Father Figure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  Liar.

  I so badly wanted to believe what he was telling me.

  “I just miss women. I miss everything about them. Their scent, their touch, their warmth.”

  He downed his shot and I quickly followed. “I miss it, too,” he admitted softly. “I had a beautiful girlfriend before I joined the Church. But she didn’t want to live her life ‘playing second fiddle to God’—that’s what she said. Do I miss her? Yes. But the best thing she ever did for me was to leave me. It led me to this life. My destiny. My purpose. You will find your way again. Like I did.”

  I closed my eyes, the visions of Blue in the confessional, all pressing against my eyelids, tormenting me.

  “I don’t know. I feel like I’m drowning. And yes, it’s her, the woman I told you about. It’s not women—it’s one woman. I can’t stop thinking about her and I don’t want to. She consumes me, fills my head. I see her wherever I look.”

  “Hmm, well, that’s more specific. I had hoped you’d stay away from her. Is she one of your congregation?”

  “Yes, no, not really. She’s … she’s living at the rectory. She was on the streets and needed a place to stay. She’s kind of become our assistant housekeeper. Mrs. O’Connor is getting older and she needs the help, but Blue…”

  “That’s her name? Blue?”

  “It’s her street name. Her real name is Mariana. And she’s young, probably not twenty, I don’t know exactly. And so hot … she’s beautiful.”

  He sipped his whiskey, staring at me thoughtfully, a crease of concern between his wiry white eyebrows.

  “Gabriel … lust can be a very damaging emotion. It can control you and…”

  “It’s more than lust. At least I think it is. It’s like there’s a connection between us, it’s hard to explain.”

  “Gabriel!” he said sharply. “She’s a child, a teenager still, and you’re a man of nearly 40, a Catholic Priest no less. Whatever this obsession is, you need to put it firmly behind you. And frankly, son, the Church can’t afford another scandal.”

  I tipped the whiskey down my throat feeling the burn along with his words.

  “Gabriel?” he frowned, studying my face. “Have you…?”

  “I haven’t slept with her…”

  “Thank God!”

  “But she … we … there was some … carnal gratification involved.”

  He stared at me, clearly appalled. “Dear Lord.”

  “I liked it,” I said simply. “It felt right. The guilt … that came later. I can’t stay away from her, Father.”

  “You must,” he said forcefully, leaning forward, his eyes worried and full of concern.

  “I don’t want to,” I admitted, the words hacked out of me one by one.

  “Gabriel,” he said sadly, his voice stern. “You’re breaking my heart, son. Remember what we learn in Proverbs: ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths’.” I hoped that was true. Father Michael tried to smile. “Pray with me, Gabriel.”

  He knelt painfully, his old joints creaking, intensifying my self-loathing and guilt. I fell to my knees beside him, listening to the passion and pity in his voice as he began to pray for me.

  After that, we spent the rest of the night drinking and reminiscing about long lost loves. Father Michael had definitely sowed his wild oats, as well. But he’d made peace with his choice. His lifelong vow of celibacy.

  Would I ever find peace again?

  Chapter Twenty

  Mariana

  Gabriel was absent from breakfast. I shouldn’t have been surprised because he was such a fucking coward. I was still furious at myself that I’d broken down after he’d come in my mouth. I didn’t cry, I never cried. So what the actual fuck?

  I’d even cuddled up to little Lolita and cried all over her soft fur. I cried even harder when she licked the salt from my cheeks and mewed like she understood. Maybe she did—she’d been abandoned by everyone, too.

  I hadn’t slept last night and I looked like shit. I could tell Gabriel wasn’t feeling much better because I’d watched him at Mass this morning. I’d crept in after the service had started, standing in the shadows where he couldn’t see me but I could see him. He’d seemed different, as if he was going through the motions, not fully invested like he usually was. I felt the tiniest stab of guilt—not for him, but for all those people who believed in their fatally flawed priest. The confessional held a lot of secrets.

  “Father Gabriel is a tortured man,” Mrs. O’Cee said to me as we were cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

  “He should be,” I muttered, half my attention on Lolita as she played with a piece of string, happily using a large cardboard box as a playpen.

  “What’s that, child?”

  “How come?” I asked, more loudly, pulling myself together and back into the game.

  She glanced around her then pulled the kitchen door shut so she wouldn’t be overheard. God bless Mrs. O’Cee’s love of gossip because I knew that I was about to learn something interesting.

  “Well, I don’t know the details, but I’ll tell you this: my pa was in the Korean War. The World had only just recovered from tearing itself apart for the second time, and then there they were sending men and boys out to that jungle. He was just a lad looking for divilment, or so said Ma, but there are some things you never get over and he came home changed. After that, we emigrated to America and have been here ever since, but he never talked about them years in Korea—not a word. He held that horror locked inside him … and as for Father Gabriel, he never talks about his time with the SEALs neither. If it weren’t for the way he looks, and the fearless way he goes into the bad areas of the city to do the Lord’s work, you’d never know what he’d been before, but I’ll tell you this much,” and she dropped her voice to a whisper, “the man has bad dreams. ‘Tis a terrible thing to hear a grown man screaming like that. I can tell you, it chills your soul and curdles your blood to hear it. Father Neil always manages to calm him down, and I’m sure he takes his life in his hands when he does it.”

  “Poor guy,” I said without much sympathy, but it was enough for Mrs. O’Cee.

  “He always gets worse at this time of year,” she said, dropping her voice even lower so I had to lean in. ‘Tis the anniversary of his friend’s death—one of his SEAL teammates, someone close to him.” I held my breath. “I don’t know what happened exactly,” she went on, “none of us do, well, maybe Father Michael and that would be in the Sacred Seal of the confessional,” she muttered, crossing herself. “But whatever it is, Father Gabriel is tortured by his conscience something fierce, as if the very Hounds of Lucifer were chasing him. I suppose they call it PTSD now, but lately, well, they say time heals all, but not in Father Gabriel’s case. He’s getting worse and I fear for the man.”

  “How is it getting worse?”

  Mrs. O’Cee made her ample hips more comfortable on the hard wooden chair.

  “Well, I shouldn’t really say, but I can trust you … the nightmares are happening more often now, but that’s not all…”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, child. The dear man is conflicted, that’s for sure. He’s recently been spending time combing the streets for floozies, women of the night, to try and get them off the streets and into shelters.”

  Her cheeks suddenly turned pink as she remembered that was exactly where he’d found me.

  “Oh my! I’m such an eejit! No offense, my darling girl!”

  “None taken,” I said wryly. “It’s only the truth.”

  “Well, quite. But you see, he’s been looking for those pimps, too, getting into fights and coming home with his knuckles bruised and his shirt torn. The number of times I’ve had to wash out blood … it’s like he’s tempting trouble, pushing himself, daring God to protect him.” And she crossed herself again. “I heard Father Neil and Father Miguel Angel talking—they’re worried about him something t
errible. They’ve been talking about sending him to a retreat, but Father Gabriel won’t go—says he has too much work to do here. I tell you, child, that man is betwixt and between and heading hisself for a breakdown. He’s drinking more than his fair share, too. We’re all worried about him. In my opinion, he isn’t the full shilling. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.”

  “Wow, that’s awful,” I said, secretly thinking this was going to make my job easier. “Poor guy.”

  I guess I didn’t hit the right tone, because Mrs. O’Cee pinned me with a look.

  “Don’t you go breaking your heart over our Father Gabriel,” she said sharply. “Father Michael will see him right. So don’t you forget he’s a priest, and he’s chosen a new path now. He’s not a man in the regular sense of the word, so don’t go thinking about him in that direction or it will end badly for all.”

  “I won’t,” I said. And I meant it.

  Breaking my heart definitely wasn’t the plan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Gabriel

  Operation Blue.

  I needed to man up and take care of this situation today. I’d apologize to her. Explain to her what I was going through. Beg for her to forgive me.

  I needed her to forgive me.

  But then I involuntarily checked myself in the mirror, something I never did anymore. My hair was now tinged with silver, my forehead was lined and my eyes were red. I wasn’t a young buck anymore. I was definitely middle-aged, although you couldn’t tell that by my body. Being a SEAL had given me that drive to be at my fittest, even all these years later.

  Working out had another purpose: it relieved sexual tension.

  But I didn’t need another workout right now. Not today. Not after that incredible blow job.

  What had I given up all these years? And why? I wasn’t questioning my faith in the Lord. No. I wouldn’t even be here without God.

  But was being a priest the only way to serve Him? And was that what God wanted for me?

  I had to find out. I had to talk to Blue.

  I crept upstairs before the rest of the world woke, before Mrs. O’Cee started breakfast and before Neil and Miguel Angel started their morning prayers, stumbling from their beds to their knees and greeting the dawn with prayer and devotions.

  I hesitated outside Blue’s door, my fingers curling around the handle. She’d be asleep, maybe naked beneath the sheet. My mouth watered and my stomach clenched. No one need ever know that I’d gone to her room.

  Christ forgive my hypocrisy.

  I turned the handle but the door was bolted from the inside. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Smart, Blue. Real smart. Keep out the creepy old priest.

  I sighed and sat on the stair by her door.

  “Blue, Mariana, I’m sorry. I never meant any of this to happen. I never meant to … to fall for you. I can’t be with you, not in this life. You’re made for the world, you have so much life ahead of you. Don’t waste yourself on some old priest—you can do so much better. You’re beautiful and smart and I’ve seen kindness in you.

  “You know, you remind me of someone I used to know. A friend of mine. His name was Luke. He was kind of a smartass, like you. He always had an answer that would get him into trouble, like you. And he always turned heads wherever we went, like you. He was funny, he was loyal, he was brave, he was my best friend.”

  My head sank to my knees and I sat there in silence and shadows.

  Eventually, I raised my eyes.

  “Blue,” I whispered, “What can I do to earn your forgiveness? What can I do to make us even?”

  And in my mind, she whispered back, We’ll never be even.

  I crept back down the stairs and out into the starlit sky. My mood was dark and I belonged to the night.

  I strode through the streets watchful and alert. The only things I carried with me were my ID, phone and the keys to the rectory. An unarmed man walking into gang territory.

  As I headed south toward Logan Heights, I started noticing gang members driving past. They didn’t often come to Mission Valley, their territory ending at Balboa Park, but from what I was seeing tonight, their influence was extending.

  One of the cars stopped and I walked up to the window cautiously. I recognized a kid named Ricardo sitting in the back seat. I’d told his Auntie Carmela that I’d try to keep him out of the gangs. Looks like I’d failed.

  “’Sup, Father dude?” said the guy driving with a wild laugh that told me he was high.

  I gave a thin smile. “Not much. Just walking.”

  His laugh turned cold. “I heard Cornelius is gunning for you, dude. You wanna watch out for that crazy motherfucking pimp.”

  I frowned. “Cornelius?”

  “You got his woman, he’s sayin’. That right, dude? You got a woman now?”

  I grimaced and shook my head, but my thoughts had sped towards Blue. “I help many women get away from pimps.”

  The driver shrugged. “Jus’ what I heard on the street, man. Watch your back, Lethal Weapon.”

  He drove away laughing his ass off, and I continued walking the darkened streets, deep in thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mariana

  I’d dreamed that Gabriel had come to me in the night and had woken hot and sweaty, a mess of confusion and rage, desire and despair.

  Somehow, I had to get my own back on Gabriel.

  I brooded all day, toying with various ways of punishing him or humiliating him—until I came up with a plan for evening prayers tonight.

  Six pm was a good time to catch commuters on their way home from work. Or some of them seemed to be on their way home via a bar. If I had to pray to some almighty sky-captain who defined my life and told me how to live, I’d want a drink or three beforehand, as well.

  I took a seat in the farthest corner of the church, at the back but with a clear view of the altar and where Gabriel would be standing for most of the ritual. St. Peter’s was so good they named it twice, ha ha. It was one of those big old churches, like a hundred years old, built when people still cared about religion. Even Father Oh Em Gee couldn’t fill this one.

  I’d attended as many of the church services as I could stomach. I thought I’d learn something, but it still seemed like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me. On the other hand, if I let it wash over me, the rhythm and rise and fall of the words was restful, soothing, almost hypnotic, so maybe that was the point after all. A teacher told me about some Russian dude once who said that ‘religion was the opium of the people’ and I think now that I understood what he meant. Although as far as understanding Faith, I was still at the starting gate.

  It seemed to me that religion was like one of those clubs with secret words and handshakes: you either knew them or you didn’t, and if you didn’t, you’d always be on the outside.

  Sure, the words were soothing, but I could get the same effect by listening to Drake.

  But I didn’t want soothing today, I didn’t want relaxing—I wanted to be on edge, and I sure as hell wanted Gabriel to be wound up so tight he’d burst. I was going to defile his pretty church.

  He started the service with the sign of the Cross and a prayer, and I made sure he saw me. His deep, rich, hypnotic voice didn’t change but his eyes locked on mine, and I could see the question and concern behind them. I didn’t smile and I didn’t lose eye contact. Instead, I raised my hand to my mouth, sucked in my index finger and ran my tongue around it. Then I spread my legs and let my hand trail over my breasts, across my waist and under my skirt, my eyelids drooping as my hand made the first swipe across my pussy.

  Gabriel’s eyes widened, but he didn’t miss a beat, then he turned away and the choirboys started singing something ear-achingly dull.

  Just knowing that Gabriel was there trying to ignore me even while he knew exactly what I was doing was a huge turn on for me. He’d never forget me, he’d never be able to stop thinking about me, that was for sure. And when he started half-speakin
g, half-singing the psalms in that mesmerizing way, I was turned on even more. Better still, I recognized the words from Revelations—it was as if Gabriel had chosen them especially for me. And I spread my legs wider, rubbing harder, feeling that tingle, that buzz that heralded an orgasm.

  “Behold, I am coming quickly...” Yes, yes, yes I am! Do you see me, God? Do I exist to you?

  “...and My reward is with Me…” Yes, yes, oh yes! Gabriel will be mine, God! You hear me? I’m going to win this battle and you’re going to lose! Gabriel owes me! You owe me! And I’m going to take my reward!

  “...to give to each one according to what he has done.” It’s you, Gabriel! Your doing!

  “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.”

  And I came, screaming, “Hallelujah!” my body flooded with heat and release.

  I throbbed with satisfaction, sweating and limp. With a soft mew of pleasure, I closed my legs and opened my eyes. All heads had turned in my direction and silence swept through the half empty church. Gabriel’s eyes burned the brightest, the light of battle raging inside him. I could see his indecision—expose me and risk exposing himself? Ignore me or throw me out?

  His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking in his cheek, but when I grinned at him, he turned his back to me again.

  I left the cowardly priest to his unsuspecting flock and strolled home with a smile on my face.

  “You seem in a good mood,” said Mrs. O’Cee, looking up from the kitchen table where she was knitting more baby clothes.

  “I am,” I admitted. “I’ve just been to evening prayers. It was very … instructive. A release, you could say.”

  She patted my hand. “I’m happy to hear that, child. I’m sure God was smiling.”

  I beamed at her, pretty certain the opposite was true.

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you, child—how was it with your ma when you visited?”