Those stupid ridiculous tears spilled over again. “You’ve been so wonderful to me, Mom. I don’t know how I would have managed without you here.”
“I have complete faith in you, honey. You would have found a way. I’m just glad I could be here to take care of you.”
“I wish I could drive. Bet you never thought you’d be driving carpool for your forty-one-year-old daughter.”
“No, I can’t say I ever did.” Maeve paid the parking fee and exited the garage. “Although it’s given me an idea for a new series of self-help books for mothers and daughters of a certain age.”
Kate clapped her hands over her ears. “If a red lace thong figures into it, I don’t want to hear the details.”
They bantered amiably on the drive home. Maeve swung by town, where they stocked up on supplies at ShopRite and refilled Kate’s prescriptions. Kate grumbled about the number of pills required. “I used to be a multivitamin and extra C girl,” she said. “I hate taking all these meds.”
“Too bad,” Maeve said cheerfully. “If that’s your only problem, you are a very lucky girl.”
“How about I make lunch?” Kate suggested as they loaded groceries into the trunk of Maeve’s VW and headed for home. “I’ve been craving salad Niçoise for days now.”
“Do we have tuna in the house?”
“Couldn’t live without it,” Kate said. “And I think there’re some fresh string beans in the crisper.”
“Why don’t you take a nap when we get home? I wouldn’t mind preparing the salad.”
“I’m not tired,” Kate protested. “I’ve missed puttering around the kitchen.”
“You sound like you’ve been on the mend for months instead of days.”
“You know me, Mom. I don’t do leisure time well at all.”
“Weren’t you and your Father McDreamy supposed to go somewhere today?”
“You really have to stop with the McDreamy,” she said. “You sound like Gwynn.” She explained about his sudden trip up to New Hampshire and realized it was almost time for his meeting with the bishop. I didn’t forget, Mark. I’m holding a good thought.
“What did I tell you!” Maeve all but clapped her hands together in delight. “Even the best-laid plans can turn on a dime.”
“Oh great,” Kate said with a groan. “That’s Paul’s car in the driveway, isn’t it?” A sleek black Mercedes with New York plates. “He doesn’t know how to use a phone?”
“You expect your best friend to rely on ceremony?”
“Yes,” she said. Especially when the best friend in question was now pushing for something more. She loved Paul dearly and didn’t want to see a decades-long friendship go up in smoke because she couldn’t return his romantic feelings. “Don’t ask him to stay for lunch,” she warned her mother. “I don’t want to encourage this dropping-in-unexpectedly thing.”
“Of course we’re asking him to stay for lunch. Don’t be ridiculous.”
He leaped to his feet as they pulled into the driveway next to him. “I would’ve called,” he said as he crossed the front yard toward them, “but my cell went dead.”
“A likely story,” Kate said as they kissed cheeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Manhattan where you belong, Grantham?”
“A tongue like a viper,” Maeve said, giving Paul’s cheek a kiss. “I don’t know where she gets it from.”
“Make yourself useful,” Kate said. “We have groceries to unload.”
Maeve said something highly annoying about how nice it was to have a man’s help, but then Maeve had the habit of flinging compliments around like rice at a wedding. Kate knew better than to take her seriously, but Paul, who had been around long enough to know better, lapped up the remarks.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated as he schlepped packages around back to the kitchen. “I thought you were gainfully employed.”
“I had a breakfast meeting in Philadelphia,” he said, putting the packages down on the counter. “I thought I’d take you and Maeve out to lunch.”
“If you’d called, you would’ve known I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Dead cell phone, remember?”
“You could have used a pay phone. I think there are still a few left on the planet.”
“From my car?”
“Paul—” She stopped as Maeve walked into the room.
Maeve looked at Kate, then glanced toward Paul, whose back was turned to her. “I forgot to stop by the bank,” she said smoothly. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“I love your mother,” Paul said as Maeve backed down the driveway. “She always knows the right thing to say.”
There was no denying that Maeve French had her moments, but this was one time when Kate wished she had stayed around.
“You’re here to pick up where you left off on Sunday, aren’t you?”
“In a way.”
She groaned and started unpacking the grocery bags. “I had more fun at the doctor’s office.”
“I want to apologize.”
She put the skim milk into the fridge and rummaged through the crisper for string beans. “I’m listening.”
“I apologize.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
She shot him a look as she tossed the bag of string beans onto the counter. “You could have e-mailed that and saved gas.”
“Cut me some slack, French. I’m trying to make amends.”
“So you’ve regained your sanity.” She pulled a can of tuna from the cabinet near the sink. “I was worried about you there for a while, friend.”
He stepped into her line of vision. “I still love you, Kate, if that’s what you mean.”
“I should’ve quit while I was ahead.”
“But I’m not going to push it.”
She put the can of tuna on the counter next to the string beans. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I saw you with the holy man Sunday night. I can’t compete with what was going on there.”
“Nothing was going on.”
“Don’t bullshit me, old friend.” His choice of words caught her attention. Paul rarely used vulgarity to make a point, but when he did, you listened. “I might not have liked what I saw, but I’m not blind.”
She couldn’t deny it. What was more, she didn’t want to. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
“You and a priest.” They locked eyes and there was nothing to do but laugh. “You two were shooting off more fireworks than Macy’s on the Fourth of July.”
She stopped laughing. “Well, those fireworks will put themselves out at the end of May.”
The look on his face was priceless. “I know you’re anal, but even you wouldn’t put that sort of thing in your day planner.”
“It’s in his.” She gave him a condensed version of Mark’s return to New Hampshire in six weeks.
“What if he changes his mind?” Paul asked. “What would you do then?”
“Can’t happen. That’s his home. He’s going back where he belongs.”
“What if he asks you to go with him?”
“Paul,” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “This is getting ridiculous. Let’s change the subject.”
“Okay,” Paul said, “Lisa called last night. We talked for an hour.”
“I like Lisa,” she said, hearing text and subtext. “You should reschedule that trip to Barbados.”
He met her eyes. “Maybe,” he said. “We’ll see how things play out.”
“I think they’re going to play out fine.”
“Lisa isn’t you.”
“No, she isn’t,” she said. “She’s my daughter’s age.”
An exaggeration, but not by much.
“Yeah?” He looked at her. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Which made them laugh for the second time.
She opened the fridge, grabbed two Snapples, then tossed him one. “Sunroom or yard?”
“Yard.”
She led him across the shaggy grass to the park bench she’d purchased at a renovator’s yard sale in Greenwich ages ago.
“You could use a man around the house,” he said, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “It looks like the pampas back here.”
“What I could use is a lawn tractor,” she corrected him.
He took a swig of his drink. “Jill got married over the weekend.”
They both fell so silent she thought she could hear the grass grow. “Your Jill?” she finally asked. A stupid, stupid question but it was the best she could do.
“Jake’s Jill,” he said.
“Don’t tell me she married someone named Jake.”
“Doctor Jake McDowell, cardiologist to Princeton’s best and brightest.”
“The kids didn’t say anything?” Kids talked. Especially about their parents’ choice of companions. Hard to believe his ex-wife’s remarriage could come as a surprise when they shared four children in common.
“They eloped,” he said. “The kids were staying with Jill’s parents. They had a long weekend and flew off to Vegas.”
“How are the kids taking it?”
“They love the schmuck,” Paul said. “They think it’s great.”
“How does the schmuck feel about them?”
“It’s a fucking love fest.”
She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “So be happy for them.”
“I thought I would be,” he said. “Turns out it’s not so easy.” He took another swig of Snapple. “How did you feel when Ed and Marie married?”
“I was happy for them.”
“That’s it?” He gave her a curious look.
“Okay, I was relieved,” she said. “Seeing him happily married made me feel less guilty about the divorce.”
“I was there,” he reminded her. “Your divorce was a textbook case on how to separate and not leave wreckage behind.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not sure I deserve any of the credit. It’s easy to stay friends when that’s all you were to begin with.”
“You think I’m still in love with Jill.”
“I think it’s a possibility.”
He was quiet for a long time. “I always thought we’d find our way back to each other.” He forced a laugh and she squeezed his hand. “I was wrong.”
There was nothing she could say. His over-the-top reaction to her heart attack suddenly made perfect sense. In the space of a few days he had lost (or nearly lost) two of the most important women in his life.
“So now what?” she asked when the silence grew too long for her comfort. “You’re going to buy them a nice gift, aren’t you?”
He looked at her like she was an alien dropped from a flying saucer into his midst. “You really don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”
“It’s not my fault. It’s all in the DNA.”
The expression in his eyes changed. “Tell that to your priest.”
“He’s not my priest,” she reminded him, “and even if he was, six weeks from now it’s good-bye and good luck.”
“Be careful,” her best friend warned. “In the right hands, six weeks can be a lifetime.”
Fourteen
Induction—October 1990
What he remembered most about the day was Suzanne’s smile. It seemed to follow him wherever he was, whoever he was talking to, whatever was happening around him; her smile was constant as the North Star guiding him home.
His parents were there, watching the proceedings with a mixture of pride and puzzlement, wondering what strange forces had led him along the path to an Episcopalian priesthood. They held hands. If he closed his eyes he could see them there in the first pew, following the proceedings with open hearts and minds. Three years later they would both be gone.
Suzanne’s mother was there, beaming through her tears, as proud of his accomplishments as she was of her daughter’s.
Family, friends, neighbors, they had all gathered to celebrate his induction as rector of St. Stephen’s of Greenwood Episcopalian Church.
Maggy’s father, Henry Boyd, was the first to speak.
Bishop Harrigan, we have come together today to welcome Mark Francis Kerry, who has been chosen to serve as rector of St. Stephen’s. We believe that he is well qualified, and that he has been prayerfully and lawfully selected.
Bishop Harrigan turned to him and his baritone rang out across the crowded chapel.
Mark, do you, in the presence of this congregation, commit yourself to this new trust and responsibility?
I do.
Will you who witness this new beginning support and uphold Mark in this ministry?
We will.
Let us then offer our prayers to God, for all his people, for this congregation, and for Mark, their rector.
Amen.
Mark, take this water and help me baptize you in obedience to the Lord.
Amen.
Mark, receive this stole and be among us as a pastor and priest.
Amen.
Mark, receive this book, and be among us as a man of prayer.
Amen.
Mark, receive these keys, and let the doors of this place be open to all people.
Now he knew he wasn’t dreaming. Blessing upon blessing was laid at his feet until he felt he was seeing a glimpse of heaven on earth.
But Suzanne’s smile was the biggest blessing of them all. She loved him the way men dreamed of being loved, with her entire body, her entire soul. She was his friend and his companion, his partner in love and work, and one day soon she would be the mother of their children, their arrows into the future.
At one point he remembered stepping outside into the garden to catch his breath and realizing that at that single moment in time he had everything he wanted within reach. If God had chosen to take him home, he would have died a happy man.
Suzanne slipped outside too when he wasn’t looking and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“They’re looking for you,” she said. “The vestry has put together a catered dinner at the club. Sarah Whitfield made her maple walnut ice cream just for you.”
“The rectory is too small,” he said, and she laughed. “When the babies start coming, we’ll have to sleep on the front porch.”
“We won’t have to worry until at least our third,” she said.
“The Carnahan place is up for sale. We could buy it and get started on those three kids.”
“Shh.” She pressed her lips against his back and he could feel her warmth. “We have plenty of time, Mark. An entire lifetime.”
Greenwood, New Hampshire—today
Bishop Clennon flipped through the stack of papers on his desk, then looked across at Mark. “This is a handsome accumulation of recommendations. You should be proud.”
“I am,” he said, not pulling his punches. “I feel I’ve done some fine work the last two years.”
The bishop leaned back in his padded leather seat. “Which raises the question: why are you looking to leave a situation that clearly means a great deal to you?”
So this is what the other shoe sounded like when it finally dropped.
“That’s a complicated question.”
“Indeed,” said the bishop, “but the answer should be a simple one.”
“It is,” Mark said and opted for unvarnished truth. “The parishioners of St. Stephen were there for me during some very dark times. I’m glad to be able to help them out now when they need me.”
“So you’re repaying a debt.”
“To some extent, yes, I am.”
“There’s more to ministering to a parish than the repayment of old debts.”
“I know that. This was my old parish,” he reminded the new bishop. “I understand the needs of the parishioners.”
“Greenwood has changed in five years. Since the addition of the Maple Grove subdivision, the age of the average parishioner has gone from sixty to thirty-two. Young families with small children mak
e up almost two-thirds of the Sunday worship. The other candidate is a young husband and father.”
“And you’re afraid that I won’t understand their needs since I’m not a husband or father myself.”
“We all bring specific gifts to the job, Mark. You proved that with your exemplary work in New Jersey.”
“Compassion and understanding are more important than hands-on experience.”
“That may well be true.”
Bishop Clennon rose to his feet, signaling that the meeting had come to a conclusion.
“I appreciate your candor, Mark.” He extended his hand across the vast expanse of polished mahogany. “I believe you’ve answered all of my questions.”
Okay, then. Case closed.
“And I appreciate the opportunity to address them personally, Bishop Clennon.”
“This has been a difficult decision for me to make,” the bishop went on. “The other candidate is a perfect fit in many ways. Young, enthusiastic family man with a theologian wife.”
Clennon clearly wasn’t ready to commit to a forty-something widowed priest who led AA meetings in his spare time. Who could blame him? He would pick the young family man too if the decision were up to him.
“Due to budget considerations, this is a one-year assignment,” the bishop went on, “but I’m sure you know that we fully hope this will be a long-term commitment to the congregation at Greenwood. Our choice must be willing to commit to a future here.”
The contract would be renegotiated this time next year and possibly extended for another five years. The new rector would be given the keys to the same house he had shared with Suzanne, the same church secretary, almost the same vestry, a travel allowance, someone to help out with gardening and general upkeep of the house, and a future that looked a lot like his past in many ways.
They shook hands and Mark was reminded of the nature shows on Discovery Channel. Jungle law in ecclesiastical robes. Maintain eye contact at all times and never let ’em see you sweat.
The bishop walked him into the reception area, where a pair of assistants carried on church business at a frantic pace.
“When can I expect your decision?” Mark asked. He didn’t remind the man that as of the end of May he would be homeless.
Just Like Heaven Page 15
