“I’m pretty sure priests aren’t supposed to be shysters.”
Michel laughs. “Hey, you make the big money. I’m just a lowly servant of God.”
I roll my eyes, because this particular servant of God plays poker every other week. He is a kind and caring soul, but he still pushes the priesthood boundaries.
I’m still chuckling when I notice that he’s staring at something over my shoulder. The look of concentration on his face is intriguing, and I turn to see what he’s so enthralled with.
Meg is coming back to our table with a girl in tow.
The girl looks to be in her midtwenties. Tight curves in all the right spots, long legs, long caramel hair pulled back in a ponytail, the glow of youth in her cheeks. She’s definitely attractive.
“You’re not supposed to notice that,” I tell him.
He scowls. “I’m a priest, not a eunuch.”
I laugh and he punches my shoulder, because we’re brothers and that’s what brothers do when they notice a hot girl together, even when one is a priest and the other is married.
“Honestly, though, it’s not like that,” he adds.
I raise an eyebrow because I don’t believe him.
“Hey, boys,” Meg says, stopping by my elbow and putting our plates down in front of us. “Tonight is my last night here. But this is Zoe, and she’ll take good care of you from now on. This is her first night, so be nice to her. Zoe, these are my regulars, Jude and Father Michel.”
Zoe smiles and her teeth are white. “I already know Father Michel,” she says, patting his shoulder. I feel my eyes widen, and I stare at my brother. He returns my gaze and smiles like a cat who swallowed the canary.
The girl looks at me, and there’s something so familiar in her eyes...about her eyes...and... Is she the girl from the church? She must’ve come straight here.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she tells me, in a voice that somehow manages to be sultry and youthful at the same time. “I can’t wait to start taking care of you.”
She laughs because her words sounded suggestive. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she adds with a grin, and her lips are impish and full. There’s something in her eyes that tells me that she did.
She sashays away and her arrogance is a bit annoying.
The girl is full of herself. She’s young, though, and attractive, highly sexual. I’m sure she gets lots of male attention, which feeds her ego, and the more she gets, the more she needs. It’s a cycle.
“So you got her the job here?” I ask needlessly. Of course he did. There was a Help Wanted sign in the window for two weeks, and it’s gone now. I didn’t notice when I walked in, but I see it now.
He nods. “Yeah. She’s new to my parish, seems like a good kid. She’s just down on her luck.”
I glance at her trailing behind Meg, her full hips swaying to and fro. “She’s too young to be ‘down on her luck,’” I observe.
“Eh, you know kids. You used to be one of them, a hundred years ago,” Michel jabs. “She’s in her ramen-noodle-eating stage—surely you remember how that is. But I can’t really say more than that about her. Confidentiality and all.”
“Oh, yes. You’re nothing if not professional,” I answer, gulping at my water.
“You should get Corinne some flowers,” Michel suggests, changing the subject. “She needs to know you’re thinking about her.”
“She’s all I think about,” I tell him. “You have no idea.”
“Does she know that?” Michel asks bluntly. “Because you need to tell her. She can’t read your mind.”
“Sometimes you’re a bossy dick,” I tell my brother. Michel rolls his eyes.
“Just trying to help. Besides, I’m a priest. I’m supposed to be stern,” he tells me firmly. “I’ve got to lead people to Christ with an iron fist.”
“Yeah, because that’s what people like,” I answer drolly. “An iron fist.”
He laughs because he’s ridiculous, and his eyes twinkle, and I wonder once again just how in the world he can live his life.
“Are you sure you never hook up with a nun?” I ask dubiously. “I remember your teen years. You blazed a trail through our high school girls a mile wide. You left no stone unturned.”
“That’s how I got it out of my system.” He pats his napkin at his lips, almost primly. “Women hold no power over me now, Jude.”
Yet his gaze is over my shoulder, and when I follow it, I find that he’s staring at the young waitress bent over a table. I raise an eyebrow.
“Oh, really?”
He laughs. “God didn’t make me blind, though. Since I can see, I figure that he wants me to look at all of His children. At least the ones who are of legal age...not the actual children. I’m not that kind of priest,” he adds.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, lifting my hand to signal for the check.
He is unfazed, like he always is.
Zoe comes to our table with a check in each hand.
“One check or two?” She bumps my shoulder with her hip, and she smiles down at me, waving the checks. Her heat burns into my arm.
“One,” Michel says. “My husband is paying.”
Zoe’s mouth falls open as she stares at Michel’s white collar and he laughs, a loud guffaw.
“Kidding. He’s my brother. But he’s still paying.”
Zoe laughs and drops the check in her right hand in front of me.
“At your leisure,” she says before she swishes away, her hips swinging wide like a pendulum. Michel watches her go.
“Would you get your eyes back in your head, Father?” I demand. “Jesus.”
“Don’t use His name in vain,” my brother chastises.
“Don’t lust after women.”
“Fine,” Michel counters. “But it’s not like I’m going to act on it. She’s one of God’s children. I truly just want to help her. Her looks are a separate issue.”
“Uh-huh.” I laugh and toss some bills on the table for Zoe. She’s still staring at me, and I try not to notice.
“Have a nice night, boys,” she practically purrs, and I swear to God her tits are going to bust out of her top. “I’ll be seeing you. Oh, and, Father...thank you again. You’re my hero.”
Michel grins and I all but drag him out.
“See you here in the morning, you big hero?” I ask as we pause by his truck.
“Yep.”
I drive home leisurely, with the windows down and the chilly wind blowing in my face. Soon it will be too cold, so I’m taking advantage of it tonight. I’ll never tell Michel, but I do swing by the store and pick up some flowers. They’re nothing fancy, just a bouquet wrapped in plastic, but Corinne will like them.
The house is still dark when I get home, and I watch TV until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, waiting for my wife.
Like I have every night for days and days, I fall asleep alone.
4
Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
I count the ceiling tiles in the night.
The light from the moon illuminates the dark just enough to see them.
From down the hall, I hear screaming, but that’s normal here. I’m under no illusions about what this place is.
I hear the nurses’ shoes as they scurry toward the noise, and I look again at the ceiling. There are over five hundred tiles. I’m not sure of the exact number, because every time I count, I get distracted.
I’m so lonely, and I know for a fact that I shouldn’t be in this room. I’m a physician. I should be medicating whomever is screaming.
But I’m not a doctor in this building. I have no credentials here. I’m a patient, like everyone else. It’s a difficult pill to swallow. It’s a fact that lodges in my throat and won’t go down.
With a sigh, I roll to my side and stare at the wall. It’s white and stark, and the sheets beneath me are cold and thin. My bedding at home is luxurious and thick, spun Egyptian cotton, one thousand thread count. It’s funny how accustomed I’ve gotten to nice things over the past few years.
During my childhood and med school, I didn’t have anything. Now I pretty much have everything. And in this place, it’s a stark reminder of the differences between home and here.