Fat Tuesday(40)

"Before taking that moral stance, shouldn't you at least hear the job I have in mind?"

"Doesn't matter what it is or how much it pays. For all your fancy surroundings," he said, giving the well-appointed office a glance, "you're maggot shit. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, so I sure as hell wouldn't work for you."

Burke stood up and headed for the door. Duvall ordered him to sit back down. Bardo lunged toward him and would have thrown a body tackle if Burke hadn't thrust his hand into Bardo's sternum, stopping him cold.

"You put your hands on me again and I'll break your freaking neck."

The warning carried enough impetus to make Bardo reconsider. He remained where he was, but his eyes glowed with hatred.

Burke looked across at Duvall."I'm not interested in your job."

"Really? That's odd." Unruffled, Duvall folded his hands on top of his desk. He even smiled sympathetically as he said softly, "Because I have very good reason to believe that you might be. Don't I, Basile?"

The two men stared at each other. The distance between them seemed to shrink, until Burke could almost make out his reflection in Duvall's black pupils. It was a haunted man who stared back at him.

He dropped his hand from Bardo's chest."Go f*ck yourself, Duvall."

Duvall's smile widened."Tell you what, I'll keep the position open for you. Think about it and get back to me."

"Yeah. I'll do that. I'll get back to you." Just not in the way you expect, you smug son of a bitch. Burke looked over at Bardo."No need for you to see me home." Then to Duvall, he added, "I know my way."

At precisely two thirty in the afternoon, Remy Duvall entered the church. Confession was heard between three and five o'clock but because the Duvalls were generous contributors, Remy was afforded the courtesy of having her confession heard early. Pinkie had arranged it so that by three o'clock, when other parishioners began to arrive, she was already safely in the limo and on her way home.

Errol stationed himself just inside the church door, where Remy would be constantly in his sight. She moved down one of the side aisles, genuflected at the end of a row, and slipped into the pew.

Retrieving her rosary from her handbag, she pulled down the kneeling bench and got on her knees to pray.

Even after her prayers were finished, she remained with head bowed and eyes closed. This half hour spent in church each day was precious to her. Pinkie ridiculed her for being excessively devout, but aside from her Catholic faith, there was another reason why she regularly came to pray: This was the only time she was entirely alone.

Even when she went to the gazebo, there were always people around the house, full- or part-time workers doing one job or another. Since the day she married Pinkie, she had never been in her house by herself.

Before that, she had lived at Blessed Heart in a dormitory with other girls. And before that, she'd shared a single room with her mother.

There, she'd been left alone every night while Angel went to work.

But on those nights alone, Remy had been too young and too afraid of the raucous noise on the streets and in the neighboring apartments to appreciate the solitude.

Here in the cathedral, she was both safe and alone. She savored the stillness, the quiet. She loved watching the ever-changing mosaic of color that the stained-glass windows cast on the walls. The flickering of the candles and the soft organ music were calming. She loved the freedom from watchful eyes.

Today in her prayers, she asked God for wisdom and courage. She needed wisdom to devise a plan to protect Flarra, and the courage to carry out that plan. For the time being, Flarra was safely ensconced in the academy and would remain there until she graduated. Then what? She placed the problem in God's hands, although she couldn't give over worrying about it.

Finally, she asked for forgiveness, or tried to. The words wouldn't come. She couldn't acknowledge, even in her own mind, the transgression that haunted her and made her appear ill to those around her. Some sins were too great to lay before God. If she couldn't forgive herself, why should He forgive her?

Glancing toward the confessional, she saw that the light had been turned on. The priest was -waiting for her. She moved from the pew to the confessional and went in.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been one week since my last confession."

She enumerated a few minor offenses, but she was stalling, trying to garner enough courage to confess the Sin. She hadn't been willing to share it with anyone, not even a priest. She sensed him on the other side of the screen, waiting patiently.

Finally he coughed softly and cleared his throat."Is there something else?"

"Yes, Father."

"Tell me about it."

Maybe if she talked about it, she would know some peace. But the thought of confiding it caused her throat to compress and her heart to pound. Tears clouded her eyes. Swallowing dryly, she began."A few months ago, I conceived. I haven't told my husband about it."

"That's a lie of omission."

"I know," she cried softly."But I ... I can't. I'm conflicted, Father."

"About what?"

"The baby."

"The Church is very clear on this. A child is a gift from God.

Don't you want the child?"

Staring at the large diamond on her left ring finger, she whispered through her tears,,"There is no child. Not anymore."