Both I guess.”