Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(52)

“Imagine, us meeting,” Father Tim says. “There I was, feeling a bit lonely, and who should I run into but you. A happy coincidence. God knows our hearts and hears our prayers, sure enough.”

“Why were you feeling alone, Father Tim? I’d think you’d love a little solitude, away from all your fans.” I smile, taking a sip of my cappuccino.

He laughs morosely. “Sure enough, that’s true sometimes. God speaks to us in the silences, after all. You’re right. But today, I think I’m merely in need of a little companionship, Maggie,” he tells me. “Sometimes, even when a person’s surrounded by others, he can feel a bit on the lonely side of things.”

“Sure,” I murmur sympathetically.

“Ah, yes. You know just what I’m speaking about, don’t you, Maggie?” He gazes at me thoughtfully, his eyes soft and kind on mine. “It must be hard for you, having Christy being married with a baby and all.”

I sit up straighter. “No, it’s not hard,” I say, frowning. “I love Will. And Violet…well, don’t get me started. It’s not hard. I’m very happy for my sister.”

“Good for you, then, Maggie, good for you.” He pauses. “I’m terribly sorry my efforts at finding you a decent man haven’t panned out.”

I shake my head. “No, no, don’t worry about it. Not at all. Thanks for trying.”

“A lovely girl like you should have someone,” he continues almost sadly.

I don’t answer for a moment, just look out at the street. “Well, actually, I might be seeing someone,” I venture.

“Is that right?” Father Tim exclaims. I nod. “Is he good enough for you, Maggie?”

I blush. “Sure.”

“Wonderful, then,” he says. “It’s funny, I was thinking about you the other day and that person we met at Dewey’s, the fisherman. Dark hair?”

“Malone?” I say, my face going from blush to inferno.

“That’s it. Malone. I wouldn’t want you with someone like that, now. Such a churlish fellow, barely speaking. He was hardly civil the whole time we were there. Couldn’t take his eyes off Chantal, either.”

“Actually—” I attempt.

“So I’m glad you’ve found a man with potential, Maggie. I’d hate to see you settling for someone who wasn’t blessed with the same good heart that you have.”

My mouth opens and closes a couple of times before the words come out. “Actually, Malone is the person I’m…seeing.”

Father Tim’s mouth falls open with comical surprise. “Is that—is he? Oh, dear. I’m terribly sorry, Maggie.” He looks away, wincing.

“He’s not really that churlish,” I manage. Great job, Maggie. Talk about damning with faint praise. “Let’s change the subject.”

The waitress comes by with a free refill for Father Tim. “Here you go, Father,” she croons. She ignores my now-empty cup.

“Ah, thank you, that’s lovely,” he says, smiling up at her. Her cheeks grow pink.

Is that how I am? Oh, God, it is, isn’t it? Gross. I’m mortified. Poor Father Tim, to have us waitresses fawning over him all the time! The woman finally fills my cup and goes back behind the counter, her eyes still on my companion.

“Is it hard being a priest, Father Tim? Always having to be so, um, well-behaved?” I ask.

He laughs, long and hard. “No, Maggie, it’s not hard. It’s a beautiful calling, a privilege, really.”

“But you’re always a little—” I stop, fearful that I’m once again about to put my foot in my mouth.

“A little what?” he asks. He really is just pointlessly good-looking, those soft green eyes, the gorgeous hands.

“A little apart from everyone else,” I venture.

His smile drops. “Mmm. Well, yes, you’ve a point, don’t you, Maggie?” He sets his cup down. “The price we pay to serve the Lord.” He forces a smile and takes another sip of coffee. “Maggie,” he continues, more quietly, “did you know Father Shea when you were growing up?”

I gasp, unfortunately just at the moment I’m sipping my cappuccino, and burning foam drips into my lungs. “I…yup,” I rasp.

Father Shea was our priest when I was probably ten or eleven. He was handsome, somewhere in his forties or fifties (who can tell when you’re little, right?), a jovial, teasing priest who shamelessly bribed us kids to be good in church by giving us Hershey’s Kisses after Mass.

Then Annette Fournier’s husband dropped dead of a heart attack when he was out for a run one day. Father Shea was a great comfort to the tragic young widow and her three kids. Such a comfort that he left the priesthood and married her a year later. I believe they had one or two more kids themselves, making Father Shea go from Father to plain old Dad.

“Yeah, I remember Father Shea,” I say, still coughing a little. “He was…well, he was pretty nice. But he…you know. Left. Why do you ask?”

Father Tim shakes his head a little, his eyes distant. “No reason. Well, no reason I should be discussing, at any rate, Maggie. Sorry to bring it up. He’s just…never mind. On my mind lately. Enough said.”

I stare out the window, my face hot. Guilt flashes like heat lightning—how many times have I wished Father Tim wasn’t a priest? In truth, I don’t really…he’s a very good priest, from all accounts, anyway, and I’d hate for him to scandalize the town as did Father Shea. Leave the priesthood. Break his vows.