Key Change: an Assignment: Romance novel

by Barbara Valentin

  "Number two. And he was a real shit, so it's fitting, don't you think?"

  Sara cringed while Nancy asked if she'd like another glass of wine to wash down the marinated shrimp kabobs and lemon-curry couscous she had made for dinner.

  "No thanks, Nance. I'm good. Thanks so much for dinner. Let me clean up, and then I'm gonna hit the hay. I'm wiped."

  "But it's only six o'clock. You feeling OK?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine. There's just something I've got to do before heading in to work tomorrow."

  The next morning, Sara called Mike Teegan to tell him she'd be getting in later than usual and made her way to St. Mathias to keep an appointment she had made with Father Steve. One that she hoped he would keep confidential as she'd requested.

  Sanctity of the confessional and all that.

  Parking a block away, she approached the building from the opposite end of where she knew Andrew's office to be and was relieved to find the narthex deserted and dimly lit.

  She checked her watch.

  Right on time.

  Wanting to duck into the confessional without being seen, she was alarmed by the loud clank that sounded when she opened the door to the church itself.

  So much for sneaking in.

  Peering toward the front of the church where the choir sat, she was more than relieved to find it unoccupied. Especially by Andrew.

  She took a deep breath and prepared herself for Step Three in her undo process: Go to confession, especially since she had baled completely on Step Number Two: Tell Andrew everything.

  Seeing a light coming from under the door, she approached and knocked softly. A moment later, she heard Father Steve say, "Enter."

  The setup was not what she remembered or expected at all. There was no divider of any kind between the priest and her. Just two comfy looking chairs facing each other.

  Father Steve smiled and motioned for her to sit.

  Sara did and then said the only bit of the sacrament that she could recall, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

  When he looked expectantly at her, she said, "I'm sorry, that's all I've got."

  "How long since your last confession?"

  At this, she blew out a breath then cringed. "Six years?"

  He nodded. After a moment, he held both hands out and said, "Confess your sins."

  I should've thought this through first.

  Looking away, she tried to visualize the Ten Commandments she had learned as a kid. "Well, I take the Lord's name in vain. A lot. Um, I work on Sundays pretty frequently. Before meeting Andrew—" at the sound of his name, her face fell. Softening her voice, she continued, "Before I met him, I hadn't gone to Mass in a really long time."

  Glancing over Father Steve's shoulder at a crucifix hanging on the wall, she continued, "I do not honor my mother because she abandoned me as a kid…"

  Stop stalling.

  She hung her head.

  After a quiet moment, he asked, "Is there anything else?"

  Sara nodded. When she raised her eyes to meet his, she started, "About three or four years ago, I got pregnant. Out of wedlock."

  She said nothing more but kept her eyes on Father Steve. When they started filling with tears, he asked, "Did you give the child up for adoption?"

  Biting down on her upper lip, she shook her head.

  Pressing his lips together, the priest asked, "Miscarriage?"

  Again, she shook her head. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked slowly back and forth in her chair, staring at her lap. After a few moments, she looked up and sobbed louder than she intended, "I terminated the pregnancy."

  Father Steve reached over, covered her hands with his, and soothed, "My child. Neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God. Not even this."

  He handed her tissue after tissue until it was out of her system. When she was ready, he placed his hand on her bent head, delivered her penance, and said, "Your sins are now absolved. They are no more."

  Undone.

  Before she left, Father Steve cautioned, "Know this, Sara. The slate has been wiped clean by God himself. If you continue to live in shame for what you have done, you will be committing a sin against Him because you will be showing that you do not believe in His forgiveness. Do you understand?"

  With a nod, Sara opened the door. "Yes, Father. Thank you."

  She left the confessional and slipped into a pew at the back of the church to say her penance. When she was done, the priest's words echoed in her ears. "The slate has been wiped clean."

  The first thing she did when she got back to the office was bring Kate's gown to Claire's cube. When she got there, Claire's hands were flying over the keyboard. Hearing the dress hanger knock against the plastic hook jutting out of her cube wall, she shot up an index finger and said, "One second."

  Sara waited.

  When she had finished, Claire spun around. "Hey, how was it? Oh, I love your hair. The color brings out your freckles."

  Handing her a small envelope, Sara said, "This is for you. For the other night."

  Claire tore it open and found the gift card to a north side spa on the inside. "Aw, you didn't have to do that."

  "Yes, I did."

  Handing her a second envelope, she said, "This one's for Kate. Maybe you two can go together."

  "Sweet. Thanks very much." After tucking them in her backpack, she turned and asked with a chuckle, "So what's going on?"

  "Can you stand up a second?"

  "Sure."

  She no sooner hoisted herself into a standing position when Sara enveloped her in a bear hug. "Claire, you were right."

  Laughing, she patted Sara's back and said, "Tell my boys that, would ya?"

  After they both sat back down, Claire looked expectantly at her transformed friend. "Why do I have a feeling this has something to with your visit the other night?"

  With a nod, Sara replied, "It does." She pointed to her head. "I changed my hair."

  "Love it."

  "I did not tell Andrew."

  "Oh. How come?"

  "I chickened out, but I just went to confession this morning." At this, her eyes began to fill again, and Claire smiled broadly.

  "I'm so proud of you. I know how hard that must've been." Taking her by the shoulders, Claire asked, "Don't you feel amazing now?"

  Sara nodded, but the smile left her face. "No, that's a lie. I still have to tell Andrew."

  "So what are you waiting for?"

  "I can't do it. At the gala, on the dance floor, he told me…" Lowering her voice, she said, "He told me he loved me. I panicked and left."

  Claire's eyes popped open. "Oh no! Where are you staying?"

  "I'm afraid to tell you."

  Giving her a droll look, Claire asked, "Nancy's?"

  Sara nodded.

  With a shrug, Claire said, "Well then she must not be so bad after all."

  A quiet moment passed between the two before she said, "But she's not Andrew, is she?"

  Again, Sara nodded.

  "Don't wait too long, hon. He's a good one. I wouldn't let him get away if I were you."

  * * *

  Staring down an appointment-free Monday, Andrew knew he ought to check out some issues he noticed with the organ pipes at the back of the church before the Bishop's visit over Easter weekend. After the school students and parishioners cleared out following 8:00 am Mass, he changed back into his jeans and a T-shirt and ascended the steps for the messy job. He was only up there a few minutes, when he heard the door directly below him open and clang shut.

  Must be one of the janitors.

  After a moment, he heard another door close.

  Assessing the pipes, trying to locate any potential trouble spots, Andrew froze when he heard a chilling admission rise up from the room below.

  The confessional.

  He never would have gone up there if he knew Father was doing confessions. They normally only made themselves available to do that b
efore and after Mass on Sundays. But then again, it was Holy Week.

  After he heard the door open below, he held his breath, not wanting to make a sound.

  "Yes, Father. Thank you."

  Sara?

  As Andrew stood there stunned, everything fell into place like tumblers in a lock—her reaction the other night, what she told him about her past, what he now knew she did. It all made sense.

  When he got home that night, Andrew did something he had never done in his own apartment before. He turned on the stereo.

  Running his finger along the album cover spines, it took him only a second to find the one he was looking for—especially since he had alphabetized them shortly after moving in. He carefully pulled out Mudslide Slim and the Blue Horizon, set it on the turntable with side two up, and dropped the needle softly on the smooth band between the first and second tracks. By the time the song finished, he had an idea. By the time he listened to it at least a dozen more times, and ran it by his brother, he had a plan.

  * * *

  For the remainder of the week, Sara buried herself in work. The spring concert season was heating up, and she was already starting to get notices about summer festivals in the area featuring big name artists, veteran artists, and breakthrough artists.

  Before she knew it, Saturday arrived and Nancy started assaulting her with things to do as soon as she woke up. "There's a celebrity wine tasting at Eataly. You can help me review a new burger joint in Wicker Park, or we could check out that hot new chef at a tapas bar down the street. What sounds good to you?"

  With a heavy sigh, Sara sipped her coffee. "To tell you the truth, Nance, all I really want to do is go home to Andrew, but I burned that bridge."

  Pouring herself a third cup, Nancy retorted, "From what you told me, you took a blowtorch to it."

  At that, Sara set her mug down with a sloshy thud. "Hey, I did him a favor." Sopping up the coffee she had sloshed on the counter with a paper towel, she explained for at least the twelfth time since moving in with her pal, "It's better that he not get in too deep with me only to be disappointed later."

  Nancy smirked. "Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, sweetie."

  An ache welled up in her, and she buried her face in her hands. "You're right. I blew it."

  Sara then folded her arms on the kitchen table, laid her head down, and groaned. "What am I gonna do?"

  When Nancy didn't offer anything by way of advice, she lifted her head and tried to put words to the ache in her heart. "I miss him so much. I miss watching him sleep before I leave for work in the morning, the sound of his voice, the feel of him in my arms." She reached for another paper towel, pressed it to her eyes, and added, "Even the way he never let me get away with anything."

  "Well, if you ask me, I'm glad to have you back and unattached."

  Sara looked at her, dumbfounded. "I just poured my heart out to you, and that's all you have to say?"

  Nancy shrugged, seemingly unaffected by her friend's heartache. "What can I say? You've raised the bar so high at karaoke, we can't win without you. Besides, we're due. So, like I said, I'm thrilled to have you back."

  With a long sigh, Sara replied, "Glad to be back."

  Not.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "After silence, that which comes nearest to

  expressing the inexpressible is music."

  —Aldous Huxley

  As much as Sara was not in the mood for a karaoke smack down, there was something about being back at Kildare's that she found comforting. The whole familiarity of the place made her feel good. It was crowded, but not too crowded—noisy, but not too noisy. The bar was draped with colored Italian lights. It smelled like greasy burgers, and it looked just like her Aunt Ruby's rec room—only with lots more beers signs, pool tables, and a live band.

  "Oh no, she's back," Tom Newman from Sports roared the minute he saw her approach.

  She fist-bumped him on her way to join the Lifestyle team. "Hey, Tom. Ready to lose?"

  "Where's Nancy? She said to meet her here, and that was over an hour ago."

  Felicity shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you. She was here a while ago. Bathroom, maybe?"

  Whatever.

  "Welcome back, Sara. What can I get you?"

  Sara looked up at the waitress wearing a black T-shirt with the bar's name blazoned across her chest.

  She didn't really feel like drinking anything. Hadn't all week. But still, she felt compelled to ask, "What are the specials?"

  Even after making her recite the entire list, nothing appealed to Sara. "Yeah, I'm good for now. Just ice water. Thanks."

  She watched Tom saunter up to the stage as the band started playing the opening chords to "Waiting for a Girl Like You."

  "All right, here we go," Nancy said as she slid into a chair next to Sara. "Old Tom there thinks he's gonna hang onto that trophy with an old Foreigner song?"

  "I don't think so," she shouted up to the stage, laughing.

  "Where've you been?" Sara asked her.

  Giving her head a quick shake, Nancy said something about checking out the competition before she heckled Tom some more.

  When he was done, the crowd leveled him with applause as he made his way back to his table, gloating every step of the way.

  "Slob," Nancy hissed.

  Then nudging Sara, she said, "OK, kid. You're up."

  Sinking lower in her chair, she protested, "Sorry, I'm not really up to it tonight."

  "Don't apologize to me. Get your ass up there and apologize to him."

  "Who?"

  Sara turned and looked toward the stage where it looked like someone was relieving the band's keyboard player.

  Andrew?

  She looked back at Nancy and gasped, "What's he doing here?"

  With a devious grin, she nudged Sara. "There's only one way to find out."

  Feeling like the blood was rushing to her toes, she made her way to the stage. Andrew, seated at the keyboard, didn't look at her. The rest of the band stayed on the stage grinning at her but didn't look like they were going to play.

  OK…

  Then, from behind her, she heard the opening strains of the song she had sung to him when he was sick, the tattoo of which Father Steve had liked so much, that she and Kerry used to sing together after their mom bolted, before which, she used to sing her to sleep with.

  Her breath hitched, and a rush of tears caught in her throat.

  The music stopped.

  Then she heard Andrew's voice behind her, as calm and reassuring as it had always been. As if she hadn't walked out on him exactly one week before.

  "You've got this."

  Turning to look back at him, her heart swelled. She took a deep breath and listened as he counted her in, unable to pull her eyes away until he gave a hard nod.

  Out of a sad, ridiculous habit, she scanned the crowd for her mother's face while she sang. As expected, her mother wasn't there.

  She was halfway through the second chorus, though, when her eyes fell on a familiar figure leaning against the bar.

  She stopped singing. Right there in the middle of the song.

  Nancy told her later you could've heard a pin drop.

  Sara whispered into the microphone. "Kerry?"

  She watched as the man stood straight up. When his face broke into a smile and he held his arms out toward her, she gasped, "Oh my God."

  Trembling, with tears filling her eyes, she barged through the crowd to get to him. Leaping into his embrace, he stumbled backward as he caught her.

  According to Nancy, that's when the crowd went crazy.

  By the look on her brother's face, he was as glad to see her as she was to see him, and she didn't let go for a very long time. When she finally did, she looked around, trying to spot Andrew.

  "Oh, he left awhile ago, sweetie. Said something about having to get back to church," Nancy said, pulling a face. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your brother?"

  Head smack, of course—th
e Easter Vigil service is tonight.

  Quashing back her disappointment at not being able to see Andrew and introduce him, she said, "Of course. Where are my manners? Nancy, this is my big brother, Kerry Cleff. Kerry, my friend, Nancy, assistant food editor at the Gazette."

  Introductions over, Nancy pulled Sara aside. "Listen, I'm gonna crash at my Mom's tonight so you two can catch up at my place." With a wink, she added, "Mi casa es tu casa."

  "Thanks, Nance. I didn't know your mom was in town."

  "She's not. That's why I'm crashing at her place."

  "Ah…"

  Wondering how many people had a hand in arranging this most unexpected, but overwhelmingly wonderful, surprise, she looked at her brother. "Ready to go?"

  "Ready." They headed for the door. Once outside, he handed a valet his ticket.

  Sara stopped in her tracks. "Wait. How did you get here?"

  Kerry looked at her sideways. "My truck…?"

  "No, I mean here," she clarified, pointing to Kildare's.

  "That, little sister, is a long story."

  Once they were settled on Nancy's red leather sectional with a couple of cold Goose Island pale ales, she asked Kerry to tell it to her.

  "Yeah, so I was working at the marina Wednesday, checking boats comin' out of dry dock, when these two guys come walking in, one claiming to be a Chicago cop. So, naturally, I figured it had something to do with you."

  Nudging him with her foot, she grinned. "Shut up."

  "But when they told me who they were and what they wanted, we headed over to the grill and talked about it over lunch."

  Sara smiled at the thought of her two favorite men on the planet sitting across a booth from each other in the Bay Shore Bar and Grill looking out at the sun catching on the dark-blue water of the cove. She wished she had been there with them.

  "He's a pretty nice guy."

  Sara blinked. "Who?"

  "Andrew. Who'd you think?"

  "Sorry, I was just picturing you guys up there. I'm really glad you got a chance to meet him."

  "Yeah. Like I said, he seems like a great guy."

  Rolling her head back, she groaned. "He's amazing." Looking right at her brother, she asked, "And do you know what I did?"

  Kerry shook his head.