Father Ballard stepped forward and rested his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?”
Marcus slowly nodded. “I never thought I would see Kingsley again, not after that day in the hospital. When I met her, saw her the first time, I let myself love her. Completely. Unreservedly. I never meant to act on that love, only to enjoy it, rejoice in it… I could be an astronomer and she every star in the night sky. We’d never touch, of course. No astronomer ever touched a star. But I could live for her light… Unfortunately, my resolve to love her chastely didn’t last much longer than five minutes.”
“Chaste love is overrated,” Ballard said, knowing that of which he spoke.
“I’m awash in love and confusion,” Marcus said. “I thought I would never see Kingsley again. I let myself love her because I thought I would never see him again. And then…”
Ballard’s pity swelled in him like a wave that crashed upon his heart. Marcus had mourned for his Kingsley with the bottomless grief of a widow. And as soon as he’d let go of his grief, let himself love anew finally…his lost love had come back to him.
“Marcus, my boy, you were a beautiful ruin when I met you eleven years ago. And I can’t tell you the joy it gave me to see you come back to life, to see how being a Jesuit healed something inside you. I have loved you like my own child. I want you to be happy and I want you to feel joy and be loved. And I never want you to be lonely or to make the same mistakes I did. That’s every good father’s wish for his child—be happy, be good, don’t get hurt. You are walking through a minefield, son. I can’t look. But I can’t look away either.”
“Help me,” Marcus said, the words an order and not a plea. “You’ve counseled dozens of priests in situations like mine. Help me do this right. For her sake.”
Father Ballard stepped back and sat on top of a tombstone bearing the name of Forrest, clasped his hands between his knees, and looked upward to Heaven. God forgive him for this but he couldn’t bear to let Marcus live with same regret he’d carried for thirty years.
“I was 15 my first time,” Ballard said at last. “Father Mack Donnelly came to school, talked half of us into signing up, I went straight home and told my father I’d been called to be a priest. Two hours later I was sitting in the kitchen of the lovely young widow Gloria Anderson. Dad went for a walk. When he came back an hour later, I was a grinning idiot. I’d fucked that woman five times in one hour. My enthusiasm far outweighed my stamina. But what do you know? I didn’t give being a priest another thought until I was twenty. My father was a wise man. Then again, boys have it so much easier than girls, don’t we?”
“Much,” Marcus said emphatically, likely thinking of his sister.
“Can you imagine a father taking his 15-year-old daughter to get deflowered by the friendly neighborhood widower? What a job for a man that would be, eh?”
“If such a position were open, I’m certain Kingsley would volunteer.”
“He’d have to stand in line.” Ballard laughed and rubbed his forehead. “Poor girls. We never let them have any fun, do we?”
“That might be what I love most about Eleanor. She doesn’t ask permission. She does what she wants.”
“Maybe this girl can survive a life with you after all.” Half a life, anyway. Although Ballard wouldn’t say that out loud. He looked Marcus straight in the eyes. If he was going to do this—and Ballard knew Marcus was—he would make sure it was done right.
“Wait until she’s 18,” Ballard ordered. He rarely gave Marcus orders, rarely gave anyone orders. This was an order.
“I plan on waiting longer than that. The longer I wait, the more likely it is she’ll let go and move on.”
“Tell yourself that. Miriam’s loved me thirty years.” Ballard crossed his arms and looked to the ground at his own feet of clay. He looked up at Marcus and met his eyes.
“For starters, let her date other men. Encourage her to go to college. If anything will get her away from you and the Church, it’s college. Whatever you do, do not get her pregnant. If you do, you leave the priesthood that day. Don’t take a single night to think it over. If she gets pregnant, you call your bishop and your superior. The cover-up is always worse than the crime. Plan to get caught. You probably will get caught. When you do, you take full responsibility.”
“I do take full responsibility.”
“If it hits the press, she’ll need a place to hide. Something like this will make the news. Make sure she has somewhere to go, or she’ll end up with her pretty face on the front page of the newspapers.”
“Kingsley will take care of her. He can get out of the country easily if it comes to that.”
“You have friends at your church?”
“My secretary Diane. Should I warn her?”
“Does she love you? Is she loyal?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Then no, don’t tell her. If she’s loyal, she’ll lie for you. Leave her out of this. There’s no way for this to happen without you committing some egregious sins. Keep them on your own head. No one else’s.”