An hour later, James and I tripped down the stairs to St. Paul’s basement, where the congregation had pulled together an impressive spread of food and drink in the brightly lit, low-ceilinged room.
James made a short, heartfelt speech about friends and faith and closed by saying, “Thank you all for believing in me. It means so much.”
Men and women crowded him, hugged him, and told him that they never doubted him. We drank wine from Styrofoam cups and ate home-baked sugar cookies, and after the last well-wishers called out their good-byes, James invited me to the rectory.
“I really need to feed my poor cat,” he said.
While James fed Birdie and changed out of his suit, I plopped onto the sofa. I kicked off my shoes and leaned back so that I could really take in the quaint painting over the mantel of Jesus carrying the lamb.
I must have dozed off, because I started when James came into the sitting room. He wore khakis and a blue shirt, and his hair was wet. There was a look on his face that I couldn’t quite read.
He was nervous, I saw that, but I had no idea why. He pulled a chair up to the sofa, sat in it with his hands clasped in his lap, and said, “Brigid, now that I’m free of this trial, I want to tell you my plans.”
Plans? What plans?
“Don’t hold back,” I said. “You know my shock threshold is quite high.” I put my hand above my head.
He grinned.
“Okay. I’m leaving St. Paul’s. After the way the archdiocese treated me, I just can’t be their kind of priest any longer.”
I stared at him blankly, finally managing to get out, “What will you do?”
“There may be a place for me in a little church near Springfield. It’s a farming town. I like the authenticity of that. I want to try it out.”
“You’re leaving Cambridge?”
“As soon as I can. I have to ask you a favor. Will you keep Birdie for me? I don’t want to leave her. And I don’t know where I’m going to live. Everything is going to be in flux for a while and…Will you?”
“Okay,” I said, still rocked by his news. “I’ve never had a cat.”
“Thanks, Brigid. I really appreciate this.”
James put the kitten in a carrier and toys and a bowl into a shopping bag, and then he walked me home.
For the first time, I felt awkward around James.
He was saying that he would notify the archdiocese in the morning, that he would tell the congregation the news on Sunday. I nodded, thinking that St. Paul’s Church would feel so empty without him. That I would feel empty, too.
When we reached my front stoop, James bent to the carrier and stroked Birdie’s face through the grille.
“You behave yourself, Birdie.”
He stood up and smiled at me, wrapped me in a hug, and said, “Thanks again, Brigid. You’ll be in my prayers.”
I felt that rush again, both exciting and frightening. I held on to him, feeling everything: the pounding of my heart, the tears in my eyes, the sound of his breathing, and the warmth of his cheek against mine.
“You’re doing the right thing,” I said.
“I hope so. Be safe. I’ll miss you.”
He kissed my cheek before releasing me and headed off up the street.
I climbed my stoop, holding the carrier with a crying kitten inside, and when I turned to look after James and wave good-bye, he had already rounded the corner.
He was gone from my life. Just gone.
Chapter 80
AS THINGS turned out, I didn’t have time to think about what James was doing in the next chapter of his life.
Birdie was a slippery, scampering handful. She thought my two-story house was built just for her and loved racing up and down the stairs, hiding in the laundry pile, pushing her tail in my face when I took to my laptop, and pawing the screen as my typing made the letters appear.
This orange pile of fluff made me laugh out loud, and at night, she slept on my pillow, right next to my face.
In the morning, Birdie woke me up by patting my nose and giving me a long, insistent meow.
“I get it, Birdie,” I’d say.
I would feed her, turn on Animal Planet, set her up for her day before getting ready for my own.
I loved my job at Prism.
The brisk two-block walk to work was an excellent transition from the stability of my home to Prism, which was the center of a storm from the beginning to the end of the day.
Prism’s clients needed medical care, psychological counseling, and breakfast, and everything we did for them had to be documented, filed, and printed out for the patient.
Over the next few months, my job responsibilities expanded, then doubled again. One of my grant papers got a hit, and we received a tidy windfall from an NGO. Four months into my employment, we opened a pharmacy in the empty storefront next door.
Our director, Dr. Dweck, was funny, expansive, and very loving. He used his platform at Prism to take our message about the dangers of drug use to schoolkids in our community.