24. Mary
Twenty-Four
Mary
I don't eat my lunch.
Not because I'm not hungry.
Because every time I pick up my fork, somebody stares at me.
The lunch ladies.
The parent volunteers.
The crossing guard who happened to stop in for coffee.
Even poor old Mr. Donnelly, the janitor.
Though he at least looks embarrassed when I catch him.
The article has spread.
Of course it has.
Small town.
Catholic school.
Scandal.
It's basically gossip gasoline.
I push my chicken salad stuffed avocado around my plate and pretend I'm not sitting in the center of a fishbowl.
A whisper starts near the coffee station.
A glance.
A laugh.
Someone looks away too quickly.
My stomach twists.
I hate this.
Not because of me.
Because of the school.
Because this is exactly what Joel Jonas wanted.
Bad publicity.
Drama.
Chaos.
And apparently he got it.
“Move over.”
I look up.
Sabrina drops into the chair beside me.
Immediately.
Like she was afraid I'd tell her no.
A second later Sister Agnes sits down too.
I nearly cry.
Actually cry.
Because suddenly I'm not sitting alone anymore.
“I'm not hungry,” I mumble.
“Good.”
I blink.
Sister Agnes takes my untouched cookie.
“Eating your feelings never solved anything.”
Then she bites into it.
I stare.
Is this real?
A nun stole my cookie.
Sabrina snorts into her drink.
“Oh, thank God.”
“What?”
“You're shocked.”
“I am shocked.”
“Good. That's your normal face.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me.
The first one all afternoon.
Sister Agnes points my cookie at me.
“Listen carefully.”
I straighten instinctively.
The woman could command armies.
“I do not care what some fool writes in a newspaper.”
My eyes sting.
“Sister—”
“No.”
She points again.
“You have conducted yourself with dignity.”
The lunchroom noise seems to fade.
“You have served this school faithfully.”
Point.
“You have loved these children.”
Point.
“You have worked yourself half to death trying to save this gym project.”
She takes another bite.
The combined scent of vanilla, sugar, and chocolate is irresistible.
And I’m regretting not getting to it first.
“If anyone has a problem with that, they may come speak to me.”
Something dangerous flashes in her eyes.
Something very nun-like.
And also very mob boss-like.
Sabrina squeezes my hand beneath the table.
“I told you.”
“Told me what?”
“Never mess with Sister Agnes.”
The nun nods solemnly.
“She's correct.”
I laugh despite myself.
And for a little while?
Things don't seem so terrible.
Unfortunately, lunch ends.
Reality returns.
And by one-forty-five, my nerves are stretched thinner than kindergarten construction paper.
I'm standing in the teachers' lounge refilling my coffee mug when the door opens.
Mr. Reynolds walks in.
The new math substitute.
Tall.
Mid-forties.
Smug.
The kind of man who mistakes confidence for charm.
“Miss Donahue.”
I nod politely.
“Mr. Reynolds.”
His eyes drift over me.
Lingering.
Too long.
My shoulders tense.
“So, um, I understand things are a little different around here for some members of staff. Informal, if you will.”
I freeze.
Ah.
There it is.
He’s obviously talking about the article.
The gossip.
The judgment.
I set my mug down.
Slowly.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs.
“Just wondering what you had to do to get everyone to overlook that headline.”
My stomach drops.
Then comes the smile.
The one that makes my skin crawl.
“Maybe if you're free later, we could have a drink and discuss it.”
Before I can answer, he reaches out.
His finger slides down my arm.
I immediately step back—every nerve ending is firing at the wrongness of it.
“No, thank you.”
His smile widens.
“Come on.”
The room suddenly feels very small.
“Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.”
The deep voice cuts through the tension like a knife.
Father Peter.
He’s standing in the doorway.
Hands folded.
Expression pleasant.
Eyes absolutely lethal.
The substitute jerks his hand away.
“Father.”
“Your period is about to begin.”
The priest smiles—and it’s the kind of smile sharks probably use.
“You know, Mr. Reynolds, I don't think Mary's fiancé would appreciate your invitation.”
I blink.
My what now?
Father Peter continues.
“Though I'm sure you intended it as a professional meeting of course.”
Mr. Reynolds suddenly looks very uncomfortable.
“Of course, Father.”
“Excellent.”
The priest nods.
“Because after that unfortunate incident with Councilman Jonas, well, let’s just say her fiancé strikes me as the jealous type.”
Oh dear.
“Unfortunate incident? Oh, um, yes completely professional invitation, of course,” Mr. Reynolds says.
And I know exactly what he's thinking.
He’s undoubtedly heard about the punch.
And he's not wrong to be nervous.
Not even a little.
Mr. Reynolds mumbles something else and flees the lounge.
The second he's gone, I stare at Father Peter.
The priest calmly pours himself coffee.
Adds cream.
Stirs.
Like he didn't just casually drop a grenade into my day.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“I think you might be mistaken.”
“About what, Miss Donahue?”
“Well, you said fiancé?”
He sips his coffee.
“Oh. Did I say fiancé?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Hmm.”
“Father Peter.”
He smiles into his mug.
The smile of a man entirely too pleased with himself.
“Well, I suppose I must have heard it somewhere that you and that fine young man were getting married.”
“Married?”
What the who now?
I think I might actually die on the spot.
“These things do happen, Miss Donahue.”
I’m gaping at the priest—my boss, actually—because what parallel universe did I just walk into?
No.
No way.
This is so not good.
“Um, actually, these things do not just happen. Not to me, Father,” I scramble to explain.
“I think you will find miracles—and let’s face it, love is a miracle—actually do tend to occur around Catholic schools.
And I do believe, Miss Donahue, you may be experiencing your own little miracle right now.
But best save the announcement for when your young man is here to celebrate with you, eh? ”
I stare.
My heart is pounding, pulse is racing—and I might actually faint.
Did he say love?
Is that even possible?
Do I love Kai?
No. Absolutely not.
This is just a little fun—right?
Um... well…
Oh. Shit.
He chuckles.
Actually chuckles.
Then pats my shoulder.
“Don't worry, my dear. I am always available to you.”
“Father—”
“Oh, and might I offer my congratulations? Kai Montego is a good man at that.”
I freeze.
Because suddenly this isn't funny anymore.
The old priest's expression softens.
“You know, he talks about you like you're precious to him, my dear. Simply precious.”
“He does?”
My throat tightens.
“Indeed, and that's become increasingly rare these days.”
Before I can respond, he heads for the door.
Leaving me standing there.
Speechless.
Completely speechless.
Because now I have to explain to Kai that somehow our fake dating scheme has evolved into an engagement rumor.
And knowing this town?
By Friday, we'll probably have three children and a golden retriever.
Dear Lord, how did I get myself into this mess?
Maybe I should call him first and explain.
That’s probably a good idea.
Before Sister Agnes starts planning the wedding.