The Good Luck of Right Now(30)

The woman glanced at me for a second and then said, “Do you want to come in?”

“You know Bartholomew Neil from Mass, I imagine,” he said, ignoring the invitation. “Bartholomew, this is Wendy’s mother, Edna.” To Edna, he said, “Wendy has been counseling Bartholomew. It’s part of her schooling.”

I raised my hand and smiled.

Edna smiled back at me and said, “I recognize you from Saturday-evening Mass. I sit toward the front on the left.”

I nodded, even though I did not recognize her and we had never once spoken. (I mostly look at the stained glass windows at Mass—never at the people around me.)

“We need Wendy’s current address,” Father McNamee said.

“Why? What happened?”

“We’re not exactly sure yet,” Father said.

Edna stared at Father again like she didn’t understand what he had said, and then she said, “I’ve failed as a mother.”

“I’m sure that’s not—”

“It’s true, all right. Wendy moved in with her boyfriend, an older man. I think he’s a doctor,” Edna said. Her eyes became red and glassy. “I haven’t even met him, which makes me worry, especially since Wendy seems different. Harder. And I feel responsible, but how could I afford her schooling? I can barely afford our mortgage! I ask to meet him, and she changes the subject. It’s like she’s punishing me. And she seems sad all the time. Ever since she moved in with that man. Does that seem right to you, Father?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What kind of trouble is she in? Is he cruel to her?”

“We need the address. We’re trying to help,” Father said.

The woman shook her head, looked at her hands, and mumbled something—maybe a prayer—before she disappeared for a few minutes, but Father McNamee didn’t turn around to look at me, which made me feel nervous.

When Edna returned, she handed Father McNamee a ripped-off piece of a cigarette carton with an address scribbled on the backside and said, “Wendy’s a good girl. She has a good heart, but she’s ambitious. I’m just another person in the neighborhood. Is that so horrible? Is that my fault?” Wendy’s mother wiped her eyes and sniffled. “We haven’t been granted many favors. Tell me once more you’ll help her.”

“I’ll try,” Father McNamee said, nodded reassuringly, and then gave the woman a hug. I watched her cigarette send up a tiny stream of smoke behind Father McNamee’s head when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I know you’re no longer a priest, but will you pray for me now?” she said when they released each other. “Just one short prayer?”

Father McNamee bowed his head and said, “Father, bless this woman, your daughter, and give her your promised peace in her heart. Be with us today, Jesus. See us through the riddles of our individual lives and help us see the beauty of our . . . perpetually stumped nature. Amen.”

“Amen,” the old woman echoed solemnly. She reached out, cupped Father McNamee’s red cheeks, and said, “God bless you.”

I could smell the lingering stale scent of old cigarette smoke as Father McNamee studied the address in his hand and mentally mapped a route, and then we were off again, walking quickly down the sidewalk.

“Do you really believe that there’s beauty in our stumped nature?” I asked, wondering if I might be beautiful after all. I had definitely been stumped for decades.

“I do,” Father McNamee answered.

“Like colorful flower petals are first hidden inside a stem?”

Father McNamee stopped walking, smiled at me through his beard, and said, “Beauty is within all of us, Bartholomew. It just hides sometimes. That’s right.”

Father McNamee walked on and on—and quickly enough to make me sweat, even though it was a cold evening.

Finally, we arrived at a trinity around the corner from South and Third Street. Father McNamee pushed the doorbell and held it for a long time. When he let go, we heard a man’s voice say, “You don’t have to ring forever.”

“Adam?” Father McNamee said into the intercom speaker.

Silence.

“Who is this?”

“We are friends of Wendy. Will you please buzz us in?”

More silence.

Father McNamee rang the bell again.

“With whom am I speaking?” Adam said.

“Wendy’s friends.”

“What is your name?”

“Bartholomew Neil,” Father McNamee said, which surprised me.

“Father McNamee?” Wendy said. I could tell it was her voice. I saw her orange eyebrows in my mind, her white, almost translucent skin.

“I am no longer a Father. I defrocked myself. Remember? But, yes.”

A few seconds later the door opened and Wendy was standing there, wearing her egg-shaped sunglasses, black stretch pants, and a maroon Temple University sweatshirt that was much too large for her. “Come in,” she said.

I followed Father McNamee into the first floor of the trinity, where there was a tan leather couch, a glass coffee table, a black rug that was shaggy like a dog, a large iron liquor cabinet filled with dozens of bottles, and a huge manly leather chair. This was the house of a wealthy person. I could tell instantly.