Did that mean he really cared about her? Was that one thing she could trust about him?
No. It was only part of his cover. Even if he did care — she couldn’t let herself think that — but even if he did, it didn’t change anything.
She was trying to forget him, but he just kept popping back up.
A knock at the door helped distract her. Finally. Molly stuffed the Bible back in the box and found Lucy on the front step, her usual smile thin and tired. Perhaps things hadn’t gone much better for her and Paul. “Hey, Molly.” Lucy came in. “How are you holding up?”
“About as well as you appear to be.”
“That bad, huh?” Lucy made a minimal effort to grin. “Ready?”
“You’re sure this isn’t intrudin’?”
“No, no, not at all,” Lucy said, “we don’t have to mention . . . you know, everything, and I’ve already screened the guest list. You’ll be like part of the family.”
“If you’re sure it wouldn’t be a bother.”
“’Course not. And I need the help driving.” Before Molly could protest again, Lucy grabbed her travel bag and lugged it to the car. Molly collected her suitcase and followed.
Spending Christmas with someone else’s family might be awkward, but better than sitting at home. Quiet. Alone.
They settled into their seats, and Lucy dug through the center console a moment. She came up with a note card she offered to Molly. “The missionaries wanted you to have this.”
“Oh, thank you.” Molly tucked the list of Bible references in her handbag, and her fingers brushed an envelope. Her letter to Tim.
If Lucy had known him as kids, she must’ve known who he really was all along. Molly finally mustered the courage to ask. “You knew, didn’t you? About ‘Father’ Tim?”
Lucy lifted a leery eyebrow.
“Federal agent,” Molly murmured, her heart squeezing in her chest.
Lucy sighed. “Couldn’t exactly fool me. I mean, you know we’re —”
Molly held up a hand. “You know, I don’t want to talk about him. Any of it.”
“Sorry.” Lucy slipped an arm around Molly’s shoulders. “Well, at least Brian won’t bother you anymore. Apparently he eloped with Paul’s crazy ex. Good luck — I mean, did you hear her song at the talent show?”
“No.” Molly willed herself not to think of another talent show performance.
“My favorite line was ‘Although you’ll be a priest, my love will never cease.’ At least Paul will be relieved. If he finds out.”
Molly cocked her head. “Won’t you be tellin’ him?”
Lucy’s weak smile faded altogether. “We’re not actually speaking anymore.”
Then they were as bad off as Molly and Tim — no, just Molly. She gave Lucy’s shoulders a squeeze.
“Hey, um, do you mind if we make one stop first? I thought the temple might help us feel better before we go.”
That neogothic skyscraper downtown? “If you say so.”
“Here.” Lucy handed over her mobile. “Man the GPS, please?” Lucy rattled off an address — not downtown — and Molly entered it for her. The GPS voice took over, and Molly closed the app. She moved to set the mobile in the cupholder, but accidentally opened another app first. Before she could close it, she realized she was reading the scripture verses on the screen.
“Would you mind terribly if I used your mobile?”
Lucy grabbed the charging cord and offered it to her. “Go ahead.”
Molly pulled out the card Lucy had just given her and set about reading those verses. The list kept her occupied the whole drive, until Lucy pulled into a parking space. Molly looked up. Though it wasn’t even five o’clock, the sun had set during the drive. From this side, only the black roof of the huge A-frame building was visible through the row of bare trees.
Lucy opened her door. “Come see.” She hurried down the walkway. Molly trailed after with a more measured step, still pondering the verses she’d studied. What would she find here?
She came through the trees to the wide, well-kept round patio in front of the temple. The whole circle glittered with Christmas lights, but nothing so bright as the temple itself. Spotlights shone up on the white spires and the gray marble patchwork of its triangular façade.
Molly lifted her gaze to follow the lights and spires heavenward. She was still so weak — so broken.
Yet the peace of this place was palpable. Maybe she’d been overthinking it all this time. All she had to do was believe, and He could make weak things strong.
Though she wanted to forget everything he’d ever said, Tim’s advice echoed in her thoughts: the choice is yours. Not the last millennium of her ancestors’ — hers.
And she wanted to believe. She stared at the sky a moment longer, then lowered her eyes to the temple. A tangible warmth seeped into the vacuum that had occupied her heart. This was where she wanted to be, where she needed to be. The moment she admitted it, serenity settled over her like a down comforter. A peace she hadn’t felt since before Tim —
Molly held her breath. She waited for the keening ache that had been her constant companion to return.
But it didn’t.
“Tim,” she whispered, testing it again. The pain hovered beneath the surface, but for now that was enough. The Lord had taken her pain and given her peace. He was strengthening her, and He would continue to strengthen her. Just as He promised.
Lucy made her way back around the patio and joined Molly, gazing up at the gray marble of the majestic building for a silent moment. Lucy shivered. “Ready?”
Molly smiled. “I am.”
Molly held her scarf over her hair, protecting it from the falling snow, while Lucy knocked at her sister’s door late that night. The gray slush made Christmas Eve dingy in the tidy neighborhood.
The door swung open, and the aromas of Christmas — hot chocolate, evergreens and pie — spilled out. In the doorway, two women opened welcoming arms. Judging by the blond hair, these were Lucy’s mother and sister. “Lucy!” cried her mother. “Now we’re all here.”
Lucy kicked the snow from her shoes and stepped into the marble-tiled entry. “Mom, this is Molly, the friend I told you about.”
“Molly.” Mrs. Saint greeted her warmly, her short bouffant shaking with her enthusiasm. “Merry Christmas.” Even with the Southern twang, the standard American tiding didn’t sound right to Molly’s ear.
“Happy Christmas,” she returned.
Mrs. Saint’s smile didn’t waver. “That’s right, Lucy told us you’re Irish.” The plump woman showed them to a sitting room. “We loved Ireland. How did you meet Lucy?”
Before Molly answered, Lucy’s mobile buzzed. She pulled it out and frowned. “I actually need to take this.” She glanced at the other women. Each of them nodded permission, and Lucy slipped out the front door.
“We worked together, in a way,” Molly finally answered Mrs. Saint’s question.
“I’m Tracey, by the way.” Lucy’s sister, nearly as tall as Molly, gestured at herself.
“You can call me Debbie,” Lucy’s mother said.
“Pleasure to meet you both.” Molly surveyed the room decorated in dark red and cream, a Christmas tree in the corner trimmed to match. “Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you,” Tracey said. “Here, I’ll take your coat.” Tracey held out a hand. With a nod of thanks, Molly shrugged out of her jacket, and Tracey left to hang it up.
Debbie took Molly’s arm. “Where in Ireland are you from?”
“Mostly Dublin.”
Debbie conducted her out of the sitting room and down the hall, approaching the boisterous sounds of the family at play. “Dublin was wonderful! I’m sure Lucy mentioned her brother was a missionary there.”
Molly nodded. Lucy had dropped hints about her brother until Molly told her about Father Tim. Tim.
It didn’t matter what she called him. Thinking of him might not hurt
as much anymore, but she still needed to stop thinking of him.
“Well, good news — he surprised us today! He hasn’t spent Christmas with us in years. Here, let me introduce you,” Debbie offered. They came into a room with another tree with children’s handmade ornaments. Ten feet away, a very tall man stood with his back to them, surrounded by a giggling knot of pajama-clad children, competing with a stereo playing cheery carols.
Did everything have to make her think of Tim? This was exactly how they’d met, her coming up behind him only to have him turn around and turn her life on its head.
“Zachary!” Debbie called. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”
He looked over his shoulder. Was it the powerful memory of the first time she’d seen him, or her imagination — or did Zachary’s deep-set blue eyes, hair, everything look just like Tim?
Molly reeled, staggering back until she almost stepped on Debbie.
His jaw dropped. “Molly.”
She recognized his voice, though it was only a whisper. This was real. Her stomach grew cold and tears welled up. They stared at one another, locked in place. In the sudden silence, the stereo’s jazzy “Happy Holidays” blared as if trying to drown out the awkwardness.
After a long second he turned, breaking their gaze, and strode from the room. Unsure which way to go, Molly stumbled into the quickly-blurring dining room. She reached the table and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. It finally made sense. Lucy said she’d loved him like a brother — bickered with him like a brother — because he was her brother. Why hadn’t Lucy told her? Why had she brought her here? Lucy knew she didn’t want to see him. Didn’t she?
“Molly?” Debbie’s gentle query came from behind her.
Unable to reassure Debbie any other way, Molly waved her off and glanced around for another escape route — the back door. She’d probably freeze to death before she had herself calm enough to return, but at that second she didn’t care. She needed to be alone to think this out. Molly unlocked the back door, braced herself against the cold and stepped onto the terrace.
But she didn’t even know what she was trying to muddle through.
Zach found the right number and called as he reached the front door, though he doubted Sellars would answer at night on Christmas Eve. He swallowed to fight his rising blood pressure. This was impossible.
Covert? Compartmentalizing? Ha. Molly was in the middle of his real life — his family.
He opened the door to find Lucy on the front stairs, also on the phone. Lucy took one look at Zach and jumped. Before she could say anything, he glowered and pointed at her. “Remind me to kill you later,” he muttered and shut the door between them.
Zach climbed the stairs to pace the beige carpet. Could this cost him his job? His call rolled to Sellars’s voice mail.
What would happen if he went back and willingly told Molly the truth? It wasn’t his fault she was here, that his cover and his real life had collided one last time. He wasn’t supposed to call Molly or seek her out, but he couldn’t run and hide if he ran into her on the street. She might not have known his real name, but she already knew his job. They couldn’t fire him.
But his job wasn’t what he worried about most.
How could he face her? Unless he disappeared, leaving Lucy to explain to everyone, he couldn’t avoid it — avoid her. But nothing he said could make this right. Zach pocketed his phone and headed downstairs. He met Lucy, also off the phone, walking in the front door.
“Lucy.” He used his best warning tone. “You got some ’splainin’ to do.”
“Thank you, Ricky Ricardo.” She pursed her lips.
“Is it me or her you hate?”
Lucy put on her patented wide-eyed innocent act. “I thought she knew about us — and you said you weren’t coming.”
“I shouldn’t have to clear my itinerary with you. I have a right to see —” Zach broke off. Lucy’s innocent expression had faded into a silly smile. She couldn’t be that happy about tormenting him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Um.” Lucy ducked her head in a futile effort to hide a rising blush. “Paul just called. He realized he doesn’t have to be a priest to serve God.”
“Well, hooray for you. You get a merry little Christmas, and Molly and I get nervous breakdowns.” Zach craned his neck toward the living room. “What can I say to her?”
Lucy scoffed. “Maybe try the truth?”
“Didn’t go well last time.”
She ignored him. “Listen, Zach, Molly seems interested in the Church —”
“Really?”
She nodded, beaming. “I really don’t want you messing that up. I mean, having you around would ruin anyone’s Christmas —”
He smirked. “You want to make this up to us?”
Lucy nodded as they reached the befuddled group of adults at the end of the hallway. Zach gave Lucy his wickedest grin. “You’re dating a Catholic priest?”
He looked past his now-shocked family, searching for Molly. His mom pointed him to the back door before asking Lucy how serious her relationship was.
Someone — probably his mom — had draped both his coat and Molly’s over a dining room chair by the door. Two mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream steamed on the table.
Lucy had said she wouldn’t get him a present, but she might’ve brought him exactly what he wanted, even if he barely would’ve admitted it to himself. Or maybe it had been someone else orchestrating things down to this moment. He glanced heavenward with a quick prayer for luck — and thanks.
Zach collected the coats and cups and steeled himself to step into the cold. He could finally do what he’d wanted all along — tell her the truth no matter what it cost him. And he’d be lucky if she didn’t slap him. No, he’d be lucky if she cared enough to slap him.
No. This wasn’t about him. This was what he owed to her. He’d spend their weeks together focusing on what he wanted. He had to put Molly first. He’d give her what she deserved — the truth — and then go. Like she wanted.
And yet the hope still rose in his chest as Zach opened the back door.
Molly didn’t look behind her when she heard the door open. She tried to douse the hope lifting her heart, to cling to the pain he’d caused her, until her whole chest ached as though she’d held her breath too long.
If it was him at the door, what then?
“Molly,” his voice ventured as softly as the falling snow.
It was him. She took a deep breath and waited as long as she could — an unimpressive two and a half seconds — before turning around. Tim — Zachary stood behind her, her green coat draped over his arm.
“Are you tryin’ to tell me to go?”
“I won’t ask you to stay.”
Just what he’d said when he was ill a month ago. And now, as then, he was lying. The look in his eyes — she scarcely dared to check — begged her to stay. As if she could’ve torn herself away. “I am a fool, amn’t I?” Molly laughed at herself.
“I don’t think so.” Zachary crossed the terrace and set two mugs of hot chocolate on top of the snow on the table. He held out her jacket. Molly begrudgingly turned around and allowed him to help her put it on. The chill stopped creeping through her Aran sweater, but she didn’t feel any warmer. She retrieved her gloves from her coat pockets and tried in vain to force her freezing fingers into them.
He took the gloves and helped her with those, too. Her hands were so numb, she could barely feel the warmth of his skin. He held onto her gloved hand a heartbeat longer than necessary; she pulled away. She wouldn’t let herself be dragged into that again.
He contemplated the deck. “If you wanted to do this inside, I wouldn’t object, you know yourself.”
Using an Irish phrase wouldn’t be enough today. “What, in front of your family? No, thank you kindly.”
“Lucy’s distracting them.” Zachary threw on his own jacket.
&nbs
p; “Still a no. You know you look nothin’ like her.”
He picked up a mug and pressed it into her hands. Why was she letting him do these things for her? “She’s adopted,” he said. “And sorry, by the way. I told her I wasn’t coming.”
“Are you incapable of tellin’ the truth? Lucy looks just like your mum.”
He nodded. “She thought you knew we were brother and sister.”
They regarded one another in silence for a long moment. Couldn’t he see what he’d done to her, the keening ache in her heart?
Zachary brushed the snow off a chair and sat. “How do you want to play this?”
She scoffed. “How can you be so cold?”
“I never said I didn’t care.”
“Yes, Father — Tim — whoever you are.” Molly opened her arms to indicate the slushy gray garden. “This is how little I care. Comin’ out here to freeze because I’ve seen you again. You’re one to talk.”
“You know I care.”
“I don’t know anythin’ about you.” She reined in her anger enough to keep her voice down. “You’re not a priest; you’re not even Catholic.”
“I believe the Bureau’s logic was ‘no good Catholic would do it, and no bad Catholic could.’”
As if telling the truth now made up for it. Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. “How could you put me through all that for nothin’?”
Zachary lowered his gaze. “I’m so sorry. If I could’ve told you — I almost did anyway.”
“Sure now.” She took a long draught from her mug to cut off her sarcasm.
He stood and picked up his hot chocolate. “When you were freaked out about the mob. After the movie. When you said you were talking to the missionaries. At your apartment that last time.”
Molly tried to remember those conversations. Only the last was clear enough: the final private moment they’d had together, him clasping her shoulder, saying he needed to tell her something — something she’d thought she wanted to hear.
Saints & Spies Page 30
