Love, Luck, and Little Green Men: A Contemporary Romance

by Diane Kelly

“Gotta admit,” Tammy said, wiping a dollop of lemon goo from her lip and licking it off her finger. “I always thought Irish food sucked. But this isn’t so bad.”

  When it neared the time for our performance, we made our way to the main stage at the center of the grounds. Brendan wheeled my father up close to the stage, situating his chair next to the seat my mother took at the end of the front row.

  “Break a leg!” Dad called after us as we headed off to change into our costumes.

  I turned and gave him a smile. I already had a broken heart. I didn’t need a broken leg, too. Though I knew he only meant his words as encouragement.

  We slipped into our costumes and paced in the nylon tent that served as a makeshift dressing room, peeking out to see the seats filling. People stood to the sides and rear once the seats had filled. No doubt our reputation as the must-see show of the festival had proceeded us. The green wigs worn by some in the audience were hardly traditional, but all in the name of fun. Everyone wanted to be Irish today.

  My students arrived, on time and excited, their hair in the requisite tight curls or curly hairpieces. All those weeks of practice would finally be put to the test today.

  The girls looked absolutely beautiful in the step dance costumes my mother had made on her well-used Singer sewing machine. The price of professionally-made Irish step dance costumes began around eight-hundred dollars and soared upward from there. Neither I nor my students would have been able to afford such a luxury. Ma had ordered a pattern, carefully measured each of us, then bought three full bolts of stiff cotton material. The deep green fabric was adorned with colorful hand-embroidered gold scrollwork and gold sequins. Riley and Brendan wore black dress pants and black dress shirts, complemented by green neckties which my mother had also embroidered with matching scrollwork. The sewing service she’d provided was her way of supporting my dream, and I loved her for it.

  When the time came for my troupe to perform, we quietly took our places to the side of the stage, every nerve ending buzzing in anticipation. The announcer introduced us, adding that Flaherty’s Footworks would feature a special guest this year, an actual Leprechaun from Cork City, Ireland. The crowd erupted in laughter and applause. I barely had time to take a breath before the music kicked in and we were on.

  Brendan followed me up the three steps to the stage. A sick feeling coursed through me when I realized it might be our last public performance together. I forced the thought from my mind. The last thing I needed right then was to lose focus.

  We proceeded to our starting spots on the stage, the girls and I executing quick curtsies while Brendan and Riley bowed to the audience. Then we were off and dancing.

  Our reel performance was our best ever, flawless, energetic, all our taps in perfect synch. When Seamus burst onto the stage, kicking up his heels in his black-buckled shoes, the crowd went wild, applauding, whistling, whooping it up. As he’d done in practice, Seamus whipped off his shirt and showed off his well-defined muscles. From her spot next to my parents in the front row, Tammy made a show of fanning herself with the program. Much to Seamus’ chagrin, the newspaper reporter watching the performance would later refer to him as “The Little Lord of the Dance.”

  We tapped and twirled around our way around the stage, weaving in and out of each other, forming lines for several beats, then breaking into other formations. Near the end of the dance, the females left the stage, leaving Brendan and Riley behind. The two performed a piece that was as much duel as duet, each of them performing a complex series of steps and challenging the other to repeat them. Their hard-core stomping shook the stage. The effect was comical and entertaining, and, as expected, the crowd loved them. In the end, Riley performed an impossibly fast-footed challenge to which Brendan responded by faking a heart attack and falling to the stage. While the crowd roared with laughter, Riley grabbed Brendan’s legs and dragged him off the stage.

  Seamus, his shirt back on now, performed a brief solo while the rest of us dancers changed into our soft shoes for our slip jig. As the little faerie bowed and sidestepped to stage right, we retook the stage. Our next dance went just as well. The dance ended with me and Britney leaping with our legs extended out to each side, our hands reaching out toward our toes. As she and I each slid downward into a straddle split, Riley and Brendan ran up from behind us, soaring in a leap over our heads. The crowd loved the daring maneuver, bursting into ear-splitting applause.

  Britney and Riley slipped off stage, quickly easing out of their soft shoes and into their green high tops for their hip-hop duet. When they began popping and locking on stage, the crowd burst into more applause. The two managed to work in several traditional Irish step moves among their hip-hop gyrations. I’d let them choreograph the routine themselves, though I’d made them remove a couple moves that seemed a bit too suggestive. What a hypocrite I was, huh?

  As Riley and Britney held their four-second pose, the music morphed from the Black Eyed Peas into Michael Bublé, and Brendan and I swept onto the stage for our sassy, romantic number. Thank goodness Stella Nagley wasn’t in the crowd today or Brendan and I would both be excommunicated for sure.

  It felt so good, so right to be in Brendan’s arms, to be moving with him in perfect synch as if we were one. To the crowd, we probably looked like a couple in love, enjoying a dance together.

  Why couldn’t things be as simple as they appeared?

  At the end of the song, Brendan dipped me and held me for six counts, our gazes locked on each other. A ripple of agony traveled through me when I realized this might be the last time we’d perform this particular dance together. The anguish evident in Brendan’s eyes told me he was thinking the same thing.

  The kids rushed back onto the stage for their students-only number. Brendan and I climbed down from the stage, panting with exertion, our lungs glad for the break. The kids’ performance was fantastic, their proud parents snapping photos on their digital cameras and shooting video on their camcorders.

  Before I knew it, we were back on stage for our last number. Our finale was flawless, our circle maintaining its shape. After our final pose, we stepped into a long line and joined hands, Brendan on one side of me, Riley on the other. We raised our hands into the air, then lowered them as we bowed. The applause was nothing short of a roar. When we broke the line, Brendan turned and picked me up, twirling me playfully in a circle, then giving me a kiss on the cheek before he set me back down on the stage. Instinctively, I put my hand to my cheek as if to seal his kiss there forever.

  CHAPTHER THIRTY-FIVE

  SUNDAY, MARCH 14TH

  MASS DESTRUCTION

  The next morning, I woke early and dressed for church in a loose-fitting drab gray shift I’d worn during the early part of my pregnancy with Riley all those years ago. I covered it with a thick white shawl. Foregoing makeup and jewelry, I pulled my hair back in a simple barrette, adding an extra clip next to my ear to hold back that rebellious curl. No perfume, no scented lotion. The only way I could have been less attractive was if I added a wart to my nose. But what was the point of trying harder? Dancing in Brendan’s arms the day before had brought me such joy. But that joy would have to end now. I couldn’t have the man I loved, and I might as well accept it.

  The smell of fresh-brewed coffee lured me to the kitchen. Ma sat at the table in her bathrobe, sipping from a mug as she clipped coupons from the newspaper. She looked up as I walked in, her smile fading as she took in my outfit. “’Mornin’, dear.”

  “’Morning.” My tone matched my somber mood. I poured myself a mug of coffee, added a dash of flavored cream, and plopped into a chair at the table.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “PMS,” I replied. A lie, of course, but I didn’t feel like talking about my true feelings, my heartache.

  “Ah. That explains the horrid outfit.”

  “Gee, thanks, Ma.”

  She ignored me and turned her attention back to her coupons.

  ***

  Two hours la
ter we sat in church in our usual pew. Stella Nagley sat directly in front of me today. I fought the urge to beat her over the head with the hymnal. Thanks to that meddling old witch, Brendan would likely be transferred to another church.

  Or worse.

  Seamus slipped into the pew beside me and looked me up and down, his lip curling up in distaste. “Out of clean laundry?”

  Nope. Out of hope.

  When Brendan walked in, his face was weary, his shoulders drooped. His gait lacked its usual energy, and he walked like a man headed to the gallows. When he took his place at the altar, his eyes roamed over the congregation, and he was quiet for a moment. A couple coughs sounded from the pews. His eyes met mine across the sea of heads. He leaned on the altar as if having trouble standing. After a few seconds, he composed himself and began mass. At several points in the service, he stumbled over his words, losing his place. He’d performed thousands of masses over the years and had remarked that he could probably recite the entire thing in his sleep.

  Something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  When it was time for the sign of peace ritual, Stella Nagley turned around and shook hands with the couple seated to my left, ignoring my extended hand. Fine with me. As far as I was concerned, that woman could go straight to Hades. God forgive me.

  I shook the hand of the man seated next to her. “Peace be with you.”

  He smiled and returned the sentiment.

  Later, when I stood in front of Brendan to receive communion, he wouldn’t meet my gaze. Not a good sign.

  I sat in the pew feeling sick and hollow. Love was supposed to be a beautiful emotion, greater even than hope or faith. The Bible said so! Why did the Catholic Church make it seem so wrong, so dirty, so ugly? I understood the Church believed a priest should devote himself entirely to God’s service, that having a family could be a distraction, cause a priest to lose focus, divert him from his work. But wasn’t it expecting too much of a man to maintain such an intense devotion, such constant single-mindedness? Other Christians didn’t expect so much from their clergy, had no problem with their ministers taking a wife and having children. If only we were Baptists, or Lutherans, or Episcopalians. Heck, that fringe Mormon sect let their leaders have multiple wives.

  But there was no use lamenting the rules. The rules had been in place forever. And the rules would be enforced.

  At the end of mass, Brendan stepped into place in front of the altar. “I have an announcement to make.” He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering past Stella Nagley. “This will be the last mass I will lead here at Saint Anthony’s.”

  A murmur went up from the crowd.

  My heart seemed to shrivel in my chest, turning into a cold little stone, like the replenishing stone Seamus had put in Tammy’s tip jar. Hardly able to speak, I turned to the little man next to me. My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Did you know about this?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m just as surprised as you.”

  From the front of the church, Brendan continued. “I was informed this morning that I will be transferred at the end of the week to a parish in Williston, North Dakota.”

  No.

  No!

  NO!

  This couldn’t be! North Dakota was far, far away. About as far as a person could get from north Texas. It was practically in Canada! I’d never even heard of Williston. It was probably a small town in the middle of nowhere, somewhere the church thought Brendan could be isolated, kept from me and the temptations I posed.

  The murmurs erupted again, louder this time as the congregants speculated about the transfer, the reasons for it, why so little notice had been given. More than a few curious heads turned my way. Oh, dear Lord! Was it that obvious? Did the other parishioners know about me and Brendan?

  In my peripheral vision, I could see Ma and Da look my way. Riley, too. But I couldn’t look at them. If I did, I’d burst into tears. Instead, I turned my sorrow into anger and glared at the back of Stella Nagley’s head so intently I’m surprised her hair didn’t catch fire.

  Brendan would be transferred. Forced to leave the town he’d called home for years, forced to leave the congregation he adored and who adored him back. Forced to leave me. All because that nasty old woman had made false accusations against him. How dare she! I hoped she rotted in everlasting hell.

  From the altar, Brendan continued. “Father McMann from Saint Elizabeth’s will fill in until a permanent replacement can be found. I-” Brendan’s voice caught and he grasped the podium with both hands as if he needed help to remain standing. “I have enjoyed serving this parish, and I thank all of you who have made my time here pleasant.” His words contained an implicit jab at Stella Nagley, who had been nothing but unpleasant. “May God bless you.”

  With that, he signaled the altar servers to begin their procession down the aisle. He stepped into place behind them, staring straight ahead as he made his way to the foyer, looking like a man marching to his death.

  ***

  A crowd of parishioners gathered around Brendan in the lobby, asking questions, wishing him the best in his new home. I rushed by, leaving Riley and Ma to help Da outside. I ran down the steps. The bright sunshine seemed to taunt me as I hurried to my car. With my shaking hands, I had a hard time getting the key in the lock. I climbed in, slammed the door, and hunched over so those walking past couldn’t see the tears falling into my lap.

  Why was this happening? I’d already lost my chance at an education, given up on my dream to own a dance studio. Did I have to give up the man I loved, too? Was it God’s will that Brendan and I be torn apart? If it were, then He was a cruel, sadistic jerk. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to believe in Him anymore.

  ***

  Brendan called me later that day, asking me to meet him somewhere we could speak privately. We arranged to meet at my shop.

  Brendan was sitting on the curb in front when I arrived. He’d mis-buttoned his striped shirt, the collar sticking up awkwardly on one side. His jeans were wrinkled, rumpled, as if he’d simply grabbed a pair from the laundry basket. His face was pale, dark circles under his eyes.

  I parked and our eyes met through my windshield. After a few seconds I forced myself to get out of my car. I took a seat on the curb next to him.

  We sat for a few moments in silence, staring at the asphalt in front of us.

  “I’ve never seen that dress before,” he said finally.

  “Haven’t worn it in years. Since I was pregnant with Riley.”

  “You look pretty in it.”

  I laughed mirthlessly. “I look like a walking corpse in it.”

  “You always look pretty to me.”

  His words were a knife in my soul. Things would be so much easier if he didn’t have feelings for me. It had been so much easier to resist him when I didn’t know he returned my love.

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  My voice broke when I tried to speak. “Where the heck is Willliston?”

  “Smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The congregation has only forty families. It’s a third the size of Saint Anthony’s.”

  This wasn’t just a transfer, then. It was also a demotion. Falling in love with a parishioner wasn’t exactly the wisest career move for a Catholic priest.

  “I’m so sorry, Brendan.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve prayed, and prayed, and prayed about this. And I get nothing back. It’s like God isn’t speaking to me anymore.” His eyes held pain and hurt. “I’ve tried to follow my calling, done my best to be as good a priest as I could be. Why is God doing this to me, Erin? To us?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  Brendan had worked for years serving God, had led so many people to faith, had given so many spiritual comfort. And this was how God repaid him? It wasn’t fair. But fair or not, there was nothing we could do.

  Brendan sighed, looking off into the distance. “North Dakota could be okay, I guess. It would be fun to see real snow again.”

&nbs
p; “Yeah. You could make a real snowman. Not those teeny half-snow, half-mud men we make here.”

  He was quiet again for a minute, his jaw working as he wrapped his arms around his knees and stared down at his shoes. “I am really pissed off at God right now.”

  “Me, too.”

  “If He were standing in front of me, I’d kick His ass.” Brendan turned to me, pain in his eyes. “It’s like my father all over again. Screwing up my life. Taking my options from me. Hurting the people I love most.” He reached out and removed the barrette holding my rebellious curl in check. The curl now free, he gave it a gentle tug. “How am I going to live without you, Erin?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  MONDAY, MARCH 15TH

  CONFESSION

  Brendan dropped Seamus at my shop on Monday, but he didn’t stay. He had to see about renting a truck for his move up north before he held confessions. I watched him drive away, realizing I’d see him only a few times more before he left.

  Then I might never see him again.

  I had accepted long ago that Brendan and I would never have a romantic relationship, but I hadn’t realized how much I’d counted on having some type of relationship with him. He meant so much to me, to Riley, on so many levels. He was my best friend, my spiritual advisor, the person I could always count on no matter what. He’d been like a father to Riley, a role model, someone my son could turn to with those questions a young man doesn’t want to ask his mother. The thought of Brendan leaving felt as if my very soul were being ripped from my body. Without him, I’d be nothing more than a hollow shell, like those chocolate Easter bunnies parents bought for their children’s baskets each spring.

  I spent the morning on the bookkeeping, having to rework the numbers three times before the records would balance. I had a hard time seeing with tears stinging my eyes, had a hard time concentrating with the pain in my heart. Was Brendan’s transfer a punishment intended for me? For my plans to dance in the wet T-shirt contest? If God wanted to punish me, He’d done it. But it seemed like He was ordering the death penalty for a misdemeanor. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.