IT’S AFTER 6 P.M. BY the time Helen drops me off at the Rectory, promising to stop by later for a late dinner. It’s only when I open the door and step into my home that I realize a couple of things.
First, I’m tired. All I want to do is take off my clericals, slip on some worn, comfortable clothes, and have a cold beer to go with what I’m smelling coming from the kitchen.
Second, I’ve really had enough of not walking through this door to find Helen waiting for me. December 26 cannot come too quickly.
“Anna!” I call.
“We’re in the living room, Tom,” she says.
“We?” I mutter to myself. “Who else is here—oh, I forgot Nate was staying.”
But when I walk into the living room, it’s not Nate with Anna.
No, it’s not Nate at all.
Anna’s sitting on the couch with Bill Brant, the head of the K
