Thanks again if you're still tuning in, and thanks doubly for all the feedback and follows. (singtomemymeadow - Peter's first dream is at the end of Chapter 2, but yes, we'll have more! In fact...)
As you probably know, the "40 days" of Lent doesn't count the Sundays. Lots of us take this as licence to lift our promised abstinence on the sabbath, depending on how we've restrained ourselves.
With that in mind, time to check in at the pub...
Sunday evening, the regulars gathered at Fitzgerald's to lay money on whose self-discipline would collapse first.
"Five quid says Siobhan cracks first," Brendan smirked.
"Not bloody likely," the vet retorted over her Harp.
Niamh grinned. "Why, Siobhan? What'd you give up?"
"Gambling."
Assumpta walked over to the dry-erase easel near the till and marked the relevant square on the grid labelled "Lent Pool."
"So," she said, "no wager from you then, Dr. Mehigan?"
"It is Sunday," Brendan winked.
"I won't fall for that one," Siobhan said. "I can't place a bet today and retract it the next six!"
"We could work it so you only win on a Sunday."
"Do you take me for an eedjit, Brendan? You can't win it on a Sunday."
Padraig's mirror eyes were bright. "What about you, 'Sumpta?"
"Ten that you'll smoke again before Easter Vigil."
"How'll you prove it?" the mechanic challenged.
"Told Kevin if he reported you, I'd cut him in on my winnings."
"You're leading him on, Assumpta," Brendan chuckled. "You'll break his heart."
"Brendan, red meat, fifteen," said Niamh.
"Prepare to pony up," Brendan said. "Hardly miss it."
"My money's on Niamh and the sweets," Eamonn squeaked.
"Be a long wait for you, Eamonn," Niamh teased, waving a fork over her cake slice. "I'll do just fine, long as I get my Sunday chocolate fix." She stuffed a heaping forkful into her mouth.
"Twenty on whatever Father Clifford's trying to forego," said Brian. His daughter nearly spat out the cake.
Assumpta's grin soured. "You don't know what it is?"
"Near as I can tell, it's comfortably warm showers," Brian mused.
"Suppose a vow of chastity'll do that to the best of us," Padraig blurted.
It flustered Assumpta to hear the others chuckle at the implication. Just then, Peter entered with Ambrose right behind. She quickly hid the whiteboard under the bar, and the laughter dropped off.
"What'd we miss?" Ambrose chirped, the usual boyish grin competing with the authority of his uniform.
"Nothing, not a thing," Brian assured.
"What're you giving up for Lent, Father?" Brendan asked. Assumpta made no effort to contain her snort.
Peter opened his mouth as if to respond, but Kieran's wail spared him. He lifted the baby out of his carrier.
"He'll be needing a change," Niamh warned.
"No trouble," Peter said.
The mother looked grateful. "Bag of nappies on the coat rack." Peter retrieved it with his free arm.
"Do it in the toilet, if you would," Assumpta said.
Peter pulled a face.
"Health codes," Assumpta said innocently. "Isn't that right, Gard Egan?"
Ambrose nodded sheepishly at the priest.
"There's no surface to change him on!" Peter protested.
Assumpta shook her head and marched from behind the bar straight into the men's room. Peter followed her nervously, Kieran on his shoulder.
"Just had this put in yesterday," she said, slamming a hand on the wall-mounted change station.
"In the men's?!"
"Evidence suggests you lot can change babies too. Besides," she added meaningfully, "this is where I wanted it."
"Well I couldn't have known it was here!"
"Course not, you're avoiding the place."
"Assumpta!"
"Strikes me hypocritical, to be honest. Did Jesus get a pint once a week in the desert?"
"There's no reason to take that tone."
"What do you mean, 'tone'?"
"Does my business really make such a difference?"
"Funny you'd mention, Peter, that is none of your business!"
"Then what makes my reasons any of yours?!"
Both stood silent a moment, breathing too quickly. In an effort to keep their voices hushed in the echo chamber, they had moved inexcusably close together. Their eyes had locked for too long.
She tore her gaze away. "Look, I'm just a purveyor of vice, what do I know?"
"Please, don't..."
Raising a hand to silence him, she moved for the door. "Wash your hands when you're done. Health codes."
"Assumpta -"
"Hot as you like," she called over her shoulder, missing the horrified look on his face.
The narrow bed in the curate's house seemed particularly inhospitable that night, but Peter couldn't hope for insomnia. It would have been easier than what awaited once his eyes were shut.
She knew what he was avoiding. Perhaps she even knew why.
He got up for his morning shower, only to hear the water already running. Stepping in, he felt the water hot on his back - hotter than it should be, given recent adjustments. He turned to the faucets only to find Assumpta, naked, beautiful, standing under the stream.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, but he made no move to leave.
"Hot as you like," she said.
"It's supposed to be cold," he said, reacting visibly to the sight and closeness of her. "We have to cool it down."
She bent over the faucets, tantalizing him. "Peter, I can't do it. I can't make it any colder."
He looked at the dial, cranked all the way to the blue letter C. It was still gushing out hot enough to steam.
"Peter, what are you giving up?" she said, backing against him.
"Hot showers," he choked.
"Not quite. What are you giving up?" She pulled his arms up to embrace her. He couldn't resist it.
"Perversion," he muttered through his teeth, frustration and shame and longing all plaited together in his voice.
She pressed her whole body against him. "Almost. What are you giving up?"
"I gave it up years ago!" he heard himself yell, bolting upright.
3:28, the clock radio teased. He buried his face in the single pillow.
A couple evenings later at Hendley's, Kathleen noticed Niamh eyeing the chocolate bars on the counter.
"None for you today?" Kathleen asked innocently.
"No thank you," Niamh replied, affecting more confidence than she felt.
"Fair enough."
"Padraig been in for his cigarettes yet?"
Kathleen only shrugged.
"Siobhan for a lottery ticket?"
Kathleen shrugged again, forcing a smile.
"How about Brendan's ham sandwich?"
Kathleen's mouth tightened into a scowl. "I am not at liberty to say."
The penny dropped.
"Kathleen, have you given up gossiping for Lent?!"
"It's been surprisingly easy," Kathleen said, looking utterly tortured.
"Good on you," Niamh said, trying to sound reassuring.
She paid for the baby food and orange juice, and then hurried across the street.
Entering the pub, she saw Siobhan staring into a pint of Harp, and Brendan watching the taps, looking miserable.
"Where's herself?"
He nodded toward the kitchen. Niamh went in.
The air hung thick with the fragrance of bacon. Assumpta sat at the table, chowing down on a BLT as if it had personally insulted her.
"Torturing Brendan, so?"
"You're next," Assumpta managed between bites. "Wait'll you see my dessert."
Niamh pouted. "Padraig wasn't kidding when he said you gave up self-denial."
Assumpta smiled spitefully. "Mmm. Isn't Lent grand?"
"Bite your tongue."
"Yup. Anything I can help you with?"
Niamh nodded in the direction of Hendley's. "I want to change my bet."
Assumpta rose, sandwich still in hand, and went out front to retrieve the grid.
Brendan took a whiff of the food. "'Sumpta, you trying to kill me?" he whimpered.
"Pehish da fought," she said through a mouthful.
Siobhan's face brightened. "I'll be impressed if you're still indulging every whim on Easter Eve."
Assumpta sensed a challenge. "Don't think I've got it in me?"
"No one can give into every temptation that crosses their path. If I were in for the pool, my money'd be on you."
"Just as well you're not, then." Assumpta took another pointed bite.
"Shouldn't be eating behind the bar," Niamh droned. "Health codes."
"Speakin' of," Brendan mused, "anyone heard from the cold-wash clergy of late?"
Assumpta chewed more angrily, biting the inside of her cheek.
"Better be off," Niamh breathed. "Ambrose'll have his rounds, and Kieran's probably hungry."
Her mouth throbbing, Assumpta glared unabashedly at the departing brown ponytail.
"Hasn't been one for the pub much lately, has he?" Siobhan reflected.
"Something the matter?" Brendan asked, noting the publican's scowl.
Rather than answer, she demolished the last morsel of sandwich. The blood in her mouth ruined the taste, and eating it was only painful.