The Redemptive Return

Three

Three

BEFORE WE KNOW IT, it’s almost 11:30 a.m. I don’t know where the time went.

Lately, it always seems to stop when I’m with Helen.

“Wow, look at the time,” I say, standing up.

Helen stands and puts her bag over her shoulder. “Sorry to keep you so long, Tom. I only meant to stop by for a few minutes.”

“Hey,” I laugh. “No need to apologize. Today’s my day off, so I have no other meetings or calls to make. I was going to go over parish administration stuff that Anna’s been after me about, but I’d much rather talk to you.”

Helen smiles, “And I’d much rather be here talking to you than where I was supposed to be.”

“Oh, where was that? The Medical Examiner’s Office in Baltimore?”

“No. No place that pleasant. I had a meeting over at the courthouse. With Brian.”

I can’t help but notice the tone she uses in saying his name. It is one a person might use when mentioning something unpleasant.

Like hemorrhoids.

I know any relationship they had ended a long time ago—even before I returned to Myerton. Still, I can’t help the surge of jealousy that I experience when she mentions being with him. “You had a meeting with Brian?” I say as calmly as possible.

She looks at me, maybe detecting the tone in my voice. “Yes,” she says evenly. “We were supposed to go over evidence in a trial that’s coming up. I’ll have to call and apologize.” She pauses a moment. “You know, I am Chief Detective. Brian is State Attorney. And, thanks to the voters of Myer County, he will be for the next four years.”

She says this to me, but it’s almost like she’s repeating it to herself.

“Though now that Dan’s been made a detective,” she adds, “it won’t be me Brian works with every time there’s a case.”

“How is Dan?” I ask. After his work on Father Leonard’s case, Chief Lowden had made Dan Conway a detective, working directly under Helen.

“Oh, he’s great,” she replies. “I appreciate the second pair of hands. I’ve had my eye on him for a while, but I was a little taken aback when the Chief didn’t consult me before promoting him, but apparently Dan said if the promotion wasn’t forthcoming, he’d quit.”

“That doesn’t sound like Dan,” I say.

“I thought it was odd, too, so I asked him about it. He mumbled something about needing to be at home more.” She shrugs.

She looks at the time again. “Now, I really need to get going,” she says. Smiling, she adds, “I really enjoy our talks, Tom.”

“Well, we can keep talking,” I say, looking at the time. “How about lunch at The Bistro?”

“Ooh, sounds tempting,” Helen says. “I’m starving. But I need to get back to the office. I’ll probably just grab a sandwich at my desk with Gladys.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Not as much as you think.”

“How is Gladys? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Still pinning for her forbidden love,” Helen says sarcastically. “She asks me about you every Monday, wanting to know how you looked on Sunday.”

“She could see me herself,” I say, “if she came back to Mass.”

Helen sighs and shakes her head. “I know. I’ve actually mentioned it. But whenever I do, she seems to—I don’t know, it’s like she closes in on herself.”

“Any idea why?”

She hesitates. “Some, but as her supervisor it’s really none of my business.”

Helen turns to leave. “Oh,” she says, digging through her bag, “I almost forgot the reason I’m here in the first place.” She produces a black wallet and hands it to me. “It finally came in.”

I open it and find a gold police badge that looks exactly like Helen’s, but instead of “Detective” mine says “Police Chaplain.” The ID card with my picture, complete with an awkward smile and Roman collar, says the same thing.

“The one you’ll wear at crime scenes comes on a chain,” she says as I stroke the badge with my thumb. “I’ll get that to you. Though maybe I should just bring it with me the next time one of the kids finds a dead body behind the Rectory.”

I look at her. “What do you mean, ‘the next time’? There’ve been no bodies found behind the Rectory.”

Helen grins, her deep azure blue eyes twinkling. “I figure it’s just a matter of time.”

Our eyes lock. Her grin slowly disappears.

I look back down at the badge. “I still don’t see how you persuaded the Chief to do this.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that difficult,” she says, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. “I pointed out that I found you valuable in meeting with family members, plus you could see to the spiritual needs of the department. And since you’ve been at the crime scenes of the last two murders in Myerton, we should just make you an official part of the force.”

I c**k an eyebrow. “And that persuaded him.”

“No,” she smiles. “What persuaded him was that I told him you’d do it for free.”

We laugh as she turns to go.

“Wait, Helen, before you go,” I say, “I have something for you, too.”

She turns back. I reach into my pocket and pull out a blue velvet box.

Helen’s eyes widen. “What’s that, Tom?” she whispers.

“I wanted to give it to you for Christmas,” I say as I present the box to her. “It didn’t get here in time.”

Helen stares at the box laying in the palm of my hand. She doesn’t reach for it at first, then she tentatively takes it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Huh? Oh, nothing, nothing,” she replies. Not taking her eyes off the box in her hand, she says, “I’m just thinking about the last time you gave me a blue velvet box.”

I remember. That time, the box contained a gold ring topped with an azure blue sapphire. I had to go to half a dozen jewelers to find one that matched her eyes. When I found one, I got my first credit card.

I finally finished paying it off two years after I left her.

“I was just looking at the ring the other day,” Helen continues.

“You still have it?” I’m a little surprised.

She looks at me. “You let me keep it, remember?”

“Oh, I remember, it only seemed right. I just didn’t think—”

“It was too pretty to get rid of. I keep it in my memento box. Along with the rings John gave me.”

We stand looking at each other in uncomfortable silence. Finally, I say, “Don’t you think you’d better open it? I assure you, it’s not a ring.”

Helen laughs, that laugh so like her and so unlike Joan’s. “No,” she says as she opens the box, “I didn’t think—”

She gasps. Her eyes are huge as she looks at the object nestled on white satin.

“Tom!” she whispers.

I smile. “You like it?”

“Do I like it? I . . . I love it! It’s absolutely exquisite! But you . . . you really shouldn’t have! I mean, I didn’t get you anything nearly this nice.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” I say. Her present to me hangs on the wall behind her. An oil painting of Jesus, The Divine Mercy, as He appeared to Saint Faustina. It’s unlike any other image I’ve ever seen. When she gave it to me outside the rectory after the disastrous Living Nativity, it took my breath away.

“Helen,” I had said. “It’s—this is fantastic.”

“You like it?” she had said with a smile.

“I love it! Where’d you find it?”

“The Painted Lotus,” she had answered. “Bethany Grabell painted it. I went in there to check out some harassment complaints she had filed and saw this. I just had to get it for you.”

“I didn’t know she could do work like this,” I muttered as I looked at the painting. It was impressionistic, full of bright colors and vibrant brush strokes. But it was unmistakably Jesus, one full of energy and power.

I step closer to Helen. “You’ve been my protector two times in the past year,” I say to her. “I thought I’d return the favor.”

“But this—this is too much,” she whispers. Her eyes are huge and sparkling like a little girl’s on Christmas morning when seeing a new bicycle.

“Don’t you think you should put it on?”

Helen reaches into the box. “I’m almost afraid to,” she says as she draws out the delicate gold chain. Dangling from the chain is a small round pendant with the figure of a winged angel with a sword killing a dragon. The inscription on the front says, “St. Michael, protect us.”

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

“He’s the patron saint of police officers,” I say. “Look on the back.”

She looks at me quizzically, then turns the medal over. Inscribed there is “TJG to HMP, Christmas, 2020.”

“I didn’t want you to forget who gave it to you,” I say nonchalantly.

“There’s little chance of that,” she mutters, looking at the medal as it sways on the chain, the light reflecting from it’s gold surface.

Something on the front of the medal catches her eye. She brings it closer for a better look. Her head snaps up.

“Tom!” she says with astonishment. “This is 18 karat gold! This must have cost you a fortune!”

I dismiss the statement with a wave of my hand. “Are you going to appraise it or put it on?”

She laughs and begins to try to work the clasp. Her hands are shaking.

“Here,” I say, taking the chain from her trembling fingers, “why don’t I do that for you.”

She turns her back to me, scooping up her shoulder-length black hair so I can see the back of her neck. My eyes linger on it for a moment while my shaking fingers try to work the clasp.

“Tom?” Helen asks. “Everything okay back there?”

“Huh—oh, yeah, everything’s fine. This clasp—it’s kind of small. Wait, got it!” I put the thin gold chain around her neck. The clasp is not just small, it’s very delicate. I get closer to her so I can see.

Instantly, I’m enveloped by the heady smell of vanilla from her hair. I inhale deeply, and the scent unlocks memories of long ago.

I shake my head. What is wrong with you, Tom! Get it together! my inner priest says.

It’s nothing more than a pleasant memory, my inner lover replies.

Don’t lie to yourself, Tom, the priest says.

“Just a sec,” I say, “almost—okay, good, done.” I step back as Helen drops her hair and shakes it out.

Turning around, she smiles and asks, “How does it look?”

I look at the small gold circle against the creamy skin just below her neck, dangling in the V caused by the top button of her blouse being undone.

“Beautiful,” I whisper.

We stand looking at each other for a minute.

“Ahem.” I look over Helen’s shoulder. Anna is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

She doesn’t look happy.