“The strangest thing happened to me a little earlier,” he began to say. She appeared in the doorway, red-faced and wild-eyed. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Jill was acting a little weird. Are you okay? What were you doing?”
“No, no, everything’s fine,” she said. “Are you making a cup of tea?”
“Yes,” he said. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said, reaching into the fridge for the milk. “We were just …” her voice trailed off. “So what were you saying? What happened?”
Sitting at the table, he began to tell her about clericus, about how he was attacked by Barbara. He tried to describe his disturbing thoughts later, back at the church. But none of it came out making any sense. And it was clear that Beverley herself was distracted, moving quickly around the room, wiping counters, taking things from the fridge, putting them back again. She was not getting what he was trying to say.
“It’s okay,” he conceded finally. “I’ll figure it out. What time do the kids get home?”
The front door opened almost as the words were leaving his mouth, and Catherine burst in. She was their youngest.
“Mom? I’m home!” she called out from the hallway. They heard the thump of her backpack hitting the floor. As she entered the kitchen she was surprised to see her father. “Hi, Dad. What are you doing home?”
“I came home early today,” he said. “How was your day?”
Catherine was like her mother in so many ways, Father David thought, so full of life. As she foraged for a snack, searching the fridge for some juice, and then the cupboard for some cookies, she kept up a running commentary on the significant details of her day in grade eight, none of which seemed to have anything to do with learning, Father David mused, but everything to do with belonging to a group of friends.
Paul arrived just as Catherine was winding down. He slipped silently into the room before anyone realized he was home. He was in grade ten, a good student, and Father David felt proud of the capable young man he was becoming. He too was full of life, but it was more a rich inner life than a boisterous outer one like Catherine’s. Because he was so often quiet, he would catch his parents off guard with his quick and sudden wit. At the moment, though, his face registered only mild amusement at the unusual scene of the entire family gathered in the kitchen at this odd hour of the afternoon.
The house soon settled into familiar activity as Beverley began preparing supper. Catherine spread her homework on the kitchen table while keeping up a stream-of-consciousness monologue to her mother. Paul took to the driveway to shoot some hoops. Father David, uncertain where he fit in, retired to his study.
He removed his stiff clerical collar and laid it down on the desk. This was the one room in all the world where he felt completely at ease. He leaned back in his desk chair and surveyed the bookshelves that ran the length of the room, his eyes falling on the decrees of ordination and the two university degrees that hung on the opposite wall. He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and brought his hands, prayer-like, to his mouth.
Something was happening today, something just beneath the surface, something important. But he could not quite get a grip on it. His mind drifted back to clericus and to his epiphany of sorts in the church. Just what was the message? That his understanding of priesthood had become irrelevant? That he himself was a dinosaur? And just what did this have to do with Jesus’ tortured face in the crucifixion window? He could not focus his mind enough to wring meaning from any of this. These were questions bubbling up from some deeper place, a dark place with which he was not familiar. He reached to turn on the desk lamp.
Catherine poked her head in the door. “Whatcha doing, Dad?” she asked.
“Just … thinking,” he responded.
“Hmm,” she said, looking mischievous. She entered the room slowly, mysteriously, as if harbouring a secret plan. Then suddenly she lunged forward with both hands and mussed his hair. He tried to grab her arm but she was too quick for him, twirling round and bolting from the room, giggling, the door flying shut behind her. He chuckled at her cheeky impertinence. She was growing up.
Their children were such a blessing to him. Before they were married, he and Beverley had discussed the family they planned to have. She had said she wanted eleven children. He had thought she was joking. He offered a compromise: two. It was as close as they ever got to their first fight. But it never came to that. She had the idea that it was her role as his wife to give in. And he had the idea that it was his role to let her.
Now he wondered what their life would have been like if they had had eleven children! He shook his head. It was simply unimaginable to him — the chaos, the noise, the constant confusion. He could not even imagine having three, their little nest being just big enough as it was, just the right size, and a great source of joy.
He rose, pulled on his sneakers, and went out to join Paul on the driveway.
“You want to play some Twenty-one?” Paul asked him. This was a deliberate accommodation. Father David couldn’t dribble a basketball, couldn’t do a lay-up to save his life. But he could stand in one place and shoot baskets, and Paul knew this. Paul also knew that, still, this was a game his father was bound to lose.
“Sure,” Father David said. “But be kind.”
After supper, when the children had gone, Father David rose to start clearing the table. Beverley addressed him, still seated at her place.
“David?” she began. He stopped short. There was a tremor in her voice that was unfamiliar to him. It was quietly urgent, imploring.
“Do you have anything on tonight?” She was looking down at her plate, which, he realized, had hardly been touched.
“No,” he said, “nothing.”
“Is there anything going on at the church?”
“No,” he said, thinking about it for a moment. “Brownies was last night. AA is tomorrow night. I don’t think the Sunday school teachers meet this week; I think it’s next week. So, no, there’s nothing going on.” He considered leaving it there, but he was growing concerned. “Why?” he asked her.
“I need to talk with you. There’s something you need to know.” For a moment neither of them spoke. Something was wrong — it was plain — but Father David had no idea what it was; nor did he really want to know.
“I’d like to go somewhere,” she continued. “I was thinking of the church. Would that be all right with you?” Beverley said, looking up at him for the first time, fear palpable in her eyes.
They drove over to the church in silence. Father David felt a tightening in his chest, a tell-tale sign that he was distressed. He didn’t know what was coming, but he knew he wasn’t going to like it. Why else would she want to meet him like this?
He unlocked the front door and proceeded down the hall toward his office. “No,” she said. “Can we meet in the church instead? I don’t want to feel like you’re counselling me.”
Father David turned on a few lights and opened the doors to the church for her. Beverley chose a pew near the front. She entered it and sat down. Father David, feeling too exposed out by the main aisle, walked around to the side aisle and joined her from the far end of the pew. They sat together, a small distance between them.
“David,” she said finally, turning to him, her eyes brimming with tears, “there’s something I just have to tell you. I hope you’ll hear me out, because this isn’t easy for me.”
The rest of what she had to say came to him in fragments, the words registering in his ears but not in his understanding. She and Jill … not an ongoing thing … it had only happened this once … not sure what it all meant … confusing, upsetting … maybe mid-life crisis or something … it would never happen again … nothing’s changed … everything’s changed … could he forgive her … they could