Waltzing with the Wallflower(25)

“Yes, my son?”

“Roberto Santini. He requests an audience.”

“Santini.” Pope Gregory shifted his gaze abruptly to Bishop Hébert’s and indicated the leather pouch with a pointed glance. Hébert scooped up the satchel and slipped out the side door. The sooner this Ring was out of Rome, the safer the world would be.





Chapter One





Dublin, Present Day





The rain came down in torrents, driving the chill right through Kynan Murphy’s light jacket and deep into his bones. He trudged down the street toward his house, pulling his collar closer around his neck. The rain dripped down his cheeks and off the end of his nose. His dark brown hair lay in wet, stringy curls all over his head, drenched in the downpour.

The weather mirrored his mood. Home had been plagued with strife this week. Though they usually fought with each other, his parents had abandoned it for the new favorite pastime of hassling him for his grades, his friends, and his irresponsible choices. And they wouldn’t be happy with the report card he was bringing home today. Just what he needed.

He clambered up the steps to the front door and entered. The house was eerily silent.

“Ma?” He kicked off his wet boots in the entryway and tossed them to the rug, then slipped off his jacket and dropped it on the floor with his school bag. “Ma?” he repeated.

“In here.” Her reply was weak, quiet for her.

“Where?” Kynan asked; his voice cracked. He hated it when it did that. So embarrassing.

“In the sittin’ room.”

Kynan trudged into the next room while running his fingers through his wet hair, shaking the moisture from it. “What are you doing in here?” he asked as he rounded the corner.

His mother and his father were sitting on the sofa. Quietly. Next to each other. Staring at him. With that look.

This was not good. Did they somehow get a heads up on his grades? Would the teacher have called them already?

“Sit down, Kynan,” his father said.

Trying not to show his blatant fear, Kynan took a seat as far away from his dad as possible and smoothly folded his hands in front of him, waiting for the inevitable lecture from one or both of his parents.

“Kynan…” His mother began to speak, lips trembling. He noticed a single tear slide down her cheek. Her face flushed, and she looked away and wiped at her face. His father cleared his throat and gave his mother a slight nod as if to encourage her to go on.

Suddenly Kynan wondered if this was all about his grades; they were acting like someone had died.

His father patted his mother on the hand, but she abruptly pulled away. Shrinking into herself as if his father had slapped her instead of offered her a bit of comfort. “We love you, Kynan. You know that, don’t you?”

Kynan nodded only because he didn’t trust his voice to speak. So it was true then, someone really was dead, or worse yet, what if one of his parents had cancer? Or some other disease. Chest constricting, he waited in silent torture.

Clearing his throat, his father began again, “Your mother and I think it’s best that we spend some time apart.”

Kynan bit his lip in thought. “You want to take a holiday?”

Kynan’s mother sighed.

His father, normally confident almost to the point of being arrogant, broke eye contact and blushed. “No son, not a holiday.”

“Then what?”

“We’ve grown apart.”

Kynan looked from one parent to the other. “And when you say we, you mean...?”

“Your mother and I. I won’t insult you by trying to explain something that is beyond your years to understand, son. The truth is simple. It isn’t the same as when we fell in love.”

Feeling insulted, Kynan scowled. “I’m not stupid, Da.”

His mother tensed; his father insisted, “This is our decision. We know what’s best. That’s all you need to know right now.”

“What’s best,” Kynan repeated sourly. “People don’t just give up on one another.”

“We aren’t giving up,” his father said calmly.

Kynan snapped, “That’s exactly what you’re doing. Tell him, Ma. Tell him I’m right!”

His mother had been relatively silent the whole time. The only clue he had that she was paying attention was the long succession of tears that poured down her face. “Tell him, Ma.”

“Leave it be, Kynan,” his mother whispered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Kynan, don’t pry into things you don’t understand.” His dad stood looming over him. “This discussion is over. It is what it is.”

Kynan turned toward his mother. “This isn’t right.” Then he bolted from his seat, stormed into his room, and slammed the door.





****





The annual school trip to the shrine was something Kynan had been looking forward to for weeks. But not anymore. Usually learning about Ireland’s saints was a favorite pastime. Today it was a painful reminder of his parents’ stupidity. When his best friend Michael Connell slid into the seat beside him on the bus, he didn’t even notice.

“Hey, butthead.” Michael’s voice jolted him back into reality.