Chapter 32
Ray touched a napkin to the corners of his mouth and shared a smile with Migdalia. He was glad they hadn’t gone out to eat, because what he would have ordered couldn’t compare to what she had prepared. It was as if he had gone back to his childhood when his abuela cooked for the family.
Migdalia had prepared beef empanadas with the crust so flaky that it literally melted on his tongue.
And her arroz con gandules and baked chicken reminded him of the two summers he and his siblings had spent in Puerto Rico when, after working long hours on his farm, he’d wash up and come into the house to sit down for the evening meal.
He was a growing teenage boy, and it was as if he couldn’t get full, no matter how much he ate.
Every night there was rice, beans, fried or sweet plantains, and meat that varied from chicken, to pork, and steak and onions, avocado, and soup.
At the end of the first summer, he was ten pounds heavier, two inches taller, and his complexion two shades darker.
The year he turned eighteen, he was an even six foot and weighed one hundred sixty-five pounds of lean muscle.
He stopped growing by the time he entered college, and his weight dropped to one-fifty before graduating, because he’d spent long hours studying while neglecting to eat.
After he was assaulted and spent nearly a month in the hospital, he was down to a hundred and thirty pounds.
He refused to look in a mirror, because he didn’t recognize the image staring back at him.
Rehabilitation was slow and painful, and as his body healed, so did his resolve to enter the seminary to become a priest.
Now he was Father Torres, with a ten-year-old son he’d never met before but now wanted to get to know. “You’re an incredible cook. I’m glad we didn’t go out.”
Migdalia lowered her eyes, the gesture so demurely sensual that Ray found he couldn’t look away. “Thank you. I like to cook.”
“You need to be prepared for that in a few years, because Micah will eat you out of house and home.”
“And also drink out of the juice container instead of getting a glass.”
“How do you know that?” Ray asked, laughing.
“Because it’s something my brothers used to do, and I bet you did it, too.”
Ray held up a hand. “Guilty as charged.” His expression changed, as he studied the face of the woman who had the power to make him feel things he wasn’t allowed to feel. Not at this time in his life. “What have you told Micah about his father?”
Migdalia knew the question would eventually come up. It was if they’d danced around the subject, and now it had to be resolved. “I told him the truth, Ramon.”
“And that was?”
“I’d fallen in love with this boy, and we broke up before he was born.”
Ray rested an elbow on the table. “You didn’t tell him that I wanted to wait until after he was born to have a paternity test?”
“No! Why would I tell my child his father didn’t want him?”
“It’s not that I didn’t want the child, Migdalia. I just wanted to make certain he was mine.”
“And what if we’d stayed together and he wasn’t yours?” she questioned, angrily. “Would you still have claimed him as your son?”
“Of course.”
“Why of course?”
“Because if I loved you enough to marry you, then I would’ve accepted anything that came from you.”
A rush of color darkened her face. “What about now, Ramon? Has everything changed because you now know Micah’s yours and not some other man’s?”
“Yes, Migdalia. Everything’s changed, because I’ve changed.”
“How?”
“I want my son in my life.”
Migdalia tried to suppress a giggle. “Do you hear yourself, Ramon? You’re an ordained Catholic priest who wants to have a relationship with his bastard son.”
Ray’s hand came down hard on the table, rattling dishes and serving pieces. “I don’t ever want you to utter that word in my presence again.”
Migdalia half-rose from her chair. “Or what, Ramon? Or should I say Father Torres!”
Pushing back his chair, Ray stood up, walked out of the kitchen, and stood at the living room window, staring out on the street and waiting until he felt his anger wane and he was back in control.
He knew Micky blamed him for deserting her when she needed him most. If he’d been a different person at the time, there was no question that he would’ve married her and given his son his name.
Even if he hadn’t been able to afford to take care of a wife, he would’ve asked his parents if she could live with them until he completed medical school.
He returned to the kitchen to find Migdalia crying, and he recalled her weeping before she walked out on him. Now that seemed like eons ago. Ray walked over to her, eased her from the chair, and cradled her against his chest.
“It’s going to be okay, Micky. I’m going to take care of you and our son.”
“How are you going to do that?” Pulling back, she stared up at him. Light from a ceiling fixture illuminated a face the color of burnished gold, and he noticed a sprinkling of freckles over her cheekbones that weren’t there years ago.
“You are going to marry me.”
“The blow on your head must have left you with some brain damage. You’re a priest and forbidden to marry.”
“I’m not forbidden to marry, Micky. I took a vow not to marry. That’s a choice I made before I realized I had a child who needs to grow up with his mother and father.”
“What about love, Ramon?”
“What about it?”
“Couples who marry usually love each other.”
“Didn’t you just say that you told Micah that you’d fallen in love with a boy and that we broke up before he was born?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” Ray said, cutting her off. “Or are you ready to lie again?”
“When … when did I lie?” Migdalia sputtered.
“When you told your boyfriend that I raped you.”
“I said it to save my life,” she retorted.
“It was a lie that saved your life and almost cost me mine.” Ray sucked in a lungful of breath, held it for seconds before letting it out. “We’ll talk about this again after I meet Micah.”
“When?”
“Whenever it’s convenient for you, Micky. I’ll give you my number to the rectory, and if I don’t pick up, then leave a message with the secretary, and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, I suggest you let your son know that he has a father who wants to meet him.”
Migdalia nodded as she sniffled. “Okay.”
“I’ll help you clean up here before I drive you back to the Bronx.”
Migdalia felt as if she was on an emotional roller-coaster ride.
She didn’t want to believe Ramon was willing to give up his vocation to marry her and legitimize his son.
Where was the love? Or was it all about possession?
There was a part of her that still loved her son’s father, but it wasn’t the all-consuming passion that had her seeking him out all hours of the night.
The first time Ramon had made love to her, she knew she was a changed woman.
His lovemaking made her believe they would be together for the rest of their lives.
That she would grow old in his arms with their children and grandchildren to remind them what they’d had when they were young.
But it had been a fairy tale that didn’t end with a happily ever after. She’d come to him with the news that she was carrying his child, and he rejected her because he either didn’t believe she was pregnant, or that she’d slept with some other man and wanted to trick him into marrying her.
If he’d changed, so had she, because she wasn’t a frightened nineteen-year-old girl fearful of telling her parents that she’d been sleeping with a man who’d gotten her pregnant.
She was twenty-nine, soon to be thirty, and a registered dietitian who’d completed a master’s degree program, a year of internship, and had passed the CDR exam.
She earned enough to support herself and Micah without assistance from anyone.
She didn’t need a husband as much as Micah needed a father in his life.
That was something Father Torres would have to accept. If not, then his recourse would be to sue her for visitation. And she was certain his bishop would not look favorably on the young priest who had fathered a child out of wedlock.
Ray spent a miserable week waiting for Migdalia to call him for a date and time when he could meet his son. He knew he’d made a serious faux pas when he insisted she marry him. The demand was out before he could censor himself.
He knew his demand was to absolve himself of the guilt that he hadn’t believed her when she’d come to him with the news that she was carrying his child.
He also had been inflexible because he believed she couldn’t get pregnant if he’d always used a condom when having sex with her.
The only thing that made conception impossible was abstinence, something he’d practiced for the past ten years.
The phone in his bedroom rang, and Ray picked it up before it rang a second time. “Hello.”
“Hey, buddy. Do you have time to come into the city and hang out with me and Frankie?”
It was Kenny, not Micky. “When and where?”
“At my new place.”
“I’ve never been to your new place.”
“That’s why I’m inviting you. I know you have obligations and are on call twenty-four-seven as a priest, but can you spare a couple of hours to reconnect with your brothers?”
“I’m free Saturday afternoon. But I have to be back on Sunday, because I’m responsible for the Spanish mass.”
“What time is that?”
“One o’clock.”
“If that’s the case, then pack an overnight bag. I’ll put you in my spare bedroom and get you up in time to get back to the Bronx before you have to say mass.”
“That’s a bet. See you Saturday. Is there anything you want me to bring?”
“Yeah.”
“What, Kenny?”
“A couple of bottles of your communion wine. I heard that it’s really good.”
“It is. Are you sure all you need are two bottles?”
“Two is enough. I can’t have you breaking the Eighth Commandment. Thou shalt not steal.”
Throwing his head back, Ray laughed loudly. “What do you know about the Commandments?”
“Enough, Father Torres, even though Frankie still believes I’m a heathen.”
“Do you want me to baptize you?”
“I’ll let you know when the time comes.”
Ray stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Don’t wait too long, my brother. We don’t know the day or the hour when God decides he wants to take back the breath you were given, because we’re all here on borrowed time.”
“Goodbye, Ray.”
“Think about what I’ve just said, Kenneth.”
A cold shiver swept over Ray as soon as he hung up. It felt as if he were falling through a frozen pond, and something was holding him down as he fought to get to the surface, where he could fill his lungs with precious air.
Ray moved off the bed, picked up his rosary beads, and knelt to pray.
He didn’t know what it was, but whenever he felt the bone-chilling cold invade his body it foretold tragedy and eventually death.
He’d experienced it last year, weeks before Frankie called to tell him that his uncle had passed away earlier that morning.
“No, not Kenny,” he whispered. He could not imagine his friend dying. At least not now. He prayed the entire rosary and when he finished, he felt better.