A Circumstance of Blood

by Jeannette Batz Cooperman

  “County jail, but they haven’t arraigned him yet. I think his bond will be set pretty low.”

  “I don’t want to bail him out, just talk to him. At least, I feel like I ought to.”

  “That’ll be a rough conversation. I wish you well.”

  He heard a warmth of understanding in her voice. “Thank you. In fact, thank you for everything. You’ve been remarkably . . .”

  “Civilised?” she finished for him. “Every once in a while we pull it off.”

  Not sure how to answer, he thanked her again and hung up. Now for the hard part. He looked up the address of the county jail and drove there before he could change his mind.

  *

  Shoes off, ID gone, keys and wallet in the guard’s hand, Colin felt naked and suspect. Which is exactly how I ought to feel, he told himself. I was part of all this.

  A woman in a bulging khaki uniform, gun belt uncomfortably tight, showed him to a mint-green room. “We’ll keep a guard with you,” she assured Colin.

  “I’d rather you didn’t. I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, you just yell then Father. Somebody will be right outside the door.”

  The next time the door opened Jimmy walked in. Colin noticed that the guard left the door ajar and stood outside, listening to see how their meeting started.

  “You okay?” he asked, struggling to reconcile everything in his heart. This was Jimmy. He’d drugged one of their students. Slept with another and gotten him killed. Sold the school’s priceless map. But he was still Jimmy.

  “As okay as possible,” Jimmy answered. “Listen, Colin, I just . . .”

  “Don’t say anything. I don’t want any more details. I just want to say I’m sorry.”

  Jimmy’s laugh mocked them both. “You’re sorry?”

  “Yes. You were right − I knew how you felt. I was just glad you never came out with it. I thought if we both ignored it, it would fade away, and we could run the school as friends.”

  “It never would have faded. I was going to give the school my grandfather’s money, did you know that? You wouldn’t have had to worry about the bishop at all.” Jimmy looked away. “Then Philip started taunting me. The little bastard knew how to tempt, all right. He was collecting our secrets.”

  “He wanted to call us on them. When you’re seventeen, hypocrisy’s unbearable.”

  “It wasn’t hypocrisy, it was loyalty. Philip didn’t believe in loyalty. If he hadn’t tried to play God . . .”

  Colin shook his head. “He was right, Jimmy. Secrets warp us. They make a world of their own. And it’s so far from reality, all the lies can do is damage.”

  “How would you know? You’re so fucking self-righteous, you never . . .“ Jimmy broke off.

  “Is that why you tried to frame me?”

  “I did not try to frame you.”

  The denial enraged Colin. “You used a Scottish accent Jimmy.”

  “It’s the only one I can do! And I needed a distraction. It’s Sociology 101. People hear an accent and stop observing anything else about the person. If anybody found out, I would have confessed on the spot, you know that.”

  “Right.” Colin let the word carry everything − doubt, disappointment, hope that Jimmy meant it.

  The silence grew tense. Their first impasse in sixteen years of friendship. Jimmy glanced over at the door, where a guard watched through the window. “Maybe I’ll get good at prison ministry,” he said brightly. “The chaplain here’s amazing. I offered to be his assistant. I could help with . . .“

  “Don’t.”

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m too depraved? Donohue didn’t think so. He said there’s a lot they can learn from what I’ve been through.”

  “I mean don’t . . . be somebody’s assistant. Find your own work. Stop trying to . . .“ It would do no good. He walked to the door.

  “Colin?”

  He stopped, but didn’t look back.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Colin said, and walked out.

  *

  They settled in Colin’s study, Sarah as close to the fire as she could get, without scorching her sweater. The exuberance had only lasted an hour before flu-like symptoms set in. Her stomach felt breathless and sore, like she’d been vomiting for hours. She’d put on an extra sweater and drunk hot tea all day, and she still felt shivery.

  “You know what’s ironic about all this?” she asked. “Jimmy’s the one with empathy. He’s always been able to climb inside other people’s skin.”

  “That’s not empathy, it’s need.”

  She thought for a minute, not convinced. “Adriana, though. So sensitive, so gentle − and stone cold, shooting a heroin overdose into your lover’s son. And, poor Graham.” A thought struck her. “How’s Father Charron taking the news?”

  “He’s subdued. Sick at heart to think a fellow Jesuit could do what Jimmy did. Adriana . . . broadsided him. But there’s been no more crazy talk of Satan. And − you’ll love this − Francis has been playing chess with Graham. His way of apologising I suspect. I went by to make sure it was going okay and heard them passionately arguing about strategy.”

  Sarah smiled. The fire’s heat had stilled her jittery nerves. Suddenly she felt stifled, so hot she was almost queasy. “Let’s go up,” she said, moving toward the spiral staircase.

  When they were out on the widow’s walk, she drew in the cold night air and squinted at the stars, looking for the Big Dipper. “It’s a relief to live in such an immense universe,” she said. “It shrinks our failings.”

  “Does it shrink evil?”

  “No, I guess not. But it outlasts it.”

  They were silent a long while. “I wouldn’t have thought Adriana was strong enough to kill,” Colin admitted.

  “Or weak enough. I guess desperation took over. Do you think North would have left her if he’d found out?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I think he probably would. He’s a rigid sort.” She looked up at the stars again. “Adriana was really torn apart by that accident wasn’t she? They gave her a new face, but she never found a self to match.”

  After a long, soft silence, she said, “Listen, there’s something O’Rourke mentioned when he was educating me about drugs. He said that, quite often, people take a strong drug then don’t remember what they’ve taken and take more. I keep wondering − could that have happened with your mother?”

  He cocked his head slightly, the way he did whenever he took in a new idea that might have merit.

  “I mean, she was on strong pain pills, and they make you loopy. I could easily imagine forgetting and taking more. She would have been so eager to feel good when you got there. And she was so tiny and frail by then . . .”

  He leaned on the railing, looking down at the grounds. “She was always incredibly sensitive to medication,” he said slowly. “To anything really. It’s why she was so good at reading what people needed. So, yeah. It could have happened that way.” Blindly, he reached over for her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for telling me. I tried hard to make it not matter. If she did choose her death, all she did was hurry it. I figured maybe she thought that was a kindness, because it would have been so hard for me to say goodbye to her.”

  “She would have at least left you a note.”

  He nodded. “No note. That hurt like hell. But, if you’re right, this explains it.”

  She stood next to him, their shoulders touching, and stared in the direction of the river. Was that it, the black line darker than the treetops? She couldn’t be sure. “You know what’s sad?” she asked. “The way none of us can give each other what we need most. Adriana wanted a love she could trust. North just kept trying to do the right thing and messing it up every time. Jimmy wanted − well, you. And you wanted a school that would be a refuge.”

  “Philip came the closest. He wanted to provoke reaction, expose the dark side, free everybody from inhibitio
n. And he paid for it.” When Colin spoke again, his voice was husky. “What do you want, Sarah?”

  She felt the thrup of a skipped beat, like a tiny fist had punched her heart. “My mother warned me against this friendship,” she heard herself say. “She said I was wasting my energy.”

  Colin blew out a long breath. “She’s probably not wrong.” So lightly it didn’t even hurt, he touched the bruise on her cheekbone, and his eyes darkened. He smoothed back a piece of hair that had fallen across her cheek, hooking it gently behind her ear. She felt how cold her hair was, how warm his hand. And when he bent to kiss her forehead, she tilted her face up so his lips found hers. He kissed her deeply.

  She’d thought she knew Colin’s body by heart, its height and pale skin and jutting bones. But he felt new to her, demanding to be read and answered. She kissed him back, letting all the questions go. When they stopped to breathe, she went up on her toes, curved her body against his until there was no air between them, and kissed him again.

  Then she pulled away. “We’re friends,” she said, and her voice came out shaky. “You’ve got a vocation, and I’ve got a life.”

  “There’s something I want to tell you. Let’s go back inside.” They went to their usual spot, and he shoved the plaid chair closer to the fire for her and sat across from her on a footstool, leaning forward, taking both of her hands in his. “You might be right. I’m not sure I do have a life, in the fullest sense. The thought of living close to another human being every day for the rest of my life scares the shit out of me.”

  She made her voice light. “Heloise and Abelard, then?”

  He winced. “Surely there’s a better example than medieval castration.”

  “The point being, we’re still friends.” To her surprise, the awful phrase comforted her. She couldn’t imagine her life without Colin playing some part in it.

  He stood, pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “We’re still friends,” he said against her hair, “until I work up the courage to ask you for more.”

  It was a tender moment, and she sank into it like bubble bath, letting his words lap over her. Then they cooled. Smug bastard, she thought. If it takes that much courage, then by the time you get there I might be somewhere else entirely.

  “That was our last kiss,” she murmured into his neck.

  Colin pushed her away and held her by the shoulders, trying to read her expression.

  “At least for a year.” She told him about the job. “It means almost constant travel and, if they offer it, I’m going to accept.”

  Her smile trembled a little as she put a finger on his lips and traced a line down to the cleft in his chin. “Besides, you’re a good priest. I’m not sure we want to mess that up.” She kissed his cheek fast and turned to go.

  “Sarah, wait. There’s something I want you to . . .”

  She wheeled around. “No! Don’t you dare try to talk me out of this, Colin McAvoy.”

  He blinked. “Right. I just . . .” He blew out a gust of breath. “Okay. Take the job. Just be careful, okay? And I want an email every day, so I know you’re safe.”

  “Like you sent me from Scotland?”

  “No,” he said, and though his smile was rueful, he seemed lit up all of a sudden, unaccountably happy. “Nothing held back.”

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  Acknowledgements

  It takes a village. Fervent thanks to Janet Wilding, for freeing my imagination that first night over dinner; Holly Silva, for erasing Nancy Drew; Dr. Mary Case, an extraordinary forensic pathologist, for informing and inspiring me; the Rev. John Padberg, S.J., for astute insights and reliable wisdom; Dr. Berit Brogaard, for her uncanny grasp of human psychology; Deb Crombie, for encouraging me with her brilliant writing and sharing Diane Hale; and to Diane Hale, for shifting all those declarative journalistic sentences into something a little more artful. Whatever is not artful or accurate is entirely my own doing.