Uncross My Heart (25 page)

“But then I began teaching here at Claridge, and those of you who’ve attended my classes know I take controversial positions on scripture, and my father…is not happy about that.” Several adults were shifting in their seats, no doubt wanting to know where this talk was headed.

“So when my father asked me to conduct a mass in his honor today, I wondered why I should be the one to talk to God on his behalf when my father is by definition a better Christian than I. My father apparently believes that since I’m a priest, God listens to me more than God would listen to him. But the truth is that I’m a middleman. I’m the one who tells you what God wants, what God knows, what God believes, what God thinks about your behavior, and whether or not God loves you or is displeased with you. How do I know that?” I asked the question in mock shock. “How does anyone representing the church, representing any religion, know what God thinks, wants, believes, needs from you?

“The truth is none of us know. We’re just parroting what we were taught by other middlemen, what we learned in seminary or church school. We don’t have a clue what God wants. We know what the church wants, we know what society wants, we might even get a call from your parents telling us what they want, but we do not know what God wants…of you.”

People were staring at me intently, and I could not bring myself to look at Vivienne for fear I would lose my train of thought. “This is the age when we can skip the middleman if we desire. We can avoid the store and buy it on the Internet. We can dump our broker and be our own day traders. We can forget getting an agent and put our video on YouTube. We can talk to God directly. How do we do that?”

My sermon was short but succinct. People didn’t seem to be dozing or checking their watches but to be listening.
The most I could
hope for.
And so I began to wrap up.

“If you ask God directly what to do, that’s when you get the best answer. Granted, it’s not as convenient as simply phoning your parish priest and asking what the church on behalf of God would say about this or that. But you may find that when you take on the responsibility of a direct relationship with God, you discover that God loves you just as you are and that the guilt and shame you’ve placed on yourself are lifted.“From Psalm 91,
A thousand shall fall at your side and ten
thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come near you. There
shall no evil happen to you. Neither shall any plague come near your
dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over you, to keep you in
all your ways. In
all
your ways.” I paused.

“My father may not be able to speak to God directly today as he is gravely ill, and so in his honor, I ask that you say a prayer for his healing and for his direct communication with his Maker, who created him a strong, honest warrior who is battle weary and deciding if he wants to go home.”

I segued into the prayer of healing from the Book of Common Prayer, and the chanting rose loud and clear.

Finally I stood with my arms uplifted, my hands facing the congregation as if receiving into my slightly scarred palm the light from God, healing all pain, as I gave the benediction.

“May God bless you with peace, uphold you with grace, and send you into the world to love all those whom God has made. Amen.”

The organ swelled and the majestic music swept us down the aisle as we followed in the wake of the cross. I stood in the vestibule to greet the congregation. The line was long and the people seemed happy and wished my father well and said they would continue to pray for him.

Vivienne waited until the very end and then approached, a different look in her eye, as if seeing me for the first time.

“I might have attended mass if you’d been my priest.”

“It’s the robes,” I said, and she smiled. “I have to go to the hospital.”

“I know. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. It’s depressing—”

“But I’d like to be with you.”

“How about later? I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” She started to embrace me and then seemed confused about the protocol and slowly walked away.

I thought Dennis had stayed behind to clean up the chapel, pick up the literature that was on the floor, so I was surprised to see that he’d intercepted Vivienne on the lawn, and after several minutes she hugged him good-bye. I envied him her touch. He waited until everyone was gone, then approached as I was in the back of the church removing my chasuble or priest-poncho, as I always called it.

“Well done.”

“I’m a bit rusty.”

“Couldn’t tell. So…you certainly have the look. She does too.”

“What look is that?”

“The one that says you’re in love.”

“What was your first clue, Father O’Shane—the circles under my eyes, my silly-assed grins, or my complete inability to focus?” I gave myself up to his teasing.

“I would say it’s that angelic orange glow around you. Must be she’s
literally
rubbing off on you.” He became serious for a moment.

“You’re good in the pulpit, Alexandra. You can be in love, you know, and still live with her and just keep it all private.”

“What happened to your ‘two-roads-diverge’ speech? Besides, wouldn’t work. She’s not a private person.”

“She thinks you’re a hell of a priest and this is your calling.”

“She’s what’s calling me, Dennis. For the first time in my adult life, I’m in love. Her soul calls to mine, and I can’t believe God would make me capable of this kind of love, give me Vivienne, and want me to reject her.”

I left the chapel, accepting the accolades so generously handed me as I hurried toward my car and wondered where Vivienne had gone as I rang her cell. I was disappointed when she didn’t answer.

I drove to the hospital and went to ICU, where my father was in the same position I’d left him. I took his hand and told him we’d celebrated mass in his honor and that everyone at Claridge was praying for him. He didn’t move or speak, and the nurse said she’d call me if anything changed. I wondered what was going on in his head. Did he know the condition he was in…did he care? Was he already seeing the face of God, visions of his ancestors? Was he at peace?

I headed home and called Vivienne again. This time she answered and I asked if she would come out to the farm.

“I’m here,” she said. As I tried to find out where “here” was, she added, “At your farm. I have dinner for us.”

“You’re kidding.” I swooned. “How did you get in?”

“I drove out determined to find a way. I spotted your silly fake rock with the key in the bottom. You’re bad at hiding things.”

“Apparently.”

“It’s not your traditional fried chicken after the sermon, Reverend,” she teased, but you won’t go away hungry. I laughed at her slight Southern drawl and sped up, slowing only when I turned into the driveway.

It was a magical moment—the lights on in the old farmhouse, twinkling through the panes, and Viv visible through the window. I stopped and just sat for a moment to take in the warmth and beauty of that scene. Not since my childhood had I come home to this house with the lights on and someone waiting for me. Pushing back tears as Vivienne stepped out on the porch, Ketch at her side, I thought if I could just have this for the rest of my life, nothing else would matter. I got out grinning and climbed the steps, gathering her up in my arms.

“You didn’t tell me how good you are in the pulpit.”

“You didn’t tell me how good you are in bed.” I kissed her until we both became light-headed and I lost my balance and staggered back laughing, for one glorious minute forgetting that my father was suffering and that my career was about to crater. I tried to coax her into the bedroom after we crossed the porch.

“If you think I’m letting this dinner get cold, you’re crazy.”

I laughed. “Sorry.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I ate, and soon I was thinking that perhaps simultaneously eating and staring into her eyes evoked a culinary eroticism I hadn’t contemplated. “What if I start thinking of fried chicken as foreplay,” I said between bites.

“Which part—the hot thighs…or the succulent breasts?”

I put my food down and lunged playfully at her, dragging her off to the bedroom as she squealed in protest.

Hours later, I rose on one elbow and watched her sleep. She looked glorious. I slipped quietly out of bed and took the handset with me so I could dial the hospital ICU. The nurse came to the phone immediately, I presumed because the doctor had told her who I was. She said they’d just checked on my father and he seemed to be doing better. They were cautiously optimistic he would remain stable. I wrapped around Viv, my body spooning into hers, my lips buried in her neck. She moaned and pushed back against me, and I sighed and fell asleep.

* * *

At dawn, I kissed her awake and watched with wonder the beauty of her face without makeup, still sleepy and yawning. I begged her to come back tonight and be with me again.

“Remember, my note said I’d make it up to you.”

“You have, believe me.”

“I’m taking the day off and cooking for you again. It leads to wonderful after-dinner events.”

“What about your work? I thought you said you’re going to be interviewed for your book.”

“Later in the week.”

I was ecstatic, I wanted to come home to her just after dark and see the lights in the window again. I wanted never to leave her in the first place. I kissed her with soft passion that made us both sigh.

“Do you know where everything is?” I asked as I kissed her.

“I know where everything is,” she answered, her voice suggestive.

“I mean the food in the cabinets.” I kissed her neck and down her shoulders.

“Uh-huh.”

“I have to leave now or I won’t leave.” I jumped back from her, threw on my clothes and a smattering of makeup, and literally bounded for the door. “You’re addictive.”

“Try to be.”

I glanced up at the house as I put the car in reverse. She was standing on the porch waving to me and my heart beat wildly. Then a crash. I’d backed into the railroad ties that framed the driveway and knocked over a trash can. I got out and righted it.

“Be careful,” she said.

“I’m like some crazy kid who can’t keep his mind on what he’s doing but only on who he’s doing.” I waved to the north of the house.

“What are you doing?”

“Saying hi to Sylvia, she has binoculars.”

Viv laughed and I tried backing up again, this time making it out of the driveway and, minutes later, onto the freeway. I turned up the radio and sang every song played, my mind doing backflips. I must not have heard my cell phone ring because Dennis greeted me as I headed for my office, telling me he’d tried to phone me all morning.

“You look—thoroughly used,” he said. “Thurgood asked me to hunt you down. He wants to visit with you in his office.”

I headed in that direction, Dennis at my heels, and the circumstance felt ironically like old times when I was being summoned to Hightower’s office.

“I haven’t seen his nephew lately, so I can’t imagine why he wants to see me.”

“I’ll just hang here until you’re finished. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” His voice seemed to say just the opposite.

* * *

Eleonor was at her post—less fun these days as she tried to gauge the temperature of her interim boss.

“What’s up?” I asked, feeling less jovial and confident. Hightower was the devil I knew. Thurgood was a new devil.

“I have no idea. If you find out what’s up you let
me
know, will ya?”

I knocked lightly and he shouted for me to enter. He was pacing when I opened the door. He glanced up but kept moving so I walked into the room slowly, not knowing where to light. We greeted one another and, pleasantries over, he asked me to sit down while he continued to pace.“There’s been too much scandal in this school. We’ve done damage control but it seems there’s more.” His words sounded dire, but his body language and his tone were somehow calm and perhaps even happy. I knew why moments later when he handed me the card from the roses Vivienne had sent me and the transcription of a phone message left on my office phone.

“So you snoop into the faculty’s offices?” I glanced at the card.

“This was brought to me.” He was behaving as if this was a serious but sorrowful event. However, I suspected he was inwardly euphoric over topping me. I’d accused him of harboring the late-night panty purveyor, but he had the goods on a lesbian priest. Checkmate. “I have no idea where it came from or how the person got it,” he said, and both of us knew he was lying. “But it’s obviously ‘out there’ for others to have read or seen.”

“Whoever got it entered my office and took it.”

“That’s hardly the point. The point is that you’re a practicing lesbian. I think your bishop would take issue with that, and as interim head of Claridge I certainly must. We will not be renewing your contract, Dr. Westbrooke. I’m sorry it’s come to this. Rest assured we won’t discuss any of these matters, and I leave it to you to pick the timing of your resignation.”

My resignation?
And so he wanted me to do myself in and save him the embarrassment.

“But don’t take too long before sending us your letter.”

I turned and walked from his office without a word.

“You’re too good for this place, honey,” Eleonor said solemnly as I walked past, revealing that she had known what was about to happen before I ever walked in.

By the time I’d hit the ground floor I knew Thurgood III had supplied those personal notes to his grandfather, most likely having gotten them when he waited for me in my office.

Dennis could apparently tell from my posture that I was angry.

“The kid rifled my office and took a note and a phone message Viv left me.” “Then this can’t be good.” He handed me a slip of paper. “Eleonor gave it to me earlier to give to you.” The note said the Chicago Episcopal Diocese requested a meeting with me at my very earliest convenience.

“I think I’m about to be fired twice…or maybe this makes three times. I’m starting to lose track.”

I drove directly to the Chicago archdiocese. If I was getting the axe from them as well, I wanted all blows struck and done with.