“It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Sister Cortona said before sweeping out of his office with what he could have sworn was a flick of her habit. She looked at him imperiously over her shoulder as she reached the door. “Oh. The bishop called, and he wants to have a chat with you in the next few weeks. I can guarantee that it won’t be as pleasant as the one you had with Sasha last night.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT WAS NEVER A great thing to get called to the bishop’s office. Like being called in to see the principal, there was an outside chance that he would win an award, but it was more likely that he was in trouble for something.
Sort of inevitable, really, given that Patrick put a priority on welcoming people that the Church had done its level best to alienate over the millennia. Until now, he’d maybe been in a honeymoon period with the diocese. They were just happy to have him at first. But he knew that the leash would eventually tighten.
Patrick did not like the bishop. He was an ambitious man who’d become a priest with the express purpose of elevating himself to the College of Cardinals and eventually becoming the Pope.
Bishop Rafferty didn’t say this out loud, but it was widely known all the same. And his ambition ruled everything that was in his domain. Politically, if he thought that something that Patrick was doing at St. Bart’s would ultimately help him climb higher, he would support it. Any whiff of scandal, and Rafferty would stomp it out with his expensive Italian ankle boots.
As soon as the bishop’s secretary ushered Patrick into Rafferty’s lavishly furnished office and Patrick saw the smile on the other man’s face, he knew he was in trouble.
Rafferty got up from his desk and patted Patrick on his back so hard that it jangled his insides. “Patrick, my boy.”
Patrick stepped back and shook the bishop’s hand when it was offered. “You asked to see me?”
Since this was his boss, something inside Patrick wanted to keep things as professional as possible. It was hard, given that their relationship was spiritual as well as professional, but Patrick would do his best. Bishop Rafferty cared more about his political aspirations than the spiritual well-being of his flock, and Patrick would never make the grave mistake of forgetting that.
Patrick’s tone knocked the bishop off his game a little, but it only flashed across his face for a moment when he realized that Patrick was not going to play this game. He motioned toward a chair, and his tone when he said, “Yes, sit,” was clipped.
“We have a problem,” the bishop said, going right in, “with the pre-K program.”
Relief washed through Patrick. This was a budgetary issue. The pre-K program had provided nothing but positive publicity for the diocese, so maybe the bishop was going to lend his support to saving it. “Well, we’re doing a fundraising bake sale next week. I know it doesn’t sound like much—”
“That’s not what I called you for.” Rafferty sighed, leaned back, and laced his fingers together over his stomach. “You didn’t tell me that the teacher was married to another woman.”
Patrick said nothing. He’d known that eventually someone conservative in the diocese might find out that Jemma was technically in violation of the completely archaic “morals clause” in her contract, but a lot of parishes declined to enforce that stupid rule.
When Rafferty realized that Patrick wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of squirming, he continued. “I just think that we need to be very careful and considerate here. I know the Holy Father occasionally strays from the Church’s teachings in public statements, but the Church’s position on gay and lesbian members hasn’t changed.”
He didn’t know what he’d do if Rafferty demanded that Patrick terminate Jemma’s contract. He didn’t have the political juice to just defy him. Rafferty could have him sent on a mission to Siberia if he wanted to.
A kernel of the rage formed in his belly. It was an old, familiar friend. Every time he’d visited his mother to see her more wasted away, the same ravenous beacon had formed in his gut. The fact that he was not in control right now made him so angry. He tried to remind himself that he had chosen this. In his experience, so little of his life was in his control. He’d become a priest partially because it required controlling himself and regimenting his life. And it allowed him to give comfort, the deep, spiritual kind that he hadn’t been able to offer his mother. She’d been his parent up until the end of her life, and he regretted that to this day.
And right now, he was on the verge of losing control of something good that he’d been able to cultivate in his community. But he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “No one at St. Bart’s is upset by Jemma’s marriage.”
Rafferty raised his brow. “They don’t have a marriage in the eyes of God.”
Patrick wasn’t going to touch that one. “She’s a great teacher. We couldn’t have the program without her.”
“Which is why the diocese didn’t fund it next year.”
Patrick was going to flip the desk like a Real Housewife after too much pinot grigio if he didn’t get his emotions under more control. He knew that his face was probably red and his jaw was starting to ache from biting back all the choice words for Rafferty. He might be a man of the cloth, but he was a hot-headed Dooley first and foremost. Always.
Rafferty had known about Jemma and Marie the whole time, and he’d kept that information in his back pocket for when he could use it against Patrick. He took a deep breath, ready to defend himself. But Rafferty cut him off.
“We could fund the pre-K program fully if you found a more appropriate teacher. I was willing to look the other way, but then you performed the baptism.”
“You’re really reading our Church bulletin pretty closely, aren’t you?” Didn’t this man have bigger fish to fry? Like a cardinal’s ass to kiss or something? “I’m not going to fire her. You and I both know that the negative publicity that would garner for the Church would be worse than leaving things as the status quo.”
Rafferty sighed. He must know that Patrick spoke the truth. “You can be replaced as pastor, you know.”
“I’m sure it will look great for you to fire me because I wouldn’t fire a pre-K teacher you don’t approve of.” Patrick knew that he was playing his last card and calling the bishop’s bluff might backfire horribly. But he didn’t feel like he had a choice.
He hadn’t realized how much it would sting to curtail his choices by joining the priesthood. He hadn’t realized how much it would chafe when he became fully an adult. And he’d never regretted becoming a priest quite as much as he did now. He’d thought it was an honorable thing to put the needs of the Church—something enduring—ahead of his own earthly desires. He’d been so naïve to believe that the Church wasn’t filled with men who used the Church’s rules to wield their own desires and need for power.