She left the office, and I stared down at my desk and the scarred wood. I’d bought the piece of furniture secondhand at a local charity that was raising money for the homeless, thinking I was doing good, but what would’ve been better was giving them the money Ric handed to me. I couldn’t, though. What was wrong with me? Maybe Toma was right, and the old Gian was still here, waiting for his chance to show his face again. Phoenix was more than a simple test of faith from God—if I lost to temptation, I wouldn’t deserve to be a priest, would prove Ric and Toma right, and show them I was no better than the man before the accident.
Shaking my head, I rose from my chair and grabbed the laundry bag Phoenix had dropped, and then I locked my office on the way out. My thoughts were still heavy as I walked right into the hall where Phoenix was standing at one of the long tables that had been set up. He was helping Sister Mary, and while the gray-haired nun wasn’t scary in the least, his head was bowed, and his shoulders slumped forward in a way that made me think he was in defensive mode. I’d never seen him like this in the short time since I’d met him, and it confused me. Did he trust me but not the Sisters of Mercy?
The moment he tilted his head and saw me he lit up, straightening and brushing a hand through his shoulder-length hair, which messed it up slightly and made him look even more adorable. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible, but I was wrong.
Sister Mary hummed and glanced in my direction. “Oh, Father Gian, I wondered what cheered Phoenix up.” She always sounded happy and brightened everyone’s day. She’d been here the longest and was one of the oldest nuns we had, second only to Sister Colleen.
“Sister Mary, may I steal Phoenix from you? I’d like to take him somewhere for food. He must be hungry by now.” I gave her my best smile.
She chuckled and patted Phoenix’s elbow. “Of course, he’s too skinny. Feed him well.”
“I will.” I winked at Phoenix. “What do you say? We’ll get some food?”
“Yes, Dad—Father.” His eyes widened, and Sister Mary glanced at me in confusion, but I shifted the laundry bag so that I could gently take Phoenix’s arm, then led him out of the hall and back into the church before we went down the aisle and out the front door.
The midday sun beat down on us and the humidity was already too high, but that was Louisiana. I’d lived here my entire life and didn’t know anything else. Luckily I liked the heat, but the humidity was another story.
I didn’t miss the way Phoenix raised his face toward the sun like a flower uncurling after winter, closing his eyes and smiling as though he relished the heat against his face. If I had to guess why he was acting like this, it would be that he hadn’t been allowed outside much, and that broke my heart. Nobody was more cowardly than a person who raised their hand or used their words against their partner.
“Do you like being outside?” I slowly led him along the sidewalk toward one of my favorite restaurants.
“I love the feeling of the sun on my face,” he said, lighting up in a way that made him brighter than the daylight.
St. Michael’s was on Piccadilly Street in East St. Loren, and while it was in what was considered the poorest zip code in our city, which sat across Lake Salvador from New Orleans—and then a tad west—I found this part welcoming. Hardworking families lived in small houses they’d made their own, and neighbors said hello to each other. There were always gangs of kids who thought they ran the streets, but I liked to believe the good outweighed the bad.
The houses on either side of the wide street looked the same—small, box-like homes with plastic siding. They alternated green and then blue and had three stone steps with black railings that led to the front door. Some of the houses were worse for wear, sporting broken windows held together by duct tape, while others had cute flower beds in the narrow patch of lawn between their home and the sidewalk. People did their best with what they had, from what I could see.
“Where are we going to eat?” Phoenix asked, waving at a little old lady who sat on a porch swing in front of one of the houses. She fluttered her fingers back at him.
“There is a place called Big Jim’s around the corner. He has the best parm and butter-broiled oysters and po’boys you could ask for,” I said with a laugh. When it came to fried-shrimp po’boys at Big Jim’s I was like a kid on Christmas morning. The sandwich shop had been around since before I was born. Jim was a local man who made the best food I’d ever tasted, and even though it was carbs stuffed with carbs and I had to work out extra hard after eating something from his place, it was worth it.
“Po’boys?” He bounced on his toes and laughed. “I haven’t had a po’boy in years—more than years. I think the last time I had one was with Mom.” The excitement disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and his smile dwindled until his supple mouth was turned down. He looked away.
“Where is your mom?” I asked, hoping to get a response out of him as we turned the corner. Big Jim’s was only a few buildings down, and my belly growled at the thought of getting some delicious French bread into my mouth.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.
We passed one of my parishioners, Eleanor Harrison, who waved excitedly at me, and I had no choice but to stop and talk with her. Phoenix stilled beside me, and when I introduced him, he said a shy hello, but she wouldn’t let us go again until I mentioned we had little time left to get lunch.
“Sorry about that.” I chuckled. “When you’re a priest, someone’s always stopping you to talk.”
“Are you the only priest at the church?” he asked, as we finally reached the small sandwich shop.
“There is one more—Father Malachi Eaton. He helps me out when I’m busy, and we split duties for christenings, weddings, and funerals. He’s a good man. When you meet him, call him Father Malachi. We both go by our first names so people will be comfortable approaching us.” He probably had as many secrets as I did, which was why we often found ourselves confessing to each other.
Big Jim’s was a hole-in-the-wall with only five tables, a laid-back atmosphere, and cheap grub. Inside was a cramped space, but it was worth the trouble of knocking into people to buy something. The interior was decorated in oranges and browns, with brick walls and a few funny images of cartoon shrimp hanging up for everyone to laugh at. Luckily for us it was a slow day and we managed to snag a table and two chairs in the far right corner. I sat Phoenix down, dropping his bag next to the table, before I took my own seat and rubbed my hands together.
“You’re going to love this. What do you want on your po’boy? Please tell me you enjoy seafood, or my heart might break.” I laughed.
He cocked his head and frowned, hurt passing over his pale face. “Would you... disown me if I didn’t, Daddy?”
I blinked, completely forgetting about the entire Daddy thing for a long moment, and when I remembered, I wasn’t sure that was any better. I’d let Phoenix call me that because I thought it was a step forward in easing toward his recovery, but now I was questioning myself. I couldn’t be a replacement for his ex. He’d made me breakfast this morning and rushed to get my coffee, and a sinful part of me... enjoyed being attended to like I was special.
I held back a groan at my thoughts and forced a smile. This was already too far gone, and although I knew I should put a stop to his gentle admiration, I didn’t. “Never. You can eat whatever you want.”
He brightened again and grabbed a menu from between the salt and pepper shakers. While he browsed the list, I stared at him. I’d never met a man who acted as if his greatest pleasure was pleasing the person he thought of as his Daddy. It could be a symptom of his abuse, and I felt bad for letting him think of me that way. Why was I allowing it? Would it help? Hurt? Who knew?
