Every word pierced me so I felt exactly the torment that had lived inside this old man for more than fifty years. The way he’d punished himself over and over again, never speaking about it, hiding his crime and his humanity for so long. And God help me, I’d seen men with their guts hanging out begging to die, begging me to end their suffering. Would I have done the same in his position? Only God knew the answer to that.
“You’ve been carrying a heavy burden for a long time, Ozzie, but God hears your confession. We all have to make choices in life, terrible choices, hard choices, but we are not alone. God has been with you whether you wanted him there or not. The choice you made that day ended that little girl’s suffering and rendered her unto Our Lord. Wars make monsters of all of us, Ozzie. We do things we’re ashamed of, that haunt us for the rest of our lives. But our daily battle is to live with that guilt and confess it to God. He hears us, Ozzie. He hears all those who have served in the name of their country, done terrible things in the name of their country. He hears us all and he loves us all. Do you know Psalm 91? Some people call it the Soldier’s Prayer.”
And I spoke the sacred words from memory, praying that they gave him comfort, the way they’d comforted me many, many times when I’d felt lost and unworthy.
Maybe I should make my own confession, but unlike Ozzie, I didn’t have the courage to tell anyone what I had done.
When I’d finished, I saw that more tears had traveled through the wrinkles around his tired, fading eyes.
“Ozzie, I’m going to say the Apostle’s Creed. ‘Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.’ Now, can you repeat after me? ‘Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed’.”
Slowly, painfully slowly, Ozzie Ramirez repeated the words, the strength of his voice fading fast. I recited the Lord’s Prayer, knowing in my heart that the ancient words brought comfort to this Lamb of God who lay dying before me.
Then I administered the Communion, a tiny crumb of wafer pressed against his dry, cracked lips.
“‘This is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to his supper.’ Repeat after me, Ozzie. ‘Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed’.”
His voice was so faint now, I could hardly hear him.
“The Body of Christ.”
His lips moved again, and I think he said ‘Amen’.
I anointed him with the oil of Chrism and made the sign of the Cross on his forehead.
“May the Lord Jesus protect you and lead you to eternal life.”
I prayed for Ozzie, giving him God’s blessing as he began his journey to a better place.
Then I opened the bedroom door and ushered in as many of his family as would fit into the tiny, cramped room. Joan held one hand of the dying man, and I held the other.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she said, tears streaking her face. “You can let go now. I love you, Daddy.”
It took two more hours for the old man to gasp his last breath, and when he did, I closed his eyes and prayed for his eternal soul.
Neil and I stayed another hour, comforting the bereaved and offering what help we could.
Then finally, we climbed back in my car just as the sun was rising. I tipped my head back, staring into the dawn, thinking about the friends I’d lost on ops, thinking about Luke, wondering for the millionth time why God had saved me. Why?
“Are you okay, Gabriel?” Neil asked, his kind face concerned, worried about me.
“Sure,” I lied.
I knew very well after hearing Ozzie’s confession that I’d be plagued with my own torments and nightmares for days and weeks to come.
Forever.
Chapter Ten
Mariana
I’d found a powerful ally in Mrs. O’Connor, and I’d also learned that following Gabriel about, trying to tempt him, that wouldn’t work. Hell, he probably had women throwing themselves at him all of the time. Even still, around him, I’d play the brat, but with everyone else, I’d be the good girl, the reformed hooker. He’d hear about my good deeds from others and that would make him curious, more than curious. I knew him already—he’d be burning with irritation and confusion, asking himself, “Why is she a bitch with me?” Especially since he’d been the one to ‘save’ me. And then, when he couldn’t stand not knowing, he’d come to me.
I was fairly confident that would work. Besides, time was on my side—I’d waited a lot of years already … I had nowhere else to be.
I’d heard Gabriel and Father Neil leave the house in the middle of the night. I’d lain awake a long time, waiting for them to come back. I finally fell asleep heavily and slept through breakfast. I didn’t care, I needed a nap after my disturbed night and crazy early start the day before, but when I finally crawled out of bed, I felt better than I had in a long while. That was the value of clean sheets and not being scared to close your eyes.
I headed down to the kitchen and found Mrs. O’Connor wearing plastic gloves and holding a cleaning rag. Across the kitchen table was spread a pirate’s hoard of candlesticks, goblets that could have come out of a Harry Potter movie, silver teaspoons and more glitz than Graceland. Probably.
“Wow, that’s really something,” I said, hesitating at the doorway, my eyes wide as I calculated the value of the stash in front of me.
Mrs. O’Connor smiled up at me kindly. Sunshine was streaming through the windows, highlighting the white streaks in her hair and the deep creases in her face—she looked even older by day.
“It certainly is—and it takes a lot of elbow grease to keep it fit to be seen,” she sighed, glancing back to her work.
“Can I help? I mean, I get it if you wouldn’t trust me with any of this. You have no reason to, but you’ve been really nice to me and … well, I’d like to do something to help.”
She gazed at me appraisingly then nodded curtly.
“The Devil makes work for idle hands,” and she tossed me a pair of plastic gloves and a cleaning rag, then pushed a tub of brass polish across the table.
We sat there in silence for several minutes and I found it oddly soothing to polish the dull metal until it gleamed again. There hadn’t been many pretty things in my life and very little order—I hadn’t known until now that I’d been missing anything.
But then Mrs. O’Connor started talking.
“Father Gabriel calls you ‘Blue’. Is that a nickname? Not ‘Red’? It can’t be your birth name, child. Or maybe it is and I’m out of touch—that’s certainly what my grandchildren tell me, the cheeky varmints.”
“It’s my street name,” I said. “No one gives their real name on the streets.”
Her lips pressed together and she snorted with disapproval.
“Are you going back?” she asked bluntly. “They say kids on the streets get hooked on those terrible drugs,” and she crossed herself, nipple to nipple, throat to belly. “You don’t look like one of them addicts, even though you are a tad thin.”
“I’m clean,” I said honestly. “My mom … well, I don’t want to end up like her. Mrs. O’Cee, I did a lot of shi— stuff that I’m not proud of, but I never took no drugs.”
She nodded and gave a brief smile.
“That’s what Father Gabriel calls me, too, ‘Mrs. O’Cee’.” I blinked, surprised that was what she’d taken from my little speech. “So, what is your God-given name, child?”
One corner of my mouth lifted.
“Well, I’m not sure it was God-given, but my name is Mariana.”
I felt suddenly almost shy telling her—it had been so long since anyone had called me by that name.
“Ah, ‘tis a fine name!” cried Mrs. O’Cee. “Did you know that it’s a variation of ‘Mary’, Our Holy Mother? And did you know there’s an order of nuns called the Marian Sisters up near Sonoma?”
She seemed determined to
be pleased by my name, so I just went with it.
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a nun,” I said with a wry smile.
“You’d be surprised,” she said solemnly. “There’s many a fallen woman who has found comfort in the arms of Our Lord.” But then she shook her head. “It’s not for everyone. My auld man was a holy terror, but I loved him something fierce and he gave me eleven beautiful babies.”
“You have eleven kids?” I asked, somewhat appalled.
“Nine that lived,” she nodded, sadness shadowing her eyes, “twenty-three grandchildren and I’ll be a great-grandmother next month.”
“Wow!”
I sat back in my chair, wondering about Mrs. O’Cee’s single-handed mission to accelerate the population explosion.
“Motherhood was my trial and my solace,” she said, smiling wistfully. “And once I’d served me purpose, I came here. The habit of caring has been my whole life, I wouldn’t know what else to do with me time.” Then she patted my hand. “But it’s nice to have some female company here for a change.”
We polished and chatted, and she told me all about her family: children, grandchildren, in-laws, outlaws, until my head was spinning with names and stories.
We were interrupted by the devil himself.
Gabriel frowned at me, his default setting it seemed, and raised his eyebrows at Mrs. O’Cee. She gave him a questioning look, then glanced at me.
“This sweet child offered to help me and it’s certainly taking some work from me old hands, Father. She’s a good girl. Oh, and her God-given name is ‘Mariana’—a pretty name for a pretty girl.”
Gabriel made a non-committal noise then cleared his throat and turned towards me, watching my reaction closely but not quite meeting my eyes.
“I’ve been making inquiries at our local high school,” he said, speaking in a monotone. “They’ve got a place for you now if you want, and they could do catch-up classes so you can work towards your GED. And, um, they have scholarships for a few students who are boarders, so you’d have a place to stay, too.”
Mrs. O’Cee looked at me hopefully as I dropped the cleaning rag on the table.
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have bothered. In fact, you damn well should have asked me first,” I snapped, sparks shooting from my eyes.
“It’ll be good for you,” he said quietly.
“Want to ship me off to Catholic School?” I hissed. “Do I look like a fucking Catholic schoolgirl to you?”
His eyes dipped. “Looks can be deceiving.”
Yes, they can. Murderer. But by the way he was trying to get rid of me, I needed to up my game and fast.
“You can’t fucking get rid of me that easily!”
“Mariana, child!” cried Mrs. O’Cee crossing herself. “That’s no way to talk to Father Gabriel when he’s trying to help you!”
“He should have asked me!” I cried out. “He thinks I’m just a stupid dumb whore! That’s all I’ll ever be to him! But I’m smart, I am, and I’ve already got my freakin’ GED!”
And I shot him a look so full of loathing that he should have turned to a pile of dust.
His cheeks flushed red and he started to stammer an apology.
“I’m sorry, Blue. I shouldn’t have assumed. You’re right. And I know you’re not dumb or…”
“Liar!” I screamed at him, spittle flying from my mouth. “You just want to get rid of me! So much for charity starting at home! You’re a liar! A fuckin’ fake and a liar!”
“Ah, Father Gabriel,” Mrs. O’Cee said loudly. “I think it’s time for me and Mariana to have a quiet word, woman to woman. Best you find someone else to … help.”
Muttering another apology, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
I let the anger ride me and wiped away a couple of traitorous tears, part of me furious at his casual insults and assumptions, and the other part aware that Mrs. O’Cee was taking it all in.
“There, there, child,” she said, patting my hand, her gnarled old fingers wrapping around mine in a gentle squeeze. “He meant well, but priest or not, he’s only a man, and men make mistakes, God forgive them. Just remember that he had your best interests at heart. Will you do that for me?”
I wiped my eyes again then finally looked up at her, giving my most heartbroken look.
“Do you want me to leave, as well?” I asked, letting my voice wobble.
“No, indeed! Father Neil has already said you’re to stay until you’re back on your feet.”
Whatever the fuck that meant.
“So, will you forgive Father G?”
“I’ll try,” I lied.
Finally, she rose stiffly to make tea, complaining quietly to herself as she huffed and puffed around the kitchen. I’d rather have had coffee or better still a shot of that awesome Irish whiskey, but I’d take whatever was going.
“Ah, me memory has gone to the other place in a hand basket,” she said, shaking her head. “I was going to give you this earlier,” and she slid an envelope across to me.
My heart started to beat faster—was this going to be a letter telling me to leave? Father Gabriel didn’t have the nerve to tell me to my face? After all, he’d just tried to send me off to some school.
But when I opened it, I was wrong. Inside lay three, crisp, twenty-dollar bills. There was no note.
“It’s from the Poor Box,” said Mrs. O’Cee. “Father Gabriel fetched it this morning. See, he does care about you. So you can go and buy yourself some clothes. I know it’s not much, but this is a poor community and people give what they can. There’s an attached thrift store and we have a consignment store four blocks away. And before you say anything, there’s no shame in being poor and no shame in receiving charity—the only shame is in refusing to give it when you can. Remember that, child.”
I stared at the bills for a long time, confused about how I felt. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me something—something I hadn’t fought for or stolen—but a gift of their own free will. I couldn’t remember. Maybe never.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked them away quickly. Tears were a weakness that I couldn’t afford.
Mrs. O’Cee cleared her throat, and when I looked up, she was wiping her eyes with her apron.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel
A loud knock startled me. I’d just been reading John 1:9 and trying to convince myself that it applied to me.
“Who is it?”
“Father. May I come in?”
I exhaled. Mrs. O’Cee. Of course, it wasn’t Blue. Why would she want to talk to me after the way I’d treated her. After I’d scorned her. After I’d shamed her for my own guilt.
I tucked the bottle of whiskey under my pillow and sat up straighter.
“Yes, of course, come in.”
“Father, I’m sorry I spoke to you so harshly. Mariana knows that she should be dressed appropriately in church. I gave her the money and told her it was from the Poor Box like you said. Although it’s a funny thing because Father Neil was saying just yesterday about thieves emptying it two days ago.”
Busted. And caught lying.
“Then it’s lucky the parishioners are so generous to fill it up again so quickly,” I said smoothly.
She didn’t believe me for a second.
“But maybe you should lead with compassion,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
I hated being in the wrong, and Mrs. O’Cee was scarier than my old Drill Sergeant when she had a temper on her.
I nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her. Tomorrow.”
She shook her head, a determined glint in her eye. “Not tomorrow. Now. I’ve made supper. Your favorite: Colcannon,” and she raised an eyebrow at me in a challenge.
I did not want to have dinner with Blue sitting there watching me.
“Unfortunately, I’m fasting.”
Fasting. Because God has commanded me to
resist temptation. And this was a way to cleanse myself.
Mrs. O’Cee eyed me. She knew better than to question my spiritual practice—even if she didn’t entirely believe me either.
“Hmm, well, tomorrow. You promise me now!”
“I promise.”
I thought then that she’d leave, but she hesitated.
“Father Gabriel, pardon me for asking. I know it is none of my business, but are you okay? You seem fashed.”
Could everyone tell how off I was? Or maybe they could smell the whiskey on my breath that no number of breath mints would erase. It was because of Blue. Mostly. Partly. But I thought up an excuse, and in all reality, it wasn’t just an excuse. It was the root of my guilt.
“I’m just in a dark place right now. I really need to pray.”
She embraced me, hugging tightly and with more strength than I’d given her credit for.
“I’m so sorry, Father. We always rely on you for guidance but we don’t always know when you need it from us. Please forgive me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Connor. Please save me some Colcannon for tomorrow.”
She straightened out her apron. “I will. But Father, if you ever need to talk, I’ll lend an ear for my favorite priest,” and she chucked me under the chin as if I was six years old. Although I couldn’t remember any of the foster parents I’d had showing so much kindness, so much care.
I nodded and she left the room.
I’d often thought over the years that all my parishioners needed me. And that was true. But I realized something else tonight: I needed them too.
The whiskey bottle called to me and I answered willingly.
I woke up in the middle of the night with Father Neil underneath me, his face white and frightened.
I backed off of him quickly, wiping sweat from my eyes as he lay gasping on my bed.
“Fuck, Neil! What…? Did I…?”
He fumbled to sit up, the color slowly returning to his face.
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