Chapter 2
RAFAEL
“FATHER JOHN, YOU’VE outdone yourself,” I said as I cut off another slice of freshly made sourdough bread and set it on my plate.
Several loaves lined the long wooden table where I sat with my fellow priests after a day of visiting some of our sick and elderly parishioners.
I hadn’t stopped to eat, and my stomach growled as I buttered the bread.
“Thank you, I’m enjoying it.” Father John eyed the sheer amount of loaves for the handful of us and arched a brow. “Maybe a little too much.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from us,” Father Ignatio said, dipping his sourdough into his bowl of hearty beef stew, the latter courtesy of one of the parishioners I’d visited today.
The conversation flowed around me as I focused on my meal, the voices of my fellow priests a persistent hum in the background. They were all good men and I enjoyed their company, but my mind kept drifting elsewhere, as it had all day.
Back to last night.
Back to…Alessio.
“You stayed late last night, Rafael,” Father John said, smiling softly. “Hearing confessions?”
I nodded and wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Yes, father.”
I didn’t elaborate, and I prayed he wouldn’t ask more questions. They all knew I was a night owl, and I’d explained away the late-night visitors I received occasionally—once a month, to be exact—by saying I didn’t mind hearing confessions late for those whose schedules needed accommodating.
But Father John kept looking at me like he expected me to say more, and I calmly took a sip of my water to try to avoid answering. Just thinking about last night made me think of Alessio, and that was not a path I needed to go down.
Definitely not a path I needed my fellow priests to know anything about. Alessio aside, the men who came to see me every month were not our usual parishioners, and I couldn’t imagine any of them confessing to Father John.
The poor man would probably stroke out. Especially if Lachlan opened his mouth.
When I didn’t say anything, Father Ignatio chuckled. “You’ve always been so patient. Archbishop De Vecchi said you were the same even as a boy.”
He meant it as a compliment, and I should’ve taken it as such. But for some reason, his words landed like a weight, and it was all I could do to give a polite smile.
“It’s a privilege to serve,” I said, hoping that would put an end to it, and to my relief, it did. He got caught up in the delicious taste of the stew, wondering out loud if the potatoes were red or Yukon gold.
My gaze drifted away, down to where the tapered candles flickered, and the conversation moved on to parish repairs and upcoming baptisms.
Had I really been so patient as a boy? I supposed compared to others, maybe. Well, compared to one other, in particular. The boy always by my side, through childhood, through the rough teen years. Until we’d gone our separate ways—
“Rafael?”
I blinked and turned my attention to Father John. “Sorry, what was the question?”
He smiled gently. “I asked if you were all right.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. Maybe just a bit tired.” The lie tasted wrong on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I’d never told any of them and I never would. None of it mattered now, anyway. I’d chosen my path long ago, and it had been the right thing to do.
Father John lifted the bread basket and offered it to me. “Carbs will help you sleep.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm,” I said, and helped myself to another slice.
My excuse of being tired worked, and they all carried on conversations without me, giving me the space I craved.
I didn’t want to admit the reason I wanted it, or the way memories came flooding back even as I tried to push them back into the box I’d locked them in.
Alessio.
For years he’d brought his friends to confession every month, though he refused to give his. Wouldn’t even enter the booth with me. Would barely acknowledge me outside of it.
But something had changed in the last few months, and I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good. For a while there he’d lost that spark in his eyes, and dark shadows had appeared beneath them. I wanted to ask what was wrong. What happened? How could I help?
Alessio would refuse, the way he always did when I asked him if he wanted to give confession—until one day when, without saying a word, he entered the booth.
And yet he still hadn’t spoken.
Night and day from the Alessio I knew, back when we were altar boys and he was trying to get me into mischief while we waited to play our parts.
Before I could stop it, the memory took over…
“WHAT IF I drop this candle?” It would’ve been an innocent enough question if it were from anyone other than Alessio, who was grinning at me with that mischievous look in his eyes. “You think God would get mad if I burned down the church?”
It was harder than it should’ve been to hide my smile as I shook my head. “Stop. You’ll get us in trouble.”
“Me? Never.” He knocked my arm with his elbow, and I tightened my grip on the cross I carried. Alessio lifted his chin at Father De Vecchi, making his rounds to check we were all in place. “They’d never get upset at you, anyway. Rafael the responsible. Maybe you should take the candle.”
I almost chuckled at that, but then Father De Vecchi turned to look at us and I instantly straightened.
“Rafael,” he said, and I heard Alessio snicker beside me.
“Yes, father?”
“You’re doing wonderfully today. Very reverent and pious. Your parents will be so pleased.”
I smiled proudly under his praise. I liked being singled out as doing a good job. I wanted to make the priests happy. Make my parents happy. Make God happy.
“Thank you, Father De Vecchi,” I said, and he nodded at me before his eyes shifted to Alessio.
“And you, Alessio”—his voice grew more stern and the smile dropped from his face—“should try to be more like Rafael here. Perhaps you’d do better with a little less talking and a little more listening, hmm?”
“But then how will God hear me?”
Father De Vecchi’s brow winged up at the way-too-logical question from a twelve-year-old, but the twinkle in Alessio’s eye always gave him away.
The question might be logical, but there was always an element of cheekiness there too.
“He hears everything, Alessio. You’d do well to remember that.”
The father turned to check on the rest of the children, and Alessio caught my eye as he crossed his and made a face. I grinned but quickly moved into place, my role of cross bearer one I took very seriously.
I stared at the large wooden doors ahead, the responsibility of being the crucifier one that brought a deep sense of pride and anxiety.
It was my job to lead the procession into the church and up to the altar, to be the first sign of hope and light for each parishioner who visited Father De Vecchi’s church this week, and while that was a great honor, it was one that weighed heavily on my too-young shoulders.
Alessio moved into position off to my right as the other torchbearers flanked my sides, then the organ began to play, the music signaling it was almost time.
I took in a steadying breath, and as I let it out turned to see Alessio grin and give me a thumbs-up. My eyes widened at the candle that wobbled precariously in his hands, but he quickly took control of the tapered wax with a grimace and turned to face the opening doors.
That was all I needed, a moment of reassurance from my friend to make me smile, as the opening hymn of the ceremony began and we started up the aisle with Father De Vecchi following behind.
After making our way to the front of the church, we carefully placed the cross, candles, and communion on the stands off to the sides of the altar, then took our seats on the benches.
Alessio slid into the spot beside me, and as I folded my hands in my lap he leaned in until our shoulders bumped and whispered, “Didn’t set the place on fire.”
I whipped my head to the side to see his dark eyes gleaming at me, his face so close our noses almost touched.
“Think God’s happy with me?”
“Shh,” I said.
But Alessio just chuckled and shrugged. “I think he is. I think you are too.”
“Why?”
“Because you want me to go to heaven.”
That was true. I did want Alessio to go to heaven. He was my friend, my very best friend, and—
“Heaven would be so boring without me.” He rolled his eyes and my lips twitched.
I wanted to laugh so badly at his silliness but knew now wasn’t the time.
Not when my parents were sitting in the front row, my teachers were somewhere in the church pews, and Father De Vecchi was about to start his service.
I needed to behave. God was watching and listening. That was something I believed with all my heart, and while I did think he’d be happy Alessio hadn’t set the church on fire, the service wasn’t over yet and I wasn’t sure he didn’t have something else up his sleeve to make it end early.
The thought made a smile stretch my lips as I turned back to face the gathered parishioners. But I made sure to push my leg into Alessio’s so he knew I’d heard him.
A silent sign of agreement—heaven would be boring without him.
A silent sign of friendship—I needed to make sure he was with me forever…
“ARE YOU FINISHED with your dinner, Rafael?”
The sound of my name had me blinking back to reality, where Father John was standing beside me, gesturing to my empty plate.
“Oh, sorry, yes.” I picked up my plate and handed it to him. “Thank you. This week must’ve finally caught up with me.”
“I’d say so. I was worried you might pass out in your stew.”
I chuckled as he made his way down the long table, picking up and stacking the empty bowls.
“No need to worry, though,” Father Ignatio said. “We were ready to jump in and save you. No drowning in beef stew on our watch.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Thank God, indeed. However, you might want to take the night off? Let someone else take any late-night visitors.”
I nodded, knowing full well Alessio and his brothers wouldn’t be stopping by, since they’d visited just last night.
“Would you like some help?” I asked as Father John made his way to the kitchen door.
“No, no, I’ve got this. You need to go and get some rest.”
“I think you might be right,” I said, and got to my feet.
I pushed in the chair and looked around the table at my brothers, my fellow priests, and couldn’t help wonder what kind of night Alessio was having with his brothers.
Something very different, I was sure. “A good night’s sleep is exactly what I need. ”
But as they all waved their goodbyes to me, and I headed out of the dining hall to the church grounds and my residence, the rectory, I wasn’t sure if a good night’s sleep was possible.
Not when all I could seem to think about was the young boy with dark eyes who’d made me smile, and the man with dark, long hair who made my heart and body…ache.