Father Figure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “No!” he said. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Yeah, right,” I shook my head. “Nice chattin’ with ya. Father.”

  I slammed the dishwasher shut and started to leave the kitchen, but Gabriel grabbed my arm.

  “Blue, I promise I didn’t tell anyone about you except Father Neil, and I know he didn’t betray that confidence. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  I pulled my arm free and stared up into his cool gray eyes.

  “Someone talked,” I said bitterly, “and it wasn’t me.”

  He let me leave, but fury pulsed through me with every beat of my heart. I’d never be free of him, I’d never be free of this, this legacy of lies and mistrust. I’d never be anything but the product of my upbringing, or lack of it. I’d dragged myself up, fed myself, clothed myself while I was still in elementary school. I was smart, I read everything I could find at the libraries where we lived, moving from abandoned building to flophouse, but while other kids were having Sunday lunch with grandma and doing their homework, I was dumpster-diving, looking for my lunch and supper and breakfast. Life had never given me a chance, and I boiled with resentment.

  I realized that my hands were clenched into fists, the nails cutting half-moon marks in the palms of my hands. I shook my fingers out and stared at the four walls of my tiny bedroom, feeling the tiny space choking me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabriel

  I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from Mrs. O’Connor’s secret stash. Ever since Blue had come into my life, nothing made sense. Not only had I been pleasuring myself, drinking more than usual, and lashing out at her, but also I was consumed with anxiety.

  It wasn’t all about my attraction to Blue.

  Luke died just a few short months after his twentieth birthday. It wasn’t fair. I was staring 40 in the face—I’d lived twice as long as him already, with more years stretching out silently into the future. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Only death was the great leveler.

  I climbed into my beat-up car and drove north along the coast to La Jolla, a place where the residents had million dollar views and poverty-level hearts. But there was one beacon of light there.

  Mount Soledad. The National Veterans memorial.

  I liked it up here. It was peaceful and the horizon stretched for miles. The giant cross stood out proudly, a sign that the men and women who’d died were never forgotten.

  No matter how hard the residents had fought to take down the cross, the cross remained. And that cross had saved my life.

  Ten years ago, I’d been a broken man. A drunk. A womanizer. A homeless vet, couch surfing.

  But on the 10th anniversary of Luke’s death, I went to visit his plaque.

  And I’d planned to take my own life.

  I wasn’t a coward. I brought my loaded Glock. The metal cold in my hand as I raised it to my temple and prepared to join Luke.

  But instead, a warm hand touched me. Truly the touch of God.

  I stared up into the aged, leathery face of a Catholic priest.

  “Don’t do it, son.”

  I was so stunned, it was several seconds before I remembered how to talk.

  “I’ve got nothing to live for, Padre,” I stammered. “Nothing. It’s all gone to shit.”

  “Do you believe in miracles, son?”

  My instinct was to deny it but then I thought about all of the insane shit I’d done and the reputation I had on the Teams of being unkillable. I thought of all the times I should have died but didn’t.

  He knew he’d made me think and he pressed on.

  “I was brought up in Ireland, the Auld Country. We’re a superstitious lot: God on one hand and Tír na nÓg on the other. But you see, son, when you join your hands together,” and he demonstrated, tightly knitting his fingers together so his arthritic knuckles cracked, gleaming white in the moonlight, “then you have a world of possibilities. God is the seen world and the unseen; he’s in the sky above us and the depths of the oceans, and if that isn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is.”

  He loosened his hands and laid one on my shoulder.

  “I’m Michael, or Father Michael O’Dowd if you want the long version. To whom do I have the pleasure of talking?”

  “Gabe Thorne,” I said gruffly, not sure who was crazier—me with the loaded gun, or the old guy talking me down from using it.

  “Gabe? Is that Gabriel like the shining archangel? Well now, Gabe, did you never stop to think that the miracle is you? You, Gabe, you are the miracle. God loves you, son. He loves your strength and forgives your weaknesses, he understands all your fears. His love is endless and unconditional.” He paused. “And he created you for more than shooting yourself in the dark like a shame on the world. Be more, Gabriel. This isn’t the end of your story, not here and not now—I feel it in my heart. Be more.”

  He stood slowly, his tired bones creaking painfully.

  “Now give me the gun, for safe-keeping, let’s say. You’ll find me at St. Jude’s if you ever need it back. I’m in the phone book.”

  And for the first time in my entire life, I surrendered my weapon.

  He nodded, a small smile wreathing his face in wrinkles.

  “Strange thing, the name ‘Gabriel’ means God is my strength. I’ll pray for you, son.”

  That had been ten years ago and I’d turned my life around since then. I’d done what he’d said—I’d done more. I’d been more. And now I was in danger of fucking it all up again.

  I drove up the familiar stretch of road until I was on top of La Jolla. I could see all the way down the mountain, down to the traffic below. People living their lives and all I could do was pray for them. I parked and walked over to Luke’s plaque. I reached into my pocket, but this time instead of reaching for a gun, I grabbed a small cross and placed it on Luke’s name.

  “Hey, man. I just thought I owed you a visit. It’s been almost twenty years, and you think I’d miss you a little less, but the wound is still raw. I imagined we would still be hanging out in bars, maybe each with beautiful wives and cute kids running around, but that wasn’t in the cards for you. And it isn’t for me, either.” I paused. For some reason, I had the urge to tell him about Blue, but I wasn’t sure why. “Anyway, I’m a fucking mess. I went to see Wes’s woman, Rayla, and I’m doubting everything right now. I really need you, buddy. If you want to send me a sign, tell me you forgive me, I would really appreciate it.”

  I paused, hoping that rain would cascade down from the Spring sky or I’d see a shooting star, but nothing like that happened. Nothing.

  There was no sign from Luke.

  I took a single swig from the whiskey bottle I’d brought, and then left it on his plaque.

  “Bottoms up, Luke.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mariana

  I’d reached a stalemate. Since the incident after the park charity fundraiser, Gabriel was wary around me, watching all the time: frowning and watching.

  I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I kept up my act with Mrs. O’Cee. In truth, I liked the old lady. She was kind of irritating, yakking on about her family all of the time, but I thought it must be nice to have a grandma like her, someone who’d bake you cookies, bandage your ouchies and feed you cake. She was also teaching me to make meals from fresh, something I’d never done before.

  Sunday lunch was a big deal for her and she always liked to spend it with one of her kids, but she also insisted that her ‘boys’, the three priests, had a home-cooked meal, too. So she was teaching me how to roast a chicken with potatoes, veggies, and a gravy made from meat juice. I thought touching raw meat was pretty gross, but Mrs. O’Cee knew how to make things taste good. After a few lessons, so did I, and I was fairly confident I had this Sunday-lunch gig.

  “Are you sure you know what to do?” she asked, looking at me worriedly as she patted her hair and checked her purse for her bus pass.

  “I’ll be fine, Mrs. O’Cee, I won’t poison them.” Only Gabriel’s mind
.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” she hesitated. “And don’t forget that Father Gabriel will be playing football at the park this afternoon with the boys from the Youth Club—probably with his little fan club of minxes watching, God forgive me. So if you could take over that box of cookies and the gallon of juice, Carmen at the Mommy and Me group will give them out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it, Mrs. O’Cee. You’d better go or you’ll miss your bus.”

  She hurried out the door, issuing instructions the whole time. I waved her away and shut the front door with a sigh of relief.

  Now wasn’t that interesting? Gabriel playing football in the park with the boys from the Youth Club. Sexist prick.

  I’d already guessed that Michelle and her minions would go to watch—but not for the boys; they went to watch Gabriel showing off. Oh yeah.

  But it gave me an idea.

  After I’d served lunch—a culinary triumph with no lives lost—I cleaned up then headed over to the park carrying the heavy box containing juice and cookies.

  The sun was brutal which suited me. I could feel the heat bouncing off the concrete buildings, burning the soles of my feet through my cheap flip-flops. I welcomed the pain—it kept me sharp, focused.

  After I’d dumped the juice and cookies with the sour-looking woman from the Mommy and Me group, I bought myself a cone of ice cream from the small mom and pop store that squatted toad-like by the park’s wire fencing.

  Then I sat under the nearest tree, keeping my distance from the gaggle of girls giggling on the only park bench.

  My eyes were drawn to Gabriel. I watched him, sweat making his face gleam in the sunshine. He yanked at the white-collar around his throat several times like it was choking him. His black shirt was soaked, stretched over his broad chest, clinging to the ridges and dips of his stomach.

  The girls sighed and tugged down their tank-tops to show off more cleavage. So pathetic. I wound my tongue around the ice cream as if I was working the head of a cock. I sucked the cold, sweet confection into my mouth, letting my eyes roll back in my head, my throat growling out a low moan. No one could have heard it, but authenticity was important.

  When he saw me, he hesitated, and I could see that he didn’t know whether to talk to me or not. My cheeks hollowed as I sucked harder, my eyelids lowered, then held back a smile as he strode over, his eyes darkening like he was affected. Hell, yeah.

  “Hello, Father G,” I said with a sly smile. “Or is it Father Oh Em Gee? That’s what those girls over there call you. Did you know that? I bet you did. Do you like all those teenage girls lusting after you? I bet they touch themselves at night thinking about you like I do. I bet they scream your name when they come in their little white panties like I did last night. Do you like encouraging them to sin? Did you hear me come last night screaming your name?”

  “Mariana, stop!”

  His voice was shocked, hoarse with an edge of desperation, and I smiled up at him, cat-like.

  “No, Father G,” I whispered so he had to lean closer to hear me. “I’m not going to stop. I’m going to go on and on and on until you admit what you’ve done, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “What I’ve done? What are you talking about?”

  “‘Behold, ye have sinned against the Lord: and be sure your sin will find you out.’ I looked it up, Gabriel.”

  Confusion and guilt warred in his expression. I could see the rage and torment in his face. I dipped a finger in my ice cream and traced the shape of a cross over my chest, letting it melt and drip downwards. His eyes tracked the blob of ice cream until I spoke again, my tone intimate.

  “I know what you want, Gabriel. You want me, don’t you?”

  “No! And we’re not having this conversation. You’re a child and I’m a priest!”

  His voice cracked but by now I could read him easily. Two years in juvie will teach you to read expressions, not the words that are spit at you. He was trying so hard to find the SEAL within him, but I needed to bring out the man … and I was winning.

  I shook my head slowly.

  “I’m all woman. And lying is a sin, Gabriel—so is wrath or is that lust I can see on your face? Maybe both—two sins for the price of one.” I sucked the ice cream into my mouth again, moaning, then licked my lips, and I smiled in triumph as his gaze flickered to my mouth. “Do you want to drag me away and fuck me like an animal? Maybe I’d let you, Gabriel.” His eyes darkened, two pools of deep despair. “I knew you’d like that idea. Do you prefer your women willing, Gabriel, or do you take them anyway?”

  He ran his hands over his sweat-soaked hair, still military short, then raised his eyes upwards.

  “Dear Lord! Why are you testing me? Why did you send this child-woman to torment me?”

  “You’re not Jesus and I’m not Mary Magdalene. You can’t save me.” I leaned closer. “God didn’t send me, Gabriel. It was someone much nearer to you right now. I know who you are and I know what you are.” My voice iced over. “You’re a murderer and you’re going to Hell. Say hi to the Devil for me when you get there.”

  Shock twisted his face and his fists tightened at his side. For a moment I thought I’d won and that he was going to hit me in front of all his flock.

  “How can … why do you think … a murderer?”

  I backtracked quickly, realizing that I’d overplayed my hand.

  “SEALs are just government assassins, or are you telling me you never killed anyone? Because I wouldn’t believe you.”

  He strode away, a curse falling from his full lips.

  “Thou shalt not kill!” I called after him.

  I smirked to myself. He was close to breaking, I knew it; I could feel it. He made it so easy. It was fun toying with him, watching him crumble, watching him abandon everything he believed in, watching him piss on his faith.

  I sat in the shade, quietly eating my ice cream and watching, always watching.

  Score: Father Gabriel – 0: High school Dropout Whore – 1.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several of the girls on the bench glaring at me. What were their names? Oh yeah, Michelle was there: queen bee, bully.

  When she’d finally gotten up the nerve, she sashayed her fat ass over to me, flicking her long mahogany hair for the boys who were watching, then stood with her hands resting on her hips.

  “What are you doing here? No one wants you here, freak.”

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  I smiled at her.

  “Just chatting to Gabriel. Deciding whether we’re going be fucking inside or outside. But he’s a pretty outdoorsy guy, so I think outside. Wanna watch?”

  Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped down. I watched, amused, as her face flushed red and a vein throbbed in her forehead.

  “Oh my God! You’re disgusting!”

  I gave her a cold smile. “That’s what he said,” I confided. “He likes that about me.”

  Her jaw closed with a snap and she took a step closer so I could smell sweat and cheap perfume.

  “You’re such a liar and nobody likes you. Father Gabriel would never touch a filthy whore like you.”

  I laughed in her outraged face.

  “Never heard of Mary Magdalene? We’re what these religious types go for. He wants to save me, Michelle.” I saw the half-belief in her eyes and knew that I’d won. “See you around,” I said, tossing my cone on the grass by her feet. “I have a date to get ready for.”

  It really was too easy. And I knew that I’d given her some juicy gossip to share with her minions. That’s the thing about dirt—you throw enough of it and some will stick. And Gabriel was as dirty as they came.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gabriel

  I woke up the next morning with another wicked hangover. It was becoming a habit. But more importantly, there was a tenuous sense of peace, so fragile, a single breath could destroy it.

  Ever since I’d met Blue, I’d blamed myself for lusting after her. She ha
d been my test, my temptation, my downfall.

  But after visiting Luke’s memorial two nights ago, I’d gained clarity.

  My lust, my confusion, my disorientation had nothing to do with her red curls and luscious curves.

  I’d seen it at the park yesterday: it had to do with her sad green eyes.

  They reminded me of Luke’s.

  And the anniversary of his death was looming like clouds before a storm.

  I knew that I was losing hold on reality if this child-woman Lolita reminded me of him. But his death consumed me as it did at this time every year—the twentieth anniversary was worse—I’d lived twice as long as Luke had. It wasn’t fair. And the weight of his death was heavy on my conscience.

  So this, whatever it was, it wasn’t about Blue. She was just some sexy scapegoat.

  I knew now what I had to do.

  First, I would go to confession. And then I would focus all my energy on honoring Luke by working harder and pouring my energies into helping veterans, the homeless and helpless.

  As for Blue, I’d already failed her. I’d lusted after her and then blamed her for my lascivious desires. Even worse, I had wanted her gone.

  No more.

  I would help her. Guide her however she needed me. Lead her to salvation.

  But not as a man. As a Priest. As her Father Figure.

  After Morning Mass, I sat at the breakfast table watching Blue out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure her out. She was so silent and contained, and then sometimes hissing and spitting like a wild cat. It was rare to see her relax and be herself. There was something dark inside her, something that called to me. Which since I was a priest, was very fucking inconvenient.