“Come on, we should go,” I said, pulling him away from the tabernacle. I couldn’t believe I almost let him touch the tabernacle. I guessed touching wouldn’t have been so bad, but what if he’d opened it. My face burned with the thought of that sacrilege.
I bowed as we left the altar, silently apologizing to God for allowing Luca so close to the tabernacle. I felt Luca watching me. Over my shoulder I saw that he did not bow. When we reached the back of the church he stopped, turning once again to face the altar.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
I didn’t need to ask what he meant. He was focused on the tabernacle.
“Consecrated hosts,” I said. “Catholics believe Jesus is in them. I mean, not like shrunk down and hanging out inside, but that the bread, when consecrated, changes into Jesus’s flesh.”
He stared at me.
“I know it sounds bizarre … it’s in the Bible. John, chapter 6, plus there have been miracles—”
“I’m not debating the theology,” he said, cutting me off.
I realized then I was taking a defensive stance.
“I felt the presence,” he said, laughing out loud. “That’s incredible.”
“You can feel it?” I asked, puzzled by how joyful he was. It was a distinct change from his typical disposition.
“Totally,” he said, almost giddy. “That’s crazy. I’ve felt evil my whole life and never felt goodness, not like this. My body, my … my soul … feels so … so healthy! Can I go back up there?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and pulling him toward the door.
“Why not?” he asked, sounding hurt.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “It doesn’t seem like something you’re supposed to do.”
The door opened before we reached it, the sunlight making it difficult to see for a moment.
“Oh, you aren’t alone,” Thomas said, his voice surprised.
I released Luca’s arm.
Thomas said, “I noticed you came in here. When you didn’t come out, I thought I should check on you. Had I known your neighbor was in here with you, I never would’ve worried.”
His words were nice enough. His tone was accusing.
“I was showing Luca the church,” I lied, though I wasn’t sure why.
“That’s good of you,” Thomas said, coming beside me. “Can I walk you back to the cantina? Gigi said your break was over at four. I stopped by earlier to ask if you wanted to share some pie.”
“That would’ve been nice,” I said, thinking of the gooseberry pie I was craving earlier.
“I’ll bring you some,” Thomas said, holding the door open. “Are you coming?” he said to Luca.
Thomas’s tone was harsh, but I was sure he was just tired. The festival took a lot out of each of us.
Luca followed behind us and slipped away before I could say anything. It was all right, I decided. I’d find him at home.
“You don’t mind bringing me some pie?” I asked Thomas as he walked me back to the cantina.
“Not at all,” he said, his hand on my back. “I’ll be right back.”
After he left, Gigi said, “Why was he leading you like that?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like you were a child who stepped out of line,” she said with disgust.
“He was just walking me back from the church. He saw me go in and went to check on me.”
“Was he following you?” she asked with contempt.
“No,” I said, defending him. “He was being attentive. He noticed me go in and when it took me a while to come out, he thought he should come check.”
Thomas came back into view, carrying a piece of pie.
“What’s he doing now?” she asked, her expression sour.
“Bringing me pie,” I said, gushing slightly. He walked with such confidence; I liked that about him.
Gigi turned away as Thomas approached.
“Here you go,” Thomas said, handing me a fork.
It was pumpkin, not gooseberry, but that was okay. I’d get a piece of gooseberry before we left and eat it for breakfast.
As I took a forkful of the creamy pumpkin filling, Thomas said softly, “I’m not sure how I feel about you spending time with Luca.”
“We weren’t exactly spending time together,” I said.
“You were in the same place, alone, together,” Thomas said, his eyebrow rising when he said “alone.”
“We were in church and we’re just friends, or not even. We’re neighbors,” I said.
“That might be how you perceive it, but any guy alone with any girl is going to recognize it as an opportunity,” he said as he finished his half of the pie.
“Is that how you saw it when we went on our picnic?” I said, watching for his reaction.
“I’m different,” he said. “But Luca, I mean he never even had a dad. He has no idea what it means to be a virtuous man.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, feeling defensive of Luca. “Luca has no interest in me as anything more than a neighbor, and maybe a friend. Even if he did, I get to decide who I’m interested in, or not.”
“You think that. All girls think that. None of you have any idea how easy girls are to manipulate.”
I stared at him. Was he serious?
Gigi moved closer, though she kept her back to us.
“That sounded bad,” Thomas said, holding up a hand as if to try and calm me down. “I didn’t mean it like that and you’re nothing like other girls. I merely meant most girls are easy to fool and most guys know it.”
“So, have you ‘fooled’ girls before?” I asked, staring at him, daring him to lie.
He swallowed hard and said, “In the past, I was not as good a guy as I should’ve been, but that was a long time ago.”
“You’re seventeen,” I said, crossing my arms. “How long ago could it have been?”
“Why are you getting so mad?” he asked, reaching out and touching my arm.
Suddenly I saw it all so clearly.
“I need to get back to work,” I said, throwing the empty pie plate in the trash.
“I’ll text you later,” he said.
I didn’t respond.
I refused Gigi’s numerous attempts at eye contact for the rest of the day and night. I didn’t need her telling me “I told you so.”
Sixteen
The 9:00 a.m. Mass was a little light on attendance due to the full day of festivities the day before. I was exhausted, like everyone else in my family. Nevertheless, we were in our regular pew. Thomas, too, was there, the stubble on his face a little darker and the blueness of his eyes a bit duller. Or perhaps that was just how I perceived them.
He carried the cross to the altar, his strides revealing the black pants he was wearing beneath the long white altar server robe. As he took his place beside Father, he glanced in my direction and offered me the faintest smile. I shifted my attention away from him.
Father Luke’s homily was good, which was a bit unusual for him. My dad always said we weren’t at Mass for the priest, and I agreed. We were there for the Eucharist, though it helped when Father Luke spoke from his heart and not from a script. Today he spoke about the success of yesterday’s festival and how honored he was to be part of our parish.