Prologue
Noah
“So let me recap here.” Sitting behind his desk, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief, Father George regarded me. “In the not-quite-a-year since last I saw you—at which time you were adamant that you were not interested in dating again, in having any kind of relationship on a, uh, romantic level, despite your mother’s insistence to the contrary—since then, you’ve met a woman, enjoyed her company a few times, then had surgery that resulted in you being in a coma for several weeks . . . found out that you can’t play football anymore, embarked on a self-destructive journey that included a casual relationship with a woman who you’re not sure you care for, alienated many of your friends and most of your family . . . and now you’ve learned that during the time you were seeing the first woman—the one whose company you enjoyed—you fathered a child.” He spread his hands wide over the blotter on his desk. “Does that about cover it?”
I closed my eyes and leaned my head on the back of the leather chair set up for the priest’s visitors. “Yeah, I think you hit the high points.”
“And you’re here seeing me again because . . .”
“Because Alison—the one who’s carrying my baby—insisted that I needed to have some counseling before she’ll let me be part of our child’s life.” I paused. “Our child who has not yet been born, that is. She said I’d been doing a great job of screwing up my own life, and she wants me to be sure of my intentions before she allows me to take, uh—” I formed quotation marks with my fingers. “‘A more active role in the pregnancy.’ I want to be with her, to do whatever I can to support her. So if she says I need to talk to you, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Oh, Noah.” Father George sat back in his chair. “For someone who planned to be alone for the rest of his life, things have certainly taken an unexpected turn.”
“Tell me about it.” Most days, I felt as though I was living in the middle of a soap opera.
“How did your family react to this news? About the baby, I mean.”
I glanced down at my lap. “I haven’t told them. My mom . . . we haven’t been in touch since I was in the hospital.” I cleared my throat. “It’s possible I was slightly out of control then. I told her to go back to Wisconsin and not to call me until I called her.”
“What about your brothers and sisters?”
I shrugged. “They all took her side, of course. They’ve been texting and calling, telling me that I’m a rotten son, that I need to get my shit together and apologize, that I’m hurting her . . .” My throat swelled. I regretted what had gone down between Mom and me—I’d regretted it almost right away. But she’d been in my face, never leaving my side—smothering me. And the woman didn’t take subtle hints. No, it had to be a direct order for her to understand.
“Okay.” The priest was quiet for several beats. I wasn’t sure if he was checking in with the Big Guy or what. Maybe he was simply digesting everything I’d just spewed out within the first fifteen minutes of being in his office.
When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “Noah, how do you feel about the prospect of becoming a father?”
I blew out a long breath. “I wasn’t sure at first. Finding out was a real shock. It feels like everything has happened so fast—one day, I was trying to get my life together, taking the first steps in . . . I don’t know, making things right again. And then the next thing I knew, Alison was on my porch, telling me that she was pregnant and I was the father.” I winced a little. “I might not have taken it well. I was so stunned . . . it just never occurred to me.”
“Do you mean that fatherhood, in general, was something you hadn’t planned on, or that having a baby with Alison was the bigger surprise?” He flipped over a piece of paper on the legal pad in front of him. “You and your wife . . . Angela were planning a family when she got sick, weren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I always thought that Ang and I would have kids one day. It was just a matter of when. But when Angela died, that dream died, too. I figured it would always be me, alone—maybe I’d be that favorite uncle, you know? The one who slips cash to the nieces and nephews and gives them candy when their mom says no.”
“Then this is an unexpected opportunity, isn’t it?” Father George smiled gently. “Sometimes those are the best kind.”
“Yeah. Maybe. I guess.” I ducked my head. “The weird thing is that when I was with Alison at the wedding—and then when we were together afterward—I had thought that I could see us having a future together. Life. A family, eventually. I mean, those thoughts were pretty vague, I hadn’t considered actually having kids, but it was there in theory.”
“That’s good. That’s positive,” the priest encouraged. “You’d thought about a future with Alison. Now you have the chance to make it happen.” He rested his elbows on the edge of his desk. “I know you’re not deeply religious, Noah, but allow me to make an observation borne of years as a man of the cloth.”
I rolled my hand. “Go ahead. You won’t offend me. I don’t mind religion.”
Father George quirked one eyebrow. “I’m so relieved,” he said dryly. “All right. If you subscribe to a belief that everything happens for a reason—”
“Which I don’t,” I cut in. “Remember? I told you that when we talked the first time. I hate that idea.”
“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s put it another way. Let’s take something from Scripture. ‘We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God—those whom he has called according to his plan.’” He gave a small nod. “That’s Romans 8:28, in case you want to look it up later. The idea is that things work out as they’re meant to if we trust that God only wants the best for us. So, in your case, this pregnancy, this child, may very well be your way forward into the life you’re meant to have. You didn’t plan for a baby, but here it is, in your life, demanding that you make a choice.”
“What choice is that?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea what the priest was going to say.
“The choice to be your better self—the man you can be. The man you are meant to be. That’s what this child will call forth in you. I haven’t known you long, Noah, and perhaps I don’t know you well, but I believe I can make an assessment based on your honesty during our conversations. Your natural state is one of goodness. In other words, you’re not the villain of your story. You’re the hero.”
I frowned. “I don’t feel like a hero.”
“That makes sense. Real heroes usually don’t recognize their own worth.” Father George nodded. “I believe that we humans have pivotal moments. Times when we turn one way or the other . . . and it is our choices that make all the difference.”
I digested that idea for a few minutes. “I guess I understand that. I also know that for me, when it comes to the baby Alison’s carrying, there is no choice. I’m the baby’s father. I’m going to do everything and anything I can to give this kid the best of . . . the whole world. Loving parents. Stability. Every opportunity possible.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m not sure you understand that not every man would have the same reaction to a surprise pregnancy. Some might run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Some might agree to support the child financially only.” He studied me. “We’ve talked a lot about your feelings for the child. How about the woman who’s having the baby?”
