Somewhere Unexpected

by Suzanne Glidewell

  I should never have kissed her. Would it have been better if I had never met her in the first place? I couldn’t bring myself to believe that. Even though it sucked now, I cared too much about her to wish she’d never come into my life. I’d never been friends with a woman, but she had become that for me...and of course I had to go and ruin it with sex...well, technically not sex, but that seemed to be a moot point.

  My mind flooded with all the mistakes I had made towards women in the past. I tallied up all the reasons why Maura was right to declare that she would never be with a guy like me. I lost track of time and was brought back to reality when I heard the door to the front office open. Michael walked into the shop.

  “What’s up?” I kept my head under the hood.

  “Mom sent me over. She said you weren’t answering your phone or the office phone, so she got worried.”

  “I lost track of time,” I said simply, still staring at the engine. He stood next to the car as I continued to work.

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Vacuum leak.”

  “You find the source yet?”

  “I used the analyzer, but it doesn’t look like the hoses, so probably the manifold.”

  “You going to leave anything for me and the guys to work on tomorrow?” he kidded.

  I shrugged. “I was thinking I would just come in tomorrow, call the owner and get it taken care of.”

  He gave me a questioning look.

  “I’m sure Colleen would appreciate it,” I said.

  “That’s very kind of you, but she’s heading up north with the kids and her mom to visit her sister. I’m not about to volunteer myself to go along.”

  “Wow, eleven years and still not getting along with the sister-in-law,” I reflected dryly. “Well, just take the day off anyway. I won’t tell her you didn’t come in.”

  He let out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “Suit yourself, but I’m still coming in tomorrow.”

  “Tommy, I’m sure there are several more interesting things you can do with your day off than come here.”

  I didn’t respond as I contemplated turning the car on to see if I could find the exact source of the leak.

  “Tommy,” he tried to get my attention. “Come on, it’s almost nine o’clock on a Friday; shouldn’t you be out at a bar trying to get laid?” he half joked.

  “Yeah, ‘cause that’s what everybody expects from me anyway, right? I couldn’t possibly be trying to run a successful business.”

  “Man, I was just kidding. You know I appreciate your work. I just don’t think you need to be doing it right now at the expense of our mother’s nerves.”

  I moved past him and turned the car back on.

  “You know Dad used to do this too,” he called over the horrible hissing sound the car made while it idled. “He used to stay here and work four, five hours after closing whenever something was bothering him.”

  “I know.” I got up and walked back over to the engine. “I was usually the reason for it,” I recalled curtly.

  “So you should know it isn’t the best strategy for fixing your problems.”

  “Keeps the bills paid,” I bent over, determined to find the leak before I left for the night. Michael wasn’t so committed to my mission, turning off the car without asking permission.

  “What the fuck? I almost had it,” I lied.

  “Frank and I will find it tomorrow.”

  I opened my mouth to argue.

  “Tommy, you can’t live with Mom and go a whole week without eating dinner and not freak her out,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just tell me what’s wrong...or go home and tell her what’s wrong.”

  I irresponsibly tossed my wrench back on the workbench, something our dad would have lit into me for if he were there. But he wasn’t. He was dead. That’s how this whole mess had started anyway, right?

  “Mom’s convinced you’re planning to move back to New York. She’s already blaming herself for it,” he told me, trying to guilt me into talking.

  “I’m not moving back to New York,” I declared. “Anyway, what the fuck would you care? You expect me to buy into the whole concerned big brother act?” I snarled, projecting all my frustration about Maura onto him.

  “Look, Tommy, I know we’ve never been close, but...I don’t know...it seems like ever since Dad died and you came back, things have been different. It’s like you finally want to be part of the family and aren’t doing everything in your power to push us away. I know we’re not the greatest of pals, but I like having you around,” he paused, his discomfort clear, “and if there’s anything I can do to keep you around, then I want to...even if it’s just for the sake of not having to talk down our overbearing mother at the same time as trying to manage four boys and a wife who’s six months pregnant during one of the hottest summers ever.”

  I stood with my hands on my hips, still feeling the urge to ignore him and turn the car back on to find the source of that damn leak.

  “I mean, I know I’m not a priest like your new friend, Father Sean, but I like to think I might have a little insight when it comes to life.”

  “Please, he was hardly any help at all,” I muttered, reflecting on how simple Father Sean had made everything with Maura seem.

  “You talked to him?”

  “Sort of. He has this way of forcing matters on people.”

  “Is this about having to work here? I know you never wanted to be a mechanic and you stepped in when we had nobody else.”

  “No, that’s not it.” I grabbed a towel and started wiping the grease off my hands. I threw it down. “That’s not it at all. I like working here more than I ever thought I would,” I admitted. I finally moved over and closed the hood of the car, accepting that I wasn’t going to get to work on it for the rest of the night.

  “Then what is it?”

  I let a silence pass.

  “Woman troubles,” I mumbled, feeling stupid. It was embarrassing to fess up to being bothered by something so juvenile.

  “A woman?” He sounded surprised.

  “Yep,” I sighed, picking up the wrench I had discarded.

  “What woman?”

  I hadn’t dated anybody to his knowledge since I returned at the end of January. I neatly placed the wrench back in a nearby cabinet.

  “Maura.”

  “McCormick?” I could understand why he was confused. Sometimes even I still couldn’t believe how someone like me had gotten involved with someone like her.

  “Yep.” I waited to see what else he could possibly offer.

  “So, you’re dating her?”

  “No, she’s been pretty clear that that will never happen. Unfortunately, like a jackass, I seem to have fallen in love with her. Hence–”

  “Hence searching for vacuum leaks in a gasket manifold at nine o’clock on a Friday,” he filled in.

  “I mean, I really can’t blame her for not being interested. You yourself said it, I should be out trying to get laid right now. That’s who I am. It’s not like I ever tried to be anything better.”

  “And what’d the priest say?”

  “Oh, he was grossly optimistic. Tried to convince me that all I had to do was tell her how I felt and everything would fall into place. But after considering it for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think I should be taking advice from Maura’s ex-boyfriend who’s now celibate.”

  “Wait, the priest is her ex-boyfriend?” Michael became more confused with each piece of the story.

  “Exactly. So you can see how I am the farthest thing from what she would ever want.”

  A silence passed. Michael shook his head and let out a laugh. I guess our moment of brotherly bonding was over.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “Jesus, you are so much like him,” he shook his head. “I can�
�t believe neither of you were able to recognize it before. The stubbornness alone should’ve tipped both of you off. I guess it makes more sense now why you’re Mom’s favorite.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Dad,” he answered. “You’re just like him. Except the art stuff. We all know you got that from Mom...but everything else; it’s all there,” he sighed.

  Since my dad was the last person in the world I’d ever thought I had anything in common with, Michael’s declaration didn’t make sense to me. He saw my furrowed brow and realized that I was missing part of the story.

  “When Dad was younger, he was part of this motorcycle gang. Nothing serious, mostly street racing and the occasional fist fight. He barely graduated high school and probably wouldn’t have found work if Grandpa hadn’t owned the shop. I think he even had to stay in jail overnight a few times for disrupting the peace.”

  I was shocked. All I had ever been told was that my dad used to have a motorcycle but had sold it to buy my mother’s engagement ring.

  “But then one day, Grandma forced him to go to a church picnic. And that’s where he met Mom.”

  “Wait, no. I thought Mom and Dad dated in high school,” I countered.

  “Hardly. They went to the same school, but Mom would have never hung out with such a wild crowd. He started going to church just so she would give him the time of day.” Michael grinned. “It all makes sense now why you’ve been coming to mass with us.”

  “I was going for Mom,” I disputed. “I figured it would make up for all those years I upset her by not going.”

  “Uh-huh,” he feigned agreement with a nod. “And who inspired you to do that?”

  I paused, knowing he had a point.

  He laughed again. “Come on, let’s go get a drink, Romeo.” He motioned his head towards the door. “I can tell you everything Dad taught me about pursuing women who are too good for you. The first thing being that they’re really the only ones worth pursuing in the first place.”

  MAURA

  After struggling all week with deciding whether I should go to confession or not, I willed myself to drive to Blessed Sacrament late Saturday afternoon. I couldn’t, in good conscience, receive communion again until I went, at the very least because I’d skipped Mass the previous Sunday. If I just confessed that I missed Mass, would that cover the entirety of the sin? Then I could avoid going into detail about why I’d missed Mass in the first place. But if someone missed Mass because they had been too busy murdering someone, simply confessing that they had missed Mass would not be sufficient to also receive absolution for the murder. Oh, the joys of being a Catholic who participated in the sacraments. Martin Luther may have had several valid points.

  I parked. The next step would be to get out of the car and walk into the church. No big deal.

  Get out of the car, Maura. Just don’t think about it, I tried to motivate myself.

  Really? Not thinking is what got you into this whole mess anyway. You seemed to accomplish NOT thinking pretty successfully last Saturday, my internal lecture continued as I got out and locked my door.

  God, what if Ethan was here?

  I scanned the parking lot, looking for his car as I made my way into the church. Thankfully, I didn’t see it. Although, if he did see me, it would probably help my case for him thinking I wasn’t a terrible Catholic. He might even assume I was seeking forgiveness for all the babies I had inadvertently killed by voting for pro-choice candidates and turning a blind eye when Sydney gave girls information about how to get birth control.

  Why do I even still care? Wait. Should I confess all that stuff too?

  I mulled over all the grey areas that Ethan would probably judge me for. It was easier to examine my conscience regarding that instead of what had happened with Thomas. Sydney’s unwelcome analysis on Tuesday had loomed in my head all week. It was easy for her to think that I could simply date Thomas regardless of all his shortcomings when it came to faith and spirituality; people who weren’t religious would never understand why that mattered in a relationship.

  Then again, I had made it the priority with every guy I had dated for the past ten years and it didn’t seem to be yielding very positive results. Had the past ten years all been a sign that I was destined for religious life? Oh great, another thought to obsess over while I stood in line.

  The wait seemed to take forever even though there were only four people in front of me. I was upset at the people who showed up for confession that day. Honestly, if it was going to take more than five minutes, they really should’ve scheduled an appointment for a different time. Then again, I might be able to get absolution without having to physically confess anything if time ran out before the Saturday vigil Mass. I had heard of it happening before, of course at more liberal churches, where the priest had deemed the effort to receive the sacrament enough of a confession in the first place. I probably would not be so lucky with a priest like Father Jack or Father Bernard behind the confessional door.

  I took a deep breath when I finally saw the person ahead of me step out and leave the door open. I stepped in. I was not a fan of the anonymity that came with the old school confession style. Yes, I was one of those hippies who liked receiving the sacrament face to face. It seemed more awkward to talk to a wall. But I really couldn’t be picky that night. I closed the door and knelt before the screen. Then I heard the last voice on the planet I wanted to hear.

  “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Sean started.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said in whispered exclamation.

  He paused.

  “Seriously?” I lamented. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, still maintaining my hushed tone.

  “Father Bernard had to visit his sister in Kansas, so they asked me to fill in,” he explained.

  I let out a sigh.

  “This is wrong on so many levels.”

  There had to be some policy written somewhere that forbade priests from hearing their ex-girlfriend’s confession.

  “Well, then stop taking up other people’s time,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I didn’t move, but also didn’t say anything.

  “You know it’s the same sacrament no matter who administers it.”

  A brief silence passed. I tried to determine how badly I wanted absolution that night. “Just start with any of the commandments that have been broken,” he coached.

  I remained silent.

  “Are you really here to waste my time with the venial stuff?” he attempted to joke.

  “I didn’t go to Mass last Sunday,” I finally confessed. That would be sufficient, given the circumstances. God would understand. I should get points just for being here.

  “And what kept you from Mass?”

  Damn it.

  “What does that matter?” I challenged. I never thought I would find myself bickering with a priest during Reconciliation. Yet another sin against me.

  “Context is everything. You know that. If you missed Mass because you had to go see someone in the hospital or your car broke down, obviously that’s not something that needs to be reconciled,” he explained what I already knew.

  “I wasn’t in a space to go to Mass.”

  “Because…” he continued to probe.

  “Because I slept with Thomas, okay?” I blurted.

  He was silent.

  “I mean, I didn’t sleep with him, as in have sex, but I fell asleep with him...after we…”

  “Okay, I get it,” he stopped me before I started describing more.

  “Clearly you see why this is awkward,” I muttered.

  “Oh, I highly doubt you’d be more comfortable talking to Father Bernard about this,” he argued. I could picture his stupid, know-it-all smirk.

  “Fine. I get it; I’m a horrible slut. There’s no ne
ed to shame me anymore than I’ve already done.”

  “Whoa, I did not say that. Nor do I think that in the least,” he clarified.

  There was a lull.

  “What were your intentions?”

  “My intentions?” I asked with confusion.

  “Yeah, your intentions. Was it purely physical or was it misguided affection?”

  “I don’t know. It’s doesn’t matter.”

  “Well you know that I know that this whole purity thing can be extremely challenging...especially if you care about the other person.” He paused. “Do you care about him?”

  I sat there in silence, staring at the screen.

  “Maura?”

  “You know, I don’t think how I feel about him has anything to do with it. A sin is a sin is a sin.” Defensive righteousness seemed to be my go-to response in relation to Thomas these days.

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like you at all,” he laughed quietly. His lightheartedness annoyed me.

  “You know this whole setup is supposed to be anonymous,” I deflected. “You’re really just supposed to let the confessor state their sins, give the penance and absolution, and be done with it. If I wanted counseling, I would pay for it.”

  “Fair point.” His tone was calm. “Is there anything else you’d like to confess that can’t wait until your standard annual trip to the Lenten reconciliation service in the spring?” he said dryly, knowing I didn’t regularly receive the sacrament. I pursed my lips.

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” I responded pointedly.

  He waited a moment.

  “Do you still know the prayer of Saint Jude?”

  “Yes,” I answered with annoyance. Was he being smart in asking me? As if I had fallen from grace so much that I wouldn’t remember one of my favorite prayers?

  “Okay, your penance is the prayer of Saint Jude.”

  “Excuse me, are you saying I’m a lost cause?” I asked, offended, even though that was pretty much what I’d been thinking about myself ever since Ethan had broken up with me.