The dazzling morning sunlight did nothing tobrighten Mark’s mood.He’d seen too much the night before.At firsthe’d been confused, there in his darkened car, when he’d seen thefriend heading off to the bar without Cain.Mark had been planningto follow them and find more incriminating evidence, but what washe supposed to do if Cain stayed inside?Then the blonde had shownup, making it crystal clear what Cain had been waiting for.Markwas still replaying it in his mind: the way the woman had leanedinto Cain, her hands twining through his scruffy hair, her bodypractically writhing against his, promising even more pleasure oncethey were behind closed doors.
Jimmy had liked blondes.He’d liked them alot, too much to ever settle down with just one.He’d made theirmom antsy, waiting for grandkids from the only son likely toprovide them.Mark felt guilty now, not only for his ownreproductive probabilities but for the secret relief he’d alwaysfelt about Jimmy not rushing into anything.He’d thought Jimmy wastoo irresponsible, but it had just beenjoie de vivre,really, a natural enthusiasm for life.He would have risen to thechallenge of fatherhood, and if he’d been at home with his kids hewouldn’t have been out in the bar.
But that was blaming the victim.It wasn’tJimmy’s fault.He had every right to go to a bar, and he shouldhave been safe there.He would have been safe if he hadn’t run intothe killer who was now loose, messing around with a woman of justthe sort Jimmy would have been attracted to.Cain was the cause ofall this suffering.
And Cain hadn’t broken the rules of hisparole the night before, but that was just one night.Besides, he’dcertainly broken the spirit of the rules.He was supposed to beliving carefully, mindfully, not carousing with scantily cladwomen.
Mark rubbed a hand roughly over his face andtried to think of the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep.Notsince Cain had been released, certainly.Had that only been twonights?It felt like he’d been worrying about this for much longer.Since he’d first heard that Cain was being considered for parole,probably.He’d managed to push his anger down for a while, but ithad still been there, nibbling on his heart.
He forced himself to step out of his car andwalk into the back of the church where the offices were found.Hewas the junior priest and was happy to spend most of his time inthe field, using his energy for good works instead of bureaucracy,but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some paperwork he should betaking care of.
He’d been at his desk for about five minutesand was in the middle of figuring out whether the halfway house hadreally spent almost five hundred dollars on toilet paper when heheard a soft knock on his open door.He looked up to see therector.
“Terry.Hi.Do you think it’s possible thatthe staff at Donovan Street are selling toilet paper on the blackmarket?”
Terry’s smile was uncharacteristicallyforced.“I doubt it.”He sat stiffly in the chair across the deskfrom Mark.
“Do I want to hear whatever you’re about tosay?”
“Probably not.”The rector shifted in hisseat, then said, “I’m sorry, Mark, but the bishop has decided tosend Andrew Seally to the Inclusion and Integrity panel instead ofyou.”
Mark waited for that to make sense, but itwasn’t happening.“Andrew Seally?He has three kids.He irons hisjeans.I think he’s the straightest person I’ve even met.”
“He’s a good priest, and he cares deeplyabout the issues.”
“As deeply as I do?”
“Maybe.Maybe not.But it’s not just aboutcaring, Mark.You know how delicate the situation is.The communionis dissolving over this issue internationally, and it’s hardlyclear sailing even domestically.The bishop’s decision isn’t ajudgment against you as a person or a priest.It’s just a sign thathe wants someone…” Terry paused, searching for the right words.“Maybe you’re right, and Andrew cares a little less than you do.Maybe that’s what the bishop wants, someone who will treat it as atheological and political issue, not a personal crusade.”
“I want to speak to him.The bishop.”Markstood as if he were planning to charge off right then.He grippedthe back of his chair with both hands in order to keep himselfstill.
Terry stayed in his seat.“I’m sure he’d behappy to discuss his decision with you, but I sincerely doubt he’sgoing to change it.Why don’t you wait a few days until you’vegotten some perspective?”
“Perspective?What perspective will I need tomake myself happy with this decision?”
For the first time, Terry’s voice was alittle sharp.“Perhaps you need to approach the issue with morehumility.We are here to serve God, not ourselves.If God wishedyou to be given this post, he would have seen to it that youreceived it.As you have not received it, we can only assume thatGod did not will it so.”
“Unless He wants to see how hard I’ll fightfor what I believe in.Unless He’s testing me, testing the Churchitself.Where’s the humility in a group of Christians judginganother group for trying to live according to the way God madethem?”
“You’re shouting, Mark.”Terry stood andcircled around the desk, and Mark wanted to run away.He forcedhimself to stay still, though, and Terry’s hand on his shoulderwasn’t as oppressive as he’d anticipated.“I know you’redisappointed, but this is an overreaction.It’s not like you.”
Mark took a deep breath.“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry.Be well.”Terry’s smilewas gentle.“I really think you need to take some time off.I canfind someone to cover your responsibilities—”
“No!”Mark’s voice was loud again, and heforced himself to wait until he was able to speak in a normal tone.“I’d like to stay busy.My work is…”All I have,he thoughtdesperately, but he knew that saying it out loud would do nothingto convince Terry.“It’s important to me.There’s nothing to bedone about the other situation, not really.So I’d like to keepmyself distracted.”
“Perhaps a retreat.Your work is important,not just to you but to those you serve.Important enough that youshould be at your best while you’re doing it.A week or two at thepriory, maybe?You’ve spent time there before, and I know they’d behappy to have you back.”
Mark had enjoyed his previous visits.Thepeaceful silence broken only by the prayers of the monks, theopportunity to read, pray, and reflect: it had been trulyrejuvenating.But this time, going on “retreat” felt all tooliteral.Surely he should stay and fight, if not against thedecision of the bishop, then at least against that of the paroleboard.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.“And I’llleave early today.”
“Not to go and sit with your parents,” Terrysaid firmly.“Give Will a call and see if he wants to play somebasketball, or go for a run.Or if you’d rather be alone, giveyourself a mini-retreat right here.Just because you work in thebuilding doesn’t mean the church can’t be a place of sanctuary foryou when you need it.”
“Will’s at work.”
“He’s a good friend; if you need him, he’llleave the office.But if you’d rather wait until the end of theday, you could finish up here, spend some time in prayer andreflection, and meet up with him later.”
