Peter took care not to reach St. Joseph's too early. He had several reasons, and he knew they were all petty.
Sunrise in this place was hitting between 8:30 and 8:45 this time of year, for one thing, and Mass was back to the austere 9:00 time slot he'd so long pushed against. Peter had always disliked stained glass with dark skies behind it - it seemed so eerie, like a ghost of the figure represented in it. Late night vigils at least offered candlelight, and when the fixtures inevitably came on there was the comfort of knowing that the light from inside the church was beaming out through the windows, making them sparkle for the world outside. Winter mornings were simply bleak on both sides of the glass.
He also hoped to find the place reasonably crowded on the Sunday closest to Epiphany, and perhaps even more so with the new priest's arrival. He wanted to disappear into the back of the congregation. He wanted to approach the rail with his arms crossed over his chest for a blessing only, but no Communion - not yet. Maybe not until his official release from the vow he had broken again last night...and still couldn't really bring himself to regret.
He also left room for the possibility that Father Dave might test his limits once the sermon rolled round. He wanted to be able to leave if he needed to, though the notion broke his heart. He took to his knees and braced his arms on the back of the pew ahead.
He'd come so far since the start of Christmas. Here it was today, over and not quite over, the same as his vows. The same as life as he knew it. It had turned out not to be leaving his vocation that was the hardest part; it was, he now realised, understanding just how out-of-step he'd been all along.
He thought he was safely hidden in the last pew until the Egans slipped in beside him just as the bell began to ring. So much for reflection in solitude.
Niamh looked over at Peter and seemed to recognize the despair in his eyes. As Kathleen began her well-intentioned massacre of the processional hymn, they lifted the kneeler and took to their feet. Niamh boldly squeezed his hand. He noticed how swollen her fingers had become. The guilt of abandoning the promised christening overwhelmed him.
Assumpta could only guess what had happened at Mass. A number of her boarders had gone, perhaps expecting to find a stripper pole at the altar, or lap dances on the chancel steps. She had her ex to thank for that. A good portion of the usual brunch crowd was also late in coming - rare churchgoers like Brendan, no doubt assessing the new curate's performance. She was equally as eager for their reports as she was to put the whole mess out of her mind. She hadn't liked what she saw of Father Tierney the night before (and she now refused to call him "Dave"), but she found to her own surprise that a part of her wanted to be proven wrong.
It had to be Peter's influence. Same thing that had made him a good priest. She hadn't quite gotten over the sense that she'd robbed the parish of the best they would ever have; whether they'd "deserved" him...well, that was debatable.
Just as she was about to feel guilty for making money off the scandal she herself had caused, the first wave of lodgers arrived, queuing up to cancel their stays. She attempted to talk them down from the ledges, but succeeded only in reminding them they might want to retrieve their belongings before they handed in their room keys. All were irate: half because the homily had shown them the errors of their ways, and the other half because the priest hadn't winked back at them when they took the cup. Let it roll off your back, Assumpta could almost hear her mother say. There're people in the world who spin like weather vanes, any way the wind blows. They'd never have been here in the first place if they weren't the kind. She realised she had Leo to thank for this, too. She hoped the survival of his career was worth it. She knew she wouldn't likely be back in touch to find out.
The regulars drifted in between subsequent waves of irate tourists. The locals were irate, too, but for different reasons - reasons that drove them straight to the bar. As each complainer aired his or her grievances, Fiona gently set a beverage in front. In a couple of short nights, she'd gotten a good enough sense of everyone's usual.
"Can you imagine!" Siobhan growled. "Lording over us our 'spinsters and bachelors,' our 'childless couples.'"
"Our single parents," Padraig added, indignant.
"'An epidemic of creeping intellectual elitism, interfering in our relationship with God,'" Brendan quoted.
"And a 'hopeless obsession with money,'" added Brian.
"'And sex,'" said Niamh, pouting theatrically. Ambrose coughed.
"This is the same bloke who was sipping double-bock all night?" said Andy, lugging down the stairs as if he'd just woken up. Assumpta shot a look at Fiona, who affected her best innocent shrug.
Finally, about ten minutes after the last boarder handed in his key, Peter appeared in the doorway. Assumpta had an Irish coffee ready for him. He accepted it eagerly, nodding toward the phone. She nodded back.
Burt Hamilton preferred to unwind after major liturgical feast days with a single malt scotch and a good cigar, then a hot bath before he rejoined polite society. Tonight also held plans for dinner with Maggie, and he knew better than to show up reeking of smoke. Still, it was not unheard of for a parishioner to ring in the late afternoon, and he was always careful to keep the cordless handy during his customary soak.
The surprise today was just whose parishioner was ringing. He made a deliberate effort to keep still in the water. He'd become quite adept at it over the years. He saw no actual sin in it, but he knew the faithful would be happiest not picturing him naked as they conversed.
He turned his attention now to the former priest everyone in the time zone had now pictured naked.
"Peter, I welcome the call, but..." he checked himself. "What's the matter?"
"Have you ever had trouble with authority?"
"Consider for a moment the faith I converted to, Peter. Rather steeped in trouble with authority."
"I mean personally."
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
Peter paused for a moment, no doubt choosing his words with care.
"New curate is a cynical blowhard and he's alienated everybody."
Burt chuckled. "Feeling like you've left the flock in bad hands, are you?"
"Have you ever seen it happen?"
"Of course."
"How do you keep it from getting in the way of your faith?"
"Peter, I hope you're not contemplating a conversion. Your mother'll-"
"Take us both out back and shoot us, I know. I'm not. I just...from a failed priest to a successful one, how do you handle it?"
"First of all, I wouldn't call you a failure." Burt brought his toes above the surface of the water and admired them, or rather, admired that he could still see them past his belly. "Some of us have the good fortune to choose the church before we heed the calling. I'd never have done it if I had to give up what you did. I admire you very much for the courage that must've taken."
"Well, you're very kind, but as we've seen-"
"Peter, forgive me; I've strayed from the point. I think you and I are probably much alike. I think we both went into that line of work to begin with because we saw things that needed fixing. Not just in my church, not just in yours, but in the small-c definition of 'catholic.' In the universal church. Christian faith at large. Am I anywhere near?"
"Yes," came the younger man's voice, sounding a little cracked, but with light bleeding through it.
"I don't think you could be expected to stop noticing room for improvement just because you're a layman again."
"But what do I do with it now my outlet's gone?"
"Find another outlet. Matter of fact, do what women have done throughout your church's history."
"I can't be a nun."
"Hope not; we already know you'd be rotten at it. Take up the pen. Raise a little hell. Do like all those troublemakers on your mother's bookshelf. The Catholic Church can handle it; you lot never would've made it this far without a few pains-in-the-arse among the ranks."
"Never thought I'd be begging an Anglican for his counsel." There was a tired warmth in his voice now.
"Never thought I'd be urging a Catholic to keep the faith. Suppose that's what makes us Maggie's men, nah?"
"You're right," Peter said.
"Speaking of: how's your brother? Staying out of trouble?"
"Nonsense. Why would he start now?"