by Robyn Carr
“Do you hear from him?” Beau asked her.
“Through my lawyer, and that’s all. Do you hear from her?” she asked.
“Constantly. But it’s all the same old stuff. Nothing new. She can’t turn the boys against me—they’re men now. Sadly for her, they’re men who know how mercurial she is. So she’s threatening to wipe me out, leave me completely broke.”
Lauren gasped. “What if she does?”
He smiled, a smile she had come to depend on. “I don’t care. I can start over. She can’t get more than half. Right?”
“Why do I feel guilty, asking for half?” she asked. “I’m not the surgeon. I didn’t endure a decade of medical school and residency. I didn’t build the practice...okay, on his father’s money, but still. It wasn’t mine.”
“Maybe you don’t need half,” Beau said, surprising her. “Maybe what you need is what’s fair and reasonable. But before you settle on a number, you should know what there is. And you should see if you can count the pinches. The bruises. And I don’t know that much about your marriage but... Could he have done any of it without you?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “With a maid, nanny, assistant, secretary, household manager...and whipping post.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At the end of September, when the leaves were turning colors and people were putting fall wreaths on their doors, Beau called her one Friday afternoon. “How’s your poker game?” he asked.
“Poker?” she repeated.
“You know, cards. Your poker game.”
“I’m not sure I even remember how to play,” she said. “I might’ve played a couple of times in college, but we mostly played hearts.”
“Great! I’m getting a table together for tonight. Tim, my son, Drew, his current girlfriend, Darla, me and you. I’ll have food. Poker food. Seven. Will you come?”
“Oh... I don’t know...”
“I’ll tell everyone to go easy on you,” he promised. “Come on, it will be fun.”
Lauren took the address from Beau and opted to drive herself to his house, though she was tremendously nervous. Would Father Tim frown in a paternal way? Though Tim didn’t seem that fatherly, except in the clerical sense, and surely he would not be wearing a collar or robes... Would Beau’s son show his disapproval of her presence out of loyalty to his mother? And the girlfriend—would she be snooty and proprietary? Why ever would she think or worry about those things? Lauren didn’t know. Perhaps because she worried about many things.
“Hi,” Beau said when he opened the door. “Come in! We’re all here!”
She presented her offerings, though she wasn’t asked to bring anything.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking a couple of large, sealed containers from her.
“Stuffed mushrooms and a cheese ball.” She lifted a bag. “And crackers.”
“That was nice of you,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to go to any trouble...”
“Well, I wanted to,” she said. “You’ll love it.”
“Will you have a glass of wine?”
“I... I... Yes, sure,” she stammered.
He grinned at her. “Aw,” he said softly. “You’re nervous.”
She glanced around. The house was so nice. It wasn’t in any way fussy, but the walls, woodwork, cabinetry, window coverings and furniture were classy and well cared for. There was, of course, a big-screen TV mounted on the wall in the family room and a U-shaped sectional facing it. It was, in a way, masculine, so she wondered about his wife and wanted to see the kitchen. Clearly the dining room would be the poker table, since that’s where the cards and chips were.
“Lauren!” Father Tim called, coming to her at once to greet her with a hug. He wore jeans and a sweater. An emerald-green sweater that brought out that green in his eyes. “I’m so glad to see you! Beau mentioned that it’s been a while since you played poker so I took the liberty of writing out a little cheat sheet for you.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket.
“Ah, wait a sec,” the young man who must be Drew said. “You’d better let me check that...”
“You suggest I would mislead her? An innocent like Lauren?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you. Hi,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Drew. And this is Darla. I’m really glad you could make it. My dad’s mentioned you now and then for months, obviously trying to pretend he’s not dating anyone...”
“Actually, I don’t think he’s dating me. We’ve just met at the pub down the street a couple of times. Back in the day, that wasn’t quite a date,” she said.
“It qualifies,” Drew said. “Let me check that cheat sheet.” He grinned at her and pulled it from her hand. “Hm. Looks correct, but don’t take his advice, okay? He’ll do anything to win. He doesn’t exactly cheat, but he wrangles.”
“I’m offended,” Tim said. “First of all, it’s poker. Second, I’m not on the clock right now. I play by the same rules you reprobates play by.” He turned his attention to Lauren. “You’re looking wonderful. I haven’t seen you in a while, but it looks like you’ve been well and happy.”
Her whole demeanor softened. There was nothing like a handsome priest and an attentive suitor to put her in the best possible mood. “I’ve been very well, thank you, Father.”
He leaned toward her and whispered. “Tim is fine, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Yes, thanks. Tim.”
“Good. I want you to be at ease while I clean your clock at poker.”
“Is this some kind of grudge match?” she asked.
“It’s poker,” three male voices said at once.
“Oh boy,” she said. “I’m going to have to pay attention.”
They had their drinks and loaded up their plates with what Beau had referred to as poker food—nachos, a veggie platter with dip, lettuce wraps stuffed with chicken salad, vinegar chips. Lauren’s stuffed mushrooms and cheese ball fit right in. They sat at the table, visiting and eating, for about twenty minutes and then Beau explained the game to Lauren. “We play for chips,” he said. “The white are a penny, the blue are a nickel, red are twenty-five cents, purple are fifty cents, black are a dollar. We’ll front you for your first time and if you don’t want to bet...”
“Like if you have a gambling problem or something,” Drew said.
“No, I want in like everyone else,” she said. “Though I hope you’ll be patient with me. I’ve never been good at card games.”
“We’ll be very patient,” Beau said.
“Then can I just have a bunch of penny chips?”
“Okay, Lauren, to stay in the game you’re going to have to bet along with the rest of us. You’ll have to ‘see,’ which means to match a bet to stay in, or ‘call’ which forces them to show their hand. Every move costs chips. And they’ll do the same to you.”
“Okay,” she said uncertainly. “So, what should I do? Twenty dollars?”
“That’s good,” Beau said. “And you only have to play as long as you’re comfortable. If you want to get out of the game and just eat, drink and watch, that’s okay. And if you need help, just ask me.”
“No way, pardner,” Drew said. “She asks me.”
Lauren dug in her purse. “Can’t believe he’s so scared of a girl who hasn’t played poker in at least twenty-five years...”
“You just take your time,” Beau said.
He counted out her chips while everyone put their money in the pot and took the appropriate chips. Then Beau dealt the cards and asked her if she wanted to open.
“Sure,” she said. “How much? A few pennies?”
Everyone groaned.
“Well jeez...”
“Look at your cards, see what you have, you can discard up to three and pick up new ones. I’ll open. I’m in for fifty and I’ll take two cards.”
Around the table they went, then went again. Lauren stayed in. When they were going around the third time and it was just Tim, Drew and Lauren, she very politely raised her hand. “I have a question,” she said.
“You don’t have to raise your hand,” Beau said. “What’s your question?”
“What’s a full house again?” she asked, showing her cards.
There were more groans as everyone folded their hands.
And so it went. It was not long before they refused to let her ask questions and told her to check her cheat sheet and follow her instincts. Before long, Darla gave her chips to Drew and retired to the sofa to read, a plate of snacks balanced on her flat belly. That left Lauren as the only woman at the table as she played each hand in an ultra-polite manner, asking permission, saying please and thank you, laughing softly as the men groaned while she scraped her chips toward her. After about two hours she was the big winner of the night. Tim threw the party, Drew was hurting from his losses and Beau was amused in spite of himself.
“That’s it, I’m out,” Tim said. “I’ve emptied the collection plate.”
“Me, too,” Beau said. “I’m out.”
“I should quit and take Darla home,” Drew said.
“Awww... Don’t you want a chance to catch up?” Lauren asked.
“No!” they said in unison.
“Jeez,” she muttered, stacking her chips. Then she grinned and said, “Nice doing business with you.”
“It better not turn out you’re faking,” Tim said.
“Faking what?” she asked, grinning slyly. “Being a prodigy at poker?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah...”
“How about some coffee before you make that long four-block drive home?” Beau asked. “There’s cake. Not homemade, but it is cake.”
“Does it have preservatives?” Lauren teased.
It was down to Beau, Lauren and Tim sitting around with coffee and pound cake. Tim slowly got over his pique about being the big loser, though Beau had a hard time letting it rest. He seemed to enjoy it more than Lauren did.
Soon it was time for Lauren to say good-night. Beau walked her to her car and Tim rather conspicuously hung back. “The holidays are just around the corner,” Beau said. “Have you made plans?”
“I’ve barely thought about it,” she lied. “There’s my sister, I guess. Every other year, we went to Beth’s. On alternate years, Adele, Brad’s mother, hosted. It was catered, of course. This would be Adele’s year. Beth could be planning to go to her mother-in-law’s house, but I’m sure they’d all be happy to drag me along or adjust for me. The girls...haven’t said anything...”
“How homey,” he said, smiling. “I took a proactive stand—I’m cooking. I invited my whole family. Of my two sisters and one brother and their families, I don’t know who’s interested yet. They all have in-law obligations, too. And the boys are free agents.”
“How do you do that? Just tell them it’s up to them?”
“Exactly,” he said with raised eyebrows. “The only caveat being, I’m not cooking for their mother. The first set of holidays will be hard on the people that don’t want the divorce to be happening. That’s one person—Michael. The divorce makes Drew uncomfortable, but he gets it. I have a feeling he wouldn’t be married to his mother, either.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s got some really firm boundaries with her. But Michael? I’m pretty sure he wishes I would have applied myself and fixed her. But the point is, once you figure out your holiday calendar, I’m having Thanksgiving here probably for a bunch of people. I’d love for you to join us, if you feel like it. Your girls, too, if they want to.”
“That’s so nice of you,” she said.
“Just an option to think about,” he said. “You might want something different this year, just to change things up.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed softly. “I’m really glad you came to poker night. Even if you did wipe us out.”
“You men aren’t exactly good losers.”
He chuckled. “You raised your hand to speak, just like a schoolgirl.”
“You won’t underestimate me next time,” she said.
He leaned toward her. “I sure won’t.”
She instinctively backed up slightly when what she really wanted to do was lean into him. Obviously sensitive to her movement, he pressed a brief kiss on her cheek. “If you’d like me to follow you home, make sure you get in safely, I’d be happy to do that.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be alert, the street is well lit, the locks are good. Thank you for a fun night. Talk to you soon.” And she withdrew into her car.
He leaned on her car and she lowered the window. “If anything seems odd or weird, don’t get out of the car,” he said.
“Beau, I’ve been getting myself home from evenings out for weeks now,” she said. “I won’t take any chances.”
“When you’re home and safely behind locked doors, will you text me?”
She grinned at him. “You’re an old woman in a man suit.”
“I guess,” he said. He gave her car door a couple of pats and stepped away.
* * *
Tim was lounging on the sofa with his feet up on the ottoman, coffee balanced on his belly. He appeared to be in no great hurry to go anywhere. “That took a while,” he said to Beau.
“I was asking about Lauren’s holiday plans,” Beau said.
“You mean, you weren’t getting kissed?”
“I wasn’t, as if it’s any of your business,” he said.
“You’ve been chasing her for months! You used to have game,” Tim said.
“Lauren is understandably cautious,” Beau said. “And I am foolishly not.”
“Ah,” Tim said, sitting upright, feet on the floor. “So, you admit, this is moving too fast...”
“Not at all. Moving too slowly if you ask me. My marriage was over years ago. Pam and I have been separated almost a year now and if she’d just put away the damn calculator and wrap it up, it would be officially over. As for Lauren...” He ran a hand over his head. “It’s only been a few months for her. You’re right, I should slow down.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Tim said, feigning innocence.
“You learn that in priest class, don’t you? Getting information without exactly asking.”
Tim laughed. “With you, no lessons were required. You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve.”
“Yeah, you’re right. No game.” He sat down on the couch. “What about you? What’s going on with you? You haven’t complained about your boss in quite a while now.”
“I have no issue with my Boss,” Tim said. “It’s the earthly managers who wear me out. Maybe the problem is mine. I don’t feel useful.”
“Still that, eh? We should pull together a pumpkin giveaway—we have some good stock this year...”
“Is the phrase, ‘live with the smell of the sheep,’ familiar to you?” Tim asked.
Beau looked stunned. “Ah, no. But it doesn’t sound real appetizing...”
“It comes from the pope. He deftly pointed out that when priests and bishops aren’t out with the people, working with the people, directly helping the people—and I think he meant tilling their gardens and helping them fix their plumbing as well as providing spiritual guidance—they become managers. Let me put that more succinctly—they become bureaucrats. The bishop gave me a good book for some leisure reading. Three Easy Steps to Becoming a Bishop.” He laughed. “He’s such a political animal that when he heard the pope calling for priests who lived with the smell of the sheep, he immediately came looking for a lowly priest with political potential and that’s how he found me in that poor little parish in the central valley and got me transferred up here. So he could look me over. I guess I cleaned up pretty well. Now he wants me to apprentice under him in the See. He wants
a bishop to come from his archdiocese.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing,” Beau said. “A bishop apprentice.”
“It’s a glorified secretary. A valet.”
“You’re on the path to become a bishop,” Beau said. “Congratulations. We’ll throw you a party or something.”
“Except, that doesn’t really interest me,” Tim said.
Beau was stunned. “Wait a minute. I thought you wanted to be the pope!”
“No. I wanted to be Bing Crosby,” he said. “Maybe when I was a kid, I thought being the bishop was such an achievement, but what really propelled me was the idea of a nice little Brooklyn neighborhood parish filled with hardworking men and women in need of more than prayer, in need of sustenance and opportunity and a good singing voice. Children who could be encouraged and filled with hope. I never wanted anyone to be sick or hungry, you know? But there were going to be people in need. I wouldn’t be able to right all the ills of the world, I knew that. But...” He became quiet. “I wanted to help, to give comfort.”
“Did you want to be a hero?” Beau asked.
“I wanted to be another pair of hands,” Tim said, his voice soft and earnest. “I wanted to work, not write canon law that controlled people and kept them from being human. I wanted to be needed. No, that’s candy-ass—I wanted to make a difference in ordinary lives. They need another bishop like they need a rash.”
“Oh boy. They’re about to grace you with this high honor and you’re...you’re...”
“Losing the fire,” Tim said.
Beau was quiet. He watched his friend closely. It was unusual for Tim to be this serious, this grave. “Why have you never said anything?” Beau finally asked.
“The real question should be, why am I saying something now? Because, my brother, I feel there could be changes coming. I know you need me right now. I hope you understand if I’m unavailable for some reason.”
