The Redemptive Return

Four

Four

“AH, ANNA,” I SAY QUICKLY. Helen stiffles a schoolgirl’s giggle and turns around.

“Am I interrupting?” Anna asks.

“No, no, we’re finished,” I say.

“Tom was just giving me a belated Christmas present,” Helen says.

“Was he now?” Anna says with raised eyebrows.

“It’s a Saint Michael’s medal,” I explain.

Helen steps to Anna so she can see. Anna peers at it. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “Tom, you have an urgent call to return.”

“An emergency?”

“It sounded that way to me. Good thing I was here to get the phone.”

I look at Anna. She’s upset, almost angry.

But her implication is right. I hadn’t heard the Rectory phone, and I had turned my cell phone off and left it in my office.

Helen looks at the two of us. “I need to get back to the station. I’ll see you later, Tom.” Helen steps past Anna. “Have a good day, Anna,” she says on her way out.

“You, too, Helen,” Anna says. Her eyes follow Helen into the doorway. The front door closes, then she turns to me.

“What’s the number?” I say, walking towards my office.

“Never mind that right now,” Anna says. She steps into the living room, sits on the couch, and folds her hands. “We need to have a talk, Tom.”

“Okay,” I say, sitting in the recliner and folding my hands on my lap. “What do you want to talk about, Anna?”

She takes a deep breath. “What are you doing, Tom?”

I sit up, trying to look neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that, Tom,” Anna says. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. That medal. That 18 karat gold medal.” She waves her hand at me. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’ve seen enough jewelry in my life to tell quality at a glance.”

She leans forward. “An expensive Christmas present. For Helen. Your ex-fiance.” Taking a deep breath, she adds, “The woman I sometimes suspect you’re still in love with.”

“It wasn’t that expensive,” I mutter, ignoring her last statement.

“For a banker or a business executive, maybe. But for a priest? Don’t forget, I know exactly how much the parish pays you. And I have some idea how much that cost you. A thousand? Twelve hundred?”

I look at my folded hands. “I got it on sale.”

“So, what? Nine hundred?”

I don’t answer. It’s true, I’m not paid much as a priest. But I don’t have many expenses. My car is over ten years old. My clothes are all the same color. Groceries for one aren’t that much. My savings are pretty good.

Though buying Helen’s gift did take half of what I had.

“Why’d you give it to her?” Anna asks.

I shrug, trying to look relaxed. “I wanted to give her something to show how much I appreciate her as a friend. I thought, given her profession—”

“Oh, the Saint Michael medal was a great idea. But you can get a stainless steel one for twenty, thirty dollars. You didn’t have to give her one like that. What, did you get it engraved, too?” She sees the look on my face and rolls her eyes. “Oh, Tom. What are you doing?”

“Nothing, Anna, nothing.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t give me nothing, Tom. It’s just the latest thing.”

I’m confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you haven’t been the same since the summer. Since Father Leonard’s suicide, you’ve been—this way.”

“What way?”

“Tom, do I have to spell it out?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” I say, sitting back with my palms on the arms of my chair. “I really don’t understand what you mean. I’ve been just fine.”

“No, you haven’t Tom,” Anna blurts. “You haven’t been fine for months. You’ve been depressed, grumpy, short-tempered, not focused on your work. You stopped saying the 8:00 a.m. Mass—”

I dismiss that with a wave of my hand. “I missed most of them anyway.”

“You don’t attend most parish functions. You barely stay five minutes outside after Mass to greet people, then spend an hour hiding out in the sacristy, often talking to Helen. Not to mention all the other times when it’s just you and Helen together, either here or around town.”

“What is all this? Are you spying on me, or something?”

“Oh, no, Tom. It’s not spying when it’s something everyone can see.”

A chill goes down my spine. “What do you mean?” I say slowly.

Anna closes her eyes and sighs. “I mean, Tom, I’m not the only one who’s noticed how much time you’re spending together.” She looks down, then adds. “People say you’re both acting like Father Leonard and Rachel did.”

“Now, wait just a damn minute—”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Thomas Jude Greer!” Anna says, waving an admonishing finger at me. “I’m just telling you what people are saying. The fact that it’s gotten a lot more frequent since she decided not to take that job in Nebraska has quite a few tongues wagging.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“Are you sure? Has she ever told you why she turned it down?”

I look at the ceiling. “She told me she decided she didn’t want to move back to Nebraska. That was it. What else would there be? And why should I care what a bunch of old gossipy women have to say?” I exclaim.

“It’s not just the old gossipy women, as you call them,” Anna replies. “It’s the young moms too. You know, the ones who haven’t quite forgiven you for the near disaster at the Living Nativity?”

“Now, that alpaca escaping was not my fault. Besides, it attacked me first.”

“Maybe. But you made quite a spectacle of yourself when it happened. Screaming and yelling at the children, not to mention your language. Apparently little Catherine Conway’s been having nightmares about you. Dan and Miriam have to practically drag her into the Church every Sunday morning. She’s under the impression that you’re really a child-eating monster.”

I slump back. I remember. It was not my finest hour.

“Of course,” Anna continues, “what Miriam claims she saw doesn’t help matters.”

“Oh? And what is she saying?”

“She says she saw Helen hug and kiss you, in front of the Rectory, after the pageant was over, as the snow started falling,” Anna says, “in her words, ‘just like when Matthew asked Lady Mary to marry him on Downton Abbey.’”

Beads of sweat burst forth on my brow. Miriam Conway. That sweet-looking mother of four has proven to be quite the gossip. She threw the gasoline on the Father Leonard situation that turned a small fire into a raging inferno.

“That—ahem—it was nothing like that,” I stammer. “It was just a peck. She was just wishing me a Merry Christmas.”

“A handshake wouldn’t have done?” Anna asks. Before I can answer, she says. “Tom, I’m not saying anything inappropriate is going on between you and Helen. But the appearances, what people are seeing, are suggestive. Especially after Father Leonard and Rachel.”

“I don’t care what it looks like! People are free to believe what they want.” I take a deep breath. “We’re just friends. That’s all.”

“Isn’t that what Father Leonard said?”

“I’m not Leonard!” I shout, slamming my fist on the chair arm. Anna jumps.

“Then,” she says calmly, “there’s your anger.”

“Well, how do you expect me to be, when you’re insinuating—”

Anna shakes her head. “I’m not talking about this, Tom. I’m talking about your homily. The one people are still talking about.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

“That homily on forgiveness you gave back in September.”

“Why? What was wrong with it?”

“What was wrong—okay, maybe you don’t remember.”

“I thought it was pretty good, one of my best.”

Anna starts counting off on her fingers, “First, it was forty-five minutes long. Second, you threw more fire and brimstone at the congregation than God threw at Sodom and Gomorrah. And third, you banged the pulpit so hard you broke it.”

I’m exasperated. “What’s your point, Anna?”

“My point, son,” she says gently, “is I’m worried about you. All of this is so strangely familiar. I’ve seen you like this one other time. Right before you left.”

“This is nothing like that,” I say, dismissing the statement with a wave of my hand. “I’m fine. A little tired, maybe. Worried about the roof, certainly. But fine.”

“No, Tom, you’re—”

“And frankly, Anna, who I choose as a friend, or who I choose to give a gift to, or what that gift is, is really none of your or anyone else’s business!” I say sharply.

Anna stiffens. “I see. Well, I guess I’ll just go to the kitchen and start your lunch.”

I glare at her. “Who was the phone call from?” I ask firmly.

Anna looks at me. “Your mother. At least she said she was your mother when she asked to speak to Tommy.”

I wince. Only my mother and my sister still called me Tommy.

“Do you need the number?”

“No,” I sigh. “I have it.”

Without a word, Anna turns on her heels and walks out. I slump and shake my head. I’ll apologize later. But I’ve got to get this over with.

I walk to my office and grab my phone. Scrolling through the contacts, I stop on the three-letter palindrome that, even at forty-five years old, causes my stomach to twist in knots.

Mom.

I dial the number. She picks up on the second ring. “Tommy?” Mom asks. She sounds like she’s been crying.

“Mom? What is it?”

“Oh Tommy, you need to come home. Please, you just need to come home!”

“Mom, I can’t. I’m just—”

“No, Tommy. It’s Sonya.”

I knew it. It had been a while, but only Sonya could make Mom this upset. “What’s she gotten herself into now?”

I hear heavy breathing on the other end. “She’s—she’s missing, Tommy. She hasn’t been home in three days.”