Instead, I smile at him. Because he’s absolutely right. I am looking for him. Just not in the way he’s thinking right now.
“I just wanted to see the church,” I say.
He comes closer and I feel color rise in my cheeks as the shakes that have been plaguing me since I got to this town start again. I hope he doesn’t notice. The light in the church is dim enough that I have some hope that he might not.
He’s standing less than a foot away from me now, I can smell the incense on him, and his body odor—sour like rotten wood and sweet like candy—which I’ve known all too well once. My shakes grow worse.
“I can give you a tour, if you’d like,” he says, the inflection in his voice and the inquisitive way in which his pale grey eyes are studying my face making me think he’s starting to recognize me. Or at least that he thinks he knows me from somewhere.
I turn away from him to look at the statues lining the walls. As if that’s going to help anything. I need to get away from him. Coming this close to him was a bad idea.
“Sure,” I say in a high-pitched voice. “You have a very richly decorated church here. I’d love to know more about it.”
He laughs. It’s a sound at once pompous and humble. I remember he could do that combination very well. Had everyone fooled. Especially with the humbleness.
The church door opens and Nico comes striding in. I can’t remember the last time I was so relieved to see someone. Possibly never.
“There you are,” he says, smiling at me, but his voice is breathless and his eyes very serious, shooting daggers at Gael.
Nico walks over to me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “I see you’ve met the Father. It’s a very lovely church you have here.”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Gael says. “But I don’t know your names. I’m Father Gael.”
He extends his hand to Nico, who shakes it, introducing us as Alice and Trent Baxter again. He keeps his other armwrapped around my shoulders and my shakes are subsiding as the warmth of Nico’s body seeps into me. He’s holding me very close. I wish he were holding me closer still.
I shake hands with Gael too and feeling his clammy, cold hand in mine brings up a whole new slew of memories I wish I could forget. Good thing Nico is holding me so tight because otherwise I might very well collapse down to my knees, which are very weak right now.
“I was just about to give your wife a tour of the church,” Gael says. “As I understand it, you’re thinking of moving to the area? And I am assuming you are Catholics.”
“Yes, you are correct on both points,” Nico says, while I just nod. “And while we’d love to see your church, we have to be somewhere right now.”
He turns to me. “The real estate lady called. She has a house to show us.”
I nod and he smiles at me, with his eyes too. But they’re back to being as hard as moss-covered stones when he fixes them back on Gael.
“We’ll see you for Mass on Sunday,” Nico tells him. “We can talk more then.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Gael says. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The aggression in Nico’s eyes and voice seems to be lost on Gael. He walks us to the door, holding it open for us, nodding his head benevolently as we exit.
Nico keeps his arm firmly around my shoulders as we walk to the car. I miss it after he helps me into the passenger seat, wish he were still holding me as he gets behind the wheel and we drive off.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” I say in a quiet voice. “It was hard being alone with him.”
I don’t think I’d admit this to anyone else. I can hardly admit it to myself.
He takes my hand and squeezes. His hand is so warm, so nicely strong, so much different than the snake-like grip of Gael’s.
“I told you, I’m here for you.”
“I’m glad you are,” I say and turn my hand so I can hold his. And irrational as it is, I know I will be just fine as long as I can do that. Hold his hand, have him close. But how long can that last, when there’s nothing other than my pain and fear I can give him? Probably not long.
I don’t know a lot about Nico, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who does hard things. He likes it easy. And I’m anything but.
20
Nico
