The door opened softly just after sunrise and quiet footsteps came towards the altar where Maggie sat in the front pew, head bowed and hands folded.
"You've been here a while," Father Lantom said as he sat down and handed over his handkerchief.
"All night," Maggie replied as she thanked him. "Praying for answers. Looking for a place to start to sort out this mess."
"Perhaps you are looking at the wrong end?" Lantom suggested. "You can't begin to sort out a problem when you don't know the ultimate goal."
Maggie turned her head. "I know I should understand but I'm not following at the moment."
"What is your end goal? Do you want to continue to care for Matthew here until he is of legal age and then he leaves, making it his choice if he ever wants to see you again? The other option is do you want to make a home with Matthew outside of these walls? What does Matthew want? Until you can answer these questions, you can't start to fix or rather rebuild from the ground up."
"I'm not even sure Matthew will even speak to me at the moment," Maggie sighed. "He stayed with Fogwell last night."
"Maggie, I want to share with you the counsel that I often tell perspective adoptive parents of our older children. I remind them that these kids have seen a thousand lifetimes of pain in a very short period. It is hard to get them to trust if not damn near impossible because of how much they have been hurt. These kids have learned that the only person they can rely on is themselves. Matthew is fiercely independent because he's had to be. The way to get to through to these kids is to start small, talk about their interests, celebrate their successes and show them that when things go south that you are there to support them. Matthew needs to know that you're in his corner for the good and the bad. He's growing up in the darkness and he needs a light to guide him."
"What if I can't find my own light to share with him?" Maggie asked.
"Then perhaps you have been directing your prayers to the wrong listener," Father Lantom suggested as he set a photo in her lap as he stood to prepare the altar for the day's services.
Maggie looked down at the photo and tears welled in her eyes. It was a photo of her and Jack from just before they got married.
After the night that Matt had spent at Fogwell's, he made a point to actively avoid Maggie. He was being pretty damn obvious about it. During weekdays, it was the same routine - wake up, shower, breakfast, go to school, go to Fogwell's after school, homework, work out, dinner with Mr. Fogwell and his wife then Mr. Fogwell would walk him back to the orphanage where he would go straight to his room and usually fall right to sleep. Next day, lather, rinse, repeat.
The weekend was much harder. During Saturday chores, Matt actually volunteered to scrub the floors instead of helping with the laundry. Laundry meant being with Maggie and it still hurt. Scrubbing floors sucked and no one ever volunteered for it. The cleanser made his eyes itch, burn and tear up and made his nose run. The cracked skin on his hands just stung with the constant dunking of the brush in the soapy water. Floor duty also meant spending hours on the floor on his hands and knees, getting his jeans soaked, because he could only feel where he had cleaned instead of seeing it.
Sunday was the worst. He had to go to Mass and there was no way out of it. He tried to pay attention to Father Lantom but his head wasn't in it. He wanted to go back to the gym but it wasn't possible without sneaking out and running away again. Being stuck in his room didn't help his mood much either. Matt kept replaying that horrible fight with Maggie in his head and questions he didn't ask. Did she ever want him? Did she love him at all? All of it just made Matt cry again, as quietly as he could so no one would hear him. It's not like he was going to get a hug to make him feel better.
Later that night, when all had gone quiet, Matt crept out of his room and went down to the church. He ran his fingers down the rows of pews until he got to the front one. He could feel the rows of votive candles burning just to the left of the altar. No one lets him go near them because they're afraid he's going to burn himself or something else. Matt just closed his eyes and listened to the faint popping that the candles made as they burned, the creaking of the wood in the old church and the sound of the rain outside.
Father Lantom had heard when Matthew slipped in. The door was easy to hear when the church was empty. He didn't approach Matt right away, just observed. The boy looked positively miserable as he sat down and found a bit of solace in the empty church. Lantom gave him a few moments to himself before approaching. "You know, there was someone sitting here a little over a week ago in that same spot looking just miserable as you are now," he said as he sat down next to Matthew.
Matt knew exactly who Father Lantom was referring to. "Are you saying we're more alike than we know?" Matt asked dryly.
"Not exactly but it is an interesting comparison," Lantom hinted. "But I do see two people suffering and looking for guidance."
"She lied to me and it hurts. No one told me. Even you didn't say anything."
Father Lantom sighed and folded his hands. He was not without blame in this whole situation. "It wasn't my place to but I had encouraged Maggie to tell you for quite some time."
"I know. I heard you say it to Maggie."
"Is that why you have been making yourself so scarce around here over the last week?"
"Am I not allowed to be upset about this?"
"No, you are perfectly justified in your feelings," Father Lantom assured him. "Have you had any thoughts on how we can begin to heal?" Matt shrugged. "Have you thought about what you want, Matthew?"
Matt didn't answer immediately. As he thought about it, tears started to fill his eyes again. He sniffed as he wiped his eyes harshly with his knuckles. "I want my dad back but I know that isn't possible without a time machine. Now, I find out I still have a mom but it feels like she doesn't want me and maybe never has."
This wasn't just a lack of trust, this was a feeling of rejection and a constant one at that. This was deeper than Father Lantom originally thought. He wrapped a gentle arm around Matt's shoulders. "I think there's more, isn't there?" Lantom said in a more comforting tone. He had to try to see if he could keep Matt talking.
"If she loved me and wanted me, I wouldn't be here. I'd be home. Dad called her and she didn't talk to him. Am I really that bad that she doesn't want me?" Matt sobbed.
"You are not a bad kid. Far from it," Lantom said as he hugged Matt. "I don't know everything that happened that before that night but I know she was the one who insisted I bring you here while she grieved for your father. She does care for you."
"Maybe she should show it more often," Matt interrupted.
Father Lantom ignored the rudeness in Matt's voice. He was hurt and upset and Maggie could be distant and detached. "I think you know what you want," he pointed out softly.
"I want my mom to be my mom," Matt sniffed.
Father Lantom smiled. He was right. "Come with me, Matthew? I think there's some cookies and hot chocolate in the kitchen with our names on them."
After Matthew went to bed, Father Lantom knocked on Maggie's door. "The door is open. A small bit but it is open. Your choice what to do with it but don't wait. It won't remain open forever. Your move now."
Maggie said an additional prayer that night for the Saint that Father Paul Lantom was.