by Claire Adams
Tiffany was asking Roman how the flight was. "Let's just say first class was a good call," he said, looking back at me and smirking.
"You got us those seats so I wouldn't fall asleep? It's a seven-hour flight, what did you want me to do?"
"She passed out as soon as we were in the air. And didn't wake up till we had landed," he told her. I rolled my eyes.
"Next time you come down, get one of those seats," I said to Tiffany.
"Are you guys going to pay for it?" she teased.
Roman had offered, many times when Tiffany had been making trips to Miami to cover the cost of her ticket. She would never take it. At least she would stay at our house, though. House, not apartment. We moved out right when Roman's lease on the apartment was up to a place on the water. It was this big, a little too big for us, place with a pool and a yard. If you rolled out of bed at night and fell out, you'd end up in the ocean, that was how close to the water we were.
"Of course," Roman said.
"Can I bring a guest?"
"Dad doesn't count as a guest," he told her.
"I wasn't talking about dad," she said. I sat up in my seat behind them.
"What? Who is it?"
"Do you remember Casey?" she asked, glancing at me through the rear-view. I did remember Casey. Last time we had talked, the two of them had been on three dates.
"What's going on with you and Casey?"
"Who's Casey?" Roman asked, barely following along.
"Her boyfriend," I teased. She smirked happily to herself. I had never met this guy, but we had talked about him. She had even shown me pictures of him. He was cute.
"You're lucky we have two spare bedrooms," Roman said. I laughed. I wanted to see that. Roman mad-dogging Casey across the dinner table then giving him the spare room downstairs and Tiffany the one upstairs.
"Oh please, Roman," she laughed. "I'm twenty-three, not thirteen."
"Not under my roof. I love you, Tiff. It's the guy I have a problem with."
"You haven't even met him yet," she protested. I sat in the back letting them bicker.
"Where are we going?" I asked after a few minutes.
"Hm?" she asked.
"Where are we going? This isn't the way to our hotel." Roman was silent in the passenger seat.
"No?" he said. I looked at the side of his face; it was all I could see from where I was sitting.
"No, Roman. It's not," I said, a little sarcastically.
"We have a detour to make first," said Tiffany. Detour? I was looking forward to getting to the hotel. I wanted to wash the seven hours of flight off of me and maybe follow that with a couple more hours napping. Not to mention food. I was starving.
"Where to?" I asked. She didn't say anything. I looked out the windows, mentally tracking where we were going. "Tiff?"
"You'll see when we get there," she said, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.
"Rome?" I tried.
"Hm?" he answered. The same innocent, noncommittal sound his sister had made. I sat back in the seat, mostly giving up. The list of places we could be going were limited, anyway. It wasn't like this would be a surprise when we got there unless something major like a new mall or something had gone up. I watched outside the windows as we took the familiar streets.
"What are we doing here?" I asked as Tiffany parked.
I hadn't been here in years, literally. During all the visits we had made back home, we had never come back to the park for a picnic. Back home, at our place in Miami, we had sort of carried the tradition on, taking a basket down to the beach sometimes when it wasn't that windy, but the last time we'd been to our spot was... It had been when we got back together. The weekend before I moved to Miami with Roman. Roman got out of the car and came round the back to open mine. He offered me a hand and helped me out.
"I thought we'd do something special this trip. We're celebrating."
"You didn't want to go to the hotel and drop our stuff off first?" I asked.
"Tiff's waiting for us. It can stay in the car."
"Waiting for us? She's not coming?" I asked as he pulled me to follow him.
"Come on," he said.
"Where?"
"Don't tell me you forgot this place already," he said. I hadn't, I was just confused. Why was Tiff waiting in the car for us? What was happening? Why were we here instead of the hotel?
"Are we having dinner?" I asked lamely.
"Why? Are you hungry?" he asked. We started into the trees that lined the clearing we used to visit.
"Roman," I whined.
"Come here, I want to show you something." He was walking ahead of me. I had to walk kind of fast to be able to keep up with him.
"Show me what? Roman-" I was about to complain some more, but cut myself off.
We were there, our spot, but I it looked different the last time we had been there. The grass was perfectly manicured, lush healthy green like it shouldn’t have been this early in the year. It wasn't dark yet, but dark enough to see the light from the strings of fairy lights strung across the trees.
"Roman, what's going on?" I asked. There was a sheet of white rose petals sprinkled over the grass. He pulled my hand gently and walked us right to the middle of the clearing.
"What do you think?"
"I think it's beautiful... Who did this?"
"All I asked was that they get the flowers right, but the lights are a nice touch," he said.
"You did this?"
"Tiffany made it happen, but yeah. I asked her to do it."
"For us?"
"For you. Do you remember the last time we came here?" he asked me.
"It was a long time ago," I mused.
"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, standing in front of me, taking both my hands in his. I blushed. I remembered. Clearly. Thinking back, I couldn't believe how often we had done it out here. Anyone could have seen us.
"I remember we got back together. Then that Monday I moved in with you."
"This is where it all started. I wanted to do this somewhere special."
"Do what?" I asked.
"I was holding off till after the Super Bowl to do this. I knew that I wanted that win and then we got it. I thought that would be it, but it wasn't. With the championship, and you, and our home, I thought I had everything I wanted. But I don't," he said. My stomach clenched listening to him. The last two years had been incredible.
After the summer that he got signed, we had had to get used to living together, me being this far away from home for the first time. It had been hard at times, but we were a team. We figured it out together. After what we had been through, we had learned the hard way that whatever happened, we wanted to do it together.
"What do you want?" I asked nervously. We had talked a lot about the future, but mostly, we were just taking it a day at a time. Roman's career was going great. I had graduated and after a year off, had started working on a second degree. We took trips together when he had the time off, and before his offseason training began this year, we were planning a trip to Puerto Rico. We were focused on what we had to be for now and I had always felt comfortable doing that. Till now.
"You, Veronica," he said.
"We're already together."
"Not the way I want," he said. He squeezed my hands, pausing before he sunk down on one knee. I swallowed, looking down at him. His hands left mine and went into one of his pockets. He pulled out a ring and looked at it in his hand, smiling.
"Do you know how long I've had this thing?" he said, looking up at me. I didn't know whether he wanted an answer, but words were failing me. My heart pounded. He kept going. "The only thing I still don't have is a wife and I think that needs to change," he said. He was smiling, but he was blurring in front of me because I was crying.
"You're the love of my life, Veronica Kanter. I could stand losing everything as long as I got to keep you. It happened twice, and I never want it to happen again. If you'll have me, I want to make you my wife," he said. Tea
rs streamed down my face. He reached for my hand, squeezing it in his. "Ron. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"What was that?" he asked. I laughed, wiping my eyes.
"Yes, Roman, yes. I will marry you." He smiled, sliding the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. I didn't know how he would know what size to get. It was a clear white diamond, oval shaped, set in a white gold band.
"Do you like it?" he asked, standing.
Did I like it? It was beautiful, but it could be two copper wires wound into a circle, and I'd still love it. It could be nothing at all, what mattered was what it meant. It meant forever. The two of us, no matter what. I leaned up, wrapping him in my arms. I wanted to give him what he wanted. There was nothing I wanted more. I took his hand, pulling him over to a tree and we did it, right there, engaged, with the sun setting and Tiffany waiting for us in the car.
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PRIEST
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
Chapter One
jace
I stood in front of the floor-length mirror in my room at the church where I’d served as parish priest for the past two years. I stared at myself in my black cassock and thought about the days ahead.
It wasn’t moving to a new church that troubled me — it was moving forward with a crucial piece of my life no longer intact. I’ve been devout in my faith since I was a child. But as I gazed at my reflection…I was having doubts.
I looked at the man in the mirror and instead of seeing Father Jace, I saw the reflection of a frightened little boy. That little boy had been brought to where he was through the love and devotion of a woman — and now she was gone and I was questioning everything about my life.
My grandmother used to say, “Be humble and respectful to everyone, whether you are sure they deserve it or not.” She taught me not to judge people too harshly and that if you worked hard and did good things, you would always prosper.
When Grandma talked about prospering, she wasn’t talking about money. She taught my brothers and me that prosperity was about your family and your friends. The people that you kept within your inner circle said more about you than anything, according to her, and I had come to believe that myself.
She also always said if you looked hard enough, no matter how far you stray, it was always possible to find a path back into God’s good graces. That one I used to believe without a doubt, but those doubts had started to work their way in.
I had strayed from my faith the moment they told me she was dead. I had spent most of my nights since railing against God, instead of praying to Him. My grandmother didn’t need my prayers for her soul. She was the purest soul that ever existed. The irony is if she were still here, she would be the first to tell me to hit my knees and pray hard for forgiveness.
I was holding out hope I’d be ready to do that soon, but for the time being, I’d have to fake it. That day, repentance was not on the agenda. I knew that when I had to stand there and helplessly watch them lower her into the ground, instead of rejoicing for her soul, I would be agonizing over the pain in mine.
I was angry, but I was not supposed to be. I was a priest, but damn it, I was also human. My grandmother was dead. She was the light that always beckoned me home, no matter how lost I’ve been. I was angry and sad and confused, and no amount of praying would give me the answers to my questions. How was I supposed to find my way any longer?
It was just after 12 o'clock. The old church bells rang out, and from my second story room, I could hear the flock of pigeons the bells sent into disarray as they cooed and flapped violently away from the bell tower of the old church.
I heard the echo of each slow chime as I made my way through the cavernous inner halls on my way to the vestry. The sounds reverberated off the stones that held the sacred building together and bounced off the stained-glass windows and polished, oak pews.
With a heavy heart and a deep ache in my soul, I draped the white stole about my neck in preparation for the mass I was about to say, as was tradition. I begged God to give me on the last day the garment of immortality that was forfeited by our sinful first parents.
I was on autopilot. I was a priest; it was what I did, what I knew to do.
The mourners filled the church, and I believed I handled the mass with as much dignity as humanly possible. I had a hard time suppressing my own grief as I watched the broken faces of my brothers in the front pew. I managed to keep it together, and even remain pious in my thoughts, until we reached the cemetery.
When I stepped out of the black car into the brilliant sunlight and looked around at the vibrant colors of spring that surrounded me, my anger returned with a vengeance. My grandmother was dead and the sun was offensively bright and cheerful.
It was as if God and the elements were conspiring to show me that the world would go on just fine without her. It shouldn't, and that’s why I was so angry. As far as I was concerned, everything should be as dark and gray as my emotions were. The weather should have been damp and cold, and the birds should not have been singing in the trees overhead.
I walked through the cemetery like a silhouette of myself. I wished I was as insubstantial as the shadows. Shadows don’t have to feel the tangle of emotions that were twisting around in my gut. I stood near the freshly dug hole and waited for the coffin to arrive.
I was no longer apologetic to my Father in Heaven. I was pissed.
******
“Touching service, Father,” a young congregate said to me as she shook my hand after the funeral. I forced a smile and nodded at her.
“My condolences for your loss, Father. Your grandmother was a great lady,” the next one told me as he shook my hand.
“We’ll all miss her, Father…”
It went on and on. My head felt like it might literally explode and shoot off my shoulders before the last member of the congregation shook my hand and headed for their car. Finally, I was alone with my grandmother and my brothers.
“How are you doing, Jace?” My brother Max was at my side. He was the oldest and the one that would be counted on to hold us together with Grandma gone.
“I’ve been better,” I said, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. “How about you?” My other brother, Ryan, walked up as we talked.
“I’m hanging in there. I’m not sure what to do without her. She will be sorely missed.” I had no doubts Max would miss her, but he’d been independent since we were taken from the house of horrors that was our life and placed with Grandmother when he was 10. I was six at the time, and Ryan was only six months.
Ryan’s eyes and face were swollen and red. He still lived with Grandmother, and I had no doubts her death would leave the biggest void in his life. She coddled him a little too much, and at 25, he was more dependent on her than a man really had a right to be.
“Hey,” he said with a chin tilt. Even at a funeral he was still clinging to the cool-guy, motorcycle stud stereotype. I opened my arms and it all fell away. He folded into them and sought the strength of his big brother and priest. I could at least be one of those for him.
As soon as I closed my arms around him, his shoulders began to shake and he unloaded the grief that he’d been trying so hard to hold back. “I know that I’m not supposed to think like this,” he said between sobs. “But I’m so angry, Jace. We all still needed her. Why does God let things like this happen? She was nothing but good. Why does he take the good ones so soon?”
Ryan, out of all of us, had struggled with his faith the most. It was the first tim
e I didn’t have answers for him. I’d been asking those questions myself.
“I wish I knew, Ryan. All we can do now is have faith and trust that she’s at peace and we’ll see her again someday.” Such a priest-like thing to say…but I was at a loss.
My brother seemed to accept it. He nodded against my shoulder and then pulled back and looked at my face. His green eyes were so much like mine, and his sandy-blond hair fell down across his forehead the same way mine did when it got too long.
He was a younger version of me, but even priest compared to biker, he was a more innocent version. Ryan hadn’t known our parents long enough for the scars to take hold of him. Grandmother was all he’d ever known as a caregiver, and she did a stellar job.
“I have to take off,” Max said. “I have a meeting across town at four. Maybe we can all have lunch Sunday?”
“If it’s a late lunch,” I said. “I’ll be serving my first mass at St. Luke’s on Sunday.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re moving to Lexington tomorrow, I almost forgot. At least it’s only 30 minutes away.”
“Yeah, I’ll still see you guys a lot. Let’s plan on three for lunch at Mike and Patty’s. Will that work for you, Ryan?”
My little brother looked like I’d pulled him out from under the water as he refocused his attention. “Mike and Patty’s at three. I’ll be there.”
I hugged them both again and watched them go before I made my way back to the car the church provided for me. I climbed into the backseat and the driver said, “Back to the church, Father?”
“Yes. Actually, if you don’t mind, Mitch, can we swing by Albert’s Grocery on the way?”
******
Two hours after my grandmother’s earthly body was lowered into the ground, I sat in my upstairs room at St. Anthony’s parish, still in my cassock and scarf, sipping scotch out of the bottle.
I’d gone into Albert’s Grocery under the guise of buying my specialty tea. The driver had stayed in the car, so it was easy to slip the bottle of scotch into my reusable bag and take it through the self-check-out. A priest buying a bottle of scotch might cause some talk. A priest sitting alone in his room drinking scotch was not only pathetic…he was destined to be tortured by guilt.