Surely I could think of one question. “Why did Uncle Bryan become a priest?”
Wow. My question for her wasn’t even about her but her husband. Top-notch work.
My aunt’s smile waned. “The Good Lord called him to the ministry when he was very young. He was already studying to be an Episcopal priest when I met him. And then later on, he realized God wanted him to be a Catholic priest.”
“Yeah, but I mean, why? Like, you’re married. I thought the whole point of being a Catholic priest was celibacy and everything.”
“It’s not common, true,” my aunt said. “But this was his calling. God was telling us this was his plan when he gave me ovarian cancer.”
My eyes shot wide open. For real? Did she seriously believe she’d gotten cancer so her husband could become a Catholic priest? I didn’t know if it was the most messed up or most depressing thing I’d heard in my life. Maybe both.
“It’s in remission,” she said. “Which happened right after he started the conversion process. If that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what a sign is.”
She gazed at me like I was supposed to say something profound, but how was I supposed to answer?
Sorry you got cancer. That blows. Want to go bungee jumping?
I’m truly sorry you believe God gave you cancer. Have you considered getting a new god?
Congrats on the remission! Hope it sticks!
None of the above. Literally there’s nothing to say. Every answer will be wrong.
“I think I need to go on a walk,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s—it’s nice talking to you, but that’s a lot to take in.”
She nodded. “There’s a lovely park a few minutes’ walk from the school. With a lake that I think is technically just a pond, but everyone here calls it the lake. Just be careful not to go too far out or you’ll end up in the swamp.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m rambling. I’ll see you later.” She left the room, closing the door behind her. It still seemed like she was disappointed in me. No. Disappointed was the wrong word, but I didn’t know what else could fit.
I walked to my closet and pulled out jeans and a T-shirt from the left side of the closet. As I dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror. I twisted my body, sucking in my stomach as if I’d like what I saw better. Hideousness looked right back at me.
Maybe you can just work out a little bit more, Aleks’s voice said in my head.
“Great pep talk, Aleks,” I grumbled as I pulled on shoes and headed out.
♱♱♱
How do geocachers do it? Seriously. How? Without using my phone as a map, I felt instantly lost in the woodsy area near the church. My chest kept pounding with each step I took away from familiar territory. I couldn’t imagine anyone voluntarily going off into the wilderness just so they could hide a toy in a lunchbox under a rock near a snake pit in a field of poison ivy and were those vultures overhead? I swore I saw vultures.
I’d barely set foot in the park when I was hit with the urge to turn around and head right back to the rectory. As I turned, though, I stopped in my tracks.
Sister Bernadette and Deacon Jameson stood near a group of children—the summer camp?—as the kids ran around, sometimes splashing into the water at the edge of the “lake.” They were both laughing. I watched with an open mouth. It was still weird to me that people in positions of power in the Catholic church were allowed to have fun. I kept expecting them to be stern like in all the movies.
There was a shriek and a few yelps. I recognized Dima, holding a huge Super Soaker, drenching Deacon Jameson. “Who’s going to yell at me for being late again?” Dima cackled.
What the actual hell?
I must have blinked, because the next thing I knew Dima was sprinting across the grass. His hands flailed in the air in total over-the-top camp. Deacon Jameson was right on his heels with the Super Soaker, pumping jets of water at Dima’s back as the summer camp kids cheered and laughed. Sister Bernadette overdramatically face-palmed as she called, “Deacon Jameson, you’re giving me a migraine!”
I couldn’t help it. I pulled out my phone and started recording. This was literally the best thing I’d seen in my entire life. A deacon. With a Super Soaker. Going after a dude who probably was regretting every single one of his life choices right about then.
“Ahem.”
I turned and faced Sister Bernadette. Immediately, I stopped recording. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t,” she said, and I winced, prepared to be berated, until she continued, “you dare not text me that video.”
I blinked. “You’re not mad?”
“About Joey being a moron?” Sister Bernadette laughed.
Wow. I felt so much lighter. Her smile was radiant. Warm. It made me want to smile like some love-struck idiot. But if I did, I’d need to accept that yes, I had a crush on a nun. And yikes.
And then the shadow of the overheard confession hit me.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said softly, smile vanishing from my face as Deacon Jameson and Dima ran off into the trees.
“What do you mean?”
“Like with Deacon Jameson. Being around him all the time. I don’t think I could if I were you.”
Sister Bernadette’s eyebrows rose. “. . . Okay?”
“You know,” I said.
“Can’t say I follow.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I mean because you like each other. And you’re not allowed to be together with all the celibacy stuff.”
Sister Bernadette gawked. “Are you implying that there’s something romantic between us?”
“Well, it’s kind of obvious.”
“Not obvious to me.” She laughed. Hard. I flinched. Was Sister Bernadette a great liar, in denial, or totally unaware that Deacon Jameson was in love with her? It wasn’t like I could tell her what I’d overheard in the confessional and that yes, he did like her. A lot. “I’m sorry,” she said between giggles. “But . . . but have you never had a friend that you were just silly with?”
Was she intentionally deflecting? I didn’t think she was. “What do you mean?”
“That’s literally what I mean. Someone you joke around with. Don’t you have that?”
“Uh . . . no. Pretty sure not.”
“Close your eyes. Think harder. Surely there’s been someone.”
I barely suppressed a groan. Evidently this was my penance for listening in on confessions instead of, you know, minding my own business as Sister Bernadette would say. I closed my eyes, reluctantly thinking back to my anime conventions and the people I hung out with.
Everyone was a blur. Well, everyone except Lee.
Forget him, forget him, forget him.
My eyes snapped back open. “What’s your number so I can send you the video?” I said, anything to change the subject. And that's how I got Sister Bernadette's phone number. She didn’t press me further on the friendship question, although she hovered over my shoulder to make sure I hit send.
Then she stepped away from me. “I better get back to the kids or else instead of a day at the park, we’re going to have Gold Riot.”
“You know Gold Riot?” I asked, shocked. It was a super obscure, super old series. People had to team up and survive a ton of obstacles over a thirty-day span, and if they survived, they’d get enough gold to last a lifetime. It started out great until power-lust took over and soon it was all-out war with zombies. (No, really). How were there so many nerds at Saint Martha’s?