Father Figure

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I woke up on Wednesday morning with a jolt, my heart racing. I thought I’d heard someone calling my name: Mariana! Mariana! It had been so real that I stared around me as if some dude had rocked up in my room without me knowing, but there was no one there, and the bolt on my door was shiny and new and locked.

  I pushed my hair out of my eyes and breathed deeply to slow my speeding pulse. Just a dream. It was just a dream.

  I stumbled out of bed and showered quickly—I had a lot to do today: the most important day of my young life.

  The weather had turned even hotter and San Diego baked in the Spring sunshine, an unusually hot, hellish pit of heat. It was twenty years to the day when my dad had been murdered, and that murder had been covered up.

  I didn’t want to see anyone at the rectory today, so I fed Lolita in my bedroom and hoped she’d teach herself to use the litter tray before slipped out while the priests were at Morning Mass and Mrs. O’Cee was preparing breakfast.

  I found a car a couple of streets down and hotwired it in 32 seconds. Too slow. I was getting out of practice.

  For a moment, I wondered about swinging by Mom’s place and seeing if she wanted to go with me, but then I nixed that idea—she’d been shacked up with one of Cornelius’s lieutenants for a while now, and I definitely didn’t want to run into that creep again, especially today.

  I hadn’t seen him again since I’d gotten back from the mountains. I shivered at the memory. I didn’t like the idea that he was keeping watch on me—apart from anything else the dude was whacked, dangerous and obsessive. Not a good combination.

  Trying to ignore the crawling sensation on the back of my neck, I put the car in drive. I’d made the trip out to Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery a bunch of times before and it always made me sad and angry. Sandwiched between the pale blue of San Diego Bay on one side and the deeper blue of the Pacific on the other, a finger of land was lined with rows and rows of perfectly regimented white headstones. I read once that there were over 77 acres of them in this cemetery. I didn’t know how many people were buried there, but it was at least one too many.

  I left the car in the parking lot and walked along the neat paths, the sun hot on my bare shoulders, even this early in the morning.

  Twenty-three rows along, three back, and there he was.

  Luke M. Herrera, Petty Officer, US Navy SEAL

  Belgrade, Yugoslavia

  April 23, 1999

  I kneeled down on the neatly mown grass and traced the letters of his name and the date of his death.

  When I was 14, I’d gotten the bus out here and spent hours wandering around until some old guy helped me find this place. I hadn’t known that you could go get a map of where your dad or your granddad or your brother or sister was buried. A map of graves—it seemed so strange. Not anymore.

  I’d come a few other times since, but it had felt important to be here today.

  “Hey, Dad. Wow, that still sounds strange. I guess it sounds strange to you, too, since you never knew nothin’ about me. Mom kind of lost it after you died. I guess she must have loved you fierce. I wish I’d known you. I think life would have been a lot different if I had. Mom told me once that I have your eyes. Am I like you in other ways? I hope so. ‘Cause I don’t want to be like her, even though I look like her.

  “I’m kind of mad at you for being dead, but then I’ve been mad a lot, especially lately. I found him, you know, the guy who killed you. He became a Catholic priest if you can believe that shit. So, I’m using what I’ve got to break him and when he’s as low as he can get, I’ll tell him who I am, and then I’ll kill him. I’m doing it for you, Dad. I figure a Navy SEAL would want revenge, so that’s what I’m doing. And you know the best part about it, it’s all in the Bible: ‘Thou shalt give life for life, Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, Burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.’ That’s from Exodus, I looked it up special. You like it?”

  A light breeze stirred the scorching air around me but there was no answer—there never was.

  I stood up and brushed a few pieces of grass from my knees.

  “I should have brought some flowers,” I said, glancing around at a few of the other graves that had been decorated.

  Only the silence echoed around me.

  I didn’t know why I came here, I just felt I had to. And I didn’t have anywhere else to go. But it was peaceful here, so I stayed. Great, I was the kind of person who hung out at graveyards. I really was pathetic.

  I took a look at some of the other graves and thought about stealing their flowers but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d been wandering around for nearly an hour so I plopped down in the shade of a tree, wishing I’d brought some water. There had been quite a few people visiting the dead today: families, people by themselves, young and old, with death the only thing they had in common. It made me sad, sapping the angry energy from me.

  But something about the man striding up the hill toward my dad’s headstone was familiar. I squinted into the sun, then shaded my eyes, my heart lurching painfully. It was Gabriel.

  He squatted down in front of the marker and I could see his lips moving, but I was too far away to hear what he was saying. Then he pulled out a six-pack of beer and popped the tab on one of them, pouring it over the grave.

  And I laughed, tears burning my eyes. He’d brought my father a beer. It was fucking perfect.

  He sat down in the grass and opened a beer for himself, his throat working as he swallowed down the drink. He’d said they’d been friends once and I had Mom’s photograph, but I’d never completely believed it. And yet, seeing him here, sharing a drink, talking to the voiceless dead, I wondered.

  I watched for twenty minutes as he downed two more beers, then I walked towards him.

  His head turned in my direction and I saw his eyes widen and he shook his head.

  “Am I dreaming you again?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred.

  He looked like hell, dark rings around reddened eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m your worst nightmare,” I said, sitting down next to him.

  He nodded without smiling. “You are, but I can’t stop thinking about you. And now you’re here, today of all days.”

  “What’s special about today?” I choked out.

  He sighed and gestured at the headstone, chugging some more beer. I licked my lips then grabbed the can from him. He didn’t argue, just stared at me while I drank and wiped my hand across my mouth.

  “My friend,” he said at last. “My best fucking friend in the whole fucking world: Luke Herrera. Best buddy, best teammate, best SEAL. What a fucking waste.”

  I realized that Gabriel was on his way to being hammered and I wondered how much he’d had to drink before he got here. He must have been sucking it down since before Morning Mass.

  “How’d he die?” I asked, then held my breath as Gabriel stared at me blearily.

  “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Why are you here?”

  I shrugged, filled with bitterness and disappointment. I shouldn’t have expected anything from Gabriel, and definitely not the truth.

  “I like it here,” I said. “It’s peaceful.”

  Gabriel gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Yeah, dead peaceful,” he snickered. Then he gazed up at me, his eyes darkening. “Why are you in my life, Blue? Why did you come here of all places? Did you follow me again? You want to torture me, is that it? Got a beef with Catholic priests? ‘Cause you’re driving me crazy. Crazier.” And then he raised his head and closed his eyes, fists reaching for the sky as he pounded his head.

  “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?” and the tear in his voice ripped something inside me.

  “Come on, Gabriel,” I said, putting my arms under his shoulders and trying to pull him up. “Let’s get out of here.”

  But he was 220 pounds of dead weight and there was no way to move him. Finally, he looked up at me and nodded.

&nbs
p; “Yeah, let’s go. Only dead people here. And a dead man walking.”

  He crawled to his hands and knees, stumbling slightly as he stood, then he turned to my father’s grave and saluted.

  My heart stuttered at this simple gesture of respect, and I had to force myself to remember that it was all an act, the act of a disgusting murderer. He was only here because he felt guilty. He should feel guilty.

  Then he turned on his heel and stumbled back down the hill. I scooped up the empty beer cans and hurried after him, watching him lurch unsteadily. When he reached his car, he tossed the keys to me.

  “You drive. It’s not stealing if I give you the keys,” and he gave a loose smile.

  As I drove, I began to formulate a new plan, and I headed for a bar where I knew Navy guys hung out and was relieved to score a parking spot outside—I knew I wouldn’t be able to get Gabriel to walk very far.

  “Come on, Gabriel,” I said, slapping his cheeks to rouse him. “You SEALs like to party, right? Let’s honor my f— your friend. Live life like your friend would have wanted it. He was a fun-loving guy. Come on, Gabriel, you and me, on the town.

  He stumbled out of the car and slung his arm around my shoulders for balance—jeez, the guy was heavy. My knees buckled and I nearly dropped him, but we staggered inside together. I got carded at the door, but my fake ID saw me inside.

  “Your friend okay?” asked the doorman dubiously.

  “Yeah, rough day.”

  The man nodded in understanding and waved us into the dingy bar.

  I ordered some buffalo wings for Gabriel, fries for me, four shots of whiskey and a couple of beer chasers for both of us, then fished a couple of twenties out of Gabriel’s wallet to pay. He didn’t even notice.

  I pushed a shot glass towards him.

  “Bottoms up,” I said.

  He blinked rapidly, his lips moving wordlessly, then he downed the drink and reached for another, but I shoved the food towards him instead.

  I wanted Gabriel drunk, but not senseless—he needed to know what was happening to him. Eventually.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gabriel

  My lips burned from the spice of the wings, and my soul burned in Hell. I was definitely drunk, but not so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing or what I wanted. And I wanted Blue.

  Which made me even more fucked up, if that was possible. I was twice her age, an ordained Catholic priest who’d taken a vow of celibacy. She was a homeless kid without a father, and her mom was an addict. I’d given her a place to be safe, a refuge. She was clinging to me because she had nothing and I was abusing my power with her. I had no right lusting after her, no right to look at her, no right to even think about her.

  I was a goddamn mess, dangerous to myself and a nightmare to others.

  And then I had an epiphany—the Church was big on those. I exhaled. Could it be Luke? By some cosmic plan, had Luke sent Blue to me to make me question my whole life? To make me question my faith? To force me to forgive myself? To force me to face my sins? The thoughts swirled around inside me, a dust storm igniting my barren heart.

  But tonight wasn’t about me. It wasn’t even about Blue. It was only about Luke.

  Honoring him. Remembering him. At the very least I could try to have a normal night with Blue. Whatever that was.

  For Luke’s sake. For God’s sake. Maybe even for my sake.

  I reached for Blue’s hand across the table and was surprised that she didn’t pull back. What was her agenda? Why had she been at the cemetery?

  Instead of asking her, I stared into her eyes.

  Emerald green. The shade of Oz. The color of Luke’s.

  For a second a horrifying thought passed through my head.

  Why did she remind me of him all the time? What message was I supposed to take from that, if any? I shook my head slowly. No. I’d definitely had one too many drinks.

  But I wasn’t ready to call it a night either.

  “So Blue, what do you want to do?”

  She eyed me hard. “Like now? You know what I want. You.”

  I laughed. She was toying with me. “No. I mean with your life. You’ve had some time to think about your future since you moved into the rectory. You must have goals. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Her head shook in a disgusted glare. “Really? I can’t believe you’re asking me this. Do you really want to know about my childhood? I didn’t think of fairy tales and princes growing up. I didn’t dream of being a ballerina or a soccer star. I was too busy hoping that I would have enough food to eat, or my mom wouldn’t pass out, or one of her boyfriends wouldn’t grope me or rape me.”

  Her story was all too familiar. “Well, now we have something in common. I was a foster kid. Grew up in a group home.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You were? How come you never told me?”

  “Told you? We aren’t friends, Mariana. I’m a priest. Your priest. And I’ve blurred the lines. Hell, I scribbled all over the picture and outside the frame, too. But I’m here to guide you, that’s all. But even so, I want you to know that I understand you. I’ve been there. Trust me.”

  She knocked back a shot and for once I thought she’d soften to me. Wrong again.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Father Gabriel. You are not my priest. You don’t know shit about me, and I’ll never trust you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mariana

  After my outburst, Gabriel was silent. We watched each other awkwardly until another round of drinks arrived.

  Eating had sobered Gabriel enough that he began to take in his surroundings. I didn’t want that, but he was staring at the walls decorated with photographs of tough looking men wearing their medals with pride.

  “How the fuck did we end up in the Pickled Frog?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and staring around blearily.

  I shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  A shudder ran through him. “I haven’t been here in more than twenty years.”

  “Yeah? I thought all you Navy types hung out here.”

  He stared at me. “Why did you bring me here? Why were you at the cemetery today?”

  “You’re not the only person who’s ever lost someone, Gabriel.”

  Understanding softened his fierce gaze.

  “A friend? Someone close to you?”

  “I was there before you. I had no idea you’d be there today,” I said honestly. “But I could see you were hurting. And even though I’m a cheap whore and about to be homeless again, I couldn’t walk away. You needed a fri— someone. Shit, maybe all that preaching rubbed off on me after all.”

  He shook his head as his eyes dropped to the table.

  “You’re not a cheap whore, Blue. God forgive me for ever making you feel like that. I just … it’s hard being around you when you do the things you do.”

  “Because you hate it?” I asked, leaning closer, “or because you love it?” He didn’t answer, so I answered for him. “I know when a man’s attracted to me, Gabriel.” And then I leaned back in my seat. “But it’s not like I’m gonna try and rape you. You’re 220 pounds and I’m not. You’re safe with me.”

  He cast a sideways glance at me and lifted the corner of his mouth in a wry smile.

  “And though she be but little, she is fierce.”

  “New Testament?” I guessed.

  His grin widened. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare.”

  “Oh, right. I didn’t figure you for a literature student.”

  He shrugged. “Nope, just spent a lot of evenings reading.”

  “Yeah, I saw the Andy McNabb’s in the library, right next to Augustine the Hippo.”

  He laughed loudly.

  “What? I saw it!”

  “You make me laugh, Blue. And it’s Augustine of Hippo. He was an early Christian theologian; Hippo was a city in Algeria.”

  “I knew that,” I scowled.

  “God, you’re cute,” he sighed, an
d pushed a lock of hair away from my face, then let the curl wrap around his finger.

  I froze, watching the palm of his hand hover next to my cheek.

  Gabriel’s eyes, still slightly glazed from drink, locked on mine. “‘After desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin.’”

  I stood up and tugged on his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  His head drooped and his shoulders sagged. “Home? Home is where the heart is.”

  I tugged again and he stumbled to his feet. “Shakespeare or the Bible?”

  “Pliny,” he mumbled, “and Elvis.”

  When I managed to get Gabriel into the car, he fell asleep immediately, snoring softly, his face younger and subdued in sleep. And I knew this was my chance. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to stop the tremors that ran through me. I had to do this now, tonight, because I was pretty sure that Gabriel would try to avoid me until I was kicked out to the nunnery, so it seemed prophetic that his life would end on the twentieth anniversary of my father’s death.

  “An eye for an eye,” I muttered to myself. “A tooth for a tooth. And a life for a life.” See? Even God wanted me to find justice.

  The rectory was dark when I parked in the driveway. I knew that Mrs. O’Cee had gone to visit one of her gazillion offspring, and Father Neil was sitting with a bereaved family during an all-night vigil. I hoped like hell that Father Miguel Angel wasn’t around either. That bastard wasn’t a fan of mine. The feeling was more than mutual—that cold-hearted son of a bitch had no business being a priest. Luckily, he definitely wasn’t sitting in the library, because I couldn’t see a light.

  Gabriel was no featherweight and getting him up the stairs to his room nearly broke my back, he was leaning on me so heavily. But step by weary step, I led him to his doom. I shut out every protesting voice that roared in my head, silencing all the doubts with the certainty that Gabriel was about to find justice.