wanted anything so much that he could remember.
“Your scar?” he said. “That’s yours. You’ll tell me about it when you’ll tell me. Or you won’t. Either way.”
He looked out at the channel for a bit. Nadia patted his hand once and looked out at the channel too and they stayed that way for some time.
BEFORE WORK , BOB DROPPED by Saint Dom’s and sat in an empty pew in the empty church and took it all in.
Father Regan entered the altar off the sacristy, mostly in street clothes, though his trousers were black. He watched Bob sit there for a bit.
Bob asked, “Is it true?”
Father Regan walked down the center aisle. He took the pew ahead of Bob’s. Turned and slung his arm over the back. “The diocese feels we could better meet our pastoral commitments if we merged with Saint Cecilia’s, yeah.”
Bob said, “But they’re selling this church,” and pointed down at his own pew.
Father Regan said, “This building and the school will be sold, yeah.”
Bob looked up at the soaring ceilings. He’d been looking up at them since he was three years old. He’d never known the ceilings in any other church. That’s how it was supposed to be until the day he died. How it had been for his father, how it had been for his father’s father. Some things—a few rare things—were supposed to stay what they’d always been.
Bob said, “You?”
Father Regan said, “I haven’t been reassigned yet.”
Bob said, “They protect the kid-diddlers and the douche bags who covered up for them but they haven’t figured out what to do with you? That’s fucking wise.”
Father Regan gave Bob a look like he wasn’t sure he’d met this Bob before. And maybe he hadn’t.
Father Regan said, “Is everything else okay?”
“Sure.” Bob looked at the transepts. Not for the first time he wondered how they’d had the wherewithal back in 1878—or 1078, for that matter—to build them. “Sure, sure, sure.”
Father Regan said, “I understand you’ve become friends with Nadia Dunn.”
Bob looked at him.
“She’s had some trouble in the past.” Father Regan patted the top of the pew lightly. The pat turned into an absent caress. “Some would say, she is troubled.”
The silent church towered over them, beating like a third heart.
Bob said, “Do you have friends?”
Father Regan’s eyebrows arched. “Sure.”
Bob said, “I don’t mean just, like, other priests. I mean, like, buddies. People you can, I dunno, be around.”
Father Regan nodded. “Yeah, Bob. I do.”
“I don’t,” Bob said. “I mean, I didn’t.”
Bob looked around the church some more. He gave Father Regan a smile. He said, “God bless,” and left the pew.
Father Regan said, “God bless.”
Bob stopped at the baptismal font on his way out the door. He blessed himself. He stood there with his head down. Then he blessed himself a second time and left through the center doors.
CHAPTER 10
Whoever Is Holy
C OUSIN MARV STOOD IN the doorway to the alley, smoking, while Bob gathered up the empty trash barrels from the night before. As usual, the barrels had been tossed all over the alley by the garbage truck guys and Bob had to range a bit to get them.
Cousin Marv said, “It’s too much for them to just put them back down where they found them. That would require courtesy.”
Bob stacked two plastic barrels together, brought them over to the back wall. He noticed, propped against the wall between the barrels and a rat trap, a black plastic trash bag, the kind used on construction sites, extra heavy duty. He hadn’t left it there. He was familiar enough with the businesses on either side of them—Nails Saigon and Doctor Sanjeev K Seth—to know what their trash usually looked like, and this wasn’t it. He left the bag there a moment and went into the alley for the last barrel.
Bob said, “If you’d just pay for a Dumpster—”
Cousin Marv said, “Why should I pay for a Dumpster? I don’t own the bar anymore, remember?
“Your scar?” he said. “That’s yours. You’ll tell me about it when you’ll tell me. Or you won’t. Either way.”
He looked out at the channel for a bit. Nadia patted his hand once and looked out at the channel too and they stayed that way for some time.
BEFORE WORK , BOB DROPPED by Saint Dom’s and sat in an empty pew in the empty church and took it all in.
Father Regan entered the altar off the sacristy, mostly in street clothes, though his trousers were black. He watched Bob sit there for a bit.
Bob asked, “Is it true?”
Father Regan walked down the center aisle. He took the pew ahead of Bob’s. Turned and slung his arm over the back. “The diocese feels we could better meet our pastoral commitments if we merged with Saint Cecilia’s, yeah.”
Bob said, “But they’re selling this church,” and pointed down at his own pew.
Father Regan said, “This building and the school will be sold, yeah.”
Bob looked up at the soaring ceilings. He’d been looking up at them since he was three years old. He’d never known the ceilings in any other church. That’s how it was supposed to be until the day he died. How it had been for his father, how it had been for his father’s father. Some things—a few rare things—were supposed to stay what they’d always been.
Bob said, “You?”
Father Regan said, “I haven’t been reassigned yet.”
Bob said, “They protect the kid-diddlers and the douche bags who covered up for them but they haven’t figured out what to do with you? That’s fucking wise.”
Father Regan gave Bob a look like he wasn’t sure he’d met this Bob before. And maybe he hadn’t.
Father Regan said, “Is everything else okay?”
“Sure.” Bob looked at the transepts. Not for the first time he wondered how they’d had the wherewithal back in 1878—or 1078, for that matter—to build them. “Sure, sure, sure.”
Father Regan said, “I understand you’ve become friends with Nadia Dunn.”
Bob looked at him.
“She’s had some trouble in the past.” Father Regan patted the top of the pew lightly. The pat turned into an absent caress. “Some would say, she is troubled.”
The silent church towered over them, beating like a third heart.
Bob said, “Do you have friends?”
Father Regan’s eyebrows arched. “Sure.”
Bob said, “I don’t mean just, like, other priests. I mean, like, buddies. People you can, I dunno, be around.”
Father Regan nodded. “Yeah, Bob. I do.”
“I don’t,” Bob said. “I mean, I didn’t.”
Bob looked around the church some more. He gave Father Regan a smile. He said, “God bless,” and left the pew.
Father Regan said, “God bless.”
Bob stopped at the baptismal font on his way out the door. He blessed himself. He stood there with his head down. Then he blessed himself a second time and left through the center doors.
CHAPTER 10
Whoever Is Holy
C OUSIN MARV STOOD IN the doorway to the alley, smoking, while Bob gathered up the empty trash barrels from the night before. As usual, the barrels had been tossed all over the alley by the garbage truck guys and Bob had to range a bit to get them.
Cousin Marv said, “It’s too much for them to just put them back down where they found them. That would require courtesy.”
Bob stacked two plastic barrels together, brought them over to the back wall. He noticed, propped against the wall between the barrels and a rat trap, a black plastic trash bag, the kind used on construction sites, extra heavy duty. He hadn’t left it there. He was familiar enough with the businesses on either side of them—Nails Saigon and Doctor Sanjeev K Seth—to know what their trash usually looked like, and this wasn’t it. He left the bag there a moment and went into the alley for the last barrel.
Bob said, “If you’d just pay for a Dumpster—”
Cousin Marv said, “Why should I pay for a Dumpster? I don’t own the bar anymore, remember?
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