Father King
Episode 14
Thanks for coming along on the ride. This is the final episode in Book One. Have fun, read it from the beginning if you got lost, and if you enjoyed it, share it with a friend.
When Marcy arrived, Father King was in the kitchen making dinner.
“Marcy we need to talk.”
“No fucking kidding.”
“Don’t start. I have some big decisions to make and I really want to hear what you think.”
“That’s a first.”
“I’m not kidding.”
Father King turned from the stove and looked at Marcy. She took a step closer to him, bumping into one of the kitchen chairs. Father King reached to steady her and pulled her to him.
“You’re not going to..”
“I’d like to,” he said.
“Father King…remember? Father….”
“I want to leave the priesthood. I have to find Boyle. I have to help my father…even though it sounds crazy to call him that.”
Marcy pulled away. “You’re serious.”
“Come with me to Bad Flats tomorrow. I have to go up to the school to talk to Boyle. Then I have to go see Walsh. I think he’s got something in mind for me to help him solve this. He said he’d help my father.”
“You just want me to not go to work and take off with you upstate somewhere?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Why?”
“You’re good fun. And you’re tough.”
“That it?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok. I’ll call work in the morning.”
“Where am I sleeping tonight?”
“Where do you want to sleep?”
Father King turned off the stove, took Marcy’s hand and led her upstairs.
***
Father King woke up in an empty bed. He heard Marcy in the kitchen downstairs. He looked around the room, filling with late summer sunlight. Comfortable bed, he thought. Wider than the one we had together. Floral sheets, closet stuffed with clothes.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
Father King sat upright at the sound of the voice. A perfume bottle rattled on Marcy’s dresser.
“How much repentance am I gonna do for this one?”
The bottle sprayed Shalimar into the air. “Elias, that’s up to you. What I want to know is what are you going to do now?” asked the Lord.
“I wish I knew, Lord. I want to help my father. I know that. I want to make sure James and Mike are safe. I want to find that dirtbag, Boyle. Sorry, Father.”
“I think he’s a dirtbag, too,” said the Lord.
“That’s a comfort.”
The perfume bottle rattled and then was still. “Elias, I’m glad you’ll pursue him. But what about you?”
“How would you feel if I left the priesthood? I know you told me to do this, but you know how I’ve struggled. Isn’t the other stuff enough?”
“This is one only you can answer.”
“You probably already know I want to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to try to talk me out of it?”
“Elias, only my vengeful God act can dissuade you from anything.”
“Act?”
“Don’t tempt me, Elias,” said the Voice, perfume bottle edging its way to the corner of the dresser.
“Ok, ok. I know. Omnipotent, all powerful. I’m just Elias the meek and mild…”
“So?”
“I have to leave. I have to find him and bring him in.”
“What about Marcy?”
“Marcy. I don’t know.”
“Take it slow, Elias. Reenter the secular world slowly, unlike last night.”
“I forgot you’d know about that.”
“Take it slow.” The perfume bottle rattled again and was still.
Father King dressed, gathered his bag and walked downstairs. He sat at the table in the kitchen. Marcy had the curtains over the kitchen sink closed, filtering the sunlight. She brought him a cup of coffee. He looked up at her. No sign of what she felt about things.
“Toast?”
“Yes.”
She set a plate in front of him, retrieved a jar of jam from the refrigerator and put it on the table with a knife.
“Marcy, should we talk?”
“Can’t,” she said. “Not today. Let’s just drive.”
***
They got to Bad Flats in a little over 90 minutes. Marcy got out of the car and looked at the brick monastery and adjacent school building through the chain link fence adorned with ripped white plastic bags that rippled in the midday breeze like little flags marking the boundaries of hope at the edge of an expanse of broken sidewalks and dilapidated houses.
“This is where you live?”
“It’s not so bad. The brothers are nice. Peaceful, y’know?”
“What’s next for you, Elias?”
Father King opened the creaky fence gate and motioned Marcy to go inside. He followed and secured the gate behind them. “I’m done with this, Marcy. I miss the world. “
“That’s a big decision, Elias.”
They walked down the stone path toward the school door. Father King looked at the still playground equipment, the grey stone arch over the door. When he first arrived at the school, he liked to smooth his hand over the chiseled stone as he entered. It put him close to whoever took the time to fashion the building blocks that covered what had been his sheltered world.
Marcy looked at the building looming in front of her, its massive wooden doors and black ornate hinges indicating to her that she was not welcome here. The stone edifice blotted out the sky. She thought that it must have irritated Elias to feel small looking up at the towering stone building.
“I think you should wait in the car, Marcy.”
“Bullshit, I will.”
Father King took her arm roughly and led her through the door along the colonnade that opened to a small central garden. In the heat of the summer, the coreopsis, roses and zinnias that some of the brothers tended were beginning to wilt a bit, but the boxwoods marked the layout of the formal garden. There was a bench in the center of the square next to a marble statue of a seated Christ, arm around one child and another sitting at his feet. They entered the north door and swept past several surprised brothers who stopped and watched the pair pass. Just beyond the corridor to the right that led to the chapel where vespers were sung, Father King guided Marcy to the left toward the corridor that connected the monastery to the school.
The dark stone walls gave way to a tunnel of windows and a shiny linoleum floor. Ahead, the narrow passage opened to a central lobby where the students entered. The building was quiet on the last week of summer vacation. They took a right down a hall of administrative offices. The door to Monsignor Boyle’s outer office was open and Brother Charles was busy filling papers when they entered.
“Elias…I wasn’t expecting you,” said Brother Charles, clearly surprised at Father King’s appearance, and eyeing Marcy suspiciously. “Monsignor Boyle said you wouldn’t be back this term.”
“I’m full of surprises. This is Marcy. She’s my ex-wife. Now where’s the good Monsignor? I’d like just a moment.”
“He’s on a short holiday, Elias.”
“Holiday? For how long?”
“He’s on a three week break then he’ll be back as school gets back into session.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“To see his sister in Ohio, he said.”
Marcy glanced at Elias, trying to maintain her Staten Island-forged poker face.
***
Father King and Marcy were silent for most of the drive back to Staten Island.
When they got to Marcy’s house, Elias turned off the car and sat for a moment. He looked out the windshield at her house, stuffed between two others. The alley between Marcy’s place and Lucia’s house had been cleaned up. The garbage cans, with bungee cords criss crossed over their lids sat level and tidy under the kitchen window. The closeness is good, he thought, and invasive.
“Marcy, I’m going to have to go for awhile. I will be back for you. I promise.”
“Elias, the promises. I don’t want the promises. I don’t know if you’ll be back, and you don’t either.”
“Can you take me to JFK?” He took two thick envelopes out of the inside pocket of his suit coat. “Can you mail this one to the diocese for me? I’m quitting. I’m done. No need for me to be in Bad Flats anymore or to be a priest. I was a pretty shitty one anyway.”
Elias stripped off his clerical collar and tossed it in the back seat. “I’m not waiting for dispensation. I’d like to be back for you. How’s that?”
Marcy eyed him slowly and considered this for a moment. She nodded her agreement. She took the envelope and turned it around in her hands. “You’re serious. How do you just turn it off like that? The solitude, the prayer. Did you really believe all that?”
“I did in a way. It was the only anchor I had for awhile. Then I got some Divine guidance. Intuition. Gut instinct. Call it what you want. But now that trail is cold.”
“Cop language always suited you best.”
“Walsh got me a ticket to Lisbon and a set of credentials. Seems I’m his rep to Interpol. We’re going after Boyle. The scumbag bought a one-way ticket.”
Marcy looked at Elias, then turned forward. “Drive, Elias. Don’t expect me to wait for you. If I meet somebody, I might not wait for you.”
“I know, Marcy. I know.”
End of Book One