Father Figure Read online

“You … you were having a nightmare,” he said nervously, confirming my worst fears. “It sounded bad. I tried to wake you, but…” and he gestured helplessly.

  “And I attacked you,” I said dully.

  He patted my arm warily, jerking back quickly as if I was a wild animal that might bite. Seven years of friendship and he was scared of me. He cringed slightly as he met my eyes. “Gabriel, I’ve been expecting this ever since you heard confession for Oscar Ramirez. Don’t tell me you haven’t?”

  Yeah, I’d expected it. Which was why I’d been drinking a bottle of whiskey every night to dull the memories.

  “I think you should talk to someone,” he offered quietly. “Father Michael always has time for you. Or someone from your old life, perhaps?”

  I knew he was right, but it wasn’t as easy flipping between the two halves of my life as he seemed to think. But the bruises forming on his arms and neck where I’d held him down … shit, I could have hurt him badly. Or killed him.

  I hung my head.

  “Fuck, Neil. I’m so sorry.”

  He squeezed my hand. “It’s nothing to be sorry about, Gabriel, but I’m worried about you. The drinking, the nights when you go out looking for trouble … yes, I know about those, too. Will you promise me that you’ll talk to someone?”

  I nodded and he gave me a tense smile and left my bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Maybe there was someone I could talk to. Father Michael would understand, but Wes knew. Wes had been on the same Team as me for six years. I’d stayed in touch with him sporadically, but if there was anyone who really understood, it would be him.

  After Mass, I drove up the familiar coast route, the 101, with a beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean. From this distance it looked calm, stretching out towards the wide horizon. But it was deceptive, dark and deep, churning with danger—currents that could sweep you far from the shore, an undertow that could drag you down, down, down.

  We’d trained here, me and Luke and all those other guys. How many nights had I frozen in the surf, arms linked with Luke’s, praying we could survive just one more night in BUD/S, praying this wasn’t the end of our journey, the period in our story.

  But Luke hadn’t been the only man going through hell with me in BUD/S. Wes had been there too, and in a way, we had even more in common than I’d had with Luke.

  Luke had been raised on a small farm with his grandmother. I’d stayed in touch with her until she died, almost 12 years ago now. But Wes and me, we’d both been born Catholic and brought up in group homes where nuns and priests were regular visitors, before the long succession of foster homes that were stopping places for kids no one wanted. Wes had stayed with the Faith long after I’d lost any belief, long after I’d turned my back on God. And before I’d found Him again.

  But unlike me, Wes had chosen a different path after six years of deployments. He said then he’d seen enough horror to last a lifetime. While I’d closed myself off to everyone and grown harder and colder, a more proficient killer, Wes had left the Navy and thrown himself into a different line of work. He’d started a SEAL-training based fitness regime that had become wildly successful in Southern California and was now franchised throughout the United States.

  He was living in the lap of luxury and I had taken a vow of poverty. But still, we’d been friends, more than friends; we’d been part of a band of brothers, someone who’d cared whether I lived or died, forged in flames and bonded by death. When I’d needed him most, it was his couch and spare room that had given me a roof over my head. He was the one who’d dragged me out of bars all over the city, dragged me out of low-rent hotels when I’d been with faceless, nameless women. And he’d been the one I went to after Father Michael had saved me that furious, fateful night.

  He hadn’t been rich then, still struggling to build his business and working his ass off 24/7, but it had paid off. The day I was ordained was the day he’d made his first million. And yet, he’d celebrated with me. Wes and Father Michael had been there to see me take my vows.

  We’d all churned a lot of dust under our wheels since then. Life had been good to Wes, and I couldn’t have been happier for the guy.

  I pulled my beater up to his gate and entered the code. Wesley trusted me with his life. I had officiated over the marriage to his gorgeous wife, Rayla, and had baptized his three children.

  I parked my car next to his brand new Lamborghini SUV and prayed away the sharp stab of jealousy in my chest. Before I could even walk to the door, Rayla stepped outside and greeted me, cradling their youngest son Luka—named for our lost friend. Pain filled the empty hole in my chest where love had once lived.

  “Father Gabriel!” she smiled, walking towards me, her welcome warm and sincere. “It’s so nice to see you. Wesley didn’t mention you were coming over.”

  I embraced her and high fived little Luka. “He didn’t know. Is he around?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m so sorry. He’s on a mission trip to East Africa. He’s actually gone as far as Timbuktu to get away from these little hellions.” She laughed, a light, happy sound, and stroked the soft down of Luka’s head. “You know, Wesley! Always gotta be on the go, always wanting to be more, you know, do more? Of course, you do, Father,” and she smiled warmly at me.

  It was refreshing to see a man with so much wealth give back, but disappointment dragged at me. “That’s okay, Rayla. I just really needed a break and decided to drop by. I’ll be leaving.”

  She grabbed my arm. “No, you won’t, Father. Please come inside. Our personal chef left enough food for an army, um, I mean a SEAL Team.”

  I laughed. Honestly, I preferred Mrs. O’C’s cooking to their chef’s healthy crap, but I didn’t want to be rude. Besides, all of God’s food was a precious gift. Plus the ocean view from their family room always soothed my soul. There’s nothing like gazing at the stars or the endless ocean to realize that your problems are small compared to the wonder of God’s creation. I loved going to the mountains for the same reason. And watching her with little Luka, the love, the bond between mother and child, I found that I didn’t want to leave. I soaked it up, feeling the warmth reflected from their love. I needed that right now.

  “I could eat,” I admitted, happy to follow her into their home, marveling at its opulence. If I’d chosen another path, could this life have been mine? Beautiful wife, gorgeous kids, an oceanfront mansion? Sure, Wes worked his ass off, but then again so did I.

  She was about to place Luka down in a playpen when I stopped her.

  “I’ll take him. We need some guy talk.”

  “Well, he does need some quality time with his favorite uncle.” She sighed. “He’s missing his daddy. I love what Wes is trying to do, but it’s hard when he travels so much.”

  We shared a look—she knew I understood—then she passed Luka to me. I settled onto the enormous sofa that ran along one wall of the family room, sinking into the soft leather seat. Luka snuggled into my shoulder sleepily, his small hands curled into fists on my chest. He smelled of sunshine, milk, and small boy. I drank in that warm scent, feeling the loss of something I’d never had and never would.

  Rayla smiled gently and told me that their daughter, Kenna was napping, and their eldest son, Eddie, was at Camp so I wouldn’t get to see him today. Then she went into their kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with two bowls of poke, a California favorite of raw fish and seaweed served over brown rice.

  Luka was sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him, so I propped him on my left leg and balanced the plate on my right. I took a bite and my taste buds danced in my mouth.

  “This is great. Did you get a new chef?”

  “Yes, and no. This is from our new meal prep service. Wesley thinks it will be a big hit.”

  “No doubt it will be. I’m so impressed by him. But how much more money do you need?”

  I winced when those words came out of my mouth. I had no right, no right to judge them. My jealousy shone through and it s
hamed me. I opened my mouth to apologize. She’d given me kindness and hospitality and I’d just shit on it.

  But Rayla spoke first and she didn’t judge me back.

  “You know, Father Gabriel, Wesley believes that the more money he makes, the more money he can give away. He believes that’s his calling. If we live on one million a year, then we give away ten. There are many ways to serve the Lord.”

  I choked on my tuna. Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Wes had it all and he probably helped so many people, possibly more than I had, not that it was a competition, because it wasn’t.

  But he still had a full life. A sexy wife he made love to every night, beautiful children he adored, the latest sports cars, a gorgeous home. He traveled and lived life to the fullest.

  Maybe I had got it all wrong? Doubts played in my mind. I’d come here to find clarity, and instead, I felt more confused than ever.

  When we finished lunch, I played with Kenna and Luka for a half-an-hour, imagining they were mine, that this life was mine. I’d once wanted to be a father; another dream I’d abandoned.

  I thanked Rayla and turned to leave, but she stopped me, laying her soft hand on my arm.

  “You’re welcome here any time, Gabriel. You’re family, you know that, right? The kids love playing with you and Eddie will be bummed that he missed you. Wes misses you, too. And he’s only a phone call away. So whatever’s on your mind, you can always talk to him. Even a priest needs someone to hear him, right?”

  I smiled tightly and nodded. Was it so obvious that something was bothering me?

  “Don’t be a stranger!” she called after me as I climbed into my car.

  But on the way back to my parish, I began questioning everything I had done in the past ten years. Seeing Rayla hadn’t helped: I felt more angry and confused than ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mariana

  Easter in the parish was a big deal apparently. All the churches were scrubbed clean and even I helped doing a little polishing when Mrs. O’Cee enrolled my help.

  I remembered learning about Easter when I was a kid at school and how they’d crucified Jesus, and I remember thinking how cruel they must have been, ‘cause he’d only been born at Christmas and was just a baby.

  Yeah, well then I grew up and decided that religion wasn’t for me. But it certainly was at the rectory. Everything had to be ‘shipshape and Bristol fashion’ as Mrs. O’Cee said, whatever that was, and we cleaned like God himself was going to check for dust balls.

  Each of the priests at the rectory had a separate church, but most of their fundraising drives were organized together, and seeing as Easter was a chance for them to raise some serious moolah, today there was some sort of family fun-day (barf), and Mrs. O’Cee had me working as her assistant to bake a billion cupcakes and a million muffins and a thousand tea-cakes for the older ladies. It was stifling being in a hot kitchen while the Santa Anas blew desert-like winds across the city.

  My t-shirt was stuck to my body, and my hair hung in a sweaty clump on top of my head, the curls a crazy mess that would take forever to get a hairbrush through. When did the end of March get to be so freakin’ hot?

  All the priests were doing something for the day, running raffles and lucky dips, which seemed to me like gambling, but what did I know? Gabriel had organized a tug of war between the churches, so the guys and dads who should have known better got to show off their muscles and pull a piece of rope across the park.

  As if thinking of him summoned him, Gabriel came into the kitchen to carry the boxes of baked goods. He was wearing black pants and a short-sleeved black shirt with the white-collar, but nothing could hide his size and muscles, or the colorful ink spilling down his arms.

  I smiled to myself when I caught him glancing at my damp t-shirt. I pretended not to notice and pulled my shirt from my sticky body, fanning myself.

  He turned away quickly, hefted a dozen boxes and hurried away without speaking. He was such a hypocrite, such a fucking coward.

  “You’ve been a marvel, Mariana,” smiled Mrs. O’Cee. “You take a break now and come on over to the park when you’re ready.”

  “Do you need me to take anything else over there?”

  “No, child. Let the men do the carrying. You just make yourself pretty and we’ll see if we can’t find a nice Catholic boy for you,” and she winked at me.

  I smiled back, amused that she’d think I’d be interested in nice boys.

  I took a quick shower but didn’t have time to do more than drag a hairbrush through my crazy mop of hair. But what to wear?

  No way was I wearing thrift-store shit, especially when I’d be walking around these streets—all I needed was one of the local bitches to come up and rag on me about wearing her old clothes. Yeah, not happening.

  The consignment store hadn’t had a lot of choices but I’d found a simple green sundress that I knew would contrast with my red hair and make my eyes pop. I’d also stolen some t-shirts and shirts, but paid for a pair of jeans and the dress. I was definitely stretching that shopping dollar.

  I only wore flip-flops or sneakers year-round, so I stuck with my favorite gold flip-flops today. The skirt of the green dress stopped a few inches above my knees, but still long enough to look modest, and the top half had thin straps and a sweetheart neckline.

  The park didn’t really deserve the name, it was just a rough square of open ground wedged in between the intersection of two busy roads. Traffic rolled by relentlessly, leaving the air heavy with the scent of car exhausts and two-stroke diesel. A few trees had been planted around the edges, but the leaves were brown and the branches drooping. Nothing thrived here, only defeat and decay. I fit in perfectly.

  But the square of dry grass was only one block away from the rectory, and there was a stream of people heading in that direction. I know it sounds dumb, but it hadn’t dawned on me what a large part the church here played in people’s lives. It had never touched mine, until now.

  Most of the families were Hispanic, but there were a bunch of African-American families, too, and a large group of pale-skinned, freckle-faced people who could only be Mrs. O’Cee’s relatives.

  I’d been assigned to work on the cake stand, but two girls my age were there already.

  “Hi,” I smiled, remembering my role. “I’m Mariana and I’m helping you with…”

  “We know who you are,” said the taller girl. “And we know what you are, too. We don’t need help from the likes of you.”

  “Wow,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We know you been working the alley,” said the shorter one, her thin lips curling with disgust.

  My back stiffened as her meaning sank in. Someone had blabbed—it had to have been Gabriel. But I wasn’t letting these bitches shame me. I ate fake hard girls like that for breakfast and shat them out by dinner.

  “Sorry, was I putting you out of business?” I grinned. “You gotta give the customer value for money, ya know.”

  “Ugh, you’re disgusting,” sniffed the taller one. “Why don’t you just leave?”

  “That’s not very Christian of you,” I taunted.

  Suddenly they straightened up and stuck out their chests, their nasty smirks turning to docile smiles.

  “Hi, Father Gabriel,” they chirruped, sounding like a couple of junior high schoolers on helium.

  “Michelle, Luanna, it’s nice to see you making friends with Bl— with Mariana.”

  He sauntered past and the girls fanned themselves.

  “Oh My God, Father G is so fine,” sighed the tall girl, Michelle.

  “Father Oh Em Gee,” giggled the other one. “It’s not fair that he’s so sexy. What a waste.”

  Then Michelle glared at me. “Are you still here?”

  I shrugged and walked away. I didn’t want to stand in the baking sun and sell cakes anyway. Instead, I found a shady tree to sit under and watched all the interactions. Seeing happy families was ki
nd of like a science study for me—I’d never had any family other than Mom. Kids’ moms at the various schools I’d attended didn’t want their spawn mixing with the daughter of a druggie, so I’d never had the sleepovers or the nail polish sessions or the gossip during lunch. I’d always been on the outside—I was comfortable there.

  After twenty minutes, a boy of about my age swaggered over, confident in his gelled hair and good looks.

  “Hey, I heard about you. You’re…”

  “Not interested,” I said.

  “Aw, don’t be like that, chica,” he grinned, reaching down to touch my hair.

  I hated it when men tried to touch me without my permission.

  I grabbed his wrist and twisted hard.

  “Not. Interested,” I repeated.

  “Fuckin’ bitch!” he hissed, anger flaring in his eyes.

  When he saw that I wasn’t intimidated and could take anything he had and give it back double, he marched away, rubbing his arm and cursing.

  I had no doubt that between the little dick and Michelle, the word would spread about me, and that was just fine. But when I glanced up, Gabriel was watching me, a look of fury on his face. I lifted my chin and glared back, but it was Gabriel who looked away first.

  When I was bored of watching all the ‘fun’, I went back to the rectory to clean up the kitchen for Mrs. O’Cee—it was crucial to keep her on my side. I was loading dishes into the dishwasher when Gabriel strode in, and I had the feeling that he’d followed me the moment I’d left.

  “What did Diego say to you?” he snapped.

  “Who? That little shit with the gelled hair? Nothing you haven’t been thinking.”

  “What?”

  I lowered my voice.

  “I’m just a little whore to you, aren’t I, Gabriel. Whenever you see me, you’ll remember me on my knees with that man’s dick in my mouth. That’s what you see, isn’t it?”

  For a second, he looked guilty, but then his face blanked.

  “That’s not what I think, Bl— Mariana.”

  “Liar,” I smirked at him, then my expression changed. “So maybe you can tell me why all those nice Catholic boys and girls at the park today called me a whore to my face because I’m pretty certain that you’re the only one who knows that. Why’d you tell them, Gabriel? Wanted to look good for saving the fallen woman?”