Andrew frowned.
“But I’ll feel better after our conversation sinks in. Plus, I’ll call Gabby. Maybe she’ll have time to chat. I haven’t told her what happened.”
“That’s a good plan,” Andrew said. “Her perspectives in the past have usually been helpful.”
“Sorry again about tonight. You look nice.” I admired Andrew wearing a lavender dress shirt with the top buttons left open. He had a dark navy sport jacket over the back of his chair. He was cleanshaven and had chiseled features that were almost too sharp but on him looked handsome… sexy even. Like he’d be the dominant in a power exchange relationship.
“Thank you,” Andrew said. “Anything else?”
I blushed and hurried to say, “No, I’m good. Bye, Andrew.”
I decided to call Gabby tomorrow. Mamma had invited me for Sunday dinner. I wouldn’t be able to bring her favorite pastries from Noto’s, though. When I’d stopped by before workyesterday morning to get biscotti for Frank, there was a notice on the door that had made me smile.
Marco & Luca are on vacation with family in Italy from June 6 through June 27.
We plan on returning with inspired new recipes for you!
In the meantime, we apologize for the limited menu but please give our new pastry chef, Caesar, a warm Noto welcome!
When I thought back on the notice, combined with Andrew’s encouraging words, I figured if Luca could be happy, then I would eventually find my happy ending, too. Although, Monday couldn’t come soon enough.
When my phone rang, I jumped to answer it. I was on my lunch break and had asked Andrew to call right at noon. “Andrew, what did they say?”
Andrew delayed and I knew that he had bad news. “I’m sorry, Ethan. Jude’s gone.”
I tried to keep myself composed, but I couldn’t and only stammered. “B-but… but how c-could the transfer happen so fast?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew said. “I spoke to the woman who used to be his secretary.”
“Inés,” I said automatically.
“She informed me that she was relaying what was told to her.” Andrew sighed. “Are you going to be all right, Ethan?”
“I’m not sure,” I answered honestly. “But being at work is the best place for me. I’ll keep busy. And tonight, Gabby toldme to come over. And…” A tear drop fell onto my cheek, and then another as I hastily wiped them away. I’d taken my lunch bag outside on a patio reserved for employees. But when the call came in, I’d excused myself from the two men who had been sitting with me. “Andrew,” I croaked. “I never should have kicked him out. I’ve lost him.”
“Ethan,” Andrew said softly, his tone filled with compassion, “I have a feeling that Jude wanted to get lost.”
TWELVE
JUDE
When I recovered enoughfrom my meltdown after Ethan kicked me out, I had only one thought in mind. Run. Sitting at my desk in the parish office, I had to compose three letters. Before I began typing, I brought up mental images of my confession to Bishop Sanchez. After the fiasco at the communion rail with Ethan, I had phoned the bishop, telling him that I had an emergency and needed to confess what had taken place during mass.
Upon entering the bishop’s home, I immediately sensed his usual friendly demeanor was replaced with a silent anger, given his straight-lipped mouth and clipped speech. He’d led me to an intimate meditation room with an altar filled with religious articles. A pair of straight-back chairs parallel to each other were in the corner of the room, divided by a privacy screen. The bishop had gestured for me to sit on a chair. It had a small round table in front of it upon which lie a lit candle and a Bible.
He'd made the sign of the cross and I was so anxious that I just spilled everything out, forgetting about decorum. Thebishop’s disgust was obvious as he struggled to keep his voice down despite his face turning so red, I thought he might have a heart attack. “You will cease all communication with the man.”
“He’s a parishioner,” I had argued. “What happens when he shows up at the confessional?”
The bishop scowled. “You are on suspension starting now, Father Jude. You will not be hearing confessions nor giving out communion. Father Greg will be taking over your clerical duties while you sit in prayer and beg for God’s forgiveness.”
At that moment, I knew that I was going to run. So, I played the part of the repentant sinner, which softened the bishop’s demeanor. When I left his house, I assured him that I’d do what was right. The older man had patted me on the shoulder. “That’s good to hear, Father.” And then I left.
Now, in front of my laptop, I started a document withDear Bishop Sanchez. The letter was brief, merely notifying him that I left the Church. I assured him that the only things I took were my personal belongings. Lastly, I typed that I was doing what was best for me.
The second letter was to Father Matthew, saying much the same.
The third letter, to my parents, was the hardest. I began by saying how sorry I was but as soon as I read over what I’d written, the words sounded wrong. I wasn’t sorry, and maybe for the first time in my life, I wanted to be honest. Instead, I explained that the bishop denied my petition to laicize and the fact of never being free made me certain that I needed to leave. Obviously, I said nothing about Ethan or what I’d done. When I wrote that I wasn’t sure where I was heading to, I was telling the truth.
