by Jenni Moen
“Well, I have plenty of that.” That was the honest to God truth. All I had was time. I pushed the burger around on my plate, hoping that if I continued to move it, no one would notice that I was no longer eating.
I wasn’t hungry. In fact, I was never hungry. The days of looking in the mirror and worrying that my stomach was too big, that my ass was too round, and that my thighs were too flabby were a thing of the past. I didn’t need to worry about those things any more. I was wasting away, but I didn’t care. With any luck, one day I’d just completely disappear.
“The fries are really good,” he said as if he’d read my mind and thought he could persuade me not to give up.
“Father Paul,” Kate interrupted. “So, where’d you grow up?”
“How about we ditch the ‘Father’?” he asked, looking at me while answering Kate.
“Isn’t he always with us?” she asked, teasing him.
He redirected his gaze to her and laughed loudly. “Indeed. Kate, are you making a joke?”
She giggled like a schoolgirl. “It’s a specialty of mine. If you need pointers, I’d be happy to help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So do your friends just call you ‘Paul’?”
“Typically, yes.” His expression indicated that he thought the question was a ridiculous one. “Though nobody around here does, I guess.” He grew quiet, as if considering the implications of that.
Kate smiled warmly. “Well, fantastic. Grace and I will be your first uncongregational friends in Merriville. We would be happy to call you Paul.”
“Every now and then,” he started, his eyes darting to me before he finished, “it’s nice just to have dinner with a couple of friends.” He emphasized the last word as if he was trying it out.
I stared at him. Unmoving and unbending. I’d spent a lot of time with him while working at Karen’s Kitchen, but he was always ‘Father Paul.’ I didn’t feel comfortable calling him anything else.
“Can I ask you a question, Friend Paul?” she asked. “Even if it’s vocationally related and you’re technically off the clock and we are decidedly uncongregational?”
He pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair intrigued. “Sure. Go for it.”
“Okay, confession time,” she said, her voice a hushed conspiratorial whisper.
“You have one?” he asked, taking a sip of his water.
“No. That would take us all night. I want to know what’s the juiciest, most exciting thing you’ve heard during confession. No names, of course.”
“No names, of course,” he said, clearly entertained. “Well, you know I can’t answer that. Even without names.”
She pouted for a few seconds while her eyes darted between my untouched bacon cheeseburger and her grilled chicken salad. “Okay, tell me this then. Coveting. How bad is it, really? I mean, let’s say that I covet my neighbor’s … rose garden.” She reached for my burger. “I might, theoretically, wander over there and take a look around. Maybe I even pick a flower every now and then, but I leave the bush behind.” I smacked her hand just before she picked it up. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it? Any chance at redemption?” she finished.
Father Paul was amused. “Well,” he began, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … so I’d say you’re in a bit of hot water here … theoretically, of course. Even if you’re only picking a flower every now and then and leaving the bush where it is, it’s still your neighbor’s bush.”
“So you’re saying, ‘don’t touch the bush’?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Don’t touch the bush. You’re going to get burned.”
“Some bushes do that,” she said, nodding seriously.
He laughed. “Maybe you should conduct mass for me on Wednesday,” he said, pointing at Kate.
“Only if you want the place to burn down.”
“Okay, your turn. Tell me about your job. I believe I heard that you’re a travel writer. Tell me about somewhere exciting that you’ve been.”
That was all Kate needed. As she recounted her adventures in exotic places like Madrid, Cambodia, and Machu Picchu, I don’t think she even realized that he’d avoided her question and never really answered why he’d become a priest.
I stayed quiet while they talked throughout the rest of dinner. Kate could on carry a conversation all by herself, but Father Paul somehow managed to interject questions and comments here and there. He seemed genuinely interested in and amused by what she had to say.
At times, it felt like I was watching a first date, except without the awkwardness that comes with not knowing what’s going to happen. She flirted with him, flipping her dark hair, cocking her head, and batting her smoky shadowed eyes at him. Only Kate would flirt so unabashedly with a priest. However, he didn’t seem to mind and actually seemed almost oblivious to it. Or maybe he was as captivated by her as everyone else always seemed to be.
“ – but I’m taking some time off right now,” she finally finished. “I’m trying out something different.”
“A new job?” he asked.
“No. Just a temporary thing. I’m helping out over at Grace’s company.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“They need you, Grace. I’m just filling in and helping Maddox out until you’re ready.” Her voice was low and smooth, her words chosen carefully.
Maddox Grayson had been Jonathan’s right hand man after I’d left the company. We hadn’t talked about it, but I knew that he took over everything after Jonathan’s death. I couldn’t imagine what my travel-writing sister was doing for him. I also couldn’t believe she’d been withholding this information from me. I looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What are you doing there? You’re just a writer.”
Her eyes widened and her chin dropped as if I had slapped her. “The hell.” Her gaze shot back to Father Paul, her shocked expression replaced with a guilty one. “Excuse me, Father.”
“Paul.”
“Yes, excuse me, Father Paul.”
“Or just Paul.”
“Right. Well, in that case, since we’re dropping formalities, you should expect more of such language from me,” she said, nodding in his direction before returning her attention to the me. “I have a degree in economics, Grace. True, I’ve never used it. I’ve never wanted or needed to until now. But its not like I’m a complete imbecile.”
“What are you doing then?” The mood had shifted. The light banter that Father Paul and Kate had been volleying back and forth had been replaced with accusations, justifications, and excuses.
“Well, I’m not really doing anything related to the business,” she conceded. “Maddox and the others do all that. I’m just going through some office things, cleaning some things out, and doing whatever I can to help him keep the place afloat until you’re ready to take over.”
Take over? I had no plans to take anything over.
I shook my head. My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I was torn. I had an insatiable need to hear everything. Yet, a part of me wanted to stay in the dark forever. “I guess it’s confession time after all. Do you go in every day?”
“At first, it was just a couple of days here and there. But I’ve been going in more lately.”
“What are you cleaning up?” I asked. My heart pounded in my chest while I waited for her to answer.
She lowered her gaze and shifted on the bench beside me. I could feel her reluctance. “Maddox wanted someone you trust to go through it. He didn’t think you’d be able to handle it. Not any time soon anyway. There’s stuff in there that he needs, and he doesn’t have time to sift through it all. Honestly, Jonathan wasn’t very organized.”
The utterance of my late husband’s name in an unfavorable light caused everyone at the table to become unnaturally still and quiet. A child cried somewhere in the diner, echoing my thoughts exactly.
“Can we go?” I asked. “I need to get some air.”
Father Paul took out his wallet
and slipped some money on the table. He was immediately on his feet and gestured for us to follow him. “Let me take her to her car,” he said to Kate. “I need to grab something at the church anyway.”
She turned her lost-puppy eyes on me. “I guess so, if that’s what Grace wants.”
I nodded resolutely without meeting her gaze. I needed to put some distance between us. I certainly didn’t want to be trapped in a car with her all the way across town.
The two of them talked quietly as we walked through the parking lot. When we got to the cars, they said their goodbyes while I got into Father Paul’s car.
We traveled several blocks before he pulled over against the curb and finally spoke. “Are you, okay?”
I wasn’t. “I’m fine.”
He turned in his seat and cocked an eyebrow at me. The way he was looking at me, like he could see straight into my marred soul, like he knew the depths of my grief, only made me angrier. It also had the bizarre effect of making me want to talk, even if it was just to lash out.
“Sometimes I feel like I can’t control what’s going to come out of my mouth. I’m just so angry.”
“What makes you angrier?” he asked. “The fact that she didn’t tell you until now or the fact that she’s going through Jonathan’s things?”
I was now in the exact situation I’d been trying to avoid. Our dinner had turned into a Father Paul counseling session. I didn’t want counseling. I didn’t want grief groups, psychiatrists, or priests, poking around in my brain, stirring up emotions that were better left unexpressed. If I let them rise to the surface, I might not survive it. So I said nothing.
“Talk to me, Grace. Please.”
I balled my fists and pressed them into my legs. “I don’t know,” I spat. “Both I guess.”
“Of course, I don’t know Kate very well, but I think her intentions are good. She put her life on hold to be here for you. She wants to help but probably feels pretty useless.”
Was he serious? She feels useless?
“I didn’t ask her to do it.”
“But she probably had no choice but to do it anyway. She obviously loves you, and she’s your family.”
I stared out the window and at the dark storefronts of the closed businesses outside. “I don’t have a family any more.”
“You do. You have Kate, and you have your father. You have everyone at the soup kitchen. You have me.”
I couldn’t be anything to those people any more. I had nothing to offer them, and I didn’t want to be a taker that never gives anything back. “Please don’t,” I said.
“We miss you. The people at Karen’s Kitchen miss you.”
“I can’t go back there. I’m sorry. My heart’s just not in it any more.”
His lips pressed together while he considered that. He reached a hand out as if to touch mine, but then he pulled it back and dropped it in his lap. “The coat drive is coming up. That always meant so much to your mother, and you know you can do it in your sleep.”
Bringing my mother into this was a low blow. Of course, I wanted my mom’s legacy to live on, but there were other people that could take care of it. My dad could pay someone to run it. “I’m not coming in.”
“You don’t have to. I can bring everything to you. Whatever you can’t do at home, I’ll take care of for you.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t think I even cared if there were no coats for the kids of Karen’s Kitchen this year.
I groaned. That wasn’t true. I did care. My heart wrenched in my chest as I pictured my own kids. I wanted to scream.
“I know you want to hide. I know you wake up every day asking why. But there is no why, Grace. You just have to have faith that there’s something else in store for you.”
“Stop,” I said because I didn’t believe in God any more. I didn’t have any faith left. There was nothing else in store for me.
I was losing control. Any second, the dam would break, and there would be enough tears to fill the entire car. I would drown us both with my misery.
“I don’t want there to be a plan,” I said as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his shoulder. The top of my head nestled into his neck and the comforting smell of his laundry detergent washed over me.
“I chose wrong,” I whispered. “I want to go back. I want a redo.”
DENIAL
Grace
“Are you going to get up today?” Kate stood in the doorway to my room. Half-in and half-out of the room, she appeared unsure about whether she should come any closer.
“I haven’t decided,” I said, sliding the object in my hands under my comforter.
“Dinner with the Pretty Prophet was fun, huh?”
“It was okay.” I sat up on the edge of the bed too quickly, and the blood rushed to my head.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Head rush. I just moved too quickly.” She was still blurry through the bright streaks of light and stars screwing up my vision.
“No. What you just hid from me. What was that?” She gave me her best disapproving mother hen look. It didn’t fit Kate. She rarely disapproved of anything.
I sighed loudly for effect and patted around until I found it. Both indignant and embarrassed, I showed her the shiny black cell phone.
“That’s not yours.”
“No.”
“Is it – ?”
“Jonathan’s.”
“You’ve had it all of this time?” She eyed the phone like she wanted to rip it out of my hands.
“Yes. He gave it to me before …” My voice trailed off.
“It still works?”
“Yeah. Dad’s been paying the bill.” Humiliation threatened to burn me up on the spot.
“Why?” Her voice was low and cautious.
“His voice. If I turn it off, I won’t be able to hear him anymore.” It was pathetic. I knew it was, but I didn’t really care. It was all I had left of him.
Nothing in the house had been salvageable. The phone and Trey’s stuffed donkey, which had been left at my dad’s earlier that day, were the only physical proof I had of my former life.
Kate’s expression went soft. “Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s totally understandable. You should keep it for as long as you need it.”
I didn’t see how I would ever not need it. “I just don’t want to forget. Their faces are already getting fuzzy. It hasn’t even been that long, and they’re already slipping away. But I can still hear his voice.”
She walked into the room, grabbed a picture frame from the top of the dresser and sat down on the bed beside me. “We won’t let that happen,” she said, handing it to me.
It was from last Halloween. Isabelle was dressed up as a princess. Trey had been in an Ironman phase at the time. I stared longingly at their faces, unable to speak.
After I moved in, my dad offered to hide all of the pictures in the house, but I’d begged him not to. Pretending like they hadn’t existed wasn’t going to help me.
Kate picked up the phone in my lap and pushed a button to wake it up. The screen was suddenly illuminated with a picture of Trey. His grinning face beamed proudly at the small turtle in his little hands.
She swiped her thumb across the phone’s black glass face and was met with the passcode screen. She stared at it dumbly. I knew the feeling. I had spent hours staring at it myself.
“I can’t figure it out,” I said, my voice a quiet wail. “And I know there’s a message in there from the kids. They called him the day before to sing him a song. But I can’t figure out his code.” I glared at the device as if it were to blame.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “It’s probably something obvious.”
I had already tried every possible code I could think of. Our wedding date. The kids’ birthdays. My birthday. Jonathan’s birthday. I’d also tried every obvious numerical pattern. Up. Down. Across. Diagonal. Nothing worked.
Embarrassingly, I spe
nt hours, day after day, entering different combinations of numbers and letters. After six attempts, the phone would lock up and not let me try again for a very long minute.
Kate put the infuriating device down on the bed between us. “Listen. We need to talk about last night.”
I laid back on the bed, clutching the picture frame to my chest.
“I’m really sorry,” she began. “I should have told you I was working with Maddox, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not upset any more.” Father Paul helped me understand that she was only trying to help. I hadn’t given her a lot of opportunities to do that.
“I just needed something to do everyday, and Maddox asked me to come help go through Jonathan’s office. He didn’t want a secretary to do it and I didn’t want you to have to do it.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”
“And I can’t just sit around this house all day. It’s too depressing.”
“Tell me about it.”
She leaned over and looked me in the eye. “So let’s get you out more. Last night wasn’t so bad.”
“It was pretty bad. I’m not fit for public consumption.” My attention waned when other people talked about things that I now considered mundane, and it never went anywhere good. All of these things created a social rift that was as difficult for the people around me as it was for me.
“You are, too. Maybe we can try having dinner with Arden next week.” She looked hopeful.
“Do we have to go to dinner?”
“Would you rather do something else? I think there’s a new Ryan Reynolds movie at the theater.”
A movie would be better than dinner. Less talking. Less awkward steering of the conversation away from touchy subjects like Arden’s son, Jackson, who had been in Trey’s class, or her daughter, Autumn, who was one year older than Isabelle. Less of me trying to act like I was normal. “It’s just awkward.”
“I know.” Kate laid back on the bed. “So what else can we find for you to do? You could come to Karen’s Kitchen with me. Father Paul asked me to help out tonight.” She was turning into a real Mother Theresa. Everyone seemed to need her help these days.