Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
“So you’ve been keeping out of trouble?”
Terry made a face. “Silly expression, sorry. I meant, what have you
been doing with your time?”
It had been over a week since Mark had been
put on leave, and there had been no word about how or if things
were progressing at the diocese. So mostly he’d been spending his
time trying not to go crazy, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t
what Terry wanted to hear. “Reading. Praying. Visiting my father,
helping my mother. Meditating. Exercising. I was planning on giving
the apartment a good cleaning, but I honestly haven’t had the
time.”
That was all true, but Mark left out the part
where he’d been going out to Elise’s farm every day, spending
several hours helping with the animals. The place was called a
sanctuary for good reason, but Terry might not understand why Mark
was voluntarily spending that much time with Lucas Cain. Mark
wasn’t sure he understood it himself. But what he hid from Terry
he’d had to admit to himself: the trip to the farm had become the
highlight of his day. Neither the animals nor Lucas Cain had any
expectations of Mark. They accepted what he had to give without
conditions, and from Cain, at least, Mark could always expect a
smile and quiet thanks. The animals tended to be a little less
polite, but no less sincere.
“So, yes, keeping out of trouble. Have you
heard from the diocese?” He tried to sound casual as he asked the
question.
Terry seemed to need to think about how to
answer it. “Not really,” he finally said. “A few phone calls asking
for clarification, but that’s all.”
“I’ll just continue with my paid vacation,
then.”
Terry ignored the bitterness in his tone. “I
think so, yes. It sounds like you’re using the time well.” He
leaned forward a little. They were sitting in his office and there
was no one in the outer foyer to hear, but he lowered his voice
anyway. “Mr. Wilson is continuing to agitate. He’s bypassed me now
and is dealing with the diocese directly. I understand the bishop
has met with him, and I think the bishop is speaking to…well,
certainly to the metropolitan, and possibly to the primate.”
The primate was the national leader of the
church. This silly issue, this paranoid nonsense from a homophobic
father…this was going to the national level? Mark sank back in his
seat. He tried to find his center, that calm and peaceful place he
could reach after prayer or meditation, but he couldn’t do it.
“It’s just so ridiculous,” he muttered.
“It’s a small part of the whole,” Terry
corrected. “It’s difficult for you, I know, but this is part of a
larger struggle the church is going through.”
“Well, I wish they could do it without
me!”
“I’m sure you do.” Terry’s smile was wry. “I
have a meeting in ten minutes. Apparently the choir needs new robes
again. But do you have time to pray with me?”
It was a simple request, one Terry had made
many times and Mark had never refused. But this time, he stood.
“No. I’m sorry. I don’t…I’m not in the right state of mind.”
“I find that I need prayer most when I’m
upset,” Terry said quietly. It was a line Mark had used himself
with parishioners, and it was almost always effective.
But not this time. “I’ll pray,” he said. “As
I have been doing. And, Terry, I’ll always be honored to pray with
you. But in this building, right now? This should be a holy place.
It’s always been that for me. But right now? No. I’m sorry, but I
won’t pray with you right now. Not here.”
Terry looked at him for a moment before
nodding sadly. “I can see how you could feel that way. I hope…Mark,
I hope we can find a way to mend this. It would be a great loss if
we couldn’t.”
“Well, there’s no point in trying to sew it
up now, not while the diocese is still ripping.”
“I don’t think it’s personal, Mark.”
“It is to me.” But Terry wasn’t the one
putting Mark through it all. So he reached out a hand for Terry to
shake and managed a smile as he headed for the door. “Let me know
if anything comes up, okay?”
He was trotting down the steps outside the
church when he saw the Pattersons approaching from the sidewalk.
They were an elderly couple, members of the church since before
Mark’s parents were born, and they made several visits a week. Mark
had grown up as a member of the congregation, and been a priest
there for years, but they’d never said more to him than was
absolutely required. It was one of those things that he’d always
tried to not be bothered by. Maybe they were homophobes, maybe they
were just grumpy. Maybe they disliked him for some reason entirely
unrelated to his sexuality. It was his job to act professionally,
to ensure that he was welcoming and ready to help without making
them uncomfortable by his presence.
But as the diocese had made crystal clear—he
wasn’t allowed to be doing his job, not right then. “Mrs.
Patterson! That’s a lovely dress!” He scooted sideways across the
broad stone stairs until he was standing in their path. “It really
brings out your eyes. And Mr. Patterson, is that a new tie? Very
dapper.”
They stopped in their tracks. Mrs. Patterson
looked nervously at her husband, who stared at Mark as if he were
something growing in the bottom of the compost bucket.
“And such a lovely day for a walk! Not too
hot yet, but I bet it’ll be a scorcher by this afternoon.” Mark
beamed at them. “Do you have plans for the rest of the day?
Anything interesting on the horizon?”
Mark couldn’t explain the strange excitement
he felt when he thought they were going to snub him entirely. It
was as if their silence was feeding a tiny flame inside of him, a
fire he hadn’t known existed. It flickered but didn’t die when Mr.
Patterson growled, “What’s gotten into you, boy?”
Mark laughed. “I don’t usually talk this
much, do I? I guess it just seemed silly all of a sudden, thinking
about how long we’ve known each other, and how little we ever
say.”
“Silly?” Mr. Patterson looked at his wife.
“It’s not silly.”
Mark knew he should walk away. Instead, he
cocked an eyebrow. “Three mature adults, living in the same town,
worshipping the same god at the same church, and we can’t chat a
little? It seems silly to me.”
Mrs. Patterson’s eyebrow raise made Mark’s
look like a mere twitch. “I beg your pardon, young man! As if…” Now
her brows dropped from their mighty height into the trough of a
fierce scowl. “As if we don’t have good reason.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Patterson, but I think I
need you to explain a little more. Could you tell me what that
reason is?” Mark kept his voice level and smooth.
Mr. Patterson drew himself up. “We won’t play
your games,” he said firmly. “You know what we’re talking about.
And more importantly, God knows.”
Mrs. Patterson nodded supportively. “I never
thought I’d see the day when we’d have to remind a priest of that,
but I never thought I’d see the day when someone like you was
assigned to tell people like us how to live our lives!”
Mark had rebuttals, but the flame within him
sputtered out as suddenly as it had blazed up, leaving behind cold
ashes that made him feel almost queasy. This wasn’t a surprise. He
had always known there was a faction of the congregation that
didn’t approve of him. He’d thought he wanted to hear the words,
wanted to hear the bigotry clearly expressed instead of hidden
behind disapproving but vague glares. It had been a mistake;
sometimes uncertainty was a comfort. “I suppose God is watching us
all,” he said quietly, and he turned away.
He was only a few steps away when he heard
Mr. Patterson mutter, “Sodomite.”
It made him stumble a little, as if the word
was a physical blow. He’d never been flamboyantly gay and had
generally run in quiet circles where personal insults were
considered inappropriate, but it wasn’t as if he’d never had a
homophobic slur directed toward him. But this one, so archaic, and
drawn from the same Bible that had given Mark so much peace and
joy…
He could feel the pressure building up from
his gut. It felt as if all the words of protest and anger that he’d
swallowed over the years had finally become too much and he was
going to vomit them all over the church steps. There was a moment
when he really wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to control
himself, but he managed. Instead of screaming obscenities at an
elderly couple, he forced himself to straighten his shoulders and
continue down the stairs. He would never change their minds, and he
shouldn’t let them change his standards of behavior.
He was halfway down the block before he
realized where he was going. He’d been planning on driving to the
farm, and he still wanted to do that. He wanted to take sanctuary.
But there was something else he needed to do first.
He pulled open the glass door and stepped
inside the simply furnished foyer. He was vaguely familiar with
Daniel Cohen but had never had much to do with him, certainly not
on a professional basis. The lawyer was new to town so he wouldn’t
have known Mark’s father professionally, either.
And the most important thing Mark knew?
Daniel Cohen wasn’t an Anglican.
Mark smiled at the woman behind the tall
wooden counter. “Megan, hi. I was wondering if Daniel might have a
few minutes? I’ve got a few things I’d like to ask him about.”
Employment law, the rules about defamation of character…Mark wasn’t
really sure where he wanted to start. But he was pretty sure that
he needed to start somewhere. Turning the other cheek wasn’t going
to be something he was willing to do forever.