“You don’t think they can prove anything?”
“I’ve seen this happen before with families. They turn on one another at a time like this. But it rarely goes anywhere.”
She slumped into a chair, her whole body shaking. “My God. What do I do?”
“You let me handle this. We’re probably going to need you to come down to Boston for a meeting at some point, just to give testimony of the accident.”
“What if they prove it was my fault?”
“They won’t. I do have one bit of advice.”
“Yes?”
“Do not claim responsibility for the accident in any way. Don’t even hint to anyone that it could have been your fault. I know you feel responsible because you were driving. But do not say that out loud.”
She felt as if someone had punched her. “Oh, Jesus. At the hospital, when I came out of surgery, Susan visited me. I remember saying, ‘It was my fault.’ What if she uses that?”
“I’ll argue that was a normal reaction, given what you’d been through. Besides, you didn’t know Matt and Cooper had died, and you were coming out of anesthesia. Just don’t talk to anyone. Refer all questions to me.”
“If I just give them everything, will that end it?”
“It will make you look guilty. Besides, it isn’t about the money. The Barnes’ have more than enough in assets. This is about justice, in their minds. Let me handle this, okay?”
“Will you call me after you talk to their lawyers?”
“I promise.”
“I’m going to buy a fax machine today. I’ll have it set to the house phone. You have that number.”
“Good idea. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Thank you, Milton.”
“You’re welcome.”
She snapped the cell phone closed and crossed the room. But when she reached the door, she dropped her forehead against the cool wood. Her fingers trailed over the jagged scar along her neck. She hadn’t spoken with her in-laws since the funeral. She had left a message for them when she was leaving Boston for Miley’s Cove and again when she returned to go through the house. She had asked if they wanted to meet her there to take anything of Matt’s. They hadn’t responded—until now.
Jenny returned from her second trip to the office supply store to find Patrick pacing in the living room.
“Where were you?” he demanded.
“I had to run an errand. I’m sorry about cutting you off earlier, but the call from the attorney was important.”
“Did it have to do with this?” He held up the letter she had left on the coffee table. “I shouldn’t have read it, but…”
She set down the box holding the fax machine. “I would have told you anyway. Matt’s parents are going to file a wrongful death suit against me.”
“That’s ridiculous.” He tossed the letter onto the table. “What does your attorney say?”
“He doesn’t think they have a chance of proving my negligence but, unfortunately, I’ve been openly claiming responsibility for the accident. I felt it was my fault because I was driving, but I certainly didn’t intend for it to happen. I’m going to have to go to Boston for a while, until this is sorted out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You can’t. You have to be here for your dad, and you have work. Milton says it’s just a matter of going through the motions. I’ll repeat my account of what happened, they’ll review the police reports and the truck driver’s testimony, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Why did they wait so long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the reality took time to set in. It did for me. I don’t think I accepted the fact that Matt and Cooper were gone until I came up here alone. I notified the Barnes’ when I went to Boston to close up the house. I think that must have started the ball rolling.” She sat down at the table.
He followed, sitting opposite her. “Dad will be fine for a few days, so will the business. I can have Jack take care of things, if you need me.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure I can stay with Ashley. I’ll call you if I need you to come.”
He locked eyes with her. “Promise?”
“I promise. Believe me, I’ll need all the friends I have. You’ve never met William and Susan Barnes.”
Patrick squeezed her hand and grinned. “Yeah, well they’ve never met the dynamic duo of Patrick Doyle and Jenny O’Connell.”
The joke dated back to Halloween years earlier, when Jenny was ten and Patrick eleven. He dressed as Batman and insisted Jenny dress as Robin, even though she had wanted to dress as Malibu Barbie, despite the bitter cold Maine weather.
Her brief laughter eased the fear that gripped her. Once again, Patrick was ready to ride in and save the day—save her. She stared back into his eyes. “What? What are you looking at?”
“I’m looking for the girl I used to know—the one who didn’t let anyone walk over her. Not even me. I know she’s in there somewhere.”
Jenny bit her lip and tore her eyes from his. “It’s not that simple. William and Susan lost their son and their grandson. They’re hurting, too. Milton’s right. I need to let the lawyers handle this.”
“But you may have to defend yourself, Jenny. Did Matt steal your self-confidence, too?”
She pressed her lips together. “You make compromises, when you have to.” She pulled her hand free from his. “I need to pack. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”
“You’re sick. You shouldn’t be making that drive alone.”
“I’ll be fine by morning.”
“Can we have dinner tonight?”
Her eyes swept over his face. “I don’t have much of an appetite. But I won’t turn down the company.”
“I’ll see you later. I’ll pick up whatever Shelly’s serving as the special. If you need anything else, call me.”
She watched him climb into his truck. She breathed deeply, seemingly for the first time in a long time. She and Patrick had turned a corner, found their way back to the beginnings of friendship once again. She would have to be careful. It would be so easy to let him save her, but she would end up hurting him again, somehow. If only because of what she couldn’t offer.
Jenny set up the fax machine. She sat in front of the fire, eyes closed, reviewing her interactions with Matt’s parents since the accident. Susan had been concerned, at first, uncharacteristically warm toward her. She and her husband had made all the funeral arrangements without consulting Jenny. Susan claimed it was because of Jenny’s condition and the fact that she probably wouldn’t be able to attend the funeral anyway. Jenny knew it was a matter of Susan gaining control. Once Jenny was discharged from the hospital, neither William nor Susan had contact with her.
Matt’s parents had never gone to great lengths to cloak their displeasure at Matthew’s choice of a wife. Jenny had overheard Susan telling a friend once that Jenny had “trapped” Matthew into the marriage. Jenny had tolerated the constant slighting for Cooper’s sake. His grandparents doted on him, and she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that relationship. In the past few years, she had found excuses for not attending family functions. And no one questioned her.
What self-confidence Jenny had that had not been stripped by Matt had been compromised for the sake of keeping family peace. But, now, what did she have to lose?
Chapter Thirteen
Jenny arrived in Boston late the following morning. She used the key Ashley had given her to let herself into the apartment. Her head throbbed and her body screamed for sleep, but she called Milton Sachs first. “I’m in Boston. What did the Barnes’ attorneys have to say?”
“They want to schedule a deposition to get your account of what happened that night. Are you up to it?”
She coughed. “Do I have a choice?”“
“I can tell them you’re under the weather. Buy a few days.”
“No. Let’s get this over with. Just tell me where to be, and when.”
“Let me see if I can get Ry
ker on the phone. Can you hold?”
She responded with a cough and a strangled, “Yes.”
Milton scheduled the deposition for the following morning in his office, putting Jenny on familiar turf.
“They have the police reports with my account of what happened. Why do they want this again?” she asked.
“It’s standard procedure when a suit is being filed. Try not to worry.” Milton walked her to the door. “I’ll be right beside you to step in if need be.”
Back at the apartment, Jenny paced like a nervous cat. Ashley wouldn’t be home from the office until close to six. Jenny felt as if two hundred volts of electricity were running through her body. Grabbing her coat and purse, she headed out. A walk in the autumn chill and some fresh air would help clear her head. But first, she wanted to stop by her house and check the desk one last time, see if there was anything else she missed.
The house stood stark against a grey sky threatening of snow. Jenny opened the garage and pulled her SUV inside, parking beside Matt’s Mercedes. For a moment her breath caught, as if she half expected him to be there. She startled when the garage door thumped closed, enveloping her in darkness. When she opened the door leading through the pantry and into the kitchen, she glanced down. A pair of Cooper’s sneakers, so small and well worn, sat just inside the door. She picked them up and ran her fingers over the scuffed leather, then pressed her face to them, searching for his scent. The pungent aroma of rubber filled her nose. Turning one of the shoes over, she picked with her fingernail at a clump of dried mud stuck in the tread of the sole until it broke away.
She moved into the kitchen and placed the shoes on a chair, intending to take them with her. In the den, she tugged open one desk drawer after another, removing and riffling through the contents. There wasn’t much. Matt had been organized, and most everything had been in the files she had already taken. With the exception of the revised Will and medical report, nothing she found had surprised her.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes. Listened to the silence. As she turned to leave, her hip connected with the lamp table and, when she reached to steady the lamp, a slip of paper fell to the floor. Jenny picked it up and read the note and phone number written there.
A pang of guilt stabbed at her. Gavin had been so gracious to her the night of Greta’s dinner party, and she had simply not shown up for lunch the next day, nor had she called. She checked the time—twelve fifteen. She could at least stop by his office, thank him, and explain. In the pantry, she tugged a plastic bag from the shelf and placed the sneakers inside before exiting into the darkened garage.
****
Gavin’s office address was a block from her psychiatrist’s office. Jenny pulled to the curb, stared at the building and double-checked the number on the card. A sign by the front steps read St. Anthony of Padua Rectory. Before she could determine she had the wrong building, the door opened and Gavin appeared on the stoop.
She stepped out of the car and clicked the automatic lock, causing the horn to beep.
“You’re late,” he said.
“This is where you work?” Jenny rounded the car and looked up at him.
“Twenty-four/seven.”
“So, you’re Father Santorino?”
“I was ordained three years ago, and I’ve been serving at St. Anthony’s ever since.” He held the door open for her. “Come in.”
She slid past him and into the dark interior of the house. The air was heavy with the aroma of garlic, the scent of lemon furniture polish, and a hint of stale cigarette smoke.
Gavin closed the door and moved around her. “I hope you like lasagna.”
“I wasn’t expecting lunch. I just stopped by to apologize for not calling or showing up.”
“Well, you’re in luck because Mrs. Colonna made lunch for an army, and I’m the only one here to eat it. Please stay.”
Jenny followed him down the hallway, her heels clacking on the polished hardwood floor. A crucifix hung on the wall to her left, and a small statue, presumably of St. Anthony of Padua, occupied a table on her right. She followed Gavin into a dining room tastefully furnished with a dark cherry table which would easily seat twelve and surrounded by matching high-backed chairs.
A middle-aged woman with graying hair swept up into a chignon, and wearing an apron, delivered a bowl of salad, then returned with a large steaming casserole dish and garlic bread.
“Thanks, Mrs. Colonna. This is Mrs. Barnes, my lunch guest.”
The woman smiled and nodded. “I’ll set another place.”
“I’ll do it.” Gavin held a chair for Jenny and quickly arranged a place setting in front of her.
“Thank you.”
Gavin sat opposite her, snapping the cloth napkin in the air and placing it across his lap. Still confused by his appearance in priestly garb, Jenny sat with her hands folded in her lap, waiting to see what came next.
Gavin smiled, lowered his gaze and recited a short blessing over their meal before picking up the serving fork and lifting a large square of lasagna onto her plate. “It took you a while to decide to join me.”
“I had to go back to Maine and…” She paused. “The truth is, my life is very complicated right now and I don’t need someone else in it.” Another pause, this one longer. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. And I take no offense. Maine is a long commute for your work here.”
His willingness to accept her decision and switch the topic put her at ease. “I telecommute. I came into the city again this week to take care of some business.” Jenny speared salad onto her fork.
“So back to the conversation we started at Greta’s.” He tilted his face and studied her. “What happened to shake your faith?”
His straightforward question took her off guard. Jenny swallowed and lowered her fork. Once she began to talk, the words rolled over one another—her mother’s leaving and then her father’s death, the more recent losses of her grandparents. Losing Matt and Cooper. Jenny paused, pushing her plate away. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very hungry.” Relief washed over her at having put it all out there to a stranger, a man she would probably never see again—a priest bound by confidentiality. Someone who would not judge.
“Don’t apologize. I asked.”
“Some lunch guest. I show up weeks late and bombard you with my life story. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“Does it matter? I’m listening.” He took a long drink of water and set down the stemmed glass. “I’m sorry about your husband and son. I can’t imagine enduring such a loss.”
Unable to speak, she nodded. When the lump in her throat dissipated, she asked, “Do you think we could change the subject? Tell me about St. Anthony’s.”
“You mentioned you were Catholic.”
She grinned. “Once upon a time.”
“What do you remember about St. Anthony of Padua?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.”
Mrs. Colonna reappeared, set down two bowls of ice cream, and exited after giving Jenny an appraising glance.
Gavin leaned on his forearms, his fingers intertwined. “St. Anthony is known as the finder of lost articles. You can imagine the requests he must get for everything from car keys to straying spouses.”
“Oh, yes. I noticed the sign one day in front of the church, around the block—Lost and Found Department.”
“You like that? I thought of it. Father Mariani was ambivalent, but I think it grabs attention.”
“Well, it got mine.”
“Are you lost or found?”
She stared at a painting of a Madonna and Child on the wall behind Gavin. “I’m not sure.” She glanced at his black shirt and white collar. “Do you always lie about your true identity?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Lie? When did I lie to you?”
“You said you were a teacher.”
“I am. I also happen to be a priest.”
She nar
rowed her eyes. “I keep thinking I know you from somewhere.”
“Really?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Unless… What hospital were you in after your accident?”
“Mass General.”
Gavin nodded. “I’m on the chaplain’s list there. It’s coming back to me now. I guess I didn’t recognize you without the bandages. I’m sorry I didn’t remember you. As I recall, you were in and out of consciousness and once you were fully conscious, insisted you did not want to talk to a priest.”
“When you said the grace at dinner, there was something about your voice. I barely looked at you at the hospital, but your voice was soothing when you prayed for me.” She lowered her spoon of ice cream. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
She rolled the water glass between her palms. “How do we know if we’re forgiven?”
“We don’t.”
“But, then, why all the rituals of confession and penance?”
He sat back in his chair. “Because we need to believe it’s possible. That’s what it means to have faith.”
She steadied her eyes on his. “What if it’s not possible? To be forgiven?”
“Ah, then it’s not a question of forgiveness, is it?”
She knitted her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Then it’s a matter of faith.”
“Don’t you ever feel like a trained seal, jumping through hoops, balancing a ball on your nose to get a treat—your ‘heavenly reward’?”
Unoffended, he considered her words. “Good metaphor. Keeping one’s faith and living in the real world can be a balancing act.” He paused. “This isn’t the confessional, and you can tell me it’s none of my business, but I’m curious. What do you need to be forgiven for?” Gavin steadied his eyes on hers. “You think God’s punishing you for the accident that killed your husband and son?”
“Yes. No. I—I don’t know. I grew up in the Catholic Church, but I haven’t participated for a long time. I learned that God has rules and that, when we break the rules, we have to do penance to make up for what we’ve done.”
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