He’d always known that he was loved, but he didn’t know what else his mother had loved. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still smell the drug store shampoo that she’d used. He could remember being splayed on the couch, reading whatever adventure or fantasy series that he’d been into at the time while she sat across the room in her chair, reading novels or memoirs or poetry. He could see the light coming through the window and how it glinted off her hair.
Sitting here now, he wished he’d spent more time talking to her, figuring out why she got such comfort from religion and literature. He wished that he knew what formed her so that he would have some idea as to why she’d wanted him to become a priest. In a way, he now felt like he had when it became clear that his mother was dying. Except now, he was losing his faith along with the love he’d been willing to compromise that faith for.
He felt totally unmoored, and tears sprang to his eyes. He sat there, lost in thought for so long that he thought it might be growing dark when a shadow fell over him. Except he looked up, and it was his father, who was leaning on a cane and glowering at him.
“What are you doing here, boy?” His father squinted down at him. “Are you crying? She’s been dead for well over a decade.”
“You’re here, too, you know,” Patrick said. “And I’m not the one who’s supposed to be resting flat on his back.”
Patrick stood up so he could look his father in the eye, noticing that Danny had also brought lilies.
“I know that, but I never miss a visit.” His father looked down at the beautifully etched stone. Like a good, morbid Irishwoman, his mother had picked out all of the accoutrements of death long before she’d gotten sick.
“I’ve missed too many visits of late,” Patrick said. He didn’t know how to broach the subject with his father, but he knew it was past time to avoid it. “Do you think we made her happy?”
Patrick’s father looked at him as though he’d grown three heads all of the sudden. “Of course you made her happy. She was the happiest woman I ever knew. You should have heard her talk about you to her friends when they were playing cards.”
“I always knew she loved me, but I always felt like maybe she wanted more. Like to have a job or that maybe she had a calling herself.”
Danny chuckled. “She would have made a great priest, but she always said it was a good thing that the Church didn’t allow women to become full-fledged members of the clergy.”
These were more words than his father usually said in a whole week, so he didn’t want to slow him down, but he needed more. “Why was that?”
“Well, she wouldn’t have had you.”
“Or Chris.”
His father snorted. “Chris she could have taken or left. He was always a bit of a shit.”
“But you are so much more proud of him than you are of me.” Patrick knew that he had likely been their mother’s favorite, but their father had always paid more attention to Chris.
“You’re wrong there.” The green eyes that Patrick shared with his father glinted, and the old man put one hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure who that hand was meant to steady—perhaps it was both of them. “I am proud of the man you’ve become.”
“But not that I’m a priest.” When his father sighed heavily, Patrick pressed on. “I know that you had little use for religion either now or when I was growing up, but I just felt like it was the only thing I could do after Mom died.”
Patrick left out the part about Ashley, because his father wouldn’t get that. And it seemed silly now that he had these much bigger feelings for Sasha.
“Mostly, I just think that you’re too selfless. You’ve given yourself away to people who barely notice or acknowledge you.” His father shook his head and patted Patrick on the chest. “Your heart’s too big to keep it for yourself.”
“That was deeply poetic for a man of few words.”
“How do you think I charmed your mother?” Danny ran a hand over his silver beard. “It certainly wasn’t this ugly mug. You can thank God you got your good looks from her.”
“You wrote her poems?” He’d come here wishing that he’d known his mother better as a person, and maybe it was time to get to know his father better as well. “Can I read them?”
His father’s face reddened. “Only some of them. Not the filthy ones.”
Patrick laughed. “I don’t need to read those.”
“You tempted to write poems for that girl you brought to the bar?”
Patrick thought for a moment. Sasha didn’t entice him to write poetry because she was poetry. The feelings he had for her were a song. The way his heart beat when she kissed him was a prayer. And the way he ached for her now that she’d rejected him was an answer. And, until that moment, when his father had revealed just a glimpse into his life, he’d thought he had to accept that answer. He’d come here to mourn Sasha, because it had felt right to do that sitting on bones.
But maybe the answer was to chase the poem down and try to change the answer to his prayers.
He didn’t have words for his father just then, but he nodded.
“Thank goodness.” Danny pulled Patrick in by the back of his neck for a hug. “If I was going to have to rely on your brother for grandchildren, I’d be in real trouble.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SASHA WAS DETERMINED TO avoid any close contact with Patrick at the carnival. And she was determined to make it a success, because she didn’t want to have to come back to church grounds after this. Tonight wasn’t breaking her new rule of not going inside the church because everything was outside.
Luckily, they were selling plenty of drink, game, and ride tickets, and they should meet their goal of saving the pre-K program tonight. She felt a pang when she realized that she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to Jemma or the kids. But it was too dangerous to be close to Patrick. She might well want him, but he was needed here. In the long run, she wouldn’t be enough for him. She wasn’t about to try to compete with God. She just had to keep telling herself that until the devil on her shoulder shut the fuck up.
That was all well and good until she laid eyes on him. He was smiling at something that Sister Cortona said, and her insides twisted at remembering what his smile had meant that one time for her. She should look away and focus on making sure that everything ran smoothly, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
She stood in the middle of one of the walkways that they’d created between the game tents for such a long time that several people bumped into her. She didn’t even do her usual thing of murmuring apologies. She sort of wondered why everyone wasn’t looking at him, until she remembered that she was the only one in love with him.