The Houses in Rossford

On the way back home, Fenn asked, “What the hell time is it?”

Todd looked out of the window at the lightening sky, then on the radio clock and said, “Crap, it’s almost five in the morning.”

“Well in that case just drop me in front of Saint Barbara’s for the six a.m. and Dan’ll bring me home.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s Sunday. I’m up. Might as well get church out of the way. Otherwise I’ll spend the whole day thinking about how I should have gone.

Fenn yawned and turned on his side to take a nap.

“You all go to church?” Paul said.

“Fenn goes to church. Fenn is very… Catholic. The old style drinking, smoking, cursing—”

“And don’t forget fucking—”

“Yes,” Todd looked at him and sighed. “That kind of Catholic.”

“That’s right,” said Fenn. “Bring that suitcase into the house and if either one of you even thinks about… doing anything to that money... I’ll kill you. Flat out kill you.”

“He will,” Todd said, dolefully.

Paul nodded.

“I don’t doubt it.”

And  whether our tomorrows be filled with good or ill,
 we’ll triumph through our sorrows
And rise to bless you still
To marvel in your beauty
And glory in your ways
And make a joyful duty
Our sacrifice of praise!

The six o clock mass was always short and a capella because the organist was not awake yet, or rather, the organist was just waking up now to get ready for the ten o’clock.

Everyone was filing out of the church, crossing themselves, murmuring to each other, and Barbara Affren seized Fenn’s hand while demanding: “What are you doing up at the crack of dawn?”

Her husband, with a wink, said, “I’ve know Fenn since he was knee high, and I’ll bet it’s no good.”

“Well, now,” Fenn considered, “You’d be right.”

They laughed and then Barb Affren stopped laughing at the holy water font, because she knew Fenn wasn’t joking.

“Well, as usual, we have no intentions of asking what you’re up to now,” she said. “But just try to stay out of jail.”

“Father,” she shook the young priest’s hand as they came to the vestibule.

Dan Malloy was a sleepy looking early thirty-something with sandy hair, and he grasped Barb Affren’s hand and then asked, as he held Bob Affren’s, “Fenn, what’s this I hear about jail?”

“I’ll tell you on the way to my house.”

“Your house! No, Fenn. I was going to sleep…”

“Father Dan, now, you’re a priest,” Barb told him. “Sunday’s my day off. Not yours.”

Dan sighed, yawned and rolled his eyes dolefully.

“You can sleep at the house, Dan. And Todd’ll make you coffee. Besides, when you see what I have to show you it’ll wake you up.”

“Oh, Lord, Fenn!”

“You better go, Father,” Barbara Affren said.

“And if it’s too much…” said Bob.

“I’ll leave you out.”

“Please do.”

“This is Paul. Paul, this is my friend and priest, Father Dan Malloy.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Dan said cautiously, and turned to Fenn, “Is Paul what you had to show me?”

“Paul is a who, not a what,” Fenn said, moving through the darkened living room in the early morning house.

“Should I turn a light on?” Paul had been sleeping on the sofa.

“That’s not necessary,” Fenn said. “Just tell me where the bag is?”

“Oh, Todd left it in the Land Rover—”

“Left it in the Land Rover! Is he stupid? Are you stupid? Todd!”

“I’ll get the bag, Fenn,” Dan said in a soothing tone,

“NO ONE TOUCHES THAT BAG!”

Todd came down the steps, his hair sticking up.

“Did you leave the bag in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Give me your fucking keys. Now!”

Todd didn’t argue. He just ran up the stairs and came back, Fenn meeting him on the landing.

“Are you trying to get that bag stolen from us?”

“Fenn, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if it was, really—”

“We are NOT of the same opinion,” Fenn said, snatching the keys away.

“And incidentally, if it did get nabbed from the car, the police could be involved and then there would be real trouble, Sherlock.”

“The police—” Dan began.

“Com’on, priest!” Fenn went out of the house, and into the driveway hidden by the bushes, by the side of the house.

“I,” Fenn said, opening the Land Rover and climbing into it, going behind the back seat and lugging it, “could not keep this from you. You are my priest and just about my oldest friend.”

“All right,” Dan said, suddenly serious.

Dan climbed into the driver’s seat, and Fenn put the bag between them.

Fenn opened it.

“Holy—” Dan cut himself off.

“Say it,” Fenn said.

“Holy Jesus!” Dan hissed. “My… Gosh… My gosh… My God!” Dan crossed himself. “Where did you get this? How did you?”

“To make a long story short, Todd went to go shoot a documentary up in Port Ridge for this porn director. Ever heard of Guy McClintock?”

Dan looked at Fenn severely.

“Of course not. You’re a man of the cloth. A real man of the cloth. Well, anyway, Todd was doing a documentary of him. But last night, when we went up to shoot the party, there had been a drug bust and Paul, who you just met came out from the party—”

“He sells drugs?”

“No.”

“Thank God.”

“He does porn. Anyway, he told us this other pornstar had passed out from drugs and needed our help. So we went to help him and call an ambulance, but I thought medicine or something might be in the bag beside him. Only it wasn’t. It was this money, see? “

“Oh, Fenn…”

“I know!”

Dan, whose eyes had been rolling in his head, suddenly sharpened when they looked at Fenn.

“What?”

“Fenn… you’re going to keep this money. Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t do that.”

“No…” Fenn shook his head. “I have to do that. You know that. You know me. I can’t turn away.”

“It’s dangerous. Turn this in. Forget about it. Just…”

“No, Dan!” Fenn said sharply. “That’s the difference between us. It’s why I’m me and you’re you. You were always, always afraid.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is fair.  You live your life stepping around imaginary bits of glass. You’re just… so careful. Too goddamn careful.”

“And you think the way you jump into everything, heedlessly, is so damn great.” Dan whispered. “Well, you’re wrong, Fenn. You’re reckless. You’re not careful enough.”

“THIS WAS REALLY just the best date of my life,” Will said then amended, “Actually it was the only date of my life. But you get what I mean, right?”

Brendan nodded. By the grin on Will Klasko’s face he understood what he meant.

“And we didn’t get the movie at all.  And Layla was all like, ‘I don’t get this, but I’ll watch it anyway,’ and then I was like, ‘I don’t get half of the movies I see.’ And you know what? I don’t. I just, I think… I don’t think I’m pretentious. I think I’m just curious. Like, if I KNOW that I’m going to get it, right off the bat, then what’s the point? Right? I’d rather take my chances on something and see where it goes. Like, have you ever seen Caligula?”

“No,” Brendan said.

“I’m sorry,” Will stopped. “Am I talking too much? I don’t mean to. I just… I do that sometimes. I ramble. But I don’t mean to.”

“No, no,” Brendan shook his head. “You weren’t talking too much. It’s just… I’m like you. I mean I do things I don’t mean to do. Like drift off. Or frown. It wasn’t you. I really do want to hear about your date. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. You know, it’s not like I have a lot of friends. You said I do, but…” Brendan spread his hands out. “You see you’re the only one here.”

“Oh,” said Will. “Then… Well, if we’re friends, and you have something on your mind, then you could tell me. Right?”

Brendan shook his head.

“It’s nothing big. Not really? I mean… I don’t even know how to say it,” Brendan lay back on his couch, playing with his key ring. “It’s just… Are you religious?”

“Not really,” Will said. “I mean, my parents are Methodist. Or were Methodist. My mom’s a Jew. She doesn’t practice or anything.”

“I was just going to say I could probably talk about it, you know, my troubles, to a priest.”

“You go to confession?”

“Not a lot.”

“What’s it like? Do you really go into a little closet and talk to him through that…. Wicker thing? I mean, the screen?”

“Well, sometimes,” Brendan said. “And then sometimes it’s just a room where you shoot the sh—shoot the breeze with him. I don’t really like that. I’d prefer the little closet.”

“I don’t think I’d prefer it at all,” Will said. “I think I’m too private for it. What happens?”

“Well, you go in, you tell him your problems. All the bad things you’ve done. He gives you some advice—if he knows what he’s doing. And he gives you a little penance. Like… say a rosary or something. And then he forgives you.”

“Forgives you?”

“On God’s behalf.”

“Oh,” Will shrugged. He’d been about to say, “So it’s like going to a shrink,” when he instantly realized that would be the wrong thing to say and then, following this, realized that it couldn’t really be like going to a shrink at all. He’d been to one. You talked about all your problems as much as you wanted to and you paid a bill. You never said, “This is the wrong thing I’ve done,” and there was never a cure for it. Will doubted very much that any of priests at Saint Barbara’s could cure anything. But at least they knew a cure was necessary. At least they offered the hope of one. Now that had to count for something. Didn’t it?

The door slammed shut and Dan Malloy snapped to. He opened the screen and, on the other side, the voice he knew to be Brendan Miller’s rapidly fired:

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Oh,” Dan’s large blue eyes blinked on the other side of the screen, “you want this the old fashioned way?”

“Father!”

“All right, already,” Dan sat down in the chair, so only his profile was vaguely showing through the screen. “I just think the old way is so impersonal and so… furtive…”

“Look, Father, I need to be furtive right now.”

Brendan sighed loudly. “We’re just going to start this whole thing over again.”

“Brendan—” the priest began, but Brendan was gone. Apparently someone was outside because he heard Brendan Miller say, “No. Not yet. I’m not finished.”

And then Brendan came back in, crossed himself and said, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“I bless you in the Name of the Father, the Son and he Holy Spirit. Actually, I like to say Holy Ghost, but that’s more of an Anglican thi—”

“Father!”

“How long has it been since your last confession, my son?”

“It has been six days.”

“Six days. What could you have done in the last six days?”

“Father, I have impure thoughts.”

“Of course you do. You’re sixteen—”

“Seventeen.”

“Well, there you go! Seventeen. All the thoughts that seventeen year old Catholic boys have are supposed to be impure. It’s not impure to think about… physical love. It’s natural, all right? So you need to stop stoning yourself. You need to stop thinking that God hates your… ” Dan whispered, “sexuality.”

“Father!”

“Don’t Father me, Bren. Stop being a hypocrite. You came here for advice, right?”

“And for forgiveness.”

“But if there’s nothing to be forgiven for—”

“Father,” Brendan whispered,  “I watch dirty movies!”

“Well,” Dan whispered back, “stop watching them.”

“If I don’t watch them they just play in my head all the time. And, Father, I’m also afraid that if I stop watching I’ll start doing. I don’t want to do bad things.”

Dan looked at his watch and said, “Look, Bren. I’ve got a good forty-five minutes before the evening Mass. So if this is going to be a real discussion, how about we take this to the office? Or the rectory?

“Ahh…”

“I know how much you hate this, but I feel silly giving advice here.”

“You’ve got someone outside the curtain.”

“Mr. Pavone. He’ll be quick. Let me do him, and then I’ll get right back to you. All right. Go sit down and I’ll be with you in a moment.”