Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(4)

“What guy?” he managed to mumble.

So I told Jonah, too, my irritation vanishing with the chance to discuss the new man in my life.

We sat there till closing, but Tim never showed. Still, I was optimistic. He had said he’d see me in church, and see me he would.

The next morning, I spent an hour and a half getting ready. Because I’d told my parents, sister and brother about This Guy I’d Met, they were all coming to church, an activity our family usually saved for Christmas Eve (if we weren’t too tired) and the occasional Easter weekend. In we went, Mom, Dad, Jonah, Will, Christy, then pregnant, and myself. Looking around, I noticed that the church was pretty full, more so than usual. Was it a holy day? I wasn’t sure, never having cemented those in my mind. Oh, yes, I remembered hearing something at the diner…apparently, Father Morris retired and some new guy was filling in. Whatever.

I tried to scan casually for Tim, looking over my shoulder, pretending to fix the strap of my pocketbook, getting a tissue, adjusting my mom’s collar. Any chance to glance back. Then the windy old organ started, and I fumbled for the hymnbook. So busy was I studying the pews that I ignored the priest as he walked past. “Do you see him?” I whispered to Christy.

“Yes,” she whispered, her face a frozen mask of horror.

At that moment, the music ended, the church fell silent, and I reluctantly turned to face the priest.

“Before we start our celebration today,” said a voice already imprinted on my brain, “I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Father Tim O’Halloran, and I’m very pleased to have been assigned to your lovely parish.”

Roughly seventy-five faces swung around to look at me. I stared straight ahead, my heart pumping so hard I could hear the blood rushing through my veins. My face burned hot enough to fry an egg. I didn’t look at anyone, just stared at Father Tim O’Halloran’s chest area, and pretended to be fascinated and unsurprised. Tricky combination.

“I’m from Ireland, as you might be able to tell, the youngest of seven children. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all, and I hope I’ll see you all at coffee hour after Mass. And now we begin today’s celebration as we begin all things, in the name of the Father, and of the Son—”

“For God’s sake,” I muttered.

I didn’t hear a word during the next hour. I do know that Christy slipped her hand into mine, and that my father was shushed repeatedly by my mother. Jonah, furthest from me, was laughing that awful, unstoppable church laugh full of wheezes and the occasional squeak, and if he’d been closer to me, maybe I would have laughed, too. Or perhaps disemboweled him with my car keys. As it was, I pretended to listen, mouthed nonsensical words to songs I couldn’t read and stood when everyone else stood. I stayed in the pew during communion.

And when at last Mass was over, we filed out with the others. Christy, my sister, my best friend, the person I loved more than anyone on earth, whispered in my ear. “I’m going to pretend we’re talking about something really interesting, okay? And this way no one is going to talk to you. So smile and pretend we’re having a conversation, and we’ll get the hell out of here. Sound like a plan?”

“Christy, I’m so…” My voice broke.

“No, no, it’s fine, just keep going. Too bad they’re rebricking the side entrance. Shitty, shitty luck. Okay, we’re getting close…can you smile?”

I bared my teeth weakly.

“Maggie!” Father Tim exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you. I was hoping you’d be here.” He shook my hand warmly, his grip strong and welcoming. “And you’ve a twin! Isn’t that marvelous! I’m Father Tim, so nice to meet you.”

Father Tim. The sound of it was like acid on an open wound.

“Hi, I’m Christy,” my sister said. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. Maggie, would you take me home?”

We almost escaped until my idiot brother, whom I heretofore loved, asked, “How could you miss the fact that he was a priest?”

My mother grabbed his arm. “Jonah, honey—”

“What’s that, now?” Father Tim asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Why didn’t you tell Maggie you were a priest?”

Father Tim glanced at me in confusion. “Of course I did. We had that lovely chat at the diner.”

“Of course we chatted,” I blurted. “Of course I knew! Sure! Yes! I knew you were a priest! Absolutely. Yup.”

“But you said you met some hot Irish guy—”

“That was someone else,” I ground out, ready to smite my little brother. “Not Father Tim! Jeez! He’s a priest, Jonah! He’s not—I didn’t mean—he’s…”

But the damage was done. Father Tim’s expression fell. “Oh, dear,” he said.

“Maggie? I need to go,” Christy said. She grabbed my arm and pulled me away to the safety of her car.

But it was too late. Father Tim knew. Everyone knew.

FATHER TIM CAME TO the diner the next day and apologized, and I apologized, and we laughed about it. I found that there was no use in trying to pretend. I just had to admit that I made a mistake. Ha, ha, pretty funny, isn’t it? I can’t believe I missed that little piece of information! Ho, ho! Then he asked if I’d be on one of his committees, and I found myself unable to say no.