Of course, the word penance made me think of the father. He'd never pushed his beliefs on me, but I knew enough to understand some of the practices. The only one that ever really appealed to me was penance. Paying a price for sin before forgiveness or redemption could be offered. And, of course, there were always those sins that couldn't be forgiven. I couldn't remember what those were called, but I was pretty sure at least one of the things I'd done in my life counted, maybe more than one.
Father O'Toole's face flashed in front of my eyes. The loss of him hit me fresh. Even as awkward as it would be to talk about my night with Nori, the father was exactly who I would've gone to about this. I would've wanted to know what he thought about why she'd slept with me. What he thought I should do about the stupid things I'd said.
He would've given me that exasperated look that he always gave me. Called me kid like he always did. Then he would've told me what I should do, what the right words were to fix all of this. He would've told me to go after her, to tell her how I felt. To fight for her.
I wanted to fight for her. That was part of the problem. I'd always been a fighter, even when it was a bad idea. I was pretty sure that's what'd scared the father so badly back in Texas, that I'd given up instead of wanting to fight. And I knew that was the real reason Father O'Toole brought her to Philadelphia.
To give me something to fight for.
Part of me almost felt like I owed it to him to do that.
But I knew I wasn't good for her, and how could I fight when I knew it would hurt the very person I was fighting for?
So the best thing I could do would be to leave her alone.
Even if it was killing me to do it.
I heard the doorbell and considered not even bothering to go down to answer it. Kipp had a key for exactly that reason. By the time I made up my mind to venture down, I heard the door opening and knew he was on his way. I yanked the hoodie over my head and tossed it on the floor. I was already too hot, and I was in no mood to hear Kipp lecture me about the dangers of overheating.
“Good afternoon,” he called out from the landing, his usual way of announcing himself without commenting on the fact that he'd had to use his key.
“I'm in here,” I called back.
“How're you feeling today?” Kipp said cheerfully as he came into the room. He grinned at me.
Sometimes he reminded me of Zed, the way he smiled all the time. At the moment, however, I wasn't exactly feeling friendly toward anyone.
“Let's just get started,” I snapped.
I felt a twinge of guilt at my behavior, but it was immediately drowned out by everything else I was feeling. There was too much going on for me to add one more thing to it.
“Experiencing any pain or soreness?” Kipp went straight into professionalism.
I shook my head. I had to respect him for not telling me to go fuck myself. Then again, in his line of work, I knew I wasn't the only patient with an attitude he dealt with.
“I'm having a shit day,” I admitted. It wasn't Kipp's fault that everything had gone to hell. “I just want to get this over with. I have a funeral to finish planning.”
Kipp's head jerked around, his eyes wide.
Shit. I'd forgotten that he didn't know. I'd made a couple calls earlier, but only to the father's parish. I hadn't even thought to talk to anyone else.
“Father O'Toole died last night.” My voice was gruff and I felt tears in my eyes. I looked up to get them to go away. A little trick I'd learned as a kid trying to avoid getting smacked for crying.
“Shit, X, I'm sorry.” There was no doubting the sincerity in his words. “I'll go.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I need to get my mind off of things.”
He looked at me for a minute and then nodded. “All right. Let's get started.”
It was a relief to start the familiar stretches and feel the pull of skin. I'd actually forgotten that I'd torn some of the scar tissues since I'd last seen Kipp, but he didn't say anything about the new bandages, just glanced at me and then went back to whatever he was doing on the computer. Updating my files, I supposed.
I didn't mind that he wasn't talking, but I didn't really mind when he started either. He talked about Father O'Toole and how the two of them met when the father was looking for a physical therapist to do some pro bono work at a local shelter. I'd never heard the story before, and I realized how very little I actually knew about a man I'd admired so much.
“He was always a great judge of character,” Kipp said, his voice full of admiration as well as sadness. “It was like some sixth sense with him, knowing who he could trust, what he could trust them with. And he always believed the best.”
I nodded in agreement. The father had certainly always believed the best about me, even when his faith was completely unjustified.