The People in Rossford

“… And he told me, Father, I just don’t believe in God anymore, because I don’t see him anywhere. And that really made me sad, and that should make you sad too,” the guest priest said. “Because the place that God is seen is in you, and in me. In all of us. That’s what the Incarnation means. When God became a man through Jesus, he became Man. Forever. He is forever in the flesh in his Church, in our actions. Take a look around. Just look around. I’ll stop.”

They all realized he was utterly serious, and Fenn turned around and saw Barb Affren.

“Barb, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you look horrible,” he whispered. “What’s going on?”

“Bob,” she whispered back. “I’ll tell you after Mass.”

“We can go and light candles at Loretto if you want.”

She nodded.

Fenn turned around.

“You get a good look at your brothers and sisters,” Father McDonald said. “And these are not only your brothers and sisters. They are also the faces of our Lord. You touch them, you touch Jesus. And guess what, family?” his face lit up. “Your hand is the hand of Jesus.”

“Scuse me. Scuse me. Sorry, I’m late,” Noah said, slipping through.

“You’re not,” Fenn said dryly, moving his knees, “Breakfast isn’t for forty five minutes.”

Noah raised an eyebrow at him, and then sat down.

“How’d you escape a hangover?” he whispered in Layla’s ear.

“I’m smart like that,” she whispered back.

“Pipe down,” Paul said beside him, “this guy’s really good.”

Noah looked up, “Really hot, too.”

“So, I want you all to remember your responsibility to your fellow Jesus in each and every person in this pew, and your responsibility to all the people outside that door who don’t believe because they haven’t seen. And your responsibility to the Jesus in you.”

“Fuck!” Noah hissed.

Paul turned to him in shock, putting a hand over his mouth, while Fenn shook his head.

Barb Affren leaned forward and whispered, “Most people just say Amen.”

Father McDonald ended his sermon, crossing himself, “In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

While the congregation responded: “Amen,” Noah whispered to Paul: “I know him.”

“No you don’t,” Paul said. “How?”

They were rising to recite the Creed.

“Because,” Noah hissed, “I’ve fucked him.”

In the middle of the line: “…Born of the Virgin Mary…” Paul’s eyes and mouth came wide open and fell on Noah.

“And you have too,” Noah went on, exasperated by Paul’s attempt at holiness. “He’s Bick Throbbing.”

Paul went from Noah to Father McDonald praying earnestly before Dan.

“What’s going on?” Kirk leaned over.

“That,” Noah whispered, pointing at Father McDonald, “is Bick Throbbing.”

Paul just looked straight ahead, making his face unavailable for comment.

“That sounds like…” Kirk began.

Noah finished, as the congregation finished, “A pornstar.”

When Fenn stood on the steps of Saint Barbara’s he was remembering, firstly, what Barb Affren had told him, and how he promised to meet her later, before Vespers, and go to Loretto and light candles for Bob. How could it have gotten this serious, so soon, to shake her so badly? And she was shaken, no doubt, though no one else would have known.

“Keith is going to be with us for a while,” Dan was telling Fenn. “This is Fenn. He’s one of my oldest friends. Probably,” Dan turned to him with something like pride, “my oldest.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Keith extended his hand. He was almost unbelievably good looking, and like most attractive and charismatic priest, definitely covering up something. Fenn could see it in his smile, though he shook his hand honestly enough.

“This guy,” Paul gestured to Keith McDonald, “you might say is going to be one of my newest friends. He really has a…”

“Vibe?” Fenn supplied.

Keith laughed a little too loudly.

“Vibe’s not a bad word,” Dan judged, “for what to say. The… essense of the Gospel. I have to say,” Dan turned to him, “I haven’t had such a passion for the priesthood in a long time. You make me remember why I went into it.”

“Well,” Fenn said, “I’m going to let the two of you continue this lovefest without me. You know breakfast is going on at the house. Will you make it over there.”

“I probably won’t, but I’m glad for the invite. See you Feen.”

“And go talk to Barb Affren.”

Dan cocked his head.

“Just go talk to her,” Fenn repeated, turned and left.

When he approached the Jeep and the Land Rover where everyone was hovered, Paul and Noah were staring at him.

“What?” Fenn said.

“Noah has…” Paul began. “Frankly, I think it’s a crazy idea.”

“What the hell do you mean it’s a crazy idea!” Noah exploded.

Fenn shook his head and waved a hand for silence.

“What the are you two talking about?”

“It’s that new priest,” Noah said.

Fenn turned back, and looked at the young, black haired man, shaking hands with a teenager. “What about him?”

“He’s a what?” said Fenn.

While Paul looked at Fenn forlornly, on the steps of Saint Barbara’s, Noah said, “A pornstar, Fenn. He’s Bick Throbbing.”

“Get out!” Todd said, coming out of the kitchen, batter on his apron.

“You know who Bick Throbbing is?” Fenn looked at him.

“I’ve seen his work,” Todd said without shame.

“Well,” Fenn said, following him back into the kitchen, “Apparently we have too.”

“I can’t believe that,” Paul said again. “I just can’t.”

“How can you not believe it?” Noah demanded. “You banged him at least twice. How can you not see him now?”

“It’s not possible. How can you be a priest and shoot pornos at the same time.”

“Well,” Todd nibbled on a piece of bacon as he poured more batter into the skillet and Fenn buttered the flapjacks,”you can be a priest and rape altar boys so anything is possible.”

“Thank you, Todd.”

Todd did a drumroll, and then flipped over a pancake.

“I just want to say,” Todd said. “This is reason one-thousand and seven not to go to church.”

“Well, in all fairness,” Noah said, “it was a kickass sermon.”

“Noah,” Todd said, his voice growing deeply serious. “Did you feel that when he was fucking you, you were being fucked by the penis of Jesus.”

“See, there you go,” Adele said. “There’s a place in hell for shit like that. Just keep it up.”

Todd laughed, shrugged, flipped a pancake onto the already loaded plate where Fenn buttered them and Fenn said, “Someone better get out plates and start eating.”

Just then the door flew open and Brian came in, looking, well like Brian in khakis, a white shirt and black wrap around shades, which he threw off, breathlessly.

“You guys won’t believe this.” He threw down the manila folders.

“Brian,” Fenn said, shaking his finger, “this greasy kitchen? Not a good place for anything important enough to be in manila folders.”

“Or as expensive as that outfit,” Adele eyed him up and down.

“And is it business?” Fenn demanded. “Because if it’s business, we don’t discuss that on Sunday. It’s the Lord’s Day.”

“That’s right,” Todd tore a piece of a pancake off and stuffed it in his mouth, “we eat on Sunday.”

“Todd,” Brian said, hunching his shoulders like Ed Sullivan. “Come here.”

Todd, the pancake hanging from his hand, put it down and followed Brian out into the living room.

“If I told you,” Brian whispered to him, “that this Joe Callan had three estates and was worth at least three million dollars I could find, not to mention what I don’t have access to, would that be worthy of discussion on a Sunday?”

Todd, eyes dropped from his head, turned around immediately and called, “Fenn!”

Fenn came out of the kitchen, “Brian, your plate’s getting cold.”

“I’m not hun—” Brian started, then, at the look on Fenn’s face said, “I’ll be in a minute.”

“But, Fenn,” Todd pulled him over. “Brian just said that Joe Callan’s worth three million dollars.”

“Three million dollars besides the estates and the stuff I can’t get access too,” Brian said in an earnest voice, his eyes sharp, eyebrows drawn.

“That’s good,” Fenn said, patting his cheek. “But we’ll discuss it tomorrow. Now it’s time for breakfast.”