Assumpta was in bed with stomach cramps bad enough to keep her there. Stomach flu, Peter told the curious locals who either looked at him askance, thinking him a certifiable carrier, or seeded the suspicion that Assumpta might be pregnant.
Siobhan was probably the only exception, far from her usually observant self, on a desperate search for Brendan. When no one helped she left again and then the story came out – he'd walked out on the Christening rehearsal. Niamh soon showed up to confirm it.
"How's her ladyship?"
"If you don't mind manning the bar I'll go find out." Peter said but Niamh made for the stairs herself.
"Brave woman." Padraig called after her.
It wasn't exceptionally busy, but with the added impetus of ensuring Assumpta didn't feel the need to get out of bed, Peter was more thorough than ever. Still, he had time, while pouring a pint, to ask Padraig where Brendan was.
"Up to his knees in the river, probably. But if he wants to be alone, he wants to be alone."
"Yet it may not be what he needs."
Padraig was in no hurry, but when he finished his drink he left.
Niamh returned and came behind the bar. "Go on."
Assumpta was curled up on her side, facing the door, so she saw him arrive and smiled bravely. That stopped him in his tracks. He'd been prepared for frustration, rage, perhaps a projectile.
"So much for no regrets." He said and approached.
"Don't say that." She tried to sit up but he sat down beside her, his hand on her shoulder, holding her down. She turned her head, kissed his fingers. "It'll pass."
"Did you tell Niamh?"
She shook her head. "Should I?"
"No, it's not that."
"If you want to say, you can say."
He shook his head and then lay down beside her.
"Doesn't get much more private than this." She closed her eyes for another rolling cramp.
"All of that is fast fading to unimportant. Are you alright?"
"Ah, sure." She groaned, lifting her knees up between them. "Don't suppose you had any left-overs of those magic painkillers the doc got you at the hospital."
He shook his head. "But I can call Michael, there must be something he can do."
She pushed him away, just managing to say, "'scuse me," breathing deep and heavy.
"What's wrong?"
She clambered off the end of the bed and he followed her down the hall, catching the toilet door before it bounced and hit her, where she was kneeling on the floor.
When her breathing returned to normal, he asked, "Is that the first time?"
She shook her head, shifted to sit on the floor. "While Niamh's was up here."
"Want me to help you back to bed?"
She nodded, took his hand, pulling herself up. "She thinks I'm pregnant."
He sighed, not a whit surprised.
"She's not the only one?"
"No, but don't worry, we'll prove them all wrong."
With half a laugh she leaned on his shoulder and wriggled into an embrace. "I love you." She said.
"I know." He pushed back her hair.
"That's nice." She leaned her head to the side, prompting him to do it again.
Niamh came up after closing and found Peter sitting cross-legged on Assumpta's bed, one hand in her hair, fingers working.
"She alright?" Niamh whispered.
He looked up, startled, "Oh, you know." He immediately felt bad for the untruth but hadn't he been fibbing all day about why Assumpta was up here? "Thank you for minding the bar. I meant to come back down, but-"
"You were needed here." She smiled at the odd image of the man who'd been her priest so very at home, and just where he belonged, in Assumpta's bed. "You know you don't have to check off every vow before the wedding – sickness, health, poverty." She nodded toward the pub. "I'll lock up."
"Thanks." Peter said.
The next morning, while Assumpta was sleeping, he collected the last few of his things, in his rucksack, and less-than-accidentally moved in.
Brendan slunk in for an early lunch. He was the only customer.
"Flying solo?" Brendan lay his jacket across the next barstool.
"I'm not the only one."
"Don't you start."
Peter held up his hands in surrender. "The usual?"
"Yes please. So you heard then?"
"Siobhan came in searching for you."
"She found me."
"Ah." Peter put a tall glass of stout down on the bar.
"You've been practising." Brendan tried and failed to steer the conversation toward beer.
"So, what's the problem?" Peter said as he walked out to the kitchen, giving Brendan plenty of time to phrase his answer.
He didn't need time. "I've no part in any of it. She doesn't want me to have a part in it and so I don't and that's the end of it. I won't be window dressing."
Peter indulged in a smile, safely out of sight, then brought through his friend's lunch. "Do you want a part of it, or the whole thing?"
"I don't know." Brendan started on his sandwich as if it held the answer. "Maybe that's the problem."
Peter wiped down the spotless bar.
"I wouldn't take it back for the world, but I wish things weren't so complicated."
Peter laughed. "I know what you mean."
"She's right about one thing."
Peter raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'Just one?' but refrained from speaking aloud.
"Yeah yeah." Brendan put down his glass. "We shouldn't get married. It wouldn't be right. But how does this work?"
"You'll figure it out."
"Trial and error."
"It's all there is."
Brendan laughed and finished his beer. "Father Aidan thinks I don't know how lucky I am, though he might have said blessed rather than lucky."
"Hm." Peter couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to. This was far too close to home.
"You alright?"
His nod was far from convincing.
"If there's anything you want to talk about?"
Peter nodded but now wasn't the time. "Don't you have some place to be?"
Brendan sighed heavily. "Fine! Good God, the lot of you. Off I go," he slung his jacket over his shoulder, "to grovel."
"Good man."
"There's hope for me yet."
The bar was empty so he risked missing an impatient customer and left open every door for the sake of hearing them. Assumpta was sitting on the floor outside the toilet door. On seeing him she said, "It's more comfortable here on the carpet."
"It's more comfortable in bed, surely."
"It's such a long way."
"Right." He helped her up and back to bed. "I'm calling the doctor."
She sighed but didn't protest. "It's what he said would happen. There's nothing wrong."
"You're just miserable."
"It will pass."
"Oh, and I'm insufferably positive?"
She lay down, lifting her knees up to her stomach almost immediately.
"I hate this." He said.
"You hate it?"
"I can't do a thing."
"Ah it could be worse."
"Really? How?"
"You could be a priest."
He laughed and sat beside her. "How much longer?"
"That was just the question I was always asking."
"I thought you said you never thought I'd leave the priesthood."
"I didn't believe you'd do it, but you're hardly the first one ever. I knew it was possible."
"Then why was it so hard to believe?"
She breathed deep, longer and longer, then seemed to come though it.
"You don't need me to help you down-"
She shook her head. "Distract me. What's the goss?"
"Really?"
"Tell me we've been usurped as the most interesting people going."
He smiled and pushed back her hair. Her appreciation evident, he kept rubbing her head as he spoke. "Brendan walked out on the christening rehearsal."
"Who can blame him?"
"What? Why?"
"I don't think I could say half that stuff, in front of God, if he cares to listen, and everyone else. Tantamount to fraud."
"Oh, right." He swallowed every response, every question. They could cross that bridge when they came to it, and it was a ways off yet. Now was certainly not the time to discuss it. Back to the case at hand: Brendan and Siobhan. "I suspect there's more to it than that."
"Is he throwing a tantrum like a toddler who didn't get the big balloon?"
Peter smiled. "Maybe."
"You told him to suck it up and talk to Siobhan, right?"
"Something like that."
"And that right there is why I didn't think you'd quit." On his confused expression she went on. "You were a good priest."
"What, abrupt?"
"Honest. To the point. A right pain in the arse."
"Brendan would probably agree with you on that."
"People like a pain in the arse more than they let on. Why do you think I'm still in business?"
"Speaking of keeping you in business, I'd better go back to work."
"When's the christening?"
"This afternoon."
"You'll miss it?"
"It's okay."
"Not it's not. Shut up shop. Everyone will be there anyway. Open up for the crowd after. You won't miss a thing."
"You'll be here though."
"Trust me, you won't miss a thing."