“Makes sense, I guess. She was hoping God would kill me so she could be a nun.”
Søren gave her a look of such deep and profound sympathy she couldn’t stand to look at it.
“Eleanor … I’m so—”
“Sorry. I know. Don’t be. She loves me now. I think.” Eleanor laughed. “Anyway, it was young lust with Dad. She was seventeen. A year after she had me, she found out what my dad does for a living. They got divorced. She didn’t want any of his money because she said it’s all dirty.”
“Dirty money? What does your father do for a living?”
“He …” Eleanor paused and considered the best way to say it. “He’s a mechanic, sort of. Works with cars.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“They’re not always his cars.”
Søren nodded. “I see.”
“He’s been in prison a couple times.”
“Does that trouble you?”
“No,” she said. “Not too much anyway.”
They looked at each other a moment without speaking. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a meaningful silence.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get back to packing.” Eleanor wanted to stay and keep talking to him. But she didn’t want to be a nuisance either, and wear out her welcome.
“I’ll see you Sunday?” he asked.
“What’s Sunday?”
“Mass? Church? Holy Day of Obligation?”
“Right. Sunday. I’ll check with my secretary,” she said. “You know, see if I’m free.”
“Do you have the office number here?”
“It’s on the fridge.”
“Call my number when you get home. I want to know you’ve arrived safely.”
She stared at him.
“Seriously?”
“How long does it take for you to walk home?”
“I don’t know. Twenty minutes?”
“Then I’ll expect to hear from you within the half hour. Please be safe.”
She gave him a wave and took a step back. It hurt walking away from him. That cord she felt last Sunday, she felt it again now, felt it in his presence, felt it even more when she moved to leave him.
“Three more things, Eleanor, before you go.”
“What?” She turned back to face him. Once more he stood in the doorway to his office.
“One.” He held up one finger. “Earlier you said you wished you to be six feet tall and have long straight hair. Don’t ever wish that again. God created you. Don’t argue aesthetics with the Creator. Do you understand?”
“Sure, I guess,” she said although she didn’t.
“Two.” He held up a second finger. “Don’t be troubled I said were you dangerous. It wasn’t an insult.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And three.” He took a step back into the office. “I’ve been at Sacred Heart four days and already half the parish has made it abundantly clear to me that I am not wanted here. Father Gregory is much beloved. The parish is not ready to let him go and accept a new pastor. You aren’t the only one who knows what it’s like to feel unwanted.”
Eleanor felt something funny in her throat. It burned so she swallowed it. The burn remained.
“The church isn’t your own mother.”
“No, it isn’t. And I won’t minimize your pain by pretending the church’s distrust of me compares at all to your pregnant, terrified seventeen-year-old mother making a desperate wish that her problems would magically disappear and the dream she lost would be hers again. But I will say that it doesn’t matter anymore if your mother wanted you at the time or not. Nor does it matter if this church wants me here or not. We’re here, you and I. We’re not going away. We’re here, if for no other reason than God wants us here, and He gets the final say.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I want you here.”
Søren picked up one of Father Gregory’s books again.
“That does make me feel better.”
“Thank you … Søren.” She still couldn’t believe she was calling a priest by his first name, no “Father” attached.
“Good night.”
She turned and started to walk away from the office.
“Thirty minutes,” Søren called out, and Eleanor allowed herself to give free rein to the ear-to-ear grin she’d been holding back for the past hour.
The second she entered her kitchen, Eleanor picked up the phone. She had to stretch the cord all the way to the fridge so she could read off the office number to Sacred Heart.
Søren answered on the first ring.
“I’m home safe,” she said.