Vincent and Avril
Chapter 4
"Feedback"
by Margaret Pattison
The red Granada raced much too fast along the back roads of County Wicklow, spitting up gravel and leaving deep tracks in the grass along the roadside whenever it had to make room for oncoming traffic. The classic 8- track was blasting Manfred Mann's 54321, and it's illegal to shift below 3rd gear when that's playing. With all the subsidies they had gotten from the European Union, you'd think the Irish could have built roads wide enough for something larger than a bicycle and a mule to pass each other without one of them stopping. This car was built for speed and muscle, not for safety, and that's how it was being driven.
Unfortunately, not all the denizens of the road that day shared the same motor aesthetic as the Granada's driver, and word soon found its way back to the office of Guard Frances (Frankie) Sullivan. When she heard the description of the car, she rolled her eyes. Would the man never learn? Probably intoxicated again. She gave herself a grim, thin-lipped stare as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror, running her thumb and forefinger around the visor. So that woman had actually driven him to drink. Shame.
Frankie didn't have to wait long before the Granada drove past where she was lying in wait. He was certainly predictable. Same spot as last time. As the car zoomed past, Frankie pulled out onto the road, turned on her patrol car's sound-and-light show and took up the pursuit. It didn't last long. The Granada slowed down and stopped at the side of the road moments later. Frankie grabbed the Breathalyzer and exited her vehicle, approaching the culprit with a stern expression and a lecture at the ready. As she came up on the driver's side, she saw that the window was already lowered, and she began her spiel. "All right, Father, I think you know the routine--," she began, but snapped her mouth shut and opened her eyes wide in surprise when she saw who was behind the wheel.
Avril Burke looked gingerly up at Frankie with a sweet, guilty smile on her face. "Guard Sullivan," she said in a timid voice. "What seems to be the problem?"
Naturally, the first thing that came to her mind was, What are you doing driving Father Sheahan's car around like you owned it and the rest of the County? But she didn't go down that road. Especially since his own boyish face came into view, leaning across Avril to gaze up at Frankie and fix her with his award-winning smile.
"Frankie," he greeted her warmly. "Nice day for a drive, eh?" Frankie looked around skeptically. In fact, it wasn't, if you went by the paste- colored sky and the misty dampness that softened the outlines of the cars and trees. But maybe he was reckoning on a different basis altogether.
Frankie decided to play it straight. "Are you aware of how fast you were going?" she demanded in a businesslike manner.
Avril bit her lip, looked at Vincent, then back at Frankie with an apologetic shrug. "I guess I wasn't watching the speedometer. I was concentrating more on staying on the road." She turned to Vincent again and asked him innocently, "Did you see how fast we were going?"
"Couldn't have been more than 50. Otherwise she'd never have made it out of that curve," Vincent chipped in helpfully.
Avril nodded solemnly and looked back at Frankie with a straight face.
Frankie rolled her eyes and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She cursed herself silently for not having clocked them as they went past. But then she had assumed it was Father Sheahan with the lead foot. She had kind of been looking forward to watching him squirm. Serve him right for having been so scarce lately. Oh well, might as well get on with it. She sighed and ordered Avril, "Step out of the car, please."
Avril unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the road. She pulled down on her tight black pullover and tugged at the thighs of her form-fitting jeans, then pushed her hands into her front pockets and waited. Frankie had to admit that Avril was an attractive woman, even though she wasn't wearing make-up and her dark hair fell in unkempt waves around her face. Was this what Father Sheahan was spending his spare time gallivanting about with?
Frankie felt a twinge of jealousy. She and the Father had been getting on so well, informally investigating cases together. She thought she had finally found a buddy here in this backwater, another outsider dedicated to his work. But she'd barely seen hide nor hair of him for the past couple of weeks, not since she had had to turn him out of the cell in order to interrogate Doc Ryan. Maybe she should have offered him the sofa instead of putting him out onto the street. She had to admit she'd been too caught up in the excitement of a potential drug bust to think of such niceties. Maybe if she had, Father Sheahan would have never ended up being Avril's houseguest. She had heard that he had moved into Fitzgerald's. She wondered what had been (or was still?) going on between them, and she knew she wasn't the only one. On the other hand, she had scrupulously kept her mouth shut whenever the topic of Avril and the curate came up. She knew firsthand how damaging gossip could be to a reputation.
Frankie glanced across the top of the car at Father Sheahan, who was resting his square chin on his fists against the door frame and watching the two women with an expression of amusement. She pressed her lips together and returned her attention to Avril. They held each other's gaze steady. Frankie tried to gauge the other woman's motives. She had always seemed a level-headed enough sort. What could she possibly hope to accomplish by taking up with a priest? Benefit of the doubt, Guard Sullivan, she reminded herself. Although she was sure they had hardly been discussing the next church picnic.
Frankie took a step closer to Avril. She didn't smell of alcohol, and her brown eyes seemed clear and lively. Still, she was associating with a known alcoholic and had been driving erratically. She held the Breathalyzer out in front of Avril. "Blow into this please," she requested in the clipped tone she used when she suspected resistance ahead.
Avril gave a short, incredulous laugh. "What, you think I've been driving drunk?" She turned to Vincent. "Do you believe this? Tell her I haven't been drinking."
Vincent shrugged impartially. "Those things are notoriously unreliable." He winked and grinned at Frankie. "Isn't that right, Frankie?"
Frankie gave Vincent a cold stare. He should be one to talk. She had caught him red-handed (or rather red-eyed), and the Breathalyzer had delivered a valid result. She jabbed the Breathalyzer closer to Avril's face. "Just blow," she said tiredly. "If you haven't had anything, it will hardly give a positive result. If, on the other hand, you have been drinking," she looked sideways at Vincent, "then, yes, there is a certain margin of error." She gave Vincent a small, chilly smile. "But that's what the blood test is for. To exonerate the innocent. Isn't that right, Father?"
"That or an act of grace," he noted, catching Frankie's eye.
Frankie got the hint. She realized that he knew that she had used her own discretion to let him off the hook. The blood test had been positive by .01 percent. Good. Then he also knew that he owed her one. Big time. She turned back to Avril with the hint of a smile on her face, exhaled sharply through her nose and asked, "So what'll it be? Blow or bleed?"
Avril took a deep breath, leaned over and blew daintily into the straw. Frankie held the instrument up to read the result, keeping her face studiously blank of expression as she said, "Well. Looks like you haven't been drinking. Didn't really think you had."
"What about me? Don't I get a turn?" teased Vincent.
Frankie stuffed the Breathalyzer into her pocket and eyed Vincent from under the brim of her hat. Now he was just making fun of her. "Not necessary, Father Sheahan. But I have gotten reports of this car being driven in a reckless manner," she continued warningly. "This is a public thoroughfare, not a race course."
"Absolutely," agreed Avril readily, nodding her head emphatically. She raised her first three fingers in the scout salute. "No racing."
"All right then," Frankie said reluctantly. She couldn't think of a reason to keep them any longer.
Vincent slapped the top of the car. "Thanks, Frankie," he said, flashing her one of his high-charm smiles before disappearing into the car again.
Avril looked questioningly at Frankie. "Is that all?"
Frankie toyed with the idea of making a parting comment on their irregular pairing, but was able to restrain herself, despite the satisfaction it would have given her. "That's all. For now," she ended ominously.
Avril quickly returned to her seat, pulled the seat belt across her chest, and waited until the patrol car drove off out of sight. Then she turned to Vincent, her dark eyes flashing the first sign of fury. "Did you see that?" she demanded indignantly. "Thought I'd been drinking and driving."
Vincent's eyes remained on the spot where the police car had gone out of his field of vision. "She was just doing her job," he remarked patiently. Then he glanced at Avril with laughing eyes and reminded her gently, "And she didn't issue a citation, which she could very well have, given the speed you had on back there."
Avril tossed her hair back and rejoined haughtily, "I only had you egging me on."
Vincent protested good-naturedly, "Hey, I just pointed out the potential. You're the one who opened her up."
Avril flicked her gaze at Vincent, then quickly looked back out the window and smiled. She still couldn't look him in the eye, but at least she didn't feel like a complete fool in his presence any more. She had nearly botched up their friendship, but thanks to Vincent's persistence and genuinely caring nature, they had managed to get past the awkwardness that they certainly both had felt immediately after Vincent had moved out. She still wasn't sure what to do about what were clearly feelings of affection that she had for him, but she thought the best thing was to try to ignore them, put them in the same place as her feelings for Garrett, and get on with her business. That would be a whole lot easier, of course, if Vincent would get out of her life the way Garrett had. But even though he had moved out, he kept popping by at all hours. Any hostility she tried to muster against him dissipated whenever she was faced with that congenial smile. She would just have to find another way to cope. She turned the ignition key and revved the engine.
"And I think she was jealous," Avril commented smugly. "Did you see the way she was sizing me up?" She looked over her shoulder, then steered the car back onto the road, this time at a more leisurely tempo.
"Frankie?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Naah." He rubbed his forefinger across his lips and watched the landscape pick up speed. Of course, it was possible. Not that he had given her any reason. He had never led her to believe there was anything more between them than a semi- professional collaboration. But Vincent was not unaware of the effect his physical attractiveness had on people, both women and men. He usually pretended obliviousness, but he had learned early on that his generous smile and that certain twinkle in his eye could open doors. And hearts.
Avril drove directly back to the yard. She needed to get back for a meeting with King Ransom's owner. He was worried about the horse having picked up some virus, and she needed to reassure him. Dealing with owners as highly-strung as their animals was par for the course. The outing with Vincent had done her good, though, despite putting her under some time pressure.
She had been hesitant when he had roared into the yard this afternoon, urging her to play hooky with him, but in the end his offer of letting her drive the Granada had proven too tempting. It felt refreshing just to get away, away from the demands, away from the smells of the stables, away from the pile of paperwork lurking in the corner every time she entered the kitchen. The cool air rushing past the half-open window and the gray mist had allowed her mind to go blissfully blank. It had been just her and Vincent in the car, no spectres of Garrett and Rosie, no bank payments due, no banal chit-chat, not even Jesus had been admitted entry to this sanctum sanctorum. Vincent never tried to discuss religion with her, which she found both strange and comforting. A priest who never brought up the state of her eternal soul. Either he figured she was too far gone, or...what? He had said once that he had given up on her ages ago, yet he kept coming back. Why? She was about to come right out and ask, but she was afraid of the answer. She suspected (or maybe she just hoped) that he was in love with her. But if she confronted him with that possibility, or through her question forced him to confront himself with it, she was afraid that he would stop coming round altogether. And she didn't want him to stop coming round.
When they got back, the yard was mercifully empty. Avril would have a few minutes to herself before Mr. O'Shaughnessy showed up. She turned off the engine and held out the key to Vincent. "Thanks, Vincent," she said sincerely.
Vincent held out his hand so she could drop the key into his palm. Ever since the night of the foaling, he had become especially aware of Avril's body space, and went to great pains not to invade it. But instead of avoiding the contact, as he had expected, she lowered her hand until her fingertips brushed his palm and left the key there. He closed his fingers around the warm metal and looked at Avril, but she had already turned away and opened the door to get out. "No problem," he responded softly.
He drove back to town at an unhurried pace, deep in thought. He hadn't achieved what had been his original purpose in spending some time alone with Avril, but perhaps a much greater goal had been attained. He had wanted to tell her what he had found out about his former house in town. Or rather break the news to her, since it was sure to upset her. But as soon as he had spoken to her at the yard, he had immediately sensed that another upset was exactly what she did not need. She needed a break. So he had obliged her. He could tell she had enjoyed herself. And now, just maybe, she was beginning to let go of her defense mechanisms and allow herself to express affection. He just had to make sure it wasn't the wrong kind of affection.
There was another reason that he was in no great hurry to get back to St. Joseph's, despite the fact that the scheduled hour for confessions was fast approaching. Vincent knew that Father Mac had a bee in his bonnet and that he was the cause. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation.
Just as he had feared, as soon as he parked the car behind the church, Father Mac's round head came bobbing into view from the direction of Kathleen's. He must have been waiting for him. Vincent waved at him enthusiastically while he was still out of earshot and pointed urgently toward the church, indicating that he had pressing business to attend to. He turned and trotted toward the building, ignoring Father Mac's shouts of "Father Sheahan! Father Sheahan! A word!"
There was nobody waiting when Vincent unlocked the church. Not that he had really expected there to be. Still, he had promised to be available from 3 to 4. If nothing else, he would have a quiet hour to himself. If only he could reach the safety of the confessional before...
"Father Sheahan, this situation is untenable!" Father Mac thundered.
Vincent cringed in the vestibule. How in the world had the man, to all intents and purposes a cripple, caught up to him so fast? He turned to Father Mac with a patient smile. "What situation would that be?" Vincent inquired calmly. He really wasn't sure if he meant the fact that Vincent was staying at the pub, or if he were referring to the talk around town regarding him and Avril.
"Don't play games with me, you know what I'm talking about," Father Mac seethed as he hobbled past Vincent into the church.
Vincent decided to go for the easier one first. "You wouldn't by any chance be on about me living at Fitzgerald's?" he asked offhandedly, letting the door fall shut behind him.
Father Mac stopped in his tracks and considered. "Well, yes, there is that," he admitted. Apparently he had been thinking of the other matter, but now Vincent hoped to deflect him with this topic.
Vincent walked past Father Mac toward the confessional. "I'm sorry, Father, I don't see what's wrong with it. It's not like it's a house of ill repute."
Father Mac kept pace with him, lecturing, "It is a public house catering to all classes of ruffians at all hours of the day and night."
"Are you including yourself in that description?" Vincent tossed over his shoulder.
"What?"
"Well, it's just that I've seen you stop in occasionally for a drink yourself," Vincent explained coolly.
"Yes, but, that's different."
"Of course it is." Vincent stopped in front of the confessional and turned to face Father Mac.
"It is not an appropriate lodging for a curate of the church."
"But it is an appropriate lodging for families with children?" Vincent asked rhetorically.
"What are you talking about?" It always confused Father Mac when Vincent tried to turn the tables on him.
"Paul and Oonagh live there with their two kids, in case you've forgotten. You don't seem too concerned about the influence it might be having on them."
"I am not charged with their welfare," Father Mac reminded him self- righteously.
"Whose welfare are you in charge of then, if not the families living in your parish?"
Father Mac sighed loudly. "Father Sheahan, you know perfectly well what is meant. Of course I am concerned about the welfare of all persons, no matter where they may be living, and most especially of those within our parish boundaries. However, I cannot dictate where everybody else chooses to make their home."
"You can't dictate where I make my home, either. Excuse me, I'm scheduled to hear confession." He stepped into the confessional and snapped the door shut.
"Whose?" Father Mac's indignant voice echoed around the empty church. As no answer was forthcoming, he stepped up to the confessional and rapped on the door with his cane. "Father Sheahan, I am not finished with you," he shouted. Then he rapped several more times for good measure. In case Vincent hadn't heard him. The nerve! Impertinent, insolent, and brash. That certainly described him well. As it had described Father Mac himself in his younger years. And if Vincent was like him in any other way...well, maybe there was still time to avert disaster.
Inside the confessional, Vincent closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Why couldn't the man just mind his own business? It wasn't like he had done anything wrong, he hadn't broken any rules or neglected any of his duties. Either by living over the bar or by trying to help Avril. Why was Father Mac so adamant about avoiding even the appearance of impropriety? Really, nobody would think twice about Vincent living at Fitzgerald's. It was run by a well-respected family, it catered mainly to tourists during the day and locals in the evening, it was quiet (as pubs go), and never had had a run-in with the law, at least not since the Dooleys had been in charge. Hell, the law was right across the street. He knew, though, that both situations made Father Mac uncomfortable, not only because of his concern about what was proper, but also because of the increasing pressure he was under from the Bishop to get his house in order. Vincent didn't want to be the cause of any more citations from the Bishop, not for his own sake, but for Father Mac's. He did feel sympathy for the poor man.
Vincent could still hear Father Mac mumbling and puttering around outside the confessional. He sighed and opened the door a crack. "Father?" he said resignedly.
"Don't worry, Father, I'm not going anywhere," Father Mac replied from the pew where he had installed himself. "I can be just as stubborn as you. Or what was the word you used? 'Obstinate?'"
Vincent was silent for a moment. "I think that was 'cantankerous,'" he finally replied.
Father Mac cracked a smile. "Yes, that was it."
Vincent stood up and leaned against the doorway of the confessional. "Father Mac," he began reasonably, "I really don't see anything wrong with my staying at Fitzgerald's. Until something more permanent turns up," he added. "I was tired of changing beds every night."
Father Mac chewed on this. It was true that running around the parish from one home to the next was hardly conducive to the stability he wished to see in his curate. And what did it say about the church that one of its priests had even gone homeless one night, forced to sleep under a hedge? If the church couldn't even take care of its own... "All right, Father, I agree with you. Given the alternative, Fitzgerald's does seem a happy compromise."
Vincent nodded and smiled, satisfied. Good. One less thing to worry about. He turned and was about to sit back down inside the confessional when Father Mac spoke again.
"Ah, there is another matter that I wished to discuss with you."
Damn, he had remembered. 'Forgetful' was definitely not one of the adjectives one would use to describe Father MacAnally. Even though he knew perfectly well what the matter was, Vincent put on an open smile and asked, "And that would be?"
"Avril Burke," Father Mac said darkly. There, now he had said it. There was no beating about the bush any more. Vincent would have to start doing some explaining.
Vincent blinked politely. "Avril Burke."
"Is there an echo in here? Yes, Avril Burke," Father Mac said testily.
"Well I'm not staying at her place any more. I thought we were through with that topic."
"That was the one wise decision you've made. I thank God that you saw sense and moved out."
"I thought she needed some space," Vincent shrugged.
"You thought she--?" Father Mac was flabbergasted.
"Yes, she," Vincent confirmed.
"--needed--?" Father Mac was able to choke out.
"Some space," Vincent completed the sentence.
Father Mac was clearly at a loss for words. His mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times while his head slowly took on the hue of a boiled lobster.
Vincent began to worry that Father Mac had taken ill. He knew that his heart wasn't the strongest anymore. "Are you all right, Father?" he asked with some concern, taking a couple of steps toward the pew where Father Mac was seated.
Father Mac waved his hand helplessly at Vincent. "Never better," he croaked.
Vincent sat down beside Father Mac and offered, "Would you like some water?"
Father Mac shook his head, swallowed and recovered. "I don't think I've ever seen a more selfless example of consideration," he finally remarked.
Vincent wasn't sure if he meant that sincerely or not. He thought perhaps not.
"I don't really understand what all the fuss is about. Nobody so much as batted an eye when I took a room at Kathleen's place. In fact, you arranged it," Vincent pointed out.
"Kathleen Hendley is not an attractive, young, unattached woman."
"Don't let her hear you say that," Vincent warned jokingly.
"Pah!" Father Mac scoffed, shaking his head. Didn't they take anything seriously Down Under? "Father, I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation."
"No, I really don't believe I do."
Father Mac adjusted his body so that he was facing Vincent. "Are you oblivious to the rumours making the rounds as to the nature of your...ah, relationship with Ms. Burke?"
Vincent attempted to blow the whole thing off as ridiculous. "Is that what you're worried about? A few gossipy housewives?"
But Father Mac continued undaunted. "What worries me is whether there is anything to those rumours."
Vincent turned cool. "My relationship with Avril Burke is nobody's business but our own."
Father Mac raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so there is a relationship?" He hadn't expected that at all. Heated denials perhaps, or evasive excuses. But to admit it flat out like that, well, maybe there was still some way to salvage the situation.
Vincent considered how best to answer him. Certainly, there was a relationship between them. But not the way that Father Mac, and everybody else, seemed to mean. He wasn't sure if he could explain exactly what their relationship consisted of, because he wasn't sure himself. It was constantly changing, and although he knew where he wanted it to head, he couldn't guarantee that Avril would cooperate. But for now, he had to appease his superior. He stood abruptly and pointed toward the confessional. "Father Mac, would you like to hear my confession?"
"Your what?" Father Mac was taken aback. Another surprise move.
"My confession. Maybe that will clear things up for both of us." The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed to him.
"Now that's not why I came down here," Father Mac tried to beg off.
Vincent became more enthusiastic. "I know, I know. But as long as we're both here, and you can see there's no great demand for my services..." He gestured around at the empty pews.
Father Mac looked up at Vincent through narrowed eyes. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that the lad was up to something. On the other hand, the Sacrament of Reconciliation was something that he felt Vincent would still take seriously, even if he had played it fast and loose with some of his vows. "All right," he agreed somewhat reluctantly. He stood up stiffly, pushed away Vincent's proffered hand, and clumped over to the confessional.
"Bless me Father, it's been, ah," Vincent tried to count quickly, but he never had been too good at numbers. "About ten days since my last confession."
Father Mac rolled his eyes and snorted. This was getting off to a good start.
"I told a lie. I did it so as not to hurt someone's feelings, but I think she knew it was a lie and I'm afraid that might have hurt her more."
Of course, Father Mac assumed that the 'she' in question was Avril. "And what is it that is plaguing your conscience? Is it the lie...or the fact that it hurt someone?"
"I regret having told the lie. It was cowardly of me not to tell the truth," Vincent openly admitted.
Father Mac nodded in satisfaction. "What do you think should be done to right the situation?"
"I've already made a resolution to be kinder toward Kathleen, but I think I should also go and explain to her straight out why I couldn't stay at her place any longer."
Father Mac frowned in confusion. "Kathleen? What does she have to do with it?"
"Well she was the one I lied to."
Father Mac was puzzled. "I see. And why couldn't you stay at her place any longer?"
That was a hard one. "I didn't feel like I had enough privacy there," he finally responded.
"That didn't stop you from moving in with Ms. Burke," Father Mac said pointedly.
"I'm not talking about Avril," Vincent said, slightly irritated. Wouldn't Father Mac ever get his mind off Avril for a minute? "With Kathleen, I felt like she always knew what I was thinking."
"Yes. I can see how that might have been, ah, constrictive."
"It was like living with my mother."
Father Mac laughed shortly at that. "But you didn't find Avril like your mother."
More than you might suspect, old man, Vincent thought to himself, recalling the homely feelings that Avril had stirred in him. But he simply reminded the older priest, "Father, I'm talking about Kathleen here."
"Yes of course." Father Mac wondered when Vincent would ever get to the point. Or why else were they here? "Go on," he urged.
"Well, I fell asleep on the trip to Knock and Paddy O'Connell had to lead the recitation of the rosary."
"Sloth."
"Excuse me?"
"Sloth. One of the old seven."
"Ah yeah, yeah. Well I felt badly about that, even though I thanked Paddy and I think he felt pretty proud that I had entrusted him with the task."
"Mm-hm."
"So I'm not sure how I can reconcile that one."
Father Mac was getting bored. "One rosary would seem appropriate."
"OK. Then my mind wandered during the Mass and the Stations of the Cross. I'm afraid I didn't show the proper respect for the passion of Our Lord."
"What was preoccupying you?" Father Mac asked, almost automatically.
"Avril."
Father Mac perked up a bit. "Ah. And what, erm, aspect of Ms. Burke did you find yourself dwelling on?"
"Her anger."
That wasn't what Father Mac had expected to hear, either. This afternoon was just full of surprises. "Was she angry at you?"
"Yes, well, only as a symptom. I think she's angry at herself mostly, and at her sister. I was trying to find a way to help her get past that, to reconcile."
"Mm-hm. And this caused a loss of concentration."
"Exactly."
"Well, I would say that as nobody else was harmed by your lapse, you should read Matthew 27: 26-37 before reciting the rosary, and dwell on the sufferings of Our Lord."
"Yes, Father."
"Is that all?" Father Mac ventured, when nothing more seemed forthcoming.
Vincent drummed his fingers on his knee. It took a great deal of self- control for him to finally mutter through his teeth, "I was short-tempered and impudent with my superior."
Father Mac was silent for a moment. He reflected on his own frequent clashes with the Bishop. "I don't think that will ever change," he said, not unkindly.
Vincent sighed. "I knew what you wanted to talk to me about." He paused, then continued sheepishly, "And I'm sorry I suggested that you were a ruffian." And finally, contritely, "And I know that you are concerned with the welfare of our parishioners."
"Well. I accept your apology."
"Thank you, Father."
"Go on."
"That's it."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"You have...nothing else that you wish to confess before God?"
"I have nothing further to confess." After all, spending time alone with a parishioner wasn't a sin in and of itself. The affection he felt for Avril was special, certainly, but not beyond the bounds of decency. The kiss he had given Avril the night of the foaling had been completely innocent of consciously lustful intention on his part, and the other kiss had come from her. He truly felt clear and free. So, as he had finished unburdening his conscience, he ended with a prayer. "Oh my God, because you are so good, I am very sorry that I have sinned against you, and by the help of your grace I will not sin again."
Father Mac was once again surprised, this time by the abrupt ending. Had really nothing happened between Father Sheahan and Avril Burke? He absent-mindedly spoke the words of absolution. "God, the Father of mercy, through death and resurrection of Christ his son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God grant you pardon and peace .. and I absolve you from all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace, my son."
Unlike Vincent's tete-a-tete with Father Mac, Avril's meeting with Mr. O'Shaughnessy had been quick and painless. Actually, Avril hadn't had to do much more than greet him and accompany him to the stables. He had brought his own veterinarian along, who had been able to confirm that King Ransom was as healthy as, well, a horse. Thus appeased, the two men had exited stage right, leaving Avril with a half-hour of extra time on her hands.
She had been putting off tanking up the horse box, as she dreaded having to make small talk with Edso. On the other hand, it just wasn't worth driving that diesel devourer the extra miles to the next service station out on the highway. Gritting her teeth, she fired up the engine and drove down the road.
When she pulled up to the pump, the garage looked deserted. But soon enough, Edso emerged from the building and sauntered over. It was nice to have the only diesel filling station in town. Kept the business regular. And no one was more regular than Avril. That monstrosity of a horse box only got about 2 kilometers to the litre. He'd used to enjoy her frequent pit stops, but lately he'd frankly lost interest. The whole affair with her and the priest had left a sour taste in his mouth. Was she turning into a nun or what?
Avril climbed down from the cab and wiped her hands on her jeans. She put on a polite smile and greeted the mechanic as he approached. "Edso, hi." She wasn't sure if she should wave at him or reach out to shake his hand or what, so she quickly stuffed her hands into her pockets.
Edso nodded shortly at her and asked, "Fill her up?" as he reached down to unscrew the tank lid.
"Please." Avril looked around. The fog had lifted, revealing the sodden fields, bleak hills, and empty sky. She thought it would be just as well if the fog would come back. At least it would give them something to talk about. "Haven't seen you around lately," she said, just in order to say something, then realized straight away that that was the wrong thing to say.
"I've been here," Edso replied flatly, accurately implying that she hadn't been looking for him.
"Right," Avril smiled, embarrassed. God, would she ever learn to just keep her mouth shut?
Edso watched Avril in silence. Kathleen's advice to him about keeping quiet around Avril had turned out to be very useful. Now, instead of him putting his foot in his mouth, it was Avril. She was clearly nervous around him. Yet she didn't get all giggly and bat her eyes at him like some girls did. She seemed to just be uncomfortable. Was that because she thought he knew something?
Things had been promising between them at first. Where had it gone wrong? Obviously, he had blown it by trying to kiss Avril in Fitzgerald's the night after The Cat's maiden run at Wexford. He didn't think he had misread her signals totally, though; there had been some chemistry between them that day. She was probably more of a private person. He shouldn't have tried to push it. But things had still seemed salvageable until he had come up with that brilliant line, 'You have the most beautiful eyes.'
Should he say something about the priest? he wondered. For some reason, some of the patrons at Fitzgerald's assumed that he had an inside track on that information, but he was as clueless (or as imaginative) as the next bloke. Just because he and Avril had been getting chummy at Wexford, but that had been as far as he had gotten. It was true that he had seen some signs before Father Sheahan had moved in at the yard, things like the Mustang coming out of the yard early in the morning, or the book he had found on Avril's table, and Avril had clearly been trying to cover something up when she told him that fable about how her window had got broken. But what? Had that had something to do with the priest as well?
Edso didn't want to lose his chance with Avril entirely. He decided to comment on a nice, safe topic: the new filly. "I hear there's been a change in the number of residents at the stables?"
Avril whipped her head around to look at Edso with a look of disbelief. "What?" She couldn't believe he was actually going to say something about Vincent leaving. She thought he was more tactful than that. "What business is that of yours?" she demanded aggressively, ready to defend herself.
Edso backed off, holding up both hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Whoa, I always thought a birth was an occasion of joy. Sorry I asked." He turned his attention back to the diesel gauge, mentally shaking his head at Avril's reaction. Boy, was she touchy. Probably better they hadn't started dating. She would have been a high-maintenance broad.
Avril's mind whirled around in confusion for a moment, stirred about by the shot of adrenalin she had gotten at the thought that Edso was trying to make something out of her and Vincent. But this talk of a birth didn't fit into that scheme. "Oh, you mean Pilgrim's Progress's filly!" she realized with relief. She tried to muster some enthusiasm for his sake. "Yes, yes, we're all very excited about it."
But Edso was no longer interested. "Yeah, must be nice," he remarked distantly. He shut off the diesel line and replaced the hose on the pump.
Avril felt bad about her outburst. It wasn't Edso's fault she was so sensitive on the topic of Father Sheahan. "Well would you like to come by sometime and see her?" she offered. "She's really adorable."
The day before, Edso would have jumped at the invitation, but now he reckoned it was better to keep his distance from this one, at least until he'd gotten a handle on what was going on with her. He started walking backwards toward the garage. "Nah, thanks. You've seen one horse, you've seen them all. I'll put that on your account, shall I?" He pointed toward the building.
"Yeah, OK, thanks, Edso," Avril called after him. She waved weakly at his back as he turned and disappeared inside. She climbed back up into the cab, reproaching herself for her social awkwardness. Why couldn't she just treat Edso like a normal human being? She didn't have this difficulty talking to Siobhan, or to Donal.
She reached down to start the engine when a dark blue car caught her eye going past out on the road. She straightened up and stuck her head out of the window to get a better look. She caught a glimpse of orange hair and a Dublin number. Was that...? She squinted her eyes to see better, but the car had already passed out of view. Nah, it couldn't be. He wouldn't be so callous as to come around again. Or would he? Maybe just passing through. Probably somebody else altogether. Still, she couldn't fully shake the feeling of disquiet. She sat there for a full minute before starting the engine and driving slowly back toward the stables.
The red Granada raced much too fast along the back roads of County Wicklow, spitting up gravel and leaving deep tracks in the grass along the roadside whenever it had to make room for oncoming traffic. The classic 8- track was blasting Manfred Mann's 54321, and it's illegal to shift below 3rd gear when that's playing. With all the subsidies they had gotten from the European Union, you'd think the Irish could have built roads wide enough for something larger than a bicycle and a mule to pass each other without one of them stopping. This car was built for speed and muscle, not for safety, and that's how it was being driven.
Unfortunately, not all the denizens of the road that day shared the same motor aesthetic as the Granada's driver, and word soon found its way back to the office of Guard Frances (Frankie) Sullivan. When she heard the description of the car, she rolled her eyes. Would the man never learn? Probably intoxicated again. She gave herself a grim, thin-lipped stare as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror, running her thumb and forefinger around the visor. So that woman had actually driven him to drink. Shame.
Frankie didn't have to wait long before the Granada drove past where she was lying in wait. He was certainly predictable. Same spot as last time. As the car zoomed past, Frankie pulled out onto the road, turned on her patrol car's sound-and-light show and took up the pursuit. It didn't last long. The Granada slowed down and stopped at the side of the road moments later. Frankie grabbed the Breathalyzer and exited her vehicle, approaching the culprit with a stern expression and a lecture at the ready. As she came up on the driver's side, she saw that the window was already lowered, and she began her spiel. "All right, Father, I think you know the routine--," she began, but snapped her mouth shut and opened her eyes wide in surprise when she saw who was behind the wheel.
Avril Burke looked gingerly up at Frankie with a sweet, guilty smile on her face. "Guard Sullivan," she said in a timid voice. "What seems to be the problem?"
Naturally, the first thing that came to her mind was, What are you doing driving Father Sheahan's car around like you owned it and the rest of the County? But she didn't go down that road. Especially since his own boyish face came into view, leaning across Avril to gaze up at Frankie and fix her with his award-winning smile.
"Frankie," he greeted her warmly. "Nice day for a drive, eh?" Frankie looked around skeptically. In fact, it wasn't, if you went by the paste- colored sky and the misty dampness that softened the outlines of the cars and trees. But maybe he was reckoning on a different basis altogether.
Frankie decided to play it straight. "Are you aware of how fast you were going?" she demanded in a businesslike manner.
Avril bit her lip, looked at Vincent, then back at Frankie with an apologetic shrug. "I guess I wasn't watching the speedometer. I was concentrating more on staying on the road." She turned to Vincent again and asked him innocently, "Did you see how fast we were going?"
"Couldn't have been more than 50. Otherwise she'd never have made it out of that curve," Vincent chipped in helpfully.
Avril nodded solemnly and looked back at Frankie with a straight face.
Frankie rolled her eyes and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She cursed herself silently for not having clocked them as they went past. But then she had assumed it was Father Sheahan with the lead foot. She had kind of been looking forward to watching him squirm. Serve him right for having been so scarce lately. Oh well, might as well get on with it. She sighed and ordered Avril, "Step out of the car, please."
Avril unbuckled her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the road. She pulled down on her tight black pullover and tugged at the thighs of her form-fitting jeans, then pushed her hands into her front pockets and waited. Frankie had to admit that Avril was an attractive woman, even though she wasn't wearing make-up and her dark hair fell in unkempt waves around her face. Was this what Father Sheahan was spending his spare time gallivanting about with?
Frankie felt a twinge of jealousy. She and the Father had been getting on so well, informally investigating cases together. She thought she had finally found a buddy here in this backwater, another outsider dedicated to his work. But she'd barely seen hide nor hair of him for the past couple of weeks, not since she had had to turn him out of the cell in order to interrogate Doc Ryan. Maybe she should have offered him the sofa instead of putting him out onto the street. She had to admit she'd been too caught up in the excitement of a potential drug bust to think of such niceties. Maybe if she had, Father Sheahan would have never ended up being Avril's houseguest. She had heard that he had moved into Fitzgerald's. She wondered what had been (or was still?) going on between them, and she knew she wasn't the only one. On the other hand, she had scrupulously kept her mouth shut whenever the topic of Avril and the curate came up. She knew firsthand how damaging gossip could be to a reputation.
Frankie glanced across the top of the car at Father Sheahan, who was resting his square chin on his fists against the door frame and watching the two women with an expression of amusement. She pressed her lips together and returned her attention to Avril. They held each other's gaze steady. Frankie tried to gauge the other woman's motives. She had always seemed a level-headed enough sort. What could she possibly hope to accomplish by taking up with a priest? Benefit of the doubt, Guard Sullivan, she reminded herself. Although she was sure they had hardly been discussing the next church picnic.
Frankie took a step closer to Avril. She didn't smell of alcohol, and her brown eyes seemed clear and lively. Still, she was associating with a known alcoholic and had been driving erratically. She held the Breathalyzer out in front of Avril. "Blow into this please," she requested in the clipped tone she used when she suspected resistance ahead.
Avril gave a short, incredulous laugh. "What, you think I've been driving drunk?" She turned to Vincent. "Do you believe this? Tell her I haven't been drinking."
Vincent shrugged impartially. "Those things are notoriously unreliable." He winked and grinned at Frankie. "Isn't that right, Frankie?"
Frankie gave Vincent a cold stare. He should be one to talk. She had caught him red-handed (or rather red-eyed), and the Breathalyzer had delivered a valid result. She jabbed the Breathalyzer closer to Avril's face. "Just blow," she said tiredly. "If you haven't had anything, it will hardly give a positive result. If, on the other hand, you have been drinking," she looked sideways at Vincent, "then, yes, there is a certain margin of error." She gave Vincent a small, chilly smile. "But that's what the blood test is for. To exonerate the innocent. Isn't that right, Father?"
"That or an act of grace," he noted, catching Frankie's eye.
Frankie got the hint. She realized that he knew that she had used her own discretion to let him off the hook. The blood test had been positive by .01 percent. Good. Then he also knew that he owed her one. Big time. She turned back to Avril with the hint of a smile on her face, exhaled sharply through her nose and asked, "So what'll it be? Blow or bleed?"
Avril took a deep breath, leaned over and blew daintily into the straw. Frankie held the instrument up to read the result, keeping her face studiously blank of expression as she said, "Well. Looks like you haven't been drinking. Didn't really think you had."
"What about me? Don't I get a turn?" teased Vincent.
Frankie stuffed the Breathalyzer into her pocket and eyed Vincent from under the brim of her hat. Now he was just making fun of her. "Not necessary, Father Sheahan. But I have gotten reports of this car being driven in a reckless manner," she continued warningly. "This is a public thoroughfare, not a race course."
"Absolutely," agreed Avril readily, nodding her head emphatically. She raised her first three fingers in the scout salute. "No racing."
"All right then," Frankie said reluctantly. She couldn't think of a reason to keep them any longer.
Vincent slapped the top of the car. "Thanks, Frankie," he said, flashing her one of his high-charm smiles before disappearing into the car again.
Avril looked questioningly at Frankie. "Is that all?"
Frankie toyed with the idea of making a parting comment on their irregular pairing, but was able to restrain herself, despite the satisfaction it would have given her. "That's all. For now," she ended ominously.
Avril quickly returned to her seat, pulled the seat belt across her chest, and waited until the patrol car drove off out of sight. Then she turned to Vincent, her dark eyes flashing the first sign of fury. "Did you see that?" she demanded indignantly. "Thought I'd been drinking and driving."
Vincent's eyes remained on the spot where the police car had gone out of his field of vision. "She was just doing her job," he remarked patiently. Then he glanced at Avril with laughing eyes and reminded her gently, "And she didn't issue a citation, which she could very well have, given the speed you had on back there."
Avril tossed her hair back and rejoined haughtily, "I only had you egging me on."
Vincent protested good-naturedly, "Hey, I just pointed out the potential. You're the one who opened her up."
Avril flicked her gaze at Vincent, then quickly looked back out the window and smiled. She still couldn't look him in the eye, but at least she didn't feel like a complete fool in his presence any more. She had nearly botched up their friendship, but thanks to Vincent's persistence and genuinely caring nature, they had managed to get past the awkwardness that they certainly both had felt immediately after Vincent had moved out. She still wasn't sure what to do about what were clearly feelings of affection that she had for him, but she thought the best thing was to try to ignore them, put them in the same place as her feelings for Garrett, and get on with her business. That would be a whole lot easier, of course, if Vincent would get out of her life the way Garrett had. But even though he had moved out, he kept popping by at all hours. Any hostility she tried to muster against him dissipated whenever she was faced with that congenial smile. She would just have to find another way to cope. She turned the ignition key and revved the engine.
"And I think she was jealous," Avril commented smugly. "Did you see the way she was sizing me up?" She looked over her shoulder, then steered the car back onto the road, this time at a more leisurely tempo.
"Frankie?" Vincent raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Naah." He rubbed his forefinger across his lips and watched the landscape pick up speed. Of course, it was possible. Not that he had given her any reason. He had never led her to believe there was anything more between them than a semi- professional collaboration. But Vincent was not unaware of the effect his physical attractiveness had on people, both women and men. He usually pretended obliviousness, but he had learned early on that his generous smile and that certain twinkle in his eye could open doors. And hearts.
Avril drove directly back to the yard. She needed to get back for a meeting with King Ransom's owner. He was worried about the horse having picked up some virus, and she needed to reassure him. Dealing with owners as highly-strung as their animals was par for the course. The outing with Vincent had done her good, though, despite putting her under some time pressure.
She had been hesitant when he had roared into the yard this afternoon, urging her to play hooky with him, but in the end his offer of letting her drive the Granada had proven too tempting. It felt refreshing just to get away, away from the demands, away from the smells of the stables, away from the pile of paperwork lurking in the corner every time she entered the kitchen. The cool air rushing past the half-open window and the gray mist had allowed her mind to go blissfully blank. It had been just her and Vincent in the car, no spectres of Garrett and Rosie, no bank payments due, no banal chit-chat, not even Jesus had been admitted entry to this sanctum sanctorum. Vincent never tried to discuss religion with her, which she found both strange and comforting. A priest who never brought up the state of her eternal soul. Either he figured she was too far gone, or...what? He had said once that he had given up on her ages ago, yet he kept coming back. Why? She was about to come right out and ask, but she was afraid of the answer. She suspected (or maybe she just hoped) that he was in love with her. But if she confronted him with that possibility, or through her question forced him to confront himself with it, she was afraid that he would stop coming round altogether. And she didn't want him to stop coming round.
When they got back, the yard was mercifully empty. Avril would have a few minutes to herself before Mr. O'Shaughnessy showed up. She turned off the engine and held out the key to Vincent. "Thanks, Vincent," she said sincerely.
Vincent held out his hand so she could drop the key into his palm. Ever since the night of the foaling, he had become especially aware of Avril's body space, and went to great pains not to invade it. But instead of avoiding the contact, as he had expected, she lowered her hand until her fingertips brushed his palm and left the key there. He closed his fingers around the warm metal and looked at Avril, but she had already turned away and opened the door to get out. "No problem," he responded softly.
He drove back to town at an unhurried pace, deep in thought. He hadn't achieved what had been his original purpose in spending some time alone with Avril, but perhaps a much greater goal had been attained. He had wanted to tell her what he had found out about his former house in town. Or rather break the news to her, since it was sure to upset her. But as soon as he had spoken to her at the yard, he had immediately sensed that another upset was exactly what she did not need. She needed a break. So he had obliged her. He could tell she had enjoyed herself. And now, just maybe, she was beginning to let go of her defense mechanisms and allow herself to express affection. He just had to make sure it wasn't the wrong kind of affection.
There was another reason that he was in no great hurry to get back to St. Joseph's, despite the fact that the scheduled hour for confessions was fast approaching. Vincent knew that Father Mac had a bee in his bonnet and that he was the cause. He wasn't looking forward to the confrontation.
Just as he had feared, as soon as he parked the car behind the church, Father Mac's round head came bobbing into view from the direction of Kathleen's. He must have been waiting for him. Vincent waved at him enthusiastically while he was still out of earshot and pointed urgently toward the church, indicating that he had pressing business to attend to. He turned and trotted toward the building, ignoring Father Mac's shouts of "Father Sheahan! Father Sheahan! A word!"
There was nobody waiting when Vincent unlocked the church. Not that he had really expected there to be. Still, he had promised to be available from 3 to 4. If nothing else, he would have a quiet hour to himself. If only he could reach the safety of the confessional before...
"Father Sheahan, this situation is untenable!" Father Mac thundered.
Vincent cringed in the vestibule. How in the world had the man, to all intents and purposes a cripple, caught up to him so fast? He turned to Father Mac with a patient smile. "What situation would that be?" Vincent inquired calmly. He really wasn't sure if he meant the fact that Vincent was staying at the pub, or if he were referring to the talk around town regarding him and Avril.
"Don't play games with me, you know what I'm talking about," Father Mac seethed as he hobbled past Vincent into the church.
Vincent decided to go for the easier one first. "You wouldn't by any chance be on about me living at Fitzgerald's?" he asked offhandedly, letting the door fall shut behind him.
Father Mac stopped in his tracks and considered. "Well, yes, there is that," he admitted. Apparently he had been thinking of the other matter, but now Vincent hoped to deflect him with this topic.
Vincent walked past Father Mac toward the confessional. "I'm sorry, Father, I don't see what's wrong with it. It's not like it's a house of ill repute."
Father Mac kept pace with him, lecturing, "It is a public house catering to all classes of ruffians at all hours of the day and night."
"Are you including yourself in that description?" Vincent tossed over his shoulder.
"What?"
"Well, it's just that I've seen you stop in occasionally for a drink yourself," Vincent explained coolly.
"Yes, but, that's different."
"Of course it is." Vincent stopped in front of the confessional and turned to face Father Mac.
"It is not an appropriate lodging for a curate of the church."
"But it is an appropriate lodging for families with children?" Vincent asked rhetorically.
"What are you talking about?" It always confused Father Mac when Vincent tried to turn the tables on him.
"Paul and Oonagh live there with their two kids, in case you've forgotten. You don't seem too concerned about the influence it might be having on them."
"I am not charged with their welfare," Father Mac reminded him self- righteously.
"Whose welfare are you in charge of then, if not the families living in your parish?"
Father Mac sighed loudly. "Father Sheahan, you know perfectly well what is meant. Of course I am concerned about the welfare of all persons, no matter where they may be living, and most especially of those within our parish boundaries. However, I cannot dictate where everybody else chooses to make their home."
"You can't dictate where I make my home, either. Excuse me, I'm scheduled to hear confession." He stepped into the confessional and snapped the door shut.
"Whose?" Father Mac's indignant voice echoed around the empty church. As no answer was forthcoming, he stepped up to the confessional and rapped on the door with his cane. "Father Sheahan, I am not finished with you," he shouted. Then he rapped several more times for good measure. In case Vincent hadn't heard him. The nerve! Impertinent, insolent, and brash. That certainly described him well. As it had described Father Mac himself in his younger years. And if Vincent was like him in any other way...well, maybe there was still time to avert disaster.
Inside the confessional, Vincent closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Why couldn't the man just mind his own business? It wasn't like he had done anything wrong, he hadn't broken any rules or neglected any of his duties. Either by living over the bar or by trying to help Avril. Why was Father Mac so adamant about avoiding even the appearance of impropriety? Really, nobody would think twice about Vincent living at Fitzgerald's. It was run by a well-respected family, it catered mainly to tourists during the day and locals in the evening, it was quiet (as pubs go), and never had had a run-in with the law, at least not since the Dooleys had been in charge. Hell, the law was right across the street. He knew, though, that both situations made Father Mac uncomfortable, not only because of his concern about what was proper, but also because of the increasing pressure he was under from the Bishop to get his house in order. Vincent didn't want to be the cause of any more citations from the Bishop, not for his own sake, but for Father Mac's. He did feel sympathy for the poor man.
Vincent could still hear Father Mac mumbling and puttering around outside the confessional. He sighed and opened the door a crack. "Father?" he said resignedly.
"Don't worry, Father, I'm not going anywhere," Father Mac replied from the pew where he had installed himself. "I can be just as stubborn as you. Or what was the word you used? 'Obstinate?'"
Vincent was silent for a moment. "I think that was 'cantankerous,'" he finally replied.
Father Mac cracked a smile. "Yes, that was it."
Vincent stood up and leaned against the doorway of the confessional. "Father Mac," he began reasonably, "I really don't see anything wrong with my staying at Fitzgerald's. Until something more permanent turns up," he added. "I was tired of changing beds every night."
Father Mac chewed on this. It was true that running around the parish from one home to the next was hardly conducive to the stability he wished to see in his curate. And what did it say about the church that one of its priests had even gone homeless one night, forced to sleep under a hedge? If the church couldn't even take care of its own... "All right, Father, I agree with you. Given the alternative, Fitzgerald's does seem a happy compromise."
Vincent nodded and smiled, satisfied. Good. One less thing to worry about. He turned and was about to sit back down inside the confessional when Father Mac spoke again.
"Ah, there is another matter that I wished to discuss with you."
Damn, he had remembered. 'Forgetful' was definitely not one of the adjectives one would use to describe Father MacAnally. Even though he knew perfectly well what the matter was, Vincent put on an open smile and asked, "And that would be?"
"Avril Burke," Father Mac said darkly. There, now he had said it. There was no beating about the bush any more. Vincent would have to start doing some explaining.
Vincent blinked politely. "Avril Burke."
"Is there an echo in here? Yes, Avril Burke," Father Mac said testily.
"Well I'm not staying at her place any more. I thought we were through with that topic."
"That was the one wise decision you've made. I thank God that you saw sense and moved out."
"I thought she needed some space," Vincent shrugged.
"You thought she--?" Father Mac was flabbergasted.
"Yes, she," Vincent confirmed.
"--needed--?" Father Mac was able to choke out.
"Some space," Vincent completed the sentence.
Father Mac was clearly at a loss for words. His mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times while his head slowly took on the hue of a boiled lobster.
Vincent began to worry that Father Mac had taken ill. He knew that his heart wasn't the strongest anymore. "Are you all right, Father?" he asked with some concern, taking a couple of steps toward the pew where Father Mac was seated.
Father Mac waved his hand helplessly at Vincent. "Never better," he croaked.
Vincent sat down beside Father Mac and offered, "Would you like some water?"
Father Mac shook his head, swallowed and recovered. "I don't think I've ever seen a more selfless example of consideration," he finally remarked.
Vincent wasn't sure if he meant that sincerely or not. He thought perhaps not.
"I don't really understand what all the fuss is about. Nobody so much as batted an eye when I took a room at Kathleen's place. In fact, you arranged it," Vincent pointed out.
"Kathleen Hendley is not an attractive, young, unattached woman."
"Don't let her hear you say that," Vincent warned jokingly.
"Pah!" Father Mac scoffed, shaking his head. Didn't they take anything seriously Down Under? "Father, I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation."
"No, I really don't believe I do."
Father Mac adjusted his body so that he was facing Vincent. "Are you oblivious to the rumours making the rounds as to the nature of your...ah, relationship with Ms. Burke?"
Vincent attempted to blow the whole thing off as ridiculous. "Is that what you're worried about? A few gossipy housewives?"
But Father Mac continued undaunted. "What worries me is whether there is anything to those rumours."
Vincent turned cool. "My relationship with Avril Burke is nobody's business but our own."
Father Mac raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so there is a relationship?" He hadn't expected that at all. Heated denials perhaps, or evasive excuses. But to admit it flat out like that, well, maybe there was still some way to salvage the situation.
Vincent considered how best to answer him. Certainly, there was a relationship between them. But not the way that Father Mac, and everybody else, seemed to mean. He wasn't sure if he could explain exactly what their relationship consisted of, because he wasn't sure himself. It was constantly changing, and although he knew where he wanted it to head, he couldn't guarantee that Avril would cooperate. But for now, he had to appease his superior. He stood abruptly and pointed toward the confessional. "Father Mac, would you like to hear my confession?"
"Your what?" Father Mac was taken aback. Another surprise move.
"My confession. Maybe that will clear things up for both of us." The more he thought about it, the better the idea seemed to him.
"Now that's not why I came down here," Father Mac tried to beg off.
Vincent became more enthusiastic. "I know, I know. But as long as we're both here, and you can see there's no great demand for my services..." He gestured around at the empty pews.
Father Mac looked up at Vincent through narrowed eyes. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that the lad was up to something. On the other hand, the Sacrament of Reconciliation was something that he felt Vincent would still take seriously, even if he had played it fast and loose with some of his vows. "All right," he agreed somewhat reluctantly. He stood up stiffly, pushed away Vincent's proffered hand, and clumped over to the confessional.
"Bless me Father, it's been, ah," Vincent tried to count quickly, but he never had been too good at numbers. "About ten days since my last confession."
Father Mac rolled his eyes and snorted. This was getting off to a good start.
"I told a lie. I did it so as not to hurt someone's feelings, but I think she knew it was a lie and I'm afraid that might have hurt her more."
Of course, Father Mac assumed that the 'she' in question was Avril. "And what is it that is plaguing your conscience? Is it the lie...or the fact that it hurt someone?"
"I regret having told the lie. It was cowardly of me not to tell the truth," Vincent openly admitted.
Father Mac nodded in satisfaction. "What do you think should be done to right the situation?"
"I've already made a resolution to be kinder toward Kathleen, but I think I should also go and explain to her straight out why I couldn't stay at her place any longer."
Father Mac frowned in confusion. "Kathleen? What does she have to do with it?"
"Well she was the one I lied to."
Father Mac was puzzled. "I see. And why couldn't you stay at her place any longer?"
That was a hard one. "I didn't feel like I had enough privacy there," he finally responded.
"That didn't stop you from moving in with Ms. Burke," Father Mac said pointedly.
"I'm not talking about Avril," Vincent said, slightly irritated. Wouldn't Father Mac ever get his mind off Avril for a minute? "With Kathleen, I felt like she always knew what I was thinking."
"Yes. I can see how that might have been, ah, constrictive."
"It was like living with my mother."
Father Mac laughed shortly at that. "But you didn't find Avril like your mother."
More than you might suspect, old man, Vincent thought to himself, recalling the homely feelings that Avril had stirred in him. But he simply reminded the older priest, "Father, I'm talking about Kathleen here."
"Yes of course." Father Mac wondered when Vincent would ever get to the point. Or why else were they here? "Go on," he urged.
"Well, I fell asleep on the trip to Knock and Paddy O'Connell had to lead the recitation of the rosary."
"Sloth."
"Excuse me?"
"Sloth. One of the old seven."
"Ah yeah, yeah. Well I felt badly about that, even though I thanked Paddy and I think he felt pretty proud that I had entrusted him with the task."
"Mm-hm."
"So I'm not sure how I can reconcile that one."
Father Mac was getting bored. "One rosary would seem appropriate."
"OK. Then my mind wandered during the Mass and the Stations of the Cross. I'm afraid I didn't show the proper respect for the passion of Our Lord."
"What was preoccupying you?" Father Mac asked, almost automatically.
"Avril."
Father Mac perked up a bit. "Ah. And what, erm, aspect of Ms. Burke did you find yourself dwelling on?"
"Her anger."
That wasn't what Father Mac had expected to hear, either. This afternoon was just full of surprises. "Was she angry at you?"
"Yes, well, only as a symptom. I think she's angry at herself mostly, and at her sister. I was trying to find a way to help her get past that, to reconcile."
"Mm-hm. And this caused a loss of concentration."
"Exactly."
"Well, I would say that as nobody else was harmed by your lapse, you should read Matthew 27: 26-37 before reciting the rosary, and dwell on the sufferings of Our Lord."
"Yes, Father."
"Is that all?" Father Mac ventured, when nothing more seemed forthcoming.
Vincent drummed his fingers on his knee. It took a great deal of self- control for him to finally mutter through his teeth, "I was short-tempered and impudent with my superior."
Father Mac was silent for a moment. He reflected on his own frequent clashes with the Bishop. "I don't think that will ever change," he said, not unkindly.
Vincent sighed. "I knew what you wanted to talk to me about." He paused, then continued sheepishly, "And I'm sorry I suggested that you were a ruffian." And finally, contritely, "And I know that you are concerned with the welfare of our parishioners."
"Well. I accept your apology."
"Thank you, Father."
"Go on."
"That's it."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"You have...nothing else that you wish to confess before God?"
"I have nothing further to confess." After all, spending time alone with a parishioner wasn't a sin in and of itself. The affection he felt for Avril was special, certainly, but not beyond the bounds of decency. The kiss he had given Avril the night of the foaling had been completely innocent of consciously lustful intention on his part, and the other kiss had come from her. He truly felt clear and free. So, as he had finished unburdening his conscience, he ended with a prayer. "Oh my God, because you are so good, I am very sorry that I have sinned against you, and by the help of your grace I will not sin again."
Father Mac was once again surprised, this time by the abrupt ending. Had really nothing happened between Father Sheahan and Avril Burke? He absent-mindedly spoke the words of absolution. "God, the Father of mercy, through death and resurrection of Christ his son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God grant you pardon and peace .. and I absolve you from all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace, my son."
Unlike Vincent's tete-a-tete with Father Mac, Avril's meeting with Mr. O'Shaughnessy had been quick and painless. Actually, Avril hadn't had to do much more than greet him and accompany him to the stables. He had brought his own veterinarian along, who had been able to confirm that King Ransom was as healthy as, well, a horse. Thus appeased, the two men had exited stage right, leaving Avril with a half-hour of extra time on her hands.
She had been putting off tanking up the horse box, as she dreaded having to make small talk with Edso. On the other hand, it just wasn't worth driving that diesel devourer the extra miles to the next service station out on the highway. Gritting her teeth, she fired up the engine and drove down the road.
When she pulled up to the pump, the garage looked deserted. But soon enough, Edso emerged from the building and sauntered over. It was nice to have the only diesel filling station in town. Kept the business regular. And no one was more regular than Avril. That monstrosity of a horse box only got about 2 kilometers to the litre. He'd used to enjoy her frequent pit stops, but lately he'd frankly lost interest. The whole affair with her and the priest had left a sour taste in his mouth. Was she turning into a nun or what?
Avril climbed down from the cab and wiped her hands on her jeans. She put on a polite smile and greeted the mechanic as he approached. "Edso, hi." She wasn't sure if she should wave at him or reach out to shake his hand or what, so she quickly stuffed her hands into her pockets.
Edso nodded shortly at her and asked, "Fill her up?" as he reached down to unscrew the tank lid.
"Please." Avril looked around. The fog had lifted, revealing the sodden fields, bleak hills, and empty sky. She thought it would be just as well if the fog would come back. At least it would give them something to talk about. "Haven't seen you around lately," she said, just in order to say something, then realized straight away that that was the wrong thing to say.
"I've been here," Edso replied flatly, accurately implying that she hadn't been looking for him.
"Right," Avril smiled, embarrassed. God, would she ever learn to just keep her mouth shut?
Edso watched Avril in silence. Kathleen's advice to him about keeping quiet around Avril had turned out to be very useful. Now, instead of him putting his foot in his mouth, it was Avril. She was clearly nervous around him. Yet she didn't get all giggly and bat her eyes at him like some girls did. She seemed to just be uncomfortable. Was that because she thought he knew something?
Things had been promising between them at first. Where had it gone wrong? Obviously, he had blown it by trying to kiss Avril in Fitzgerald's the night after The Cat's maiden run at Wexford. He didn't think he had misread her signals totally, though; there had been some chemistry between them that day. She was probably more of a private person. He shouldn't have tried to push it. But things had still seemed salvageable until he had come up with that brilliant line, 'You have the most beautiful eyes.'
Should he say something about the priest? he wondered. For some reason, some of the patrons at Fitzgerald's assumed that he had an inside track on that information, but he was as clueless (or as imaginative) as the next bloke. Just because he and Avril had been getting chummy at Wexford, but that had been as far as he had gotten. It was true that he had seen some signs before Father Sheahan had moved in at the yard, things like the Mustang coming out of the yard early in the morning, or the book he had found on Avril's table, and Avril had clearly been trying to cover something up when she told him that fable about how her window had got broken. But what? Had that had something to do with the priest as well?
Edso didn't want to lose his chance with Avril entirely. He decided to comment on a nice, safe topic: the new filly. "I hear there's been a change in the number of residents at the stables?"
Avril whipped her head around to look at Edso with a look of disbelief. "What?" She couldn't believe he was actually going to say something about Vincent leaving. She thought he was more tactful than that. "What business is that of yours?" she demanded aggressively, ready to defend herself.
Edso backed off, holding up both hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Whoa, I always thought a birth was an occasion of joy. Sorry I asked." He turned his attention back to the diesel gauge, mentally shaking his head at Avril's reaction. Boy, was she touchy. Probably better they hadn't started dating. She would have been a high-maintenance broad.
Avril's mind whirled around in confusion for a moment, stirred about by the shot of adrenalin she had gotten at the thought that Edso was trying to make something out of her and Vincent. But this talk of a birth didn't fit into that scheme. "Oh, you mean Pilgrim's Progress's filly!" she realized with relief. She tried to muster some enthusiasm for his sake. "Yes, yes, we're all very excited about it."
But Edso was no longer interested. "Yeah, must be nice," he remarked distantly. He shut off the diesel line and replaced the hose on the pump.
Avril felt bad about her outburst. It wasn't Edso's fault she was so sensitive on the topic of Father Sheahan. "Well would you like to come by sometime and see her?" she offered. "She's really adorable."
The day before, Edso would have jumped at the invitation, but now he reckoned it was better to keep his distance from this one, at least until he'd gotten a handle on what was going on with her. He started walking backwards toward the garage. "Nah, thanks. You've seen one horse, you've seen them all. I'll put that on your account, shall I?" He pointed toward the building.
"Yeah, OK, thanks, Edso," Avril called after him. She waved weakly at his back as he turned and disappeared inside. She climbed back up into the cab, reproaching herself for her social awkwardness. Why couldn't she just treat Edso like a normal human being? She didn't have this difficulty talking to Siobhan, or to Donal.
She reached down to start the engine when a dark blue car caught her eye going past out on the road. She straightened up and stuck her head out of the window to get a better look. She caught a glimpse of orange hair and a Dublin number. Was that...? She squinted her eyes to see better, but the car had already passed out of view. Nah, it couldn't be. He wouldn't be so callous as to come around again. Or would he? Maybe just passing through. Probably somebody else altogether. Still, she couldn't fully shake the feeling of disquiet. She sat there for a full minute before starting the engine and driving slowly back toward the stables.