Joyfully Yours (2 page)

Faith’s gaze immediately fell on the man standing in front of the fireplace admiring the considerable display of family photos. With only a view of his back, she scrutinized what she could make out—dark hair falling just over his collar, starched blue oxford shirt tucked into khaki pants.
 

The outfit was a little conservative for her taste, but those broad shoulders, long legs, and tight buns could make up for a plethora of fashion faux pas. A thought began to tickle at the back of her mind and she narrowed her eyes. The tickle became a smack upside the head as the man turned from the mantle. They jumped back, each hiding on their respective sides of the doorframe.

“Dibs,” Frank whispered.
 

Faith smirked and shook her head. She didn’t need to see full frontal, so to speak, to know who her mother’s guest was. “He’s taken.”
 

“What? By who?”
 

“God.”
 

“What?”
 

“He’s taken by God.” She kept her voice low to ensure the room’s occupant couldn’t hear her. “He’s a priest.”

“No way!” Frank mouthed at her, his mouth dropping open.
 

“What are you two doing skulking around out here?”
 

They jumped as if on cue. Faith rolled her eyes. Talk about skulking. Of course they hadn’t heard their mother come down the hall from the kitchen. Stealth was one of their mother’s greatest gifts. Right up there with giving guilt and matching her shoes and purse to her lipstick.

“Faith, don’t roll your eyes. Come in and greet our guest.”
 

Great.
Back home for less than five minutes and already feeling like a ten-year-old. She leaned over and pecked her mother’s powdered cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”
 

Her mother gave her an affectionate, if absent-minded, pat on the shoulder and immediately homed in on Faith’s hands. Faith’s empty hands. “You forgot the cranberries.”
 

Faith knew she made the right decision forgoing her paycheck in favor of getting those cranberries. The horror in her mother’s voice made it sound like forgetting the cranberries was a sin akin to selling herself on the street. Now if only she could remember where she left those cans.
 

“Oh!” She scooted back into the powder room. There were the cranberries, perched exactly where she left them on the edge of the sink. She emerged from the bathroom holding a can up high in each hand just as their guest appeared from the living room. Their gazes met and a slow grin spread across his face.
 

God had an interesting sense of humor.
 

Before either of them could say a word, Faith’s mother swooped down, rolling her eyes—Faith came by that talent naturally—and taking the cans. She placed them on the hall table and ushered all of them into the living room.  
“Faith, Frank, this is Father Michael Flannery. Father Michael, this is Faith and Frank.”
 

Frank reached a hand out towards Father Michael and the two men shook hands. Faith hid her smirk when Frank held on a moment after Father Michael was ready to let go. She didn’t miss the quick up-down Frank gave the other man or the small headshake and sigh before he smiled.
 

“Nice to meet you,” Frank said.
 

“You, too.” Father Michael smiled, then turned and held a hand out to Faith.
 

His gaze landed on her and she swallowed hard. She hadn’t imagined the intense blue. She pulled in a deep breath and offered her hand. His hand was big and warm, and the warmth spread from her palm and right up her arm. She bit her bottom lip and stood absolutely still until he let go.  
Priest, priest, priest.
She needed the reminder that while this man may dress like any other guy, he was anything but. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “off limits.”
 

“He’s from over at St. David’s,” her mother explained before Faith or Father Michael admitted to having met already.
 

Not that they really needed an explanation. Faith and Frank were used to various priests, rabbis, reverends and assorted religious figures showing up for dinner at the house. For all her conservative ways, Faith’s mother tended to try on religions the way some women tried on shoes. And when she tried it out, she immersed herself in it, inviting people for dinner, going to services several times each week, and volunteering for whatever event or charity they supported.
 

For some reason, none of the religions seemed to take. But it served for some amusing meals at the Leary household. The best was the year her mother invited the rabbi from Temple Beth Torah over for Christmas dinner. The man was polite and had a sense of humor about the whole thing, but suffice it to say there wasn’t much talk from her mom about converting to Judaism after that.
 

“So, you’re really a priest?” Frank again checked out Father Michael, his gaze moving from the top of his head to the tips of his loafers and back up.
 
“How did that happen?”
 

“Frank!” Her mother’s voice came out choked and her hands clenched at her side. Faith had no doubt her mother was restraining herself from smacking Frank on the back of the head in front of the guest.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Leary. It’s a question I get a lot.”
 

Father Michael smiled again, and Faith held back a sigh like a tween girl fawning over the pages of
Tiger Beat.
The man was fine. Bet his church was filled to the rafters with women who had to head to confession regularly to atone for their impure thoughts. Before her own impure thoughts could get the better of her, Faith changed the subject.
 

“Where are Maddie and Gram and Gramps?”
 

“Maddie stopped to pick your grandparents up on her way over,” her mother said. “Knowing your grandmother, she wasn’t ready when your sister got there and now they’re running late.”

As if talking about the rest of the family conjured them, the front door rattled and was quickly followed by her sister’s cheery voice. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
 

“Father Michael, come meet the rest of the family.” Faith’s mother tugged him out towards the entryway while Frank leaned a shoulder against Faith’s. She followed Frank’s gaze and enjoyed the view of Father Michael’s retreating form.

“Such a shame.” Frank let out a hefty sigh.
 

“Uh huh.” Faith patted her chin to make sure she wasn’t drooling and followed the others out to greet the rest of the family.
 

Maddie did not disappoint. She was dressed to perfection in a cranberry sweater set with fall leaves embroidered around the edges of the cardigan. And in case Faith may have missed her sister’s perfection, her mother pointed it out as she herded everyone into the dining room after introductions were made. “Oh, Maddie, you look just perfect. I love that sweater. Oh, and you brought your pies…”
 

Bringing up the rear, Faith mimicked her mother in her head and pulled a face. Only she wasn’t as discreet as she thought. She looked up to find Father Michael only half a step in front of her looking back over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
 

“I know how you feel. My older brother is the favorite.”
 

Faith’s jaw dropped. Apparently the guy was a mind reader. But seriously? He was a priest. Didn’t get much better than that in a mother’s mind. “What the heck does your brother do that you being a priest isn’t good enough?”
 

“I know, right?” They lingered in the doorway of the dining room. “I mean growing up it made sense. He had the grades, quarter back of the football team, president of the student council. But when I decided to pledge my life to God, I thought I’d have the favorite son thing locked in. But no. He decided to go to medical school. He’s a surgeon now. He mostly does the Doctors Without Borders thing. You know, heading to third-world countries offering aid to poverty stricken children. Being a priest at a parish in Brooklyn is small potatoes.”

“Damn.” Faith looked up guiltily as soon as the swear word left her mouth. “I mean, um, I can sympathize.”
 

“Totally appropriate response.” They found their seats around the dining room table. “I think a lot worse every time I stop by my mom’s and hear her singing my brother’s praises.”
 

Faith looked at him and they shared a smile.
 

Double damn!
It should be illegal for a priest to look so good. What was that line? Lead me not into temptation…..
 

Faith’s mother had made place cards so no one got confused about where to sit. Translation: she didn’t want her parents sitting anywhere near each other.
 

One of Faith and her brother’s favorite things in the world was watching their mother’s mortification over their grandparent’s canoodling. Having both passed the big 7-0 a few years ago didn’t stop them from showing their affection. Last Easter her mom had made the mistake of forgoing the place cards and halfway through dinner Grandma and Grandpa Banks had been necking like a couple of sixteen-year-olds in the back of a Chevy. Right in front of Reverend Grey from the First Baptist Church, too. Faith held back a giggle just thinking of it.
 

Not taking any chances, Faith’s mother placed herself at the head of the table with her parents across from each other on either side of her. Faith and Frank were next to each other, and Father Michael sat next to Maddie with Faith across from him. The chair with the place setting at the end opposite her mother remained empty.
 

Frank and Maddie excused themselves to help their mother in the kitchen and the rest of the family settled at the table.
 

“Will Mr. Leary be joining us?” Father Michael gestured to the empty seat.
 

“Wouldn’t that be something to see?” Grandpa said.
 

Grandma nodded enthusiastically.
 

When nothing more was forthcoming, Father Michael raised an eyebrow at Faith.
 

“My dad passed away…,” his mouth opened, ostensibly to apologize, and she rushed on, “…sixteen years ago.”
 

Father Michael opened his mouth. Closed it again. He looked hard at the place setting at the end of the table, for all intents and purposes ready and waiting for heaping helpings of Thanksgiving dinner, and an adorable furrow appeared between his eyebrows. He looked back at Faith. She just shrugged.
 

After her dad was killed in a car accident when Faith was ten, her mother continued to set a place for him at dinner every night, like he was about to walk through the door any minute after a long day at the office. Faith, Frank, and Maddie had long since stopped questioning it.

Somewhere way down deep, Faith got the warm fuzzies over the idea her mom loved her dad so much, even sixteen years later, she couldn’t let him go. Her mom confided once that at night sometimes, after a particularly rough day—and there were many of those for a suddenly single mother of three young children—she would sit in bed, close her eyes, and pretend to lay her head on Faith’s father’s shoulder as she told him about her day. Even thinking of it gave Faith a squishy feeling in her stomach and made her long for something she didn’t think she’d ever be lucky enough to find.
 

“Who’s hungry?” Faith’s mother plunked a steaming bowl of green beans at Faith’s elbow. Faith jumped and raised her gaze, only to meet the eyes of their dinner guest. The soft look and gentle smile he aimed at her caused a flutter in her stomach. Funny how they’d exchanged so few words, but she was left with the sense that he really understood how she felt. Was that a priest thing? Or something unique to Father Michael?
 

“Mrs. Leary,” Father Michael said, breaking the spell Faith had fallen under, “can I help with anything?”
 

“No, no, you sit. You’re our guest. Frank and Maddie and I have everything under control. You can start serving yourselves.”
 

Faith’s mom and siblings covered the table in platters laden with juicy turkey, steaming, buttery mashed potatoes, and what looked in Faith’s estimation to be forty-seven different kinds of vegetables. Her stomach growled, but she couldn’t help but look up with a sly grin.
 

“How about me, Mom? Would you like me to help?”
 

“No!” Her mom’s voice was just slightly too loud, and she shot Father Michael a quick glance and regulated her volume. “I mean, no thank you, Faith. We have everything under control.”
 

Her Grandmother leaned forward and pointed at Father Michael with her fork. “She means she wants all this food to make it to our plates.”
 

“Yeesh, you drop a few things….” Faith made a show of lifting her nose in the air and turning her face from her grandmother. But she couldn’t quite stifle a small giggle. Even she had to admit their lack of confidence in her abilities to do anything related to food—from cooking it to serving it—was well founded. The truth was it suited her just fine. She was never asked to step foot in the kitchen, but she still got to partake in all the yummy goodness her mother cooked. Of course, that usually meant she got to cover for her slack
after
the meal was over. No one seemed to have a problem with her taking care of all the dirty dishes once they’d had their fill.