by Diane Kelly
I hoped God would give Brendan the answers he sought. The Big Guy seemed to be AWOL from my life lately.
This time I rested in Brendan’s arms, enjoying his warmth and comfort, not fighting the moment like I’d done the night before. Maybe this wasn’t wrong. Maybe this was right. It sure felt right. And God hadn’t yet flung a lightning bolt at us, so maybe that was a good sign.
After a few moments, Brendan loosened his hold. I looked up into his soulful brown eyes. There was pain there, sure, and indecision, but there was a faint glimmer of hope there, too, wasn’t there? Of course. Brendan’s strength as a priest was his ability to balance spirituality with practicality, pragmatism. He didn’t pretend life would be pure bliss if one simply believed, he didn’t preach that faith healed all wounds, cured all problems. Rather, faith to him meant second chances, endless opportunities for redemption. Knowing that no matter what other people did to us, whatever problems we might face, whatever crap life dumped on us, God still loved us, no matter what.
Whatever Brendan was going through, whatever decision he had to make, he’d figure it out, right?
I just wished he’d let me be a part of it.
Brendan’s voice was soft now as he looked into my eyes. “How does a person know when they’re doing the right thing, Erin? How do they know when they’ve made the right decisions with their life? The right sacrifices?”
I thought about it for a moment, but came up empty. I shrugged. “I don’t know, Brendan.” No wonder he didn’t want to confide in me. I was useless. But how could I even pretend to have the answers to his questions? I wasn’t exactly the poster child for good decision-making. Pregnant at nineteen, dropping out of college. How could I advise him? “In my case, many of the decisions were made for me, by circumstances, or fate, or destiny. In a lot of ways, my life just sort of happened to me.”
Not that it was a bad life. Things had turned out okay. I had a wonderful, sweet son. I owned my own business. Sure, I thought I’d be married by this point in my life, have a herd of kids and my own dance studio. But I was content.
Mostly.
A customer pulled up to the curb outside and Brendan released me, returning to his chair by the door. The man, a white-haired retiree, came in bearing a box full of out-of-date shoes he wanted polished and shined. I fought a smile when I pulled a pair of white patent leather bucks from the box. They looked like something that might have been featured in a 1976 Sears catalog. Hadn’t seen a pair like that in years. Lucky for him I had a bottle of white polish on hand, leftover from when one of the local fraternities held a disco party.
As I was writing up his claim ticket, the man looked down at Blarney, who had been resting on his bed behind me. “Something wrong with your dog?”
I turned to find Blarney struggling on his bed, trying to sit up. Foam surrounded his lips. His legs began twitching uncontrollably, his tags jangling as his body shook.
“Oh, no!” I cried. “He’s having a seizure!”
I dropped the white buck and fell to the floor next to the dog. Brendan rushed over and joined me on the floor. He grabbed Blarney and held the dog still until the seizure passed. When the spasms stopped, Brendan lowered Blarney gently back onto his bed, where the dog panted and closed his eyes as if exhausted.
Tears welled up in my eyes yet again. I ran a hand down Blarney’s side, hoping my touch would reassure the poor beast. “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay. You’re going to be all right.”
Please, Lord. Don’t make me a liar.
***
Only when he had to attend the meeting at the arch diocese at ten o’clock did Brenan leave. He stopped in the doorway on his way out, his expression reluctant. “Keep the door locked. If you see anything suspicious, anything at all, you call me right away.”
I picked a few red dog hairs off his black shirt. “I will. Thanks, Bren.”
I kept the shop locked up all day, though I cracked the blinds so I could see customers approaching and welcome them at the door. No sense letting them know the shop was under lock and key. Didn’t want to scare them off. I needed them now more than ever. Especially since Blarney had chewed up the forgotten white buck once he’d recovered from his seizure. I’d have one unhappy customer on my hands in a few days. Maybe I could find a replacement on e-Bay.
Few people had ventured out onto the dark, windy, cold streets today. Even El Toro, which was normally packed at lunchtime, had a sparse crowd. In the early afternoon, as I sat at the counter inserting an insole into a men’s size ten tassel loafer, my eyes detected movement outside, something green.
Oh, dear Lord. He’s back.
Adrenaline surged through me and an instant sweat broke out on my face. When I looked up, however, it was only the wind blowing a sheet of green tissue paper, probably from the florist down the street.
“Whew.” I wasn’t sure whether I was truly relieved or not. I was terrified of the little man, sure, but a confrontation with him seemed inevitable. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with than to sit here day after day, scared stiff, waiting and wondering when he’d reappear.
Because one thing I felt sure of, he would reappear.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CASHING IN
During my lunch break, I took my stash of birthday coins to the bank to see if they could solve the mystery, tell me what the coins were exactly, and, hopefully, exchange the coins for some cold, hard cash. The teller had as little luck as I had determining what the coins were, even called the manager over to help with no luck.
“I’m not sure what these are,” the man said, holding one tiny coin up and turning it carefully in his fingers. “They don’t appear to be any type of currency currently in use.” He suggested I try a jewelry shop and gave me the address of one nearby that bought gold.
I checked my watch. If I hurried, I could stop by the jewelry store and still make it back within an hour.
At the jewelry store, I walked past several glass enclosures containing beautiful, brilliant diamond engagement rings and wedding band sets. A young couple stood at the counter, their faces full of hope and dreams as they looked over the selections, searching for the perfect rings to symbolize their union, to wear for the rest of their lives. Would I ever be so lucky? Would I ever stand at a jewelry counter with a man I loved, choosing wedding bands? Not likely. Not so long as the man I loved was Brendan.
Maybe I should register with an online dating service. I’d tracked down a size nine patent leather white buck on the internet earlier. Maybe I could find a man online, too. But I doubted many men would respond to an ad that read “Hopelessly broke and exhausted single mother who can’t cook in search of rich, sexy man to take her mind off the priest she’s in love with. Must love the smell of other people’s shoes.”
After I spoke with a salesgirl, she summoned the store owner, a slump-shouldered, graying man wearing suspenders and small, wire-framed spectacles. I dropped one of the coins into his papery palm and he poked it with his finger. “Never seen one of these before. You say you don’t know what it is?”
I shook my head. “For all I know it’s a bus token. But I’m in a bind and could really use some cash.”
I waited next to the display of engagement rings, which seemed to taunt me from the case.
“Look at you, dressed in that sweat suit,” said a princess cut diamond ring. “No wonder you’re still single.”
“Would it kill you to put on a little lipstick?” chided an emerald cut. “And how about some concealer on those bags under your eyes?”
An enormous solitaire was the worst offender. “I’m glad I’m not going home with her. Just look at those bony, freckled fingers. Who’d want to be wrapped around one of them?”
Rude rings.
The jeweler ran a test on the coin, first rubbing the coin on a small slate stone, then rubbing a small sample of pure gold on the stone next to it. After donning gloves, he carefully applied acid to the metal samples left on the stone. He bent closer to th
e stone, examining the results.
Head still down, he turned to look up at me. “Pure gold,” he said. “Twenty-four karat.”
Whoa. Definitely not a bus token. What the heck was it, then?
The jeweler stood. “Don’t see gold like this very often. Good quality stuff.”
My brows shot up. “And how much will that good quality stuff get me?”
Although the coins were pure gold, they were so small that the quantity was minimal. But hey, I’d take what I could get. After turning over all thirty-four of my birthday coins, I emerged from the jewelry store with seven-hundred dollars more than I’d entered it with. I felt a little guilty turning in the coins my father had given me for my birthdays, but what choice did I have? And he’d never have to know, right?
With Matthew’s contribution and the cash the jeweler had paid me for my coins, there was now twelve-hundred dollars in Blarney’s surgery fund. I was still thirty-eight-hundred dollars short.
It might as well be eight million.
***
The rest of the day passed with no sign of my green stalker. Riley came by after school and reported seeing nothing odd on his way to the shop. My mom and dad came at four-thirty to relieve me and Riley to go to the early Ash Wednesday mass. When I saw them at the door, I hurried over to unlock it.
Ma stepped in, my dad shuffling through slowly after her, holding onto her arm for support. I helped my dad out of his heavy canvas coat and hung it on the coat tree in the corner. Ma stood next to me, unwinding the gray knit scarf from around her neck and hanging it from another of the pegs. “You’ve got the door locked?”
Busted.
“Uh, yeah.” What should I tell them? “Um—”
“Jakers!” Dad exclaimed from behind us. “What in the bloody hell is this?”
He’d spotted the gun under the register. Shoot. I’d forgotten to hide the thing. Then again, it couldn’t hurt for them to have some protection, to be on the lookout.
Dad held the gun up in both hands, the barrel pointed at the ceiling as he looked the gun over.
I went over and gently took it out of his shaky hands before he could drop it. “Tammy brought that to me. Some of the stores in the area have been robbed.” I shot Riley a look that told him to play along before I turned back to my parents. “Word is it’s a short guy who dresses in green. It would be a good idea to keep the door locked.”
Ma’s eyes grew wide. “A robber? Oh, honey, why didn’t you tell us? I would’ve come to the shop with you.”
“I know you would, Ma.” Problem was, my dad couldn’t be left on his own for more than two or three hours at a time, and he wouldn’t be comfortable hanging out at the shop all day. He needed his comfortable recliner, his afternoon nap. I hadn’t wanted to burden them. I pasted a smile on my face. “I’m sure they’ll catch the crook soon. Besides, he wasn’t armed and he didn’t take much. Just grabbed some cash out of the registers.”
That story should do it. Scary enough to put them on alert, yet not so terrifying they’d feel the need to draw on any of my customers.
“Bye, now.” I gave them both a kiss on the cheek. After reciting a quick, silent prayer that Blarney wouldn’t have another seizure while I was gone, Riley and I headed off to Saint Anthony’s.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ASHES TO ASHES
Saint Anthony’s was packed with Ash Wednesday worshippers, the holy day bringing the fair-weather Catholics out of hiding. Riley and I took places on the aisle in the third row. I let Riley have the aisle seat so he could stretch out his long legs.
Stella Nagley headed up the aisle next to us, her lips pursed tight over her dentures, her tiny purse clutched in her hands. She’d buttoned her drab shirtwaist dress all the way to the top and worn a plain ivory scarf over her wispy white hair. She glanced up and down the pews like a schoolteacher taking attendance. I know God said to love thy neighbor, but Stella Nagley made it a challenge.
She looked over at me, her gaze flitting from my face, to my track suit, to Riley, then back again, her narrow eyes accusing me of being a mother inferior. I fought the urge to yell, “Yep, here I am! The slut who got herself knocked up in college! Dressed like a working class wench! Let the stoning begin!” Instead, I settled for giving her a stony smile.
A few minutes later, mass began. Holding their candles before them, the two acolytes walked in, dressed in their knee-length white robes. Riley had been an altar boy when he was younger, his too-short white robe barely reaching his thighs, looking more like poncho or a blousy doctor’s coat. Brendan followed the acolytes, looking almost regal in the robe that draped his strong shoulders. Not only could he make sweat look sexy, he could wear a dress and still appear manly.
The children lit the candles, then took seats off to the side while Brendan began officiating. My mind wandered as the mass proceeded, and I found myself wondering if Jesus had ever had a pet. There was no mention of one in the bible, but maybe he’d had a dog like Blarney. Maybe a dog had been in the manger, had given the new baby Jesus a lick on the foot to warmly welcome him into this world. I found myself praying, asking God to please provide me a way to pay for Blarney’s surgery without me having to bare my breasts. I closed my eyes and prayed as hard as I could for some type of solution to this financial and emotional crisis.
Riley’s finger tapped me gently on the shoulder. I opened my eyes to discover it was our pew’s turn for communion. I stood and followed the others in the line. At the front of the church, at the bottom of the steps leading up to the altar, stood Brendan with his gold-plated bowl of communion wafers. I dutifully folded my hands in front of me, slowly inching forward until it was my turn. I looked up into Brendan’s face, and he looked down into mine. He held up the round wafer. “Body of Christ.”
“Three fillings, one crown,” I whispered, opening my mouth wide for him to see.
He bit his lip to fight a grin as he placed the wafer on my tongue.
“A-hem!” came a shrill voice behind me.
I turned to find Stella Nagley behind me. Was it wrong to hope her communion wafer would stick in her throat?
Later, when it came time for the ashes to be administered, we lined up once again. Brendan stood again at the bottom of the steps, this time with a bowl filled with ashes in his left hand. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The ashes represented our mortality, served as a reminder that this earthly life was temporary, short. We’d all die one day. But I couldn’t let Blarney become dust. Not yet. Not when he could have several good, dust-free years left.
The line inched forward as each of the parishioners received the ashes, turning from Brendan and walking back to their pew with a dusty cross on their foreheads, God’s annual Catholic trademark. When it was my turn, I stood before Brendan. Our eyes met and locked again. But this time there was no joking.
I took a glimpse down at the bowl of ashes.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. And in between, life on earth. A life that would be over in the blink of an eye. Better make the most of it, right?
If only I could make that life with Brendan.
When I looked back up, I noticed Brendan looking down into the bowl, too, his expression thoughtful. Was he thinking what I’d been thinking?
Brendan dipped his thumb in the ashes, gently pushed my curly bangs aside with his fingertips, and drew a cross on my forehead. His thumb was rough, warm, the sensation of his touch staying with me long after I’d returned to my pew.
The administering of ashes was supposed to be a spiritual ritual, not a sensual one. Yet, oddly, it seemed almost as if Brendan and I were joined together through that cross on my forehead, that God was bringing the two of us together.
But that couldn’t be true, could it? Brendan couldn’t stay faithful to the church and be with me. Right?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IN HOT WATER
Brendan was waiting for me again Thursday morning. As he’d done the day before, he performed an extensive search of the area outsi
de and checked my storeroom for any sign of the little green man. There was none. Again, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Ma came and sat with me for a couple hours in the middle of the morning, after she’d fed my dad his breakfast and helped him bathe. Having my mother around was a bit like having a babysitter, but I was thankful for the company. Not knowing if the stalker was gone for good made me uneasy. Part of me hoped he’d never return, but another part of me realized there’d be no closure if he didn’t come back so I could confront him. How long would I have to keep the door locked, constantly look over my shoulder before I’d be able to relax again?
Brendan returned at closing time to take out my trash and walk me to my car. Today there was no rustle behind the Dumpster, no green shadow disappearing around the corner of the building.
I was a bit on edge at the rec center Thursday evening. As if the stalker wasn’t bad enough, the awkward moment Brendan and I shared Tuesday evening while dancing our duet still had me rattled. Did it mean anything? Was I again reading too much into what happened?
Hoping to avoid a repeat of Tuesday night’s awkward moment, I ran through the duet with Brendan only once, at the beginning of class, while the kids finished their stretches on the perimeter of the room. He seemed a bit stiff, as if he realized what I was doing and was disappointed. But surely I was wrong. He probably just hadn’t had sufficient time to loosen up first. Then again, we had shared another intimate moment since, that tight embrace in my shop. That meant something, didn’t it? Surely. But exactly what it meant was the question now.
We repeated the daytime routine yet again on Friday. Brendan met me bright and early at the shop, making sure the area was stalker-free and the front door was locked before leaving. He returned at closing time to escort me to my car. After he helped me close up, Brendan followed me home to join my family for a dinner of colcannon, another traditional Irish dish of mashed potatoes and cabbage. Yep, there’s a good reason why there’s no proliferation of Irish restaurants.
