Come in From the Cold, Page 2

  A wry smile curled the priest’s lips. “Most likely they would have. You didn’t do it yourself?”

  Douglas thought about all the babies, and a few adults, he’d baptized throughout his previous fifteen-year career.

  Of everything involving his former life, it’d been his favorite duty. “Not sure that would count, would it? I’m not a priest anymore.”

  “You’re still a priest in the eyes of God, my son.” He stood. “Come with me.”

  “What?”

  “I doubt God will tattle to my bishop.”

  Douglas stood and brought her diaper bag with him. “Not going to make me take a class first?” he tried to joke, although he knew it came out sounding more ragged and harsh than he’d intended.

  The older man kindly smiled. “I think it’s safe to say you already know the curriculum, son.”

  “Her mother wasn’t Catholic.” Although Mackie had been fine with him wanting to have her baptized…before. She’d been kind and gentle and supportive of him keeping his faith as long as he understood she didn’t share it, and that he agreed he wouldn’t force their baby to be Catholic “just because.”

  “Are you going to raise her in our faith?”

  Douglas nodded, even though it felt like he was…lying, in a way.

  “Then she should be baptized. Come with me.”

  And that’s why, five minutes later, Douglas was crying again as the priest performed the rite, anointing Zee with oil, sprinkling water on her head.

  “I baptize you, Mackenzie Leanne Koenig, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…”

  She awoke as the priest said the words, staring up at Douglas with her blue eyes—Mackie’s blue eyes.

  She was his whole world and that broke his heart all over again.

  But then again, I’m pretty much used to living heartbroken.

  * * * *

  Father Rowling invited Douglas back to the rectory, a small but comfortable house that sat directly behind the main church building. The man unfastened the top button on his shirt and removed his clerical collar, left it sitting on the eat-in counter while he turned to retrieve sandwich fixings from the fridge.

  Douglas stared at the collar, transfixed. His were buried somewhere in the trailer, in a couple of boxes, along with his stoles, cinctures, robes, things like that.

  Had been boxed up for over a year now.

  Another life behind him, one he could never return to. He didn’t really know why he’d held on to them, but Mackie had persuaded him to, said maybe he’d want them, one day. Made the point that he could become ordained as a minister in another faith. It wasn’t uncommon for Roman Catholic priests who left to “change teams” and become Episcopalian priests, especially when they wanted to get married.

  But with work, and a baby on the way…he hadn’t even bothered trying to look into that.

  Plus he’d lost so much already, he hadn’t had the heart or strength to throw them away ahead of the move. It was easier to simply pack the boxes—which had remained sealed since leaving the rectory—along with the few other things he’d kept.

  Douglas sat on one of the barstools at the counter and fed Zee a bottle as Father Rowling began preparing their lunches. Ham and cheese on wheat, with potato chips on the side.

  “Do you have any family you could call?” Father Rowling asked. “Your wife’s family, perhaps?”

  Douglas shook his head. “No siblings. Her parents are both dead.”

  “Your family?”

  Douglas snorted. “Not hardly. When I told my parents I was leaving the priesthood and getting married because Mackie was pregnant, they told me how ashamed they were of me and to never contact them again. My two older brothers pretty much agreed with them.”

  “That was rather harsh of them, considering you’re their child and brother. A grandchild.”

  “They thought I’d broken my vows.”

  Father Rowling arched an eyebrow at him.

  “I mean, before I resigned. I didn’t. I submitted my resignation first, the morning after Mackie arrived, after performing morning Mass. Although I understand why my family thought that. It’s the way I sold the story, after all. That’s on me.”

  “Ah. And I take it you didn’t tell them the truth? Even to preserve your relationship with them?”

  Douglas shook his head and focused on Zee again, her chubby cheeks, the sweet little sounds she made as she sucked on her bottle. “I wouldn’t have put it past them to report that to someone. I couldn’t risk it, at the time. I just needed to handle it.”

  “Why did you lie to everyone about it? Why give the impression you were guilty of something you didn’t do, instead of simply resigning and saying you wished to marry her?”

  “Because when we thought she was having his baby, we worried he’d come after her if he knew she was pregnant.”

  “He didn’t know she was pregnant?”

  “She hadn’t told him yet. She’d just found out that week, and she was about two months along. Then they had the fight, and she escaped. She worried he’d kill her. They weren’t married. He never wanted kids. Something to do with an inheritance or something, selfish bastard. That baby wasn’t planned. She thought it happened after taking a round of antibiotics for strep throat, maybe it messed with her being on the pill. So when he left the house after beating her up, she packed three suitcases, bought herself a bus ticket with emergency cash she’d hidden, and prayed I wouldn’t turn her away when she showed up at my door.”

  “Ahh. Now I understand the larger picture. You chose to tell a lie for the greater good.”

  “Yes.” In more ways than one.

  “That’s very admirable.”

  “Not really. If I’d been truly admirable, I never would have fallen in love with her in the first place back in college, or let her fall in love with me, given my…history. I would have kept my distance as a friend.”

  “We aren’t in control of what other people feel, or who they love. Mostly, we’re not even in control of who we fall in love with. Not really. If we were, there wouldn’t be a fraction of the problems in the world as there are now.”

  “You can say that again,” Douglas muttered.

  Father Rowling set a plate and a glass of iced tea in front of Douglas. Douglas closed his eyes as the priest said a blessing and they both made the sign of the cross when he finished, saying amen in unison.

  “So what did you do after you resigned your position?” The priest stood on the other side of the counter to eat.

  “I’d already earned my doctorate in psychology. I’d focused on psychology as an undergrad. After seminary and getting ordained, I returned to school for my doctorate. I only wanted to help people, be a pastoral counselor. Once I left the Church, because of the way I left, working as a lay counselor or minister was obviously out of the question. At least, it was in that diocese, or anywhere nearby. The bishop made himself abundantly clear on that point when I resigned. I didn’t have enough of a cushion in savings I could afford to take a lot of time looking around. I found a job just outside the city, working for an addiction clinic. Didn’t pay the best, but they did have good health insurance.”

  “And the position you’ve accepted in Florida?”

  “An addiction rehab center. It pays more than I was making in Milwaukee. Maybe not the highest salary I could have found, but again, great insurance. I need that for me and for Zee. It’s not as expensive to live in Florida. The wife of one of my friend’s co-workers has agreed to be Zee’s nanny for now. At least until Zee’s a little older, and I have time to research child care in the area. That way, I have someone I can trust to watch her.”

  “Why did you decide to move?”

  “I couldn’t stay where we were on my salary alone. Not with a child to raise. It wasn’t the greatest area or apartment to start with, but it was all we could afford at the time. I was already in contact with Doyle because when I lost Mackie, I needed someone trusted and nonjudgmental who I could talk to, who wasn’t one of my coworkers. A few days later, he called me and told me they’d just had an opening, and that he’d recommend me for it if I was interested in applying. So I did.”

  Douglas shrugged. “I decided to leap and pray the net appeared. There was nothing keeping me in Wisconsin. What little I had built up in savings would have quickly evaporated if I had to pay all the bills on my salary alone. Plus paying for child care. I’m not originally from that area, it’s just where I was assigned. There was nothing to keep me there except very sad memories.”

  “I am truly sorry for your losses, son.”

  “Thank you. So am I.”

  “There was nothing they could do for her?”

  Douglas struggled not to remember the sound of the alarms suddenly going off, the look of fear and pain on Mackie’s face.

  The way the nurses had rushed him and Zee out of the room, because he’d been holding her and feeding her a bottle at the time.

  Seeing the grim-faced hospital chaplain hurry down the hall toward him as a nurse and a doctor tried to talk to Douglas, but their words weren’t making sense—

  He blinked away the memory. “No. Sometimes it happens. It was a pulmonary embolism, and they didn’t catch it fast enough for the blood thinners to help. She’d had some aches and pains in her chest and back off and on during the last several weeks of her pregnancy, but she was terrible about not talking to the doctors and telling them her symptoms. She’d played a literal punching bag for years with that sonofabitch, was used to living in pain. I tried to get her to talk to me about her symptoms, but she didn’t want to ‘bother’ me, she said. She’d only admit them if I actually caught her looking like she was in pain.”

  Another bout of tears to blink away. “I take responsibility for not pushing harder. I should have. But it was a really long labor and delivery, nearly twenty-four hours. They were about to do a C-section when Zee finally arrived. Mackie was wiped out, I was exhausted, and I just…”

  He looked down into Zee’s face. “I was too focused on our baby.”

  “That’s not your fault, son.”

  “It feels like it. If Mackie hadn’t met me, she might still be alive.”

  “It sounds like you’re pretty good at beating yourself up.”

  Douglas sighed again. “I do have a lot of experience at it.”

  They talked until late afternoon, when the sun cast golden light at steep angles across the church grounds. Douglas knew he should press on, but he was physically exhausted after driving all night, and emotionally exhausted after his long talk with Father Rowling. He didn’t want to risk Zee’s life.

  He didn’t really care about his own. Not anymore.

  But Zee, he would die to protect her without a second thought. Plus, it was now getting into Friday evening rush-hour traffic. He didn’t have the will to deal with it, especially around Atlanta.

  After leaving the rectory—with Father Rowling’s cell number and a gentle admonishment to Douglas to feel free to call him if he wanted to talk—he checked into a motel near I-75, unloaded what he needed for them for the night, bought a sandwich from a sub shop next door, and then locked the two of them in their room.

  Douglas kicked off his shoes and removed his shirt. Once he had Zee bathed and changed, and after she took her evening bottle, he sat up in the bed with her cuddled against his bare chest as she fell asleep, one of her light blankets draped over her. The hospital had recommended this for bonding, called it “kangaroo care,” and it was a method of nurturing commonly used for premies. Even though Zee wasn’t a premie, considering the circumstances they said it would only help her—and him. Especially important since Mackie wasn’t there to breastfeed her.

  That was good enough for him.

  Zee needed this critical bonding time with him. He made sure to spend time every morning and evening doing this with her, and in the middle of the day, when time allowed. With the move the midday ones hadn’t happened for as long or as often as he’d like, and he wouldn’t be able to do the midday ones on weekdays once he started working again. But he would get up earlier and stay up later, if he had to, to have extra time in with her in the mornings and evenings.

  Truth be told, it was a comfort to him, too, allowed him time to meditate, to focus only on her.

  To pray.

  To silently grieve.

  Finally, once he was certain she was deeply asleep, he carefully moved her to the makeshift nest he’d made for her on the other bed. Then he pulled his rosary from his pocket, knelt on the floor at the end of his bed, and clasped his hands after making the sign of the cross.

  At first, a prayer didn’t come to him. He felt…drained after his hours talking with Father Rowling, the first person he’d been able to sit down with in person and tell the full story to.

  Most of it, anyway.

  Enough of it.

  Thank You for putting Father Rowling in my path today. I desperately needed to talk to someone in person. And thank You for him being open to baptizing her and offering to do it. That was an unexpected blessing. Please give me the wisdom to spot and recognize the little ways Your grace comes into my life, because it’s hard to feel thankful for much of anything right now. I know this, too, shall pass, but it all hurts so damned much…

  After twenty minutes of praying on his knees—something he hadn’t done much of lately in any position, between his grief and taking care of Zee and the move—he took a shower and crawled into bed with the rosary wrapped around his right hand and memories of a blue-eyed boy with shaggy, honey-colored hair wrapped around his soul.

  Chapter Two

  In his dreams, Douglas remembered the handsome, skinny kid Connor had been, who’d stood an inch shorter than Douglas, his blue eyes and shaggy, dark honey-colored hair.

  The ready smile that usually didn’t reach his gorgeous blue eyes.

  Only when they were alone together did Connor’s eyes also smile.

  He remembered the day Connor and his mother moved in next door, a week after Connor’s fourteenth birthday, and Douglas was still thirteen.

  Connor rarely smiled back then. Except the two of them quickly became best friends, Connor teaching Douglas about manga and anime, and Douglas sharing his love of music.

  Connor’s father had died three years earlier, and Douglas wasn’t sure at first why they’d moved to Sarasota from Tampa. It wasn’t something Connor or his mom talked about, so Douglas didn’t push.

  He remembered the scowl that darkened Connor’s face when, only a couple of weeks after Connor had moved in, Douglas invited him to come to church with him one Sunday evening when Connor’s mom had to work that night. It’d been a special program, not a Mass, but the choir was going to sing and the children’s group was going to put on a play, followed by a potluck dinner.

  “No thanks.” But Connor might as well have said “fuck you” for the unspoken anger boiling in those two clipped, terse words.

  It was the last and only time Douglas invited Connor to church. He hadn’t missed the way Connor didn’t want to discuss anything about the subject, even though he learned Connor and his mother had been Catholic.

  Connor called him Douglas, not Doug, the way most others did.

  Something about that felt…different. Special.

  He’d liked it.

  Connor had always unquestioningly accepted him for who he was. He was always good enough for Connor.

  Unlike his family, who could find fault with any- and everything he did. Spending time alone with Connor was a respite, in many ways. What little Douglas saw Connor’s mother, she always acted gentle and sweet toward him in a way it sometimes felt his own mother was incapable of.

  They spent nights together, at his house or Connor’s—nearly always Connor’s—and it was when watching Cowboy Bebop together one night alone at Connor’s that Douglas realized he was in love.

  Douglas had asked him a question about a plot point. Connor paused the DVD and their gazes met and held, which was when Douglas spotted the way Connor’s gaze softened, thoughtful.

  Vulnerable.

  He remembered long afternoons studying together, mostly over at Connor’s because they could be alone and Douglas’ two older brothers wouldn’t bother them.

  After school, during the summers, and on weekends, Douglas practically lived at Connor’s house.

  It was where, locked in Connor’s bedroom, they’d shared their first kiss one afternoon after school.

  Where they’d crossed the line from best friends to first loves, and where Douglas first felt truly torn between his heart and happiness, and his eternal soul.

  Where the conflicting feelings Douglas had long experienced, even before he’d met Connor, had finally been given a name and a face.

  How his parents would, ironically, excuse him from church to go over to Connor’s since Connor was alone so frequently, and Douglas had lied and said he and Connor prayed together. They’d liked Connor a lot and felt sorry for him because of his dad being dead.

  But that wasn’t exactly the kind of praising of a deity going on between them.

  Back then, Douglas had been unable to simultaneously parse the two equally powerful emotions of love and fear.

  And he’d wanted to make right the wrongs, wanted to try to undo the damage to Connor’s soul that had been done by those who’d been trusted to help him.

  The man who’d driven Connor away from God and the Church in the first place.

  As an adult with over forty-one years of living under his belt, a psychology doctorate, and fifteen years of being a priest, Douglas could accept and be at peace with the fact that the God he’d come to know throughout the years manifested as love, regardless of what some in the Church might think of the way he personally expressed it, or of the Church’s dogma regarding it.

  They’d been boys, with almost five years of secrecy between them before Douglas had left for college and they’d both known it was the end between them, even if neither of them could actually say those words. Connor had stayed in Florida, while Douglas had left for college in Texas, where he’d received a full academic scholarship.

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