Author's Note: I'm not sure why I've been so filled with angst about these two lately, but here you go. I've been thinking about this one for a while, but I didn't think it was going to end up being this long. I originally just intended for it to be a short HC that I posted on my Tumblr account, riffheartsgraziella. I've been doing a lot of writing over there lately, so feel free to check it out if you're interested!
I very briefly mention Riff's funeral in this one, which I'm hoping to write about in more depth in my next fic. I'm not sure exactly when that will be though.
Just as a fun fact, the church featured in this story, the Church of the Blessed Sacrament is a real church in NYC. It's featured in the 2021 film!
Graziella silently slipped inside the church, the sounds of New York City awakening to another day disappearing as the heavy door closed behind her. She ran her trembling hands down the front of her dress and then hugged her sweater more tightly around her shoulders. Despite the lingering heat outside, the Church of the Blessed Sacrament always offered a cool respite, the scent of incense clinging to the still, peaceful air within the church's quiet walls.
It was early, too early even for the morning Mass she knew they offered each weekday. This had been the church she'd grown up attending, though it had been years since she had started stepping foot in it again. It was only after Riff…she'd started coming to light candles for him. Then she'd started staying for Mass, always tucking herself away in the back pew. Her prayers were always for him. Sometimes she prayed for Tony and Bernardo, too. But always for Riff. And now for the sweet baby growing inside her, the last gift Riff had given her.
She never normally came this early, but she'd woken up this morning in a cold sweat, tears streaming down her face. She'd had a nightmare, a terrible, awful nightmare. It had always been Riff who'd been plagued by nightmares, but last night she had experienced one of her own and it had left her cold and trembling. She'd dreamed she was at the rumble, the rumble that haunted every one of her waking hours and was now infiltrating her sleeping ones as well. She'd been able to see it all so clearly in her mind, just as the boys had described it to her. She could hear the screaming and yelling, could smell the sweat and the blood and the fear. With piercing clarity, she could see Bernardo's knife rooting itself in Riff's chest, the blood pooling around it as Riff turned to her, their eyes meeting as he opened his mouth to speak to her, to beg her for help. She'd been stuck in place, unable to move or reach out to him as he fell, everything else disappearing as she watched her love die before her eyes.
The nightmare had shaken her to her core, making her sick in a way that she knew had nothing to do with her morning sickness. She'd immediately gotten dressed and started walking towards the church, nothing else on her mind except praying for Riff's soul and begging for God's mercy.
No one else was in the church as Graziella made her way up the center aisle, collapsing at the altar rail and weeping into her folded arms. Her prayers were incoherent, she knew, but she hoped God would be able to understand them all the same.
She couldn't be certain how long she had been kneeling there, weeping and praying, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Gasping, she lifted her head and looked into the kindly eyes of an older priest. She thought his name might have been Father O'Rourke. She'd seen him say Mass many times since returning to church.
He stepped back and lifted his hands, obviously not wanting to startle her. "I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to disturb you," he said softly, his voice lilting in an Irish brogue that she found oddly comforting. "You just seemed so distressed and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do. Would you like to sit down?" he asked, indicating the open pew behind them.
Graziella hesitated for a moment, then nodded her head and slowly rose, sitting down on the wooden bench as she sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. The priest sat at a respectful distance beside her, reaching into his pocket and offering her a clean tissue.
"Thank you," Graziella murmured, blowing her nose and taking a few deep breaths.
"You're welcome, my dear," the priest said, his countenance peaceful as he gazed over at her. He looked rather content to sit there in silence, not pushing her to speak. After a moment or two, he said, "My name is Father O'Rourke." She'd been right then. "I've seen you at Mass these past couple months. And lighting candles." His words were gentle and didn't push her to elaborate.
Graziella nodded, feeling an odd desire to open up to him. "My name is Graziella," she told him slowly, crumpling the tissue he'd given her in her hand. "I used ta come ta Mass here when I was a little girl. It's been a long time," she admitted, looking up at him a bit sheepishly.
He didn't seem disturbed by that. "That's alright. There's no expiration date on your welcome here," he said with a warm smile.
She felt encouraged by that. "I started comin' again after…well, I wanted ta pray for…my boyfriend. He…he…well, he died," Graziella tried to explain, her face crumpling as the tears started falling again.
Father O'Rourke's features creased in compassion as he reached out to rest a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Oh, my dear. I'm very sorry." The words were simple, but she could tell he meant them.
"I…I came here this mornin' 'cause I had a nightmare an'…oh, Father, I don't want him ta go ta hell!" Graziella sobbed, burying her face in her hands as her shoulders shook. "He was baptized an' I tried ta get him a proper funeral an' I've been prayin' for him every day!" she continued, on the verge of hysterics.
"Sh, sh," Father O'Rourke murmured comfortingly, patting her shoulder as he retrieved another tissue from his pocket. "There, there, my dear. It'll be alright. What would make you think your boy's gone to hell now?"
Choking back her tears, Graziella wiped her nose with the fresh tissue and looked over at the older man. She opened her mouth and, before she could even stop to question herself, she told him everything. She told him all about Riff and the Jets. She told him about their territory, the way they fought to control their little piece of street, the rumbles and the brutality. She told him about the Sharks and their turf war, the way they'd fought each other for months before that fatal night. She told him about the rumble, about Riff's and Bernardo's deaths. She told him about what had happened to Tony, and the Puerto Rican girl he had loved in secret. She even told him about what the Jets had done to Anita, about their shameful behavior that she still had not found it in her heart to forgive. She pressed her hand against her still-flat belly, but didn't tell him about the baby growing inside.
"He wasn't perfect, I know that. He was filled with a lot o' hate, but he also had a lot o' love, too," Graziella whimpered, suddenly exhausted from unloading all of her grief. "I just…I can't bear the thought o' him goin' ta hell. I can't bear ta think that I'll really never see him again," she confessed, the fear like a weight pressing down on her chest.
Father O'Rourke was quiet for a long time. He hadn't uttered a word during her story, had just sat and listened to her. The minutes passed in silence and Graziella started to fear she had revealed too much. Maybe he would tell her that Riff was burning in hell and that that's where she belonged, too. Maybe he would throw her out and tell her never to return to the Church of the Blessed Sacrament, to never disgrace this sacred space with her presence again.
"Oh, my dear," he finally began, letting out a long exhale. "Oh, my dear. What a heavy burden you've been carrying. What pain," he said softly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Now I see why I found you weeping at the altar rail."
"Do ya think my prayers matter, Father? Do ya think God could forgive Riff?" Graziella asked desperately.
"I think our prayers always matter, my dear. And I think your prayers, offered with such love, go straight to the Father's ears. Did you know that they say the Lord counts our tears? I think not a single one of your tears have been missed by the Lord," Father O'Rourke told her. "He hears your prayers and He loves you very much. And do you know who else He loves?"
Graziella shook her head, looking into the priest's eyes.
"Your Riff," he told her gently, smiling at her. "And Bernardo. And Tony. And all your friends that you told me about. He loves them all. And He came to save them all."
Graziella began weeping again at his words. "But Riff an' Bernardo an' Tony are dead now! Is it too late for them? Could God forgive them, even now?"
Father O'Rourke pointed at the large Crucifix that hung above the altar, waiting until Graziella had fixed her eyes on it. "It's never too late, my dear. Even from the Cross, our Lord was offering His forgiveness. Nothing is impossible for God." The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, reflecting on that. Then he continued. "I'm not God, my dear. I certainly cannot pretend to be. Like you said, your Riff was an imperfect young man. But that doesn't mean he was beyond hope, or beyond God's mercy. None of them are. And with the way you've been praying for him, I believe his soul is in good hands."
Relief, the sweetest, purest relief she had ever known, flooded Graziella's soul at his words. She felt something crack open inside her heart, some weight she'd been carrying finally loosening its hold on her. "Oh, thank you, Father! Thank you!" she sobbed, throwing her arms around the priest and hugging him tightly.
Father O'Rourke chuckled lightly, patting Graziella's back gently as she hugged him. He hesitated a moment before asking, "Your Riff…his last name wouldn't have been Lorton, would it?"
Startled, Graziella nodded her head slowly. "It was. How did ya know that?"
She was surprised to see a look of grief flicker across the priest's face. "I thought…well, it's such a unique name, how could it not have been?" He almost seemed to be talking to himself, lost in thought for a moment.
"Father?" Graziella asked, clutching Riff's mother's bracelet, the one she hadn't taken off since Officer Krupke had given it to her.
"I…I baptized him," Father O'Rourke told her, prompting a gasp of surprise to slip out of her mouth. "When you said his name…well, he's the only Riff I've ever baptized in all my years. Riff Lorton. I remember his mother. She wasn't much older than you when she brought him here," he said, smiling sadly. "It was a horrible tragedy that she died so young. I remember seeing him then—he was so young, but so angry. I can't believe he…" He shook his head, making the Sign of the Cross.
Graziella followed suit, shocked at the priest's revelation.
"I'll be praying for him, my dear. And for Bernardo and Tony. And your friends. And for you," he told her kindly. "And for the baby you carry."
Graziella's eyes widened as her hands instinctively flew to her stomach. She hadn't said anything about the baby. She wasn't even showing yet. "How did ya…?"
Father O'Rourke just smiled knowingly. "When the time comes, I'll baptize your babe, just as I baptized his father."
"Thank you," Graziella said softly, gratitude brimming in her red-rimmed eyes.
"God bless you, my dear. I hope to see you again soon. I'll leave you to your prayers now," Father O'Rourke said, making the Sign of the Cross over her before quietly departing.
Graziella knelt once more at the altar rail, though this time her tears were ones of hope and peace instead of despair. "Father, please forgive him. I have hope that You will. An' tell him how much I love him. I hope that he knows."
For the first time since that night, Graziella felt hope blossoming in her chest as she walked out of the church. There was much that had been broken, much that had been lost. But forgiveness and healing were possible. They were within reach, if only she had the courage to reach out and grasp them. And she was going to try.
For Riff, she would try.