Full disclosure: I am not a man, nor have I even been a boy. So I may not be fully qualified here.
"Morning, Dad," Timothy greeted his father as he trotted into the kitchen.
"Morning. You're up early." Patrick was a bit surprised to see his son out of bed this early on a Saturday.
Timothy sat down at the table. "Shelagh and I are going to the museum today. We did talk about that, remember?"
Patrick looked up at his son, his fingers fidgeting with his tea-cup. "Yes, I remember."
Timothy looked at his father over his bowl of cereal. Yesterday's sudden adventure into the countryside to find Sister Bernadette, wait, Shelagh, had just been one of the many oddities of the day. Her name, for instance. Tim understood that some changes had occurred, but never before had his father allowed him to speak to another adult in such an informal manner. Of course, that had been Sister-wait-Shelagh's doing. She insisted that as she and Timothy were such good friends it would help her get used to her old name if he used it as often as possible. So it had been "Sister-wait-Shelagh this" and "Sister-wait-Shelagh that" for most of dinner last night. He hoped that he would get better at the name thing. Calling her Sister-wait-Shelagh would probably not help her get used to her name.
"Quite a day yesterday, wasn't it, Tim?" Patrick tried to meet his son's eyes, but fell short.
"It sure was. This is the most fun I've had during half-term, ever!"
"Uhm. Yes." Patrick lit a cigarette.
"Dad? Are you all right? Am I in trouble or something?" Dad was acting very strangely.
"No, no of course not. What makes you ask that?"
"I dunno. You just seem funny. Like you want to tell me something, but don't want to say it."
Patrick took a deep drag on his cigarette. "I do have something I need to talk to you about." He tapped the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray.
Fidgeting Timothy said, "Dad, you're making me nervous. You never smoke at the table."
Patrick chuckled. "I 're mum wouldn't let me." He put the cigarette out. "That's what I wanted to speak with you about, Tim."
"Cigarettes?"
"No. Your mum."
"Oh," Timothy said. "But we never talk about her."
Patrick frowned. "I know. I'm sorry for that, Tim. For so long it was just too painful, and then…"
"Then what?" Timothy asked.
Patrick started again. "I really am sorry about that, Timothy." The conversation had not gone the way Patrick would have liked. It was apparent that Timothy was not ready to learn the reason for yesterday's developments.
"It's all right, Dad. I didn't want to talk about her with you, either."
Patrick's eyes glistened. "I loved your mother very much, Tim. She was a good wife to me. And she loved you very much. Talking about it was just so very...hard."
His son nodded. "I know. But Sister Bernadette would let me talk about her. It was easier to talk with her. I didn't have to worry that I was making her feel bad, and she always knew what to say to make me feel better."
"Sister Bernadette? You spoke with her about your mother? When?"
"I don't know. Lots of times. Her mum died when she was young, too, so she knows what it's like. She says it helps to remember Mummy on regular days, that way when bad days happen I can feel Mummy helping me. That time I fell and scraped my arm? She told me how brave I was, and how Mum would be so proud of me. And last Spring, we were doing something at school for Mothering Day, and I was sad, she said I could go to her any time if I wanted to talk about Mum."
Patrick thought for a moment. "I didn't know." There was now yet another reason to love Shelagh. Her gift of healing stretched far beyond nursing and midwifery. The true gift was her ability to heal souls.
Timothy looked at his dad. "She's been a good friend to me. Talking with her about Mum always makes me feel better." His face became very wise for a ten-year-old boy. "I'm glad you're friends, now, too. Sister-wait-Shelagh's a good person to talk to. And you need a friend. She's little, but she has a big heart."
Patrick nodded, thoughtful. "Yes, she does."
Timothy got up to wash his bowl. "Dad?" he asked, turning to face his father.
"Yes, son?"
"I think Shelagh's awfully special. Don't you?"
"Yes, son."
"And you like her, right?"
Patrick let out a sharp breath. "Yes, son. I like her very much."
"I'm glad. Dad?"
"Yes, son?"
"Now that Sis-Shelagh's not a nun anymore, does that mean she can get married? Be a mum?"
Patrick held his breath. "Yes, son."
"Do you think she'd like to?"
Patrick hoped so. "Maybe. It's a big change."
"Yes, but she's really brave. I think she'd be a great mum." Timothy came back to the table and looked his father in the eye. "I think you should marry her, Dad."
As usual, his son turned the tables on him. "Do you think she'd have me?" Patrick asked.
"Maybe. She called you, yesterday. Not anyone else. And then we rushed off to find her." He considered something for a moment. "I think you like each other, Dad, even if you don't know it. Last night , when we had dinner together, it felt, sort of, right. You know, like we're supposed to be a family. I think Mummy would like it, too, Dad."
"You've thought about this," Patrick commented, his heart light. He wasn't sure how this had happened, but he was grateful.
"Well, someone has to. Dad, she's really pretty, too." Timothy nodded his head in determination. "If we're going to convince her to marry you, we better get started. It's not like you're such a great catch. This is going to require some careful planning."