Stay With Me (27 page)

Chris made an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, but only
because it’s a dare. A guy can’t be too careful about cooties, you know.”

She stood and waited for Chris to reach her.

He grabbed her fingertips and squeezed. “I
have
to kiss you. I was dared.”

“Double-dared.” The kid meant business.

“Oh, well, if it was a dare . . .”

Chris leaned in, and just before his lips touched
hers, he pulled back.

“You don’t have cooties, do you?”

By now four or five of the boys were gathered
around, and the tow-headed kid whispered, “He’s going to kiss her.”

“No. No, cooties. But I have been bitten by a bug.
The love bug.”

The boys groaned at her corny joke, and she
laughed.

“I’ll take my chances,” Chris said, before pressing
a soft, sweet, and chaste kiss on her lips. Then he whispered in her ear. “It’s
hard for me to stop at that anymore. We’d better go before we get in trouble.”

Then he turned to the boys, stepped in front of
Rebecca and waved his hands. “Show’s over, boys. No cooties here. Have a good
hike.”

They smiled at the scout leaders as they headed
toward the trail that would take them over the other side of the mountain.

“Did you really just get engaged?” the shorter,
stockier of the two men asked.

“Yes, we did,” Chris answered him.

They both offered their congratulations, and the
taller guy apologized if the boys had ruined their celebration. “Not at all,”
Chris said, “they made it even more memorable.”

He and Rebecca got back on the trail, and when they
reached the switchbacks, they took a break. Rebecca leant against a big oak
tree and admired the light playing off her diamond.

Chris held her hand. “It looks a lot better on your
finger than it looked in the case.”

She smiled and then felt it fade as she remembered.
“Chris, your motorcycle. I don’t need a big ring. Something small and simple
would have been fine.”

Chris dropped her hand and rested his arm against
the tree. “It’s not just the ring, Rebecca. It wasn’t cheap, but it’s not worth
as much as the motorcycle. I don’t expect your dad to foot the bill for our
wedding when he likely won’t even approve of it. I’m sure my parents will want
to help out, but I still probably can’t give you the wedding of your dreams.
I’d at least like it to resemble that though. Not to mention I want a long
honeymoon with you. At least ten days.”

“But Chris, I don’t need—”

He stopped her with a hand laid gently over her
mouth. “It’s not up for discussion. I will happily go along with almost
anything for the wedding and the reception, but what’s done is done. I’m not
willing to reconsider.”

When she nodded, he grinned and took his hand away.
“Now that you’ve said ‘yes,’ which I hoped you would, I have something else I
want you to consider.”

“What’s that?”

“Once we get married, whether we live at my
apartment or your apartment or somewhere else, our expenses shouldn’t go up
much. Rent and utilities are about the same for one or two; I can support us on
my income. You don’t have to decide now, but I’d like you to think about
quitting your job and going back to school. Culinary school or pastry chef
school—wherever it is people learn to bake fancy desserts.”

Her heart swelled with love for him. “You would do
that for me?” Her eyes grew all watery again.

His hand stroked her cheek. “Yes. Rebecca, I want
to make all your dreams come true.”

“You already have. And I don’t need time to think
about it. I’ll do it. I want to make you proud of me. Baking is something I can
do as much or as little as we want when we have children.” She threw both arms
around his neck and squeezed him tightly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too….hey, let’s get down this mountain
so we can go tell our families.”

“Okay.” She wiped a few tears from her eyes with
her fingertips. “Abby is going to be so excited.”

“That reminds me. I do have one non-negotiable
stipulation about the wedding and reception.”

“What’s that?”

“At no time is your sister to have access to a live
microphone.”

Rebecca laughed. “No argument there.”

22

Some Devil

“Dammit, Rebecca. Why did you have to get so good
at that?” Chris paced her apartment, alternately running his hands through his
hair and drying his palms on his jeans.

“Maybe kissing is one of my hidden talents,” she
said from the corner of the couch where she fluffed the cushion and rearranged
the pillows they had squashed.

Chris stopped and sighed. “I may as well take my
pillow and sleep in the confessional for all the time I spend there.”

“I thought I was the one with hang-ups. You don’t
have to run off to confession every time we kiss.”

“No,” he said on another sigh. “I don’t. It’s
just—” What could he say? She would be his wife in less than two months. He
could say the truth.

“There’s a certain amount of lust tangled up in my
love for you. And, well, I need the extra shot of grace.” There. That was most
of the truth. Getting so turned on he couldn’t see straight and then going home
to an empty apartment. She got that, didn’t she? He didn’t need to elaborate.

He turned back toward her and saw that she got
it—if  not all the details, she got that despite the fact that they had each
committed to the idea before they met, waiting had become difficult for him.

“I’m sorry.” Rebecca uncurled her legs, rose from
the couch, and placed a hand on each of his arms. “It’s not that this doesn’t
get me going. Believe me, if we were already married, I would have already torn
every inch of fabric—”

“Not helping, Rebecca.”

“Sorry. Again. I was trying to say I understand.
It’s not easy for me either.” She paused a second and spoke with obvious
reluctance in her tone. “Maybe we need to lay off a little bit. No more
marathon kissing sessions. We should go out and do something instead of hanging
around one of our apartments with nothing to entertain us but each other.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

She lowered her head until she was in his field of
vision again. “It’s only seven weeks, Chris. And then we can entertain each
other all we want.”

“Promise? All day, all night?”

“That’s a promise I’ll be happy to keep.”

***

Chris sat in the retro-looking upholstered green
chair alongside Father John’s desk. He clasped his hands together and bounced
his left knee at a rhythm wildly out of sync with the soothing chant that
Father played from his iPod.

“You want a cup of coffee?” Father John already
carried two steaming mugs, which he placed on his desk.

“Yeah. Thanks.” The coffee was too hot to drink, so
Chris inhaled the pungent aroma and clutched the mug between his hands, more to
keep them busy than anything else.

“I was surprised to see you at Mass this morning. I
thought you were on your way to work this time of day.”

“I usually am. I told my boss I needed a couple of
hours to take care of some things this morning. He’s cool with that kind of
thing as long as you don’t abuse his generosity.”

“Hey, is that Limberlost Lager on tap yet?”

“Another week, I think.”

“I need to get a growler of that.”

Chris tried a sip of the coffee, burnt his tongue,
and set it back on the desk. He stretched his legs out in front of him for a
second, crossed them, uncrossed them, and resumed bouncing his leg.

“So,” Father John said, his gaze surveying Chris’s
bouncing leg and nervous fidgeting, “what’s up?”

“Can you hear my confession?”

“Sure. Do you want to talk about this first or in
confession?” He wagged a finger at Chris’s still bouncing knee.

Chris stilled his leg with the palm of his hand and
sat straight in his seat. “Doesn’t matter.”

“So, how many weeks until the wedding?”

“Six. Six weeks, one day, seven hours.” He looked
down at his wristwatch. “Twenty-one minutes.”

“A little anxious, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“‘What have I gotten myself into’ anxious or ‘I
think I’ll go crazy if I have to wait that much longer’ anxious?”

“The latter. Definitely.” Chris repositioned
himself in the chair for the umpteenth time and took a calming sip of his
coffee, letting the sounds of chanting monks soothe him before he spoke.

“It’s the ‘goodnights’ and ‘goodbyes.’ They’re
killing me. Us. It’s like everything has been ratcheted up a notch. Or ten. The
goodnight kisses are really…hard.”

“That’s the word you’re going to go with? ‘Hard’?”

Chris let out a humorless laugh. “That would be the
most accurate I suppose, but maybe ‘difficult’ would be a better word choice.”

“What’s changed?”

“It’s not enough anymore. The hand holding, the
chaste kisses. Even the not-so-chaste ones. They’re going on longer. Hands are
straying places they haven’t wandered before. I don’t want to let her go, and
we’ve still got six weeks left.”

“I can’t help think sometimes that things were
simpler when people got married without these long engagements. Not that yours
is long by comparison. Unfortunately, most people are so ill-prepared for what
marriage means that it’s best that we give them a little time to stop and
think.”

“Believe me, we’re not into long engagements. We’re
making this as short as the Church will let us.”

Laughter and loud conversation from people passing
by Father John’s office momentarily distracted Chris. Maybe this visit was a
waste of time. He didn’t know what he expected to get out of it, but there had
to be something he could do to bolster his restraint and self-control.

“It was easy to say we wanted to wait until we were
married when we were getting to know each other, but it’s something else
altogether to feel the love of my life lying in my bed, nestled in my arms at
two o’clock in the morning and resist showing her how much I love her in every
way possible.”

Father John held a hand up. “Back up. You’re
sleeping together?”

“A couple of times. Like Monday night. She stopped
by my apartment after work. We had dinner, worked on some wedding stuff,
watched TV, and then when it was time for her to go that nasty thunderstorm
with the tornado warning hit. I insisted that she stay.”

“I’m guessing she didn’t object to that.”

Chris gave a rueful smile. “Not much.”

“Okay. I get the storm. It was a bad one, but
sharing a bed? You’re asking for trouble.”

“It didn’t start out that way. I took the couch,
but then sometime during the night, the lightning or something woke me. I went
to check on her. I just wanted to see her sleeping in my bed. She was so
beautiful. So peaceful. Somehow I must have woken her, because she opened her
eyes, and then she lifted the covers for me to climb into bed with her. I
didn’t have the will to refuse.”

“All right. No more of that.” Father John set his
coffee down and wiped his hand over his face. “But you knew that already. No
more spending the night together short of an emergency, and then not in the
same bed. Pray together every time you’re together. Pray for your marriage.
Pray for the grace to resist temptation. If it comes down to it, one of you may
just need to leave. And last, come to confession. Once a week until the wedding
doesn’t seem like too much to me. Both of you. You need the sacramental grace.”

Chris glanced at his watch again and rubbed his
palms over his thighs. “I have to get to work. Those are good suggestions.
Rebecca won’t go to confession to you though. She says it feels weird.”

“Go wherever you want, just go.”

Rebecca had a lot fewer issues with sacramental
confession prior to converting than he did. Chris had nearly driven Father John
crazy with his objections before he realized it was his pride standing in the
way. Since she entered the Church at Easter, Rebecca seemed to have taken to
confessing her sins aloud with ease. Her only reservation was Father John
hearing her confession.

“Yeah, okay.” Chris kneaded his hands together, and
frowned at the amused look on Father John’s face. “Are you laughing at my
predicament?”

“No, not at all.” Father John suppressed his grin
and leaned back in his leather chair. “Just thinking about something an old
monsignor once said to me. Holiest man I’ve ever met, bar none. He told me this
before I entered the seminary, while I was still trying to ignore God’s call.”

Father John leaned his arms on his desk and adopted
the manner and voice of a crotchety old man. “He said, ‘Son, don’t start the
engine if you’re not going to bring the car out of the garage’.”

Chris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his grin
as he imagined a young Father John being chastised by the old priest.

“I know there are different considerations for
casually dating teens as opposed to two adults whose marriage is imminent, but
I think it’s still good advice. It sounds to me like you two are not only
starting the car, you’re revving the engine and then slamming on the brakes.
One of two things is going to happen. Either the brakes are going to fail and
you’re going to burst right through the garage door or you’re going to
asphyxiate in the garage… maybe blow out your engine…kill the transmission?”

“Okay, okay. I get it. No more car metaphors.”

“Chris, it will all work out. Really. You’re in the
home stretch now, so to speak.”

A buzz came over the intercom on Father John’s
phone followed by the voice of the secretary, Erica.

“Father John, there’s a call for you on line two.
Kimberly Mitchell’s mother, Myrna. Says it’s urgent.”

“Okay,” Father John answered. Then to Chris, “Hang
on a second. I should take this.”

Chris checked his watch again and leaned back in
his chair. He really did need to get going soon. He was glad he came, though.
Father John gave him concrete things they could do that would help keep them
from going too far. Outside the window, the morning clouds dissipated, and the
sun broke through. He wondered what weather was forecast for the weekend.

The urgency in Father John’s voice tore Chris out
of his own thoughts.

Father John rattled off a stream of questions: “Is
she conscious? Do they think she’s suffered any brain damage?”

Given the conversation Chris overheard, he felt
increasingly awkward. He stood and moved to leave, but Father John motioned him
back to his seat.

“Okay. I’ll be there shortly. Thank you, Myrna.”

Father John hung up the phone and dropped his head
into his hands. “This is my fault.”

“What happened?”

Father John looked up, the strain in his face
evident. “I need you to keep this confidential. Between you and me.”

“Of course.” Chris had never seen Father John this
unnerved. He was remarkably even-tempered despite the wild ups and downs of his
days. He could leave a wedding to go to a funeral home, counsel a couple on the
brink of divorce and baptize a baby the next morning. He seemed to take it all
in stride. Something about this was personal, and it ate at him.

“A young woman, married less than a year, came to
see me. She wanted to talk to me about her marriage—specifically her abusive
husband.” He sighed and shook his head. “Chris, I notice beautiful women all
the time. They come up in the communion line for goodness sake, but never since
the day I accepted God’s call to the priesthood have I felt any real attraction
to a woman. I figured it was all part of the honeymoon phase of my priesthood.
There was no attraction, no temptation. I saw a beautiful woman and admired her
as God’s handiwork with not an iota of desire. I knew it wouldn’t last, and it
didn’t. It was over the day this woman, Kimberly, came to see me.”

What was Father John saying? He wouldn’t have
broken his vows.
Chris
needed help resisting temptation, not Father
John. “I know you know this, but there’s nothing wrong in being tempted. Jesus
was tempted.”

“It’s not that. It’s how I reacted to the
temptation.”

Father John stood and walked to the window. Several
seconds passed before he tucked his hands into his pants pockets beneath his
cassock and turned back to Chris. “Because it hadn’t happened in so long, what
I felt for her caught me off guard. She’s beautiful, Chris. Blond hair, blue
eyes, the sweetest, softest smile. Long legs. The whole package.”

Chris had only heard Father John talk about a woman
in that way once when he had casually mentioned an old girlfriend.

“She’s a lovely person, too. Comes to Mass every
Sunday and volunteers at a crisis pregnancy center. She gets married, and this
guy does a total one-eighty. He started smacking her around, keeping her from
her family and friends. She confided in a couple of people, friends, and they
didn’t believe her. They insisted she misinterpreted things, that her husband
would never do that.”

“So what happened?”

“She wanted to talk to me. Now, ordinarily, I would
refer someone like that to Catholic Charities for professional counseling, but
she insisted she didn’t want to go there. She couldn’t see herself as some kind
of victim. She didn’t think she needed professional help; she was adamant she
wouldn’t go there. She just wanted some pastoral advice.”