by Selena Kitt
“I’m just glad you’re going to be the one heading it.” She smiled, sitting in the chair across from him. “So any official word?”
“They’ve sent Father Patrick to a rehabilitation facility called Via Coeli in Jemez Springs, New Mexico.”
“They think he can be rehabilitated?” Erica scoffed. “He should be in jail!”
“The church felt it best to handle things internally. There was an investigation. My hands are tied.” Father Michael shrugged, turning his hands up. “Besides, what evidence did we have? Father Patrick had it all burned to the ground. There was nothing left.”
Nothing except the memories of all the Marys and the Magdalenes who had participated in Father Patrick’s sick, twisted rituals, Erica thought with a shiver, but she didn’t say anything. The man was, after all, Father Michael’s father.
“So I guess the Hitler scandal didn’t turn out to be that much of a big deal?” Father Michael asked.
“Nein.”
He laughed. “Who knew Robert Nolan would turn out to be a spy for the CIA—before there even was such a thing as the CIA?”
“I guess they figured it’s been long enough now since the war, they could declassify it,” Erica said. “Leah keeps teasing him, calling him Mein Führer.”
“Sounds like fun at your house.”
“Speaking of houses… what about Magdalene House?” Erica asked. “How’s progress there?”
“Good!” He smiled. “Thanks to the leadership of Patty and Gertie, things are moving along. It should re-open again in a month or so.”
“But this time, they’re going to provide job training and child care for mothers who want to keep their babies, right? No more giving away babies for big donations to the church?”
“Right,” he agreed. “And thanks to your referral, your friend, Yvonne, is going to head up the social work team to make it all happen.”
“I’m glad she’s helping.” Erica had heard the rumor floating around Yvonne had married Erica’s ex-boyfriend, Bobby, which turned out not to be true—but she had finished social work school and was looking for a job. “Thankfully there are some good social workers in the world.”
Father Michael nodded. “Not all of them are like Joan Goulden. Some of them really do want to help.”
“Thank God they took the woman’s license!” Erica exclaimed and then caught herself. “Oops, sorry about that.”
“I am thanking God for that, actually.” Father Michael grinned. “So, have you heard from USC?”
She smiled. “They accepted me for the fall. They accepted Clay too.”
“I’m really glad, Erica.” He smiled and she searched that smile for the truth, returning his smile when she found it. She thought he really was glad for her. Relieved, even, she’d found Clay and moved on. “Please don’t think for a moment I regret… anything. Not a minute of it. You’ve given me so much, I can’t tell you. Because of you, I’ve rediscovered my calling in the church again. That’s priceless to me and I thank you for that.”
“I don’t regret it either,” she murmured. “And I won’t ever forget it.”
She couldn’t help but feel her love for Father Michael in that moment, although it had been transformed, somehow, into something less desperate and more tranquil in the months that had passed. She knew now she had fallen in love with Father Michael because he was safe, a man she couldn’t have, a man she could idolize and worship from afar, a man she could use to torture herself with until her penance felt it had been paid—around the twelfth of never.
It wasn’t until she met Clay when she realized how much she went around trying to punish herself, not for being a bad girl, which she’d been working hard at when she met him, just like she worked hard at everything she did, but just for existing in the first place, like she had no right to be here in this world at all.
Clay made her realize she did belong here. She belonged here with him.
Clay lived and breathed and loved her in the real world, where it was dirty and painful and hard and that was good too. It was better than good. It was perfect. Perfectly messed up. That’s what they had, a perfectly messed up relationship, and she didn’t think she had ever been happier in her life.
“So no more Mary Magdalenes?” Erica asked.
He shook his head. “No. Father Patrick was the center of that wheel. The hub. Without him, it all just crumbled.”
“What about the women who worked in the laundry?” she asked, thinking about Father’s Michael’s mother—and sister—poor abused Marianne, and the girl Leah had roomed with , the slow one, Jean.
“They’ve been relocated to new jobs or new homes,” Father Michael replied. “My mother is living in the nunnery here, and she’s quite happy.”
“I’m so glad.” Erica was also glad the fire had been contained to the church and hadn’t spread to the nunnery or rectory or the schools. Just one corner of the square block had been damaged.
“Father Michael?” A knock came on the door. “Have you seen—?”
Erica pulled the door open and there was Leah, holding Grace propped up on her shoulder, the baby looking around with big dark eyes, wearing the same christening gown her mother had worn.
“There you are.” Leah laughed. “We’re ready, Father Michael.”
Father Michael stood, smiling as he reached his arms out for the baby. She was just three months old, but she held her head up and laughed when she saw him, holding her arms out and squealing with delight.
“Okay, but don’t run off with her,” Leah warned.
“Leah’s going to have Grace surgically attached to her hip next month,” Erica said, rolling her eyes, but she winked at her sister, letting her know she was just teasing. She couldn’t blame Leah for being a little paranoid about letting the baby out of her sight.
“Let’s go bless you, beautiful,” Father Michael murmured to the baby, cuddling her in his arms. She cooed and kicked her feet under her long, white satin gown.
“Hey, Leah, can I talk to you for a minute?” Erica asked, tugging on her twin’s sleeve. Leah looked annoyed at first and then she saw Erica’s face, doing a double take.
“We’ll be right there, Father!” Leah called after the priest as he carried the baby down the hall. “What is it?”
Erica took a deep breath, blurting it out. “I’m pregnant.”
Leah gaped at her, blinking in response. No words, just blinking, like a mute’s version of Morse Code.
“No one else knows,” Erica rushed on. “Except Clay, and I was so afraid to tell him because he knows about the Mary Magdalenes and the operation and I know it’s impossible and it’s crazy but I went to a doctor sure I was dying or had cancer or something because I hadn’t had a period in two months but he did a pregnancy test, and I made him do it again, and then I made him to do again—I swear to God, Leah, I made him kill three rabbits—and when I told him I’d had an operation so I couldn’t have children he said if they didn’t take my womb, if they just tied those tubes, those filipino tubes or whatever they are—”
“Fallopian tubes,” Leah corrected, her voice just above a whisper.
“Right, those, he said if they had just done that, it was possible that the ends of those tubes could have grown back together so that my eggs could have been, I don’t know, ripe or something, and whatever, however it happened, I’m going to have a baby...” Erica stopped, looking at Leah in the silence. “Say something.”
Leah laughed, and then Erica did too, and they hugged and laughed some more and Leah, wiping tears from her eyes and kissing Erica on the cheek and whispered, “You’re going to be a mother.”
Those words made Erica burst into tears instantly. She had become accustomed to her infertile state, had even moved into a place of acceptance with it—and then wham! God had a funny sense of humor sometimes. Funny, strange—not funny, ha ha, as Clay liked to say.
“What did Clay say?” Leah asked.
“He thought I was kidding of course. Started maki
ng jokes about the immaculate conception.”
“Oh no!”
“Luckily I had the doctor give me a note.”
Leah laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Erica giggled. “The doctor wrote it on his prescription pad. And told Clay to call him if he had any questions.”
“And did he?”
“At four in the morning.”
“You told him at four in the morning?”
“I told myself I was going to sleep on it and tell him in the morning, but I woke up and couldn’t keep it a secret one minute longer.”
Leah and Rob and the baby had rented a little apartment until the house they were having built in the suburbs was finished—Leah had changed her mind about New York and dancing the minute Grace had been back in her arms—but Gertie had invited Erica to live with them after the fire—in the guest room of course. Clay slipped into her room after everyone was asleep though.
“Well, it looks like we’re going to be twins in everything again.” Leah took her sister’s hand, teasing. “You always do this. Steal my thunder. Gotta one up me on everything, don’t you?”
Erica froze, jaw dropping. “No!”
“Just a month or so along.” Leah grinned. “And I haven’t told anyone. Not even Rob. Not yet.”
“Mom is going flip.” Erica laughed, hugging Leah and congratulating her while trying to imagine their mother’s reaction. “Both of her daughters managed to end up unwed mothers.”
Leah smiled. “I have no doubt you’re going to have a ring on your finger before long. And we’ll get to plan another wedding!”
Erica groaned, following her sister down the hall. “I just hope we don’t both have twins.”
“Hush your mouth!” Leah gasped. “Anyway, that skips a generation. Doesn’t it?”
“I sure as hell hope so...”
Leah shushed her as they neared the chapel, where the pews were full of family, friends, Rob’s clients, people they had gone to school with, had attended church with. Solie and Ada were up front with Patty, Donald Highbrow sitting on her other side. Erica spied Judge Solomon up front and waved at him. He dropped her a wink. Erica even spotted Rebecca and her baby in the crowd, sitting with a few other former Magdalenes—Lizzie/Carolyn and Frannie/Marguerite among them. No Marty though, although Leah told her she’d sent a lovely set of knitted white booties Grace was wearing under her gown.
Erica followed Leah up the middle aisle to the front of the chapel where Rob had his daughter cradled in his arms, and Father Michael was waiting for the girls before he started the ceremony.
Erica stood next to Clay, taking his hand as they looked at Father Michael, who was quieting the congregation and talking about the history and importance of baptism in the Catholic Church. Clay leaned over and whispered, “What’s the difference between Jesus and Picasso?”
Erica stiffened beside him, trying not to laugh, whispering back, “Shhh. We’re going to be godparents.”
“Good, we need the practice.”
“Shhh.” She hushed him, remembering how they had met, so similarly, standing up in front of another congregation pretending to be parents. Clay had tried the whole time to make her laugh with his sacrilegious jokes, and she had to hide her smiles by looking down at the baby in her arms.
It wasn’t until Erica saw baby Grace for the first time she realized, the baby she’d been holding during the “live Nativity,” had been the Webbers’ youngest foster child, borrowed for the night by Father Michael, who had never seen baby Grace and didn’t recognize her either. Erica had been cradling Grace in her arms that night and didn’t even know it.
Clay and Erica said yes, they were ready to take on the responsibility of being Grace’s godparents, and Father Michael went on with the ceremony, but Clay was clearly bored with the process and he kept whispering wicked things into Erica’s ear, trying to make her laugh.
“You’re going to be in so much trouble when we get home,” she hissed, watching as Father Michael balanced Grace over the baptismal fountain and poured water through her thick, dark hair. The baby squealed but she didn’t cry.
“I christen thee Grace Patricia Nolan,” Father Michael said and Erica smiled at the way Leah had given her daughter their mother’s name, as well as Erica’s middle name. “May grace be with you and with us all, now and evermore. Amen.”
“Do you know why Mary was having sex with God for money?” Clay whispered too low for anyone but Erica to hear.
“Clay...” Erica warned softly, pleading at him with her eyes.
“She was just trying to make a little prophet.”
Erica snorted laughter and covered it with a cough, Father Michael looking at them sharply, and she straightened up and glared at her boyfriend, the future father of her children, and her future husband, once he stopped joking around long enough to propose. He grinned, rocking back on his heels, and she knew she was in for trouble with him, for the rest of her whole damned life.
And she couldn’t wait.
The End
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ABOUT SELENA KITT
Selena Kitt is a NEW YORK TIMES bestselling and award-winning author of erotic and romance fiction. She is one of the highest selling erotic writers in the business with over a million books sold!
Her writing embodies everything from the spicy to the scandalous, but watch out-this kitty also has sharp claws and her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new, thought-provoking depths.
When she’s not pawing away at her keyboard, Selena runs an innovative publishing company (excessica.com) and bookstore (excitica.com), as well as two erotica and erotic romance promotion companies (excitesteam.com and excitespice.com).
Her books EcoErotica (2009), The Real Mother Goose (2010) and Heidi and the Kaiser (2011) were all Epic Award Finalists. Her only gay male romance, Second Chance, won the Epic Award in Erotica in 2011. Her story, Connections, was one of the runners-up for the 2006 Rauxa Prize, given annually to an erotic short story of “exceptional literary quality.”
She can be reached on her website at www.selenakitt.com
BONUS MATERIAL
MODERN WICKED FAIRY TALES: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
By Selena Kitt
Get EIGHT STORIES—ALL seven modern retellings of fairy tale classics in Selena Kitt’s Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection—Beauty, Briar Rose, Goldilocks, Rapunzel, Red, Alice and Gretel—for one GREAT low price!
PLUS a BONUS STORY previously unreleased: Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Wendy, a modern take on Peter Pan!
In Beauty, former beauty queen Jolee Mercier finds herself in big trouble, locked in the trunk of her husband’s BMW on her way to a remote location in the woods of northern Michigan where she’s going to be killed. Her crime? Knowing too much. An anonymous letter arrived addressed in her name with proof that her husband, Carlos, a state logging and mining mogul, had been the one responsible for her father’s death years earlier, killed for supporting the unions at a local logging camp. When a terrible accident ends her husband’s plan to kill her, Jolee wakes up alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods, rescued by a masked man they call “the beast,” with a husband who wants her dead, and miles of state forest between her and civilization.
In Briar Rose, although her dreams are filled with sens
ual imagery, and she’s often awakened with a throbbing sense of release, Rose has never had a sexual climax—at least, not while conscious. When she’s forced to confess her faked orgasms to her fiancé on the eve of their wedding, she finds herself alone, abandoned and suicidal—until her aunt gives her a business card with the name of a special clinic. Rose has undergone all sorts of physical and mental examinations in the past, but her aunt assures her that this place is “different.” Desperate for a solution, Rose decides to give it one last try, and finds that Dr. Matt, as he insists she call him, is indeed very different from any other person she’s ever met, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of her problem—one way or another.