A Storm of Certainty
"I ask you cause I think you're the man in the know." Leo's tone changed, his eyes accusing.
"Sorry, I'm in the dark." Peter cradled Kieran's head, the soft wisps of hair tickling the palm of his hand.
"I don't think that's quite true though is it? I think you know what I'm asking."
"I don't." He spoke the words as understanding dawned on him.
"I think I am on a hiding to nothing unless you say otherwise."
What to say? How? He knew perfectly well what Leo was asking but he'd never – not intentionally... She'd married him and he'd done all he could to stay away – for his own sake as well as theirs perhaps – but how could he possibly have jeopardized their marriage?
"Last chance father."
Leo walked past him and left the room as Assumpta entered. She'd not seen Leo, only Peter, standing their holding Kieran who was calm and happy. "You're a natural."
Peter's eyes darted to Leo's exit and Assumpta's followed. Her eyes gave away the question – what had been said that had Peter looking so... terrified?
He looked straight back at her with a similar, unspoken question – what had been said to make Leo so sure? She must have said something. Or maybe it was more obvious than he dared believe. Father Mac wasn't the only one with eyes and ears...
His eyes darted from the door, to Kieran, to the floor and finally met hers. There he found the frightening truth that this thing was yet to go away. She was watching him holding Kieran, admiring, seeing something more perhaps..?
"Can a man get a drink around here?" someone demanded from the bar.
Assumpta still stood there, forcibly controlling quick breaths and finally averted her eyes.
She turned and left him with a now calm Kieran.
Later that afternoon Peter found himself wondering who Kathleen had spoken of in her confession. Was he, by his mere presence, standing between Leo and Assumpta?
Never consciously.
Thunder cracked and he realised it had been raining for quite some time. Usually such weather would scare any sane man inside. Perhaps it was insanity, but Peter was suddenly restless to get out. Not just out – specifically he needed to speak to Father Mac. Assumpta was married and there would never be anything in their future to merit his decision. Nonetheless, he was sure, finally, that he needed to leave the priesthood. His thoughts had barely wandered from Assumpta all week – no, to be honest, longer than that. But there was so much more to it than her. At twenty giving up sex is probably the hardest bit. A lifetime of independence and the satisfaction of helping people seem a grand calling. At thirty-something a lifetime of independence becomes much closer to loneliness – or it had for Peter. And the rest of his life seemed like an awful long time to be alone – without a family or 'those kinds of friends' as he'd so ambiguously put it once before.
He closed Father Mac's front door behind him and took a deep breath. It was dark now, still raining and tiny rivers danced on the pavement reflecting light from the windows. Father Mac had been surprised, had thought Assumpta was Peter's only reason. On hearing the full story he'd been surprisingly decisive. No more waiting – tomorrow would be Peter's final Mass. If he wanted to leave, though the paperwork might take weeks, he needed to leave. Anything else would be unfaithful to the parishoners. This suited Peter – many were his friends and they deserved his faith in them, not only in God.
He drove past Fitzgeralds and tried not to notice the lights still on – though perhaps it'd be worse if they were off. Finally home he dashed from the car, under the dripping eaves and into the house. Brian's things were everywhere and with a bowl of instant noodles Peter retreated to his bedroom. Father Mac had been awfully easy on him – almost as if he understood. Perhaps there was more there than appearances suggested. The noodles were too hot so he placed them on the bedside table, picking up his sermon notes to make room. He'd need to change them, he realised, to add something of an explanation. What and how were damned good questions but better once for all than once for every person he came across for months. And better in his own words than twisted whispers and myth.
The rain paused as Mass ended. People had been kinder, less judgemental than he'd expected, and had kept their questions to a minimum. Basking in relief, he was, once again left babysitting Kieran, Peter said goodbye to a parishioner and hello to the baby, letting Niamh's words sink in. Leo's gone.
He wandered across the bridge, chatting to the Kieran – his new friend. Trying not to think about Assumpta and Leo, he told Kieran where the river came from, and where it went. At mass he'd told them he'd be staying in ballyk for a few weeks even though his duties would end now. After that, he figured, he'd have to go, find work, sort out what he was going to do. God, it was so beautiful here. In so many ways he was loath to leave.
"Left holding the baby father?"
He turned to the young woman walking toward him.
"You won't hear me complaining." Too true. "I hope you don't regret coming." (She'd come to ballyk in search of a long lost sister – who was in the end, her mother, but remained unfound.)
She shook her head. She was about to get on the bus, not really sure where. Peter wondered if that would be him in a week or three. How would he say goodbye? There had been few attempts to talk about it by his parishoners after Mass. He'd said, 'later', and 'we'll talk soon'. Some would, some not.
She kissed father Mac on the cheek and stepped onto the bus. Waving Kieran's arm, Peter watched the bus pull away.
Fat drops of rain fell from the low wispy clouds above, and the dark clouds above them swirled threateningly. He jogged into Fitzgeralds, cuddling Kieran close to keep him dry.
"Oh, Father – sorry, Peter," Niamh approached, thanking him for minding Kieran. She pulled the pram forward and Peter placed him carefully inside. "I tried to talk to Assumpta but she took off. Ambrose had to go into Cilldargen so I thought I'd better stay, mind the bar. I hope she's okay though – is it raining again?"
"Yeah, looks like its about to let loose." He looked around the pub and decided he was in no frame of mind to talk, explain... "I'll go and..." His voice trailed and he left the pub, pulling his coat around him.
Niamh hadn't said which way she'd gone but given that her car remained in its usual spot, she'd be on foot. He stepped out onto the road and looked around. Finn ran across the road further down the valley, then stopped at a farm gate, nosing the latch. Assumpta followed, jogged up to the gate, opened it. Finn ran through and on into the field, out of sight to Peter. She latched the gate and ran to follow the dog, not seeming to notice the rain.
Peter pulled the white collar from his neck, pocketed it, and jogged down the footpath, his shoulders already soaked. For a moment, as he fiddled with the gate, he thought he'd imagined the whole scene - she was nowhere to be seen. He stepped through and closed the gate, looking again and stepping forward.
Several hundred yards away Assumpta stood up as Finn raced to her side.
Worried she'd fallen and been hurt, Peter stopped thinking of his shoes and ran across the field. He slipped and slid, and finally fell on his arse, just as she saw him.
"What are you doing?" She shouted, walking carefully toward where he was sitting in the mud.
"Niamh said," she gave him a hand up and he wiped his muddy hands on black trousers leaving two smudged hand prints, "she said you'd taken off and with the storm..."
"It's not that bad." Assumpta lifted her face to the fast descending drops. She looked back at Peter. "I've a hot shower and dry clothes when I want them."
"Finn may need one too."
She followed Peter's gaze to find Finn dart sliding around a tree, clearly enjoying himself and probably about to become a major threat to someone's sheep.
Assumpta started walking to catch him - or at least to get within calling distance. The falling rain was loud and thunder rumbled a decent way off.
Peter walked beside her. "the squelch and slap Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge Through living roots awaken in my head."
Assumpta turned to him curious.
"But I've no spade to follow men like them." He met her questioning gaze. "From a poem."
She nodded. "That's about par for today."
Finn had stopped under the tree and they did the same.
"What do you mean?"
"One more thing I never expected to hear - though perhaps I should have."
Peter watched her brush wet tendrils of her hair from her face.
"Are you okay?"
"No idea. But I'm sure I will be. Usually am."
"I know."
Finn shook himself, spraying them with mud and water.
"So much for shelter." Peter stroked the dogs neck forgivingly. She was watching him, making him self conscious. "You heard then?"
She looked confused. "Not as such - I was there. He did tell me he was leaving."
"No - I meant..." Was it possible Niamh hadn't told her? "Never mind."
"What?"
"And you're okay." He tried to change the subject back.
Her eyes still questioned him but, for now, she complied. "Probably more so than I should be."
He took a moment to absorb that. "Is he coming back?"
She shook her head. "I couldn't do that to him again – though if I asked he probably-" Deep breath. "No." She leaned against the tree, then, on second thought, sat down on the ground at the base of the tree.
Peter sat beside her, happy to wait until she wished to speak, if she wished to speak. And maybe later he would tell her of his decision.
"I thought I could go back. Once upon a time... but everything is different."
The clouds seemed to grumble and grow blacker as the rain became visibly heavier.
"Peter, why are you out here?"
He met her eyes and remembered her words. "You can tell anything to a friend."
"Priests don't have those kinds of friends." She replied automatically. She looked away, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I-" She laughed. "Would you look at me? Sitting in the rain, hopeless, everything a mess, everything-" She took a deep breath, "And cruel to the one person - always the one person." She turned to him, "Why? It's not part of your job and please don't say I qualify as charity."
He smiled. "Not quite."
"You don't smile enough." She observed absentmindedly, looking away again. "Not lately anyway."
He watched her face as she tried to figure it out.
"You're not the only one sitting in the rain, hopeless and everything a mess. I'm not going to say I know exactly how you feel, but I will say, I'm not quite as selfless as you describe me."
"That so?"
"I was worried. Niamh was worried."
"People do stupid things when they're heartbroken. For that matter, they do stupid things when they're in love." She knew why they might worry.
"Heartbroken." He repeated the word, confused.
"I should be, shouldn't I? For Leo, I mean. I should be devastated."
"And you're not."
She didn't move and stared determinedly at the puddle growing just beyond the shade of the tree. She swallowed, clenching her jaw. He watched intently and saw she was almost crying, trying not to.
"I'm fine Peter. You should go home."
"You want me to go?"
No reply. He waited but she did not look at him.
"If not for Leo, for who?" he dared.
Her forehead wrinkled and her lips tightened together.
Tentatively, but with little choice in the matter, Peter slipped his arms around her shoulders, pulled her gently towards him. For a desperate self-preserving moment she hesitated, but only for a moment. She shook against his chest, crying silently. He held her tighter, silently praying God, or something, would give her comfort, give her peace.
Thunder rumbled, closer now, and she pulled away, sitting straight and looking Peter in the eye as if unable to look anywhere else. There was an intensity there - almost anger, definitely regret.
"I'm sorry if I've made it worse." His voice was weak and unshed tears of his own had his throat aching. "You've often tried to be there for me. That's all I meant by it."
Another sob wracked her body and she looked out into the rain. She was shivering, he realised.
Silently, he stood, offered his hand, which she took and then dropped. They began walking back, Finn placidly at Assumpta's side. She ran her finger tips down his neck.
"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this." She spoke soft and sure, almost a confession.
"Doing what?"
"Oh come on Peter. You're a priest, for heaven's sake. Wecan't keep doing this."
"Actually," he took a deep breath, "I'm not."
"Not what? Not doing this?"
"No, I'm not a Priest – or not for much longer, and not actively after today."
She silently kept walking, trying to understand what he'd said. Was she imagining things? Fully fledged hallucinations or just mishearing things, hearing what she wanted... she'd not actually thought he would ever...
"Say that again?" she stopped walking and turned to him.
A step further he stopped, turned back, looked at her. "I'm not a Priest – not actively, as of today."
"Why?" her voice failed her and she only whispered, inaudible in the rain. It was obvious what she'd asked but the storm was not letting up and she still shivered.
"Let's get back, get dry, then talk."
Back on the footpath they walked faster, no longer fearing falling in the mud. But halfway up the road to Fitzgeralds she stopped. "I can't go in there like this – and you like that."
He nodded and took her elbow, nodding up the lane to his house. Nerves building he dropped his hand from her arm and jogged up the path in front of her to unlock the door.
It was already unlocked, and on opening was answered by Brian's familiar, but disembodied, voice.
"Oh, hello father. You're back eh?"
"Ah, actually, I forgot something. Be back later." He shut the door again as Assumpta stepped under the eaves, her eyes asking why they were still outside. "Brian's back."
She nodded. "You go in; I'll go home. I'll see you later."
That wasn't what he wanted, nor what she wanted, he guessed. But it made sense. "Soon." He inclined his head.
She nodded, not quite yet able to pull her eyes away. Eventually, with something almost like a smile, she nodded silent farewell and backed away.
"Take an umbrella." He said as she turned away.
"Too late." She called back, jogging off.
