Chapter Five
Kade
Seven Years Ago
My mother sits in the front pew, her face buried in a leather-bound Bible she’s had since she was a child.
I remember the story she told me about her mother giving her the book like it was yesterday.
Probably because it was. She really enjoys retelling the story and finds a way to work it into conversation at least once a week.
According to Mom, the Bible was handed down to her by her mother on her twelfth birthday, right after her father passed.
It was her prized possession, and everywhere she went, the Bible went.
The pages show their wear, as does this old church she grew up bringing it to.
Don’t get me wrong, even in its heyday this church was nothing like one of the fancy churches up in the Springs, but it had its appeal.
Now, it’s weathered, gray, and most would say… falling apart.
When I first took over the parish, I’d planned to renovate immediately, but given how small our congregation is, finding the money to do major renovations is challenging, even if I do all the work myself.
“Honeybun, you look stressed.” My mother glances toward me, her fragile hands still holding the book tight as she stands from the pew and makes her way over. “What’s going on? You know you can tell me anything.”
I pull her in for a hug, ignoring the slight tremor in her stance that’s getting worse and worse.
The doctors say there’s nothing to be worried about, but I see it as a sign of aging.
A sign that someday her spot in the front church pew will be empty and the family I once knew will all be officially gone.
“Just thinking about this place.” I breathe her in as I speak, the scent of leather emanating off her skin from her years of work with horses as a young adult.
“There’s so much to do. The siding needs to be replaced, the front steps need an overhaul, the windows need some upgrading before winter, and I think all of that is going to take a back seat to the roof that started leaking last weekend. ”
My mother stares up at me, her blue eyes like glass under the light shining in from the vaulted windows.
“That bake sale will bring in some money, but maybe it’s time we look into something bigger than a bake sale to generate funds.
Back when I was on the farm, if we needed work done that we couldn’t afford, we’d barter time for products or vice versa.
” She reaches her soft hand toward the hard edge of the church pew as she talks.
“Let your old mom think on it. I’m sure there are still some good ideas rattling around in there somewhere. ”
She slips down into the second-row pew as though her legs are tired, her Bible still in her hand as she stares toward the piano in the corner. “You know this place used to have a choir that sang louder than the thunder, and windows painted with colors that—”
“Turned the sunshine into stories.” I grin and slide down next to her on the wooden pew.
“I remember the pictures you showed me. I’d love to get windows back in here like that again someday soon.
” I kiss the top of her head and wrap my arm around her shoulder.
“How are you? I know today is extra hard.”
“Oh,” she sighs, still staring ahead. “Today’s not a day I like to remember, but it’s a day, nonetheless. I’m lighting candles and making Bree’s favorite chocolate cake, like usual. I’m sure you’ll be stopping by.”
“I will,” I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “This memory popped up on my photo reel yesterday. You remember that night I convinced Bree to take Dad’s bike out for a joyride with me?”
Mom shakes her head and stares at the old photo.
We used it as part of Bree’s memory board after she passed.
I’m not sure what it was about this picture I loved so much, but I needed a copy on my phone.
We took it back when selfies were a shot in the dark, and our faces are the only things in frame, but still, the brightness in our eyes and the giddy grins tell a story.
A story I still feel every time I look at this picture.
“You two made your dad and I so angry that night. Anything could’ve happened to you. That bike was a death trap.”
She’s not wrong. I found out later that the brake line was leaking, though it didn’t cause a single problem while we were out for our little joyride.
“Yeah, but we made it back safe, and Bree retold that story at every family event from then on out.”
“She always was a rebel.” Mom smiles reflectively, still staring at the picture of my sister and I acting like the teenagers we were at the time. “You remember your dad that night?”
“You mean the way he ripped the keys out of my hand and grounded me for life? Yeah,” I laugh, “I remember.”
“Well, when we went up to bed, he had this smirk on his face, and I knew it was because you both reminded him of himself.”
“Well,” I scrub my hand down over my face, “I don’t think he would’ve ever admitted to that.”
“Probably not, but he loved you, and he’d be so proud of the work you’re doing here.”
“You really think so? I don’t think he was the holiest of men when he passed. In fact, he seemed offended that I’d decided to join the priesthood.”
My mother pauses for a long moment before she speaks again. “He lost God when Bree died. He couldn’t understand why she’d be taken from us. It kept him up at night trying to understand how a God he’d worshipped and loved could take his daughter so young.”
I nod my head and hold my mother a little tighter. “It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years.”
“Twenty years,” my mother repeats before glancing toward me. “You know why I didn’t lose faith in God?”
I shake my head and glance down at my hands as she talks. “No, why?”
“Because I know we’ll all be together again someday. That’s what keeps me going,” a slow smile lifts her paper-thin cheeks, “and I love coming to this little church every Sunday to watch my little honeybun preach. It’s a reminder that the family has a place in heaven.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss the top of her head as the church door creaks open slowly. That’s another thing I need to fix. The hinges on the door. I’ve tried to lubricate them, and I’ve tried taking them off for a good clean, but I think it’s time they’re replaced.
I glance back at the door to see who’s stepped in and see a tall, curved woman with long, dark hair wearing a modest knee-length dress with small red flowers peppered all over the fabric.
She stands in the thin golden strips of light that cast warmth across the pine wood floors, and she’s holding a large silver tray.
I’ve been the priest at this parish for nearly twenty years, and though I don’t know everyone by their silhouettes, I know I haven’t seen this woman before.
Immediately, my thoughts go to the confessional from yesterday and the conversation I had with the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. The conversation I prayed about. The conversation where I was left with more questions than answers.
I squeeze my mother’s hand gently and stand from the pew, making my way back toward the woman still standing in the fractured light shining in from the large windows that used to tell stories, as my mother would say.
“Father Anderson,” the woman says, reaching her tiny hand out for mine as she balances the silver tray of cupcakes in the other, “I’m Wren. Wren Harlow. I was here yesterday. The girl in confession with no confession.” She smiles and my heart stalls.
Lord God in heaven, she’s gorgeous.
Not pretty, plenty of people are pretty.
No, this woman is otherworldly, like no one I’ve ever seen before, like a painting come to life.
The sharp lines in her facial structure.
Her hair laying shiny and soft on her shoulders.
The way her curves dip and bend. She’s stunning and hard to look away from.
I remind myself that I’m a man of God.
Not a man… a man of God.
A man of God that’s been very good at avoiding temptation for a very long time.
“Yes, Wren.” I hold her soft little hand in mine far too long before I finally let her go. “I’m so glad you came back.”
She nods toward the tray of cupcakes, all frosted to perfect twists and decorated with gold and silver crosses.
“The bake sale you’re having was a motivator.
I was going to decorate with the purple penises I had left over from a bachelorette party I baked for, but I figured the crosses were more appropriate. ”
I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. I really love how random this girl is. “Well, I’m sure they would’ve sold well too. There were a few romance novels being passed around at the potluck last Sunday, and given the covers, I’m pretty sure they were the racy type.”
“These potlucks sound better and better by the moment. I’m going to have to invite myself to one.”
“You should come after mass today. We lay the spread out on a few tables behind the church and eat under the oak tree back there. We have plenty of folks that love to get to know new people. Plus, the bake sale is after church as well, and by the looks of these, they’ll go fast.”
“There’s another two dozen in my car. Half pumpkin spice, half apple cinnamon. This tray is apple cinnamon. They’re my specialty.”
“Well,” I nod, every muscle in my body tight as I try not to ogle this woman like a piece of meat, “I’ll be sure and buy one. Thank you for donating. The church is hoping to save enough to put a new roof on this year.”
“A new roof,” her brows narrow, “with cupcake money? You’re going to need about fifty more trays.”
“Well, I’m hoping the donations will cover the cost of materials. I can do the labor.”
She pauses and drops her gaze like she’s shocked. “A biker priest who fixes roofs?”
“You heard I ride?”
“I saw it online when I was looking for volunteer stuff. I’m impressed. I think I imagined you as a balding man in pleated black slacks with an abnormal amount of chest hair, a penchant for crossword puzzles and bird watching.”