by Selena Kitt
He looked up at her, asking miserably, “Can’t we fake it? I’ll smile big for your picture, I promise. How about I just stand there with one of the Red Cross nurses?”
“Daddy, that’s cheating.” She held her hand out and he took it, groaning, following like a little kid, shuffling his feet.
They had the blood drive set up in the meeting room, rather than the sanctuary. They had five cots set up, and there was a line at the door. Erica glimpsed Father Michael, walking with Father Patrick. They were coming down the hall toward them. Erica didn’t know which man was affecting her, but a sick knot started growing in her stomach. As they got nearer, Erica saw Father Michael glance up, recognizing her and smiling. There was no guile about him. Whatever he was feeling showed on his face, and she loved that about him, but it made their feelings for each other quite dangerous.
“Robert Nolan!” Father Patrick exclaimed, coming over and clapping Erica’s father on the shoulder. She glanced up at her dad, smiling. He actually looked a little green. “The man of the day. Come to give blood have you?”
“Not by choice.” He made a face, looking down at his daughter. “I told her we could fake it. Why do I actually have to get a needle put my arm?”
“Daddy, just think of all the people you’ll be helping.”
“Can’t I just give them money?”
“Daddy!” Erica nudged him, laughing.
“This is your fault.” Robert Nolan pointed a finger at Father Michael. “You roped me into this.”
“You agreed!” Father Michael held up his hands in supplication. “And we thank you for it. The blood drive will go on all weekend, and our little Nancy Drew reporter here will take your picture and it’ll surely boost donations.”
“Well good luck!” Father Patrick said, clapping Robert on the shoulder one more time. “I gave this morning.” He pointed to the “I Gave Blood” sticker on his cassock.
“Look, Daddy,” Erica piped up. “It’s our turn.”
Robert groaned, letting his daughter lead him, shuffling behind her.
The nurses were nice, having them both sit down on cots next to each other while they filled out their little questionnaires. Erica snapped several pictures of her father and he scowled in her direction.
“Daddy, you have to make it look not scary. Otherwise what’s the point?”
“Good point. We should go.”
“Daddy!”
“All right. All right!” He laid back on the cost, swinging his feet up so he was reclining, and held out his arm to the nurse. “Do your worst.”
The nurse was a pretty redhead, and she laughed, taking his questionnaire and glancing it over. “You don’t know your blood type?”
Erica perked up, listening to the exchange between the nurse and her father while another nurse, this one not quite as pretty with glasses and large front teeth like a horse, went over Erica’s questionnaire.
“I’ve never given blood before. And the last time I think anyone typed my blood was during the war.”
“That’s okay,” the nurse assured him. “They’ll test it at the lab.”
Erica let the horse faced nurse check her arm for a good vein, disappointed their plan hadn’t worked. She would have to tell Father Michael and see if he could access the records some other way.
“We’ll send you a postcard in the mail,” the nurse explained, turning over Robert Nolan’s arm and looking for a good vein with her fingers. Erica thought she looked a little too happy to be holding his hand. “It’s just a thank you from the Red Cross for donating. It’ll list your blood type and tell you when you can donate again.”
“Oh great,” Erica’s father said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Just what I need to know. When I can give blood again. I can’t wait.”
“It’s really not that bad.” The redhead smiled. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
The redhead laughed, and even blushed. Erica rolled her eyes, glancing up at the horse faced nurse, who was going much faster than the redhead because she didn’t have anyone to flirt with. She was ready to poke Erica.
“Can you hold off a second?” Erica asked. “I want a picture of my dad for the paper.”
The horse faced nurse sighed, sitting on a stool beside the cot. They watched her father and the redhead flirt, tossing quips back and forth, and Erica was glad at least her father seemed more at ease about the whole process.
“Okay, are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Look this way, Daddy!” Erica said, pointing the camera and clicking. She got one with his eyes closed. She took another, and then another, saying, “Keep looking at me. Smile!”
“Ow!” Robert Nolan jumped, glancing over at the redheaded nurse, at the tube now in his arm. Erica saw him turning white.
“Daddy!” Erica prompted. “Over here! Look at me!”
He groaned, looking back over at his daughter, his face even more pale. “Can we go home yet?”
“If you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a cookie when it’s all over,” the redhead said.
“Say cheese, Daddy!” Erica insisted. He did, and she snapped several more pictures, getting a really good one when the nurse told her dad he was being a very good patient.
The redhead made him lay back and close his eyes. Relieved, Erica turned back to the horse faced nurse and said, “Okay. You can do me now.”
Her father was done first, and received his promised cookie, which he ate like a good boy, still flirting with the redhead. Once Erica had her “I Gave Blood” sticker on her uniform blouse, she retrieved her father, telling them it was time to go home. They had made it through the ordeal unscathed, she had a great picture for the paper, and most importantly, they were going to receive a little card in the mail with Robert Nolan’s blood type on it.
She couldn’t wait to tell Father Michael.
The snow came out of nowhere—overnight everything had turned white. Erica was meeting Father Michael at the Mayflower as usual, and she put on her tall boots, her long coat, hat, scarf and warm gloves, and she braved the elements, trudging her way through the snow to the coffee shop. When she got there, she found a sign on the door that said, “Closed Due to Weather.” Great. They managed to get to the store to hang a sign, why didn’t they just open it up then?
She stood, shivering on the sidewalk, disappointed. Not seeing Father Michael in the morning always made her grumpy for the rest of the day. She could have done a commercial touting the benefits of having coffee with a priest in the morning to make your day go better, like some of those she’d seen advertising coffee or Ovaltine. Father Michael was far better, as far she was concerned.
“Erica?” She whirled around, seeing Father Michael pull up in his beat up old 1952 Ford Meteor. “They’re closed, huh?”
“Yep. They came all the way here to hang a sign to say they’re closed.”
“Hop in. I’ll drive you.”
The roads were terrible. The plows had been out, but the snow had kept falling, and they hadn’t managed to keep up with it. Father Michael’s Meteor fishtailed as they took off from a green light, and Erica gasped, grabbing his arm.
“Don’t be scared.” Father Michael put a soothing arm over her shoulder, and Erica let him, feeling his warmth, even through his coat and hers. “I’m a good driver.”
“Me too.” Erica grinned. “At least I think so.”
The school wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but they had to go so slow, just ten miles an hour in the slushy, slippery wet snow. Father Michael was a good driver, paying attention to the road, even though he had one arm around Erica’s shoulder. She certainly wasn’t going to point out that fact. She liked his arm just where it was. They crept along, Father Michael pumping the brakes to slow down gradually as they reached the next light, a red one.
“Oh shit!”
Erica stared at Father Michael, open mouthed. She never heard a priest swear, let alone
Father Michael. She was still so surprised by his profanity, she hardly noticed when the car slid sideways toward another car parked at the curb. Father Michael turned the wheel, but the car didn’t respond, sliding on the ice. They had no control at all as the car careened into a sporty little 1956 Corvette parked at the corner. Thankfully, he had managed to get a little burst of speed, and just the back end of his car had met the front end of the Corvette, Father Michael’s Meteor’s front end coming to rest against the curb at the corner.
“Oops.” Father Michael looked at her, and she looked at him, and they both burst out laughing.
Father Michael got out of the driver’s side, going around to check out the damage. There was a large dent in both vehicles, and when he got back again, and attempted to put the car in gear, the tires just spun in the ice and slush. Their bumpers had been hooked onto one another, and it would likely take a tow truck to fix the problem.
“I’ll have to run to a pay phone and call the police.” He glanced over at her. “Do you want to come with me? Or stay here?”
A knock at Father Michael’s driver’s side window got their attention. He rolled it down, and the police officer, a traffic cop, informed them he’d already called the accident in to dispatch. He was what they called “a cop in a bucket,” his post high above, running the streetlights in order to keep traffic from becoming too congested.
He looked between father Michael and Erica. “I hear we’re gonna get another foot of snow. Best to stay home in this weather.”
“We will.” Father Michael assured him. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem. Stay warm.”
“What are you doing?” Father Michael asked as Erica slid closer, under his arm, resting her cheek against his chest.
“Following orders.” She shivered. “Staying warm.”
“Are you cold?” He squeezed her shoulder.
“Not anymore.” She smiled, watching the snow fall. Cars crept by them, both because of the hazardous snow-covered streets and, like most gawkers, curious about the accident, even if it was just a little fender bender. Thankfully, it was still mostly dark, an early morning winter sort of half light, and she knew people couldn’t see in very well.
“I have something to tell you.” Father Michael rested his cheek against the top of her head.
“Hmm?”
“I talked with a woman who says she was part of the Mary Magdalenes.”
Erica’s head came up, and she met his eyes. “You did?”
She hadn’t dared to tell him how far she had gone, that she had not only been initiated into the Mary Magdalenes, infiltrating their inner sanctum, but she had, herself, been nominated and accepted as the Virgin for the All Saints’ Day ritual. She could imagine his reaction, the shock and horror. When she had enlisted his help, she hadn’t known much, how deep the Mary Magdalenes were embedded in the Catholic infrastructure. As she delved deeper into the mystery, she had left him far behind, but she hadn’t been willing to let go of the connection she had created with him.
“She says she’d be willing to do an interview, if we kept her name out of it. Something anonymous.”
“Oh.”
“I thought you’d be more excited.”
“I am!” Erica acted a bit more excited, but in reality she was filled with dread. She didn’t want Father Michael to know what the Mary Magdalenes did. She didn’t want anyone to know, now that she had knowledge that her own father was involved. She had to protect the secret, not only for her own sake, but for his as well.
“Hey did I tell you?” Erica changed the subject quickly, avoiding his eyes by resting her head on his chest again. “You don’t have to try to get the records to find out my father’s blood type. The Red Cross nurse said they would mail a postcard with his blood type on it.”
“How convenient!”
“That’s what I thought.” She smiled. “So how do we know? What are we looking for?”
“Let’s hope our luck doesn’t run out. If they have the same blood type, it means nothing. Leah is O positive.”
“So?”
“It’s a common blood type. If your father is O positive, we’re out of luck. That doesn’t prove anything. But, if he has a more rare blood type, like AB, that would mean he couldn’t be the father of a child with type O blood.”
“Because genetically he would pass on either A or B, right?”
“Yes.” Father Michael smiled, kissing the top of her head. “You’re very smart.”
“I paid attention in biology,” Erica replied.
“So do you want me to set up an interview with the woman I talked to about the Mary Magdalenes?”
Now what? Erica bit her lip, thinking. If she told him no, he would wonder why. If she told him yes, she would have to go through with the interview, and who knows what the woman would be willing to say. She was afraid of exposing herself, exposing her father, of the repercussions that could come from exposing the Mary Magdalenes. Just in the short time she’d been an initiate, she had heard rumors from the other Mary Magdalenes about people who had tried to uncover the secrets. Things like suspicious suicides, hit and run accidents, accidents in general, fires, the list went on. The Catholic Church was very powerful, and when it wanted to keep a secret, it had an incredible amount of resources to do so.
“Erica?” He looked down at her, curious. “Earth to Erica?”
She couldn’t tell him. It was too dangerous to tell him. She raised her head, looking into his eyes in the dimness, knowing she didn’t dare. She did the only thing she could think of to distract them both. She kissed him. This wasn’t like the last time, when it had been soft and sweet and light and easy. This kiss held everything, all the secrets, all the darkness, all the twists and turns in her, she put into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling the heat of his body, the way he held her.
“Erica...” He gasped as they parted, searching her eyes, and then he bridged the gap this time, taking her mouth, probing it open with his tongue, hands roaming under her long wool coat, her uniform blouse and skirt a thin barrier. She whimpered, struggling out of her coat. She pressed herself as fully against him as she could, letting him shift her weight, pulling her easily into his lap. He was wearing his cassock and collar, his uniformed commitment to the church and celibacy, but neither of them cared in that moment.
When he lifted her blouse, the heat of his hand was like a brand on her back, around to her belly, cupping the full weight of her breast. She moaned against his mouth, wanting more, more. She felt him, wiggling in his lap, so hard. She felt him through his priest’s robes, and she wanted him. She so desperately wanted him. She couldn’t fight it anymore, and he couldn’t either. They were lost in their lust, in the heated battle of their tongues, and they clung to each other as a soft white cover of snow on the windshield hid their passionate embrace.
“Michael,” she whispered against his lips, kissing his chin, his cheek, panting her lust into his ear as she felt his fingers fumbling under her blouse, pulling her bra down to expose her breasts to the eager crush of his hands. “Oh Michael, I want you. I want you so much.”
“I know.” He groaned when she dared to reach down and cup his length in her hand, feeling the swollen throb of him through his cassock. She knew he wanted her too. They both wanted it, even knowing their sin, all the reasons why it was impossible. “You’re so beautiful. You’re like an angel. I can’t resist...”
She cupped his face in her hands, searching his eyes, seeing everything there she wanted, just out of her reach. She kissed him, the desperate kiss of a drowning woman, longing for rescue. Save me. Love me. Save me. Love me. She gave him all of that, and more, in one desperate, fierce kiss.
“Erica, no.”
She didn’t listen, nuzzling his neck, his collar a reminder. She wanted to tear it off, tear it up, burn it. She wanted him, not a man of God, just a man. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, but he pushed her away. He gasped and whispered, �
�No, no, no,” over and over, pushing her back onto the seat, both of them breathless, the windows fogged with the heat of their breath.
She would’ve done anything. She would’ve begged him, she would have set herself on fire, she would have killed or died in that moment. It was all for him, for the man she loved, the crazy mixed-up sick to your stomach dizzy sort of love she didn’t know existed, all for a man she could never have. He looked at her in the dimness and she saw the same thing in his eyes.
A knock on the window startled them, and Erica slid all the way over to the passenger side, against the cold steel of the door, grabbing her coat and covering herself with it. Father Michael rolled down the window, greeting the officer who had come to their rescue.