Steps to the Altar (23 page)

He’d been right, which he’d found out after he’d shared a round of workouts. Before he’d joined the priesthood, Mark had been connected to the 16th Street Amigos, one of the most brutal California Hispanic gangs.

“Father Leo’s down with the flu,” Mark said. “I’m taking his shift with the sinners.” He gave a broad wink. “And my shift is over unless there was somebody after you or you change your mind . . .” His eyebrows rose in question.

“No, pasta sounds great,” Gabe said quickly, thankful he’d been rescued from having to face his feelings.

“Then let me see if there’s anyone else. If not, then I can take off this dog collar and get into something more comfortable,” Mark said.

When he saw there was no one else waiting to confess, he said, “Let’s go to my office.”

In his book-filled office, Mark pulled off his vestments and put on a black T-shirt with white lettering that said, THERE’S NO FEAR IN JESUS.

“How about Antonio’s?” Mark said. “They’ve got a shrimp fettuccine I’ve been lusting after for the last three hours.”

“Sure,” Gabe said.

In the restaurant, they talked of the Mardi Gras celebration and how it had grown, how Gabe was faring with the latest city council, which had members who annoyed both Gabe and Mark, the vacation Mark would be taking to Greece in December.

“How’s Benni?” Mark asked, spearing a plump, buttery shrimp.

“Fine.” Gabe bit down on the word and dropped his gaze down to his pasta primavera.

Mark chewed the shrimp slowly, nodding his head. “What’s up,
mano
? You and Benni having problems?”

Gabe looked up at the priest, feeling himself stiffen. He didn’t want to tell Mark about Benni and Del. Confessing to a faceless priest behind a screen was one thing; facing Mark’s discerning eyes and priestly judgment was another. He set his fork down and took a sip of wine. “I said we’re fine.”

Mark nodded again, his face friendly and open. Around them, the sounds of the restaurant grew louder and more intense. A waiter dropped a tray of glasses and everyone in the restaurant applauded.

Mark speared another shrimp. “Did I ever tell you that before I became a priest, I was married?”

Gabe tried not to look surprised. Though he could picture Mark in baggy, gangster clothes selling crack on a filthy street corner, he could not imagine him with a wife.

Mark’s brown eyes bore directly into Gabe’s. “Had a little girl too. Marisol. Both were killed in a drive-by.”

Gabe’s heart twitched, then hardened. “I’m sorry, but I guess that’s part of the life.” He felt like an asshole for being so cold, but he knew what Mark was trying to do and he refused to become vulnerable.

Mark’s sharp eyes didn’t move from Gabe’s. “All I’m trying to tell you, my stubborn friend, is that death is the only irreversible problem we creatures down here on earth have. Whatever’s going on between you and Benni can be fixed. If you love each other.” He picked up a glass of water, still watching Gabe. “Do you love her?”

Gabe nodded, unable to speak.

“Talk to me then. As a friend. And I will bestow upon you my best Solomonic advice.” He gazed at him solemnly and sipped the water. “Or preach you some homeboy bullshit, whichever you prefer.”

Gabe couldn’t keep back a small smile. In the next half hour, he told Mark the whole story.

“So,” Mark said, when Gabe had finished. “I’ll ask you again. Do you love Benni?”

“Of course I do.” Gabe felt the heat of anger rise in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything to Mark. The guy could be a complacent jerk sometimes.

“Okay, this Del. Do you really love her or—”

Gabe snapped, “I told you I don’t know how I feel about her.”

Mark’s face didn’t react to Gabe’s irritation. “Fair enough. We’ll agree you feel something. Unfortunately, that something is causing you to step out of the circle of love that you’ve established with your wife. What do you think you should do about that?”

Gabe looked around, trying to figure out a polite way to escape from this situation. He should have kept this to himself or waited until Father Leo was well and confess to the old priest, who’d give him his penance but not want to delve into his psyche. He turned back to the priest. “Look, I know I should just send Del on her way. I
know
that. But it’s not that easy. You don’t understand . . .” He felt himself flush.

Mark threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh. “How much you want to sleep with this woman? You’re wrong there, my friend. When I put on a collar, I didn’t take off my dick.”

Gabe stared at him, not certain how he should react.

“Look, Gabe, I’m not trying to put you on the spot,” Mark said, pushing his half-eaten pasta aside. “It just seems to me that the sacred is missing from your struggle. How would you act with all this if you brought the sacred into it?”

“It’s not that simple.” Heat burned inside his chest. He should have refused this lunch with the priest.

Mark’s face remained calm and expressionless. “Gabe,” he said so softly that Gabe was tempted to lean closer. “What are you so afraid of?”

Gabe stiffened his bottom lip. He stared at the priest, not answering.

Mark’s voice remained soft. “You know what’s so funny and sad about us human beings?” He didn’t wait for Gabe to answer. “We are constantly torn between the all-consuming desire to be loved and the terrifying fear of being known. Deep inside we don’t believe the two things can exist together, that if anyone really knew us, they would surely never love us, so we spend our whole lives concocting this wonderful, plastic shell that we fight like madmen to keep pristine. But eventually the plastic cracks and falls away and what is inside is a raw, quivering mass of imperfect humanity that has always been lovely and precious enough for God Himself to love. Don’t be afraid of that love. Or of Benni’s.”

Gabe folded his napkin and set it on his plate. He pulled out his wallet and threw two twenties on the table. “Lunch is on me. Thanks for your help, Father. I have to get over to the parade route and check on things.”

Mark stood up and held out his large-boned hand. “Come back and talk to me again, Gabe. If I didn’t do so well advising you this time, give me another chance. I’m new at this priest gig. I need practice.”

Gabe, irritated as he was, couldn’t help liking the man. He was honest and sincere. He just didn’t understand how complex this situation was. “Sure, Father Mark. Take it easy.”

“You too, Gabriel. Take it easy and take it slow.”

16

BENNI

AFTER FIFTEEN MINUTES of crying that didn’t make me feel one bit better, I loaded my suitcase, Scout’s food and water dishes, and a sleeping bag and pillow into my truck. I turned to look at the small Spanish bungalow that had been my home since I’d left the Harper ranch after Jack died. When I came here to live, I had no idea what my future held. Now, it appeared I was back at that same place.

The new house was cold and lonely; the oakwood floors echoed with emptiness. But I didn’t mind. They mimicked what I felt, the chilling heaviness weighting my heart. The walnut mantel clock chimed five o’clock. The Mardi Gras parade started at four fifty-seven and I’d promised Elvia I’d take pictures of her employees and their well-rehearsed and very popular “March of the Banned Books.” I’d also promised Constance I’d be at her house before the party started at seven to supervise the caterers’ setup. At least I’d be busy tonight, hopefully too busy to contemplate the disintegration of my marriage.

As I walked through the rooms that had so delighted us both when we first saw this gray-and-blue California bungalow, my heart throbbed in my chest. The large picture window looking out over a huge old rosebush, red ones the realtor had promised, the tiny alcoves and built-in bookshelves, the natural stone fireplace in the living room, all seemed to echo with a mocking sound. I had pictured the Mission-style furniture I wanted to buy, the soft rugs I wanted to put on the shiny oak floors, the lacy curtains on the four-pane windows. I had imagined us growing old together in this house. I had imagined us making love in every room.

Now I could only wonder if we’d be able to sell it easily. And wonder where I would live then. My throat tightened as if someone were choking me.

Upstairs, the master bedroom had new, double-padded plush carpet in a soothing honey beige. I unrolled my sleeping bag, hung the garment bag containing my costume in the walk-in closet, and set up the bathroom with minimal grooming supplies. I took a quick, hot shower even though it meant I had to rush to put on my costume.

Wrapped in my terry bathrobe, I unzipped the garment bag, then moaned out loud.

A flapper?

I held the off-white dress in front of me and shook it, the rows of pale pink fringe shimmering in the soft multicolored glow of the Tiffany floor lamp Emory had bought us for a housewarming gift.

Cathy hadn’t lied. It wasn’t low cut and it wasn’t a cowgirl outfit, but it was very, very short. And a little snug.

I slipped it on and jumped up and down a few times trying to see myself in the bathroom mirror. The fringe went wild.

“Oh, geeze,” I said. “I look ridiculous.”

Scout just beat his tail on the floor and stared at me in curiosity, no doubt wondering what sort of new game this was.

“You don’t know how lucky you are to be a dog,” I said to him, sitting on the closed toilet lid and pulling on the stockings and thick-heeled strapped shoes that came with the costume. At least they’d be easy to walk in. I grabbed the head-hugging hat or whatever it was called, put on my wool-lined trench coat, and fed Scout down in the box-filled kitchen.

After reminding him about the doggy door in the kitchen that led out to the fenced backyard, I kissed the top of his head and promised I’d be home as soon as I could manage.

Home, I thought grimly, pulling out of the wide, short driveway. Would this be my home? I couldn’t picture living here alone. Not to mention I couldn’t afford the mortgage payments on my part-time curator salary. No, if we split up, we’d definitely have to put this house on the market . . . before we’d even lived a day in it together.

You’re washing the pie plate before you’ve even rolled out the crust,
Dove’s voice reverberated in my head. My heart beat faster. Dove. How would I ever break the news to her about me and Gabe? Her hurt and disappointed look was something I wasn’t sure I could survive.

I parked on a side street near the end of the parade route for an easy getaway, sitting for a moment with my head resting on the cold steering wheel. I wanted so badly to find Dove and beg her to tell me what to do. But I was determined to deal with this on my own. I wasn’t a child and she had her own life and impending marriage to worry about.

As if she’d sensed my worry in the wind, my cell phone rang and Dove’s voice blared out from the palm-sized instrument.

“Cosmic Cavern!” she yelled, her voice broken by static.

“What?”

“In Berryville, Arkansas. They got a room there called Silent Splendor that you can get married in. The brochure says there’s a trout there in Mystery Lake that’s the size of a six-year-old child.”

“You want to get married in a cave?”

“Bet Isaac would remember
that.
”

“No doubt.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” she said in an accusing tone.

I couldn’t help myself, “Dove, a cave? A
cave
?”

“It’s God’s creation,” she said, her voice getting huffy in that way that told me I was tap dancing on thin ice. “It would be special.”

“And damp,” I couldn’t help adding.

“You have no imagination.”

I sighed. The thought of traveling back to Arkansas to go to a cave wedding sounded less inviting than walking all night with a colicky horse.

Then an idea flashed in my head like a cartoon light bulb. “Well, since it’s in Arkansas, I imagine Aunt Garnet will insist on taking my place as matron of honor. She’ll probably want to help you with the reception too. And don’t pick out a dress yet. I’m sure she’ll want to help with that.”

The line grew silent except for pops of static. “I forgot about Garnet.”

“She’ll be
thrilled
about it being in Arkansas.”

“You know, I don’t even know if Isaac is claustrophobic,” Dove said. “Let me get back to you.”

“Over and out,” I said.

Clutching my camera, I made my way to a spot next to the section reserved for the elderly and handicapped. It wasn’t as crowded here as at the parade’s beginning, where college students and rowdier Mardi Gras revelers liked to carry on and act outrageously, yelling the traditional “Throw me some beads, mister,” begging for the colorful plastic beads and metal Mardi Gras coins stamped with this year’s date and theme. I found an empty place behind the three-foot chain link barriers lining the parade route, a safety precaution Gabe had just implemented this year, and wiggled my toes in my twenties flapper shoes, wishing I’d thought to wear wool socks and boots. By the time the parade made its way down here, my feet would be popsicles. But I’d also be less likely to run into Gabe, who would probably be wandering around the section that held the most potential problems.