Full Circle: New Beginnings 551p

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Print ISBN: 978-1-09838-236-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09838-237-7

Acknowledgment

To those who seek healing from traumas wrought in the primal realm of Self, may you find that healing, and in so doing, discover a bit of redemption from Humanity. May we walk this path together and together find the wholeness, Selflove, and acceptance for and of our Selves that have been torn from us since before we can . The body re, and it is within this body that we must find our healing and obtain wholeness of Self.

Foreward

The post-World War II culture of adoption in the United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand shares a history of shame, secrecy, and violence towards women and the children they were separated from. Many stories have never been told, not because they aren’t worth telling but because women have been afraid to use their voices. There is a collective misunderstanding about the effects that surrender,¹ abandonment, and the secrecy of closed records has on first mothers and the babies they have lost to adoption. Ann Fessler, an adoptee and author, acknowledges that, “The public’s lack of understanding of these women’s experiences—and the notion they did not suffer a loss--is the result of the women’s lack of voice, not their lack of feelings.” ² As a culture we need to make space for women’s voices to be heard even when the stories they must tell are uncomfortable. Silence is uncomfortable and can be a kind of self-imposed death until we choose to break it.

The “Baby Scoop Era” in the United States lasted from approximately 19401972 and was a period in which we estimate that more than 4 million mothers surrendered their children to adoption with 2 million in the 1960’s alone.³ These surrenders happened because women lacked full agency and choice when it came to reproductive rights, access to birth control, and sex education. The additional shame and stigma of unwed motherhood added to the necessity of finding ways to eradicate the problem of out of wedlock pregnancies and solve the problem of infertility. Many young women were sent away from their homes and communities to maternity, or unwed mother’s homes to bear the burden of their shame away from their families who had worked so hard to climb into the middle class. They were told to have their babies, sign away their rights, forget it ever happened and go on with their lives. But how does one go on as if she has never been pregnant? As if she has never known the heartbeat she carried inside her? As if she was never a mother?

As I sit here a few days before Mother’s Day 2021 writing this I think of my

mothers. My first mother Mary and my mother Felicia the adoptive one who raised me. I am reminded of the stories I was told about my beginnings which were mostly fiction due to the secrecy of closed records and the lack of any real information. I am reminded of the way that I always felt Mary would want to know me if I ever found her and I am reminded of the way I could never articulate this wanting to know her as a child, adolescent, or young adult. It was a secret I carried until 2017 when laws changed that allowed me partial access to my birth records. On my 40th birthday I received a copy of my original birth certificate in the mail, and I finally had a name to place on the phantom image of my first mother. I could finally find her so she would know that I was alive and well. That I had lived a good life, with good people and many opportunities. When she responded to my message, she told me that she had been waiting for forty years to hear from me and I felt the sense that she could finally exhale all that she had been holding in for all those years. Knowing that I was ok made her feel ok again. It took me nearly a year to be able to tell my mother about Mary. I did not know how to tell the woman who had loved, nurtured, protected, and ed me that I had found the woman who had given me life; that I had found my other mother. And this is one of the problems that adoption creates: the need for more secrets. I had no model for how to tell this next part of my story. Society had not created a space for this narrative, yet.

In fact, we are still working on making space for new narratives about women. We are still working on making space for new narratives about adoption and all its complexity. We are still working on making space for new ways of thinking about mothers, motherhood, and how we can better women to make choices that are actually choices and not the result of having no other option. This is why fiction is so important. According to recent research in neuroscience reading fiction can help with emotional intelligence. Reading literary fiction helps people develop empathy, theory of mind, and critical thinking.⁴ When we read fiction we are transported into another person’s life, world, and experience which can help us imagine new possibilities for ourselves and others. Our minds and hearts are opened to hearing about issues that affect those who are different from us. Reading stories creates a pathway for exploring uncomfortable ideas because the plot helps us find ways to engage in discussions about events that take place outside of our own comfort zones. By reading fictional stories we learn about human behavior and motivations and can then begin to question previously held beliefs about people, places, and events in history. Fiction helps

us understand ourselves and the world we live in by giving us characters who become friends, characters we loathe and despise, characters we aspire to be like. Fiction gives us an opportunity to see the world through other people’s eyes and gain new perspectives.

It is my hope that readers of this particular piece of fiction see the value in women’s stories because this is a story about women, their relationships, triumphs, grief, pain, and challenges. It is a story that many will resonate with. It is a story that is a beginning to new ways of thinking about who, how, and why we love. It is a story that is equal parts anguish and hope. Through this story may we find redemption and healing for the secrets we no longer must keep.

Liz DeBetta, Ph.D.

May 5, 2021

1 I use the word “surrender” specifically because it means to cease resistance to an enemy or opponent and submit to their authority which is precisely what women during this era were forced to do

2 The Girls Who Went Away: The Hidden History of Women who Surrendered Children for Adoption in the Decades Before Roe v. Wade, p. 299

3 BabyScoopEra.com

4 “The Case for Reading Fiction” by Christine Seifert, Harvard Business Review

March 6, 2020

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Cat in the Jungle

Chapter 2: Expecting the Unexpected

Chapter 3: Big Brother is Watching (Over You)

Chapter 4: Homeward Bound

Chapter 5: Decisions

Chapter 6: Just Breathe

Chapter 7: It’s a Long Way to Sacramento

Chapter 8: Times, They Are A-Changin’

Chapter 9: The Crosses We Bear

Chapter 10: Fairhaven

Chapter 11: Astute Observations

Chapter 12: The Jig is Up

Chapter 13: Confessions

Chapter 14: More Confessions

Chapter 15: Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

Chapter 16: Absolution

Chapter 17: Expecting (Once Again) the Unexpected

Chapter 1: Cat in the Jungle

Patti took a last long drag on her cigarette before snuffing it out with a rhinestone-encrusted, platform-heeled pump. Swallowing the last of her late evening meal--or would it count for breakfast? she chuckled mirthlessly to herself, she sighed inwardly as she contemplated the drive home. Her shift was now officially five minutes over and Manny had just been by to check up on her. After a quick kiss, had he slipped out the back door, en route to his wife and their newest baby.

Patti rolled her eyes as another sigh escaped her well-rouged, full-bottomed lips. Manny. The boss. “El Jefe,” as he often laughingly referred to himself. More like “The Peacock,” Patti reflected.

Some three months earlier, Patti’s best friend from middle school, Frieda, said they should check out the club, “because one of their dancers quit, and they are advertising for a replacement.”

“How the heck do you know these things?” Patti asked, slightly surprised at her friend’s suggestion. “And why should I even care?” she added, irritation rising in her voice.

Widening her blue eyes in mock surprise tinged with the tiniest bit of irritation, Frieda had replied, “The waitressing world is smaller than you think, and we both know you could use the money.” At her friend’s resentful glance, Frieda added, “Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”

Sighing deeply and rolling her eyes, Patti capitulated. “Yeah, that last waitressing gig didn’t exactly work out.”

“Uh, yeah, ya think?” was Frieda’s quick reder.

The job that Patti had gotten just before moving out on her own had proven to be the impetus that would move her to even think about working in a place like Manny’s. Patti had gone in for her regularly scheduled morning shift one day and noticed that the front door was locked. “Closed indefinitely. Sorry for any inconvenience,” was scrawled across a lined piece of notepaper and taped haphazardly on the inside of one of the front door’s glass windowpanes. Shit. And today’s payday! Patti could feel her breath start to come faster as her head swam with the import of the news, knowing full well that she’d never see that last paycheck.

She’d managed to make it back to the apartment that she shared with Frieda, and told her best friend the news, tears welling up and threatening to spill over onto her very pale cheeks. “Shit, Fred, what am I gonna do?” At her friend’s grimfaced stare, Patti continued in a thin, high voice, bridging on hysteria. “I mean, I can’t go home, not after that last big fight with Dad!” The gravity of her situation suddenly hit Patti, blindsiding her with the enormity of it all. I can’t go home, and I can’t stay here, because I’m absolutely fucking broke! was her panicked thought as she tried to get her tears under control, failing miserably in her attempt.

Sighing and putting her hand on Patti’s shoulder, Frieda spoke. “Hey, P.” As her friend met her gaze with red-rimmed, utter despair, Frieda continued. “Um, I still have some birthday money from Mom and Dad, and—” As Patti slowly shook her head, Frieda gently shook her friend’s shoulder to make her point. “Stop trying to be a hero, P. I have enough to cover this month’s rent and food and

stuff, and unless you want to suck it up and go back home—” As Patti’s eyes widened and she shook her head even more vigorously, Frieda smiled knowingly. “That’s what I thought. So, it’s settled. I got you for the month, and you’ll find something else real quick, no sweat.”

Putting her prideful protestations aside, Patti had capitulated readily enough and had taken her friend’s offer. “I owe you one. Big time,” Patti once again met her best friend’s blue-eyed gaze with a hazel one of her own, her gratitude and showing in her face, which was now tinged with the slightest blush of relief.

Despite Patti’s initial reservations at the thought of working at one of those kinds of places, the two did go to check the place out. Manny Rodriguez happened to be at the bar when they walked in, talking to his bouncer, Bruno. As the girls walked through the doors, as if on cue, Manny glanced up. He locked his gaze onto the long-haired brunette as she entered his dance club. He nudged Bruno in the ribs. “Hey, check it out!”

Bruno looked to where his boss of nine years was staring. His heart promptly fell into his stomach as he looked at Manny’s face morphing into an all-too-familiar countenance. “That blonde? Yeah, she’s pretty,” Bruno replied, quickly lowering his eyes to study an imaginary hangnail on his left hand. Yeah, man, we all know how much you loooove blondes, flitted across the bouncer’s mind as his gut wrenched upward.

Manny looked quickly at his bouncer with a startled grin. “No, the short one with the long brown hair!”

Bruno looked up again and said in what he hoped sounded like a casual tone, “Oh, didn’t see her. Yeah, she’s kinda pretty, isn’t she?” Bruno took a deep breath and hoped his boss didn’t notice how offhand his response had been.

Fortunately, Manny promptly relieved Bruno of his discomfort as he started toward the girls, leaving Bruno at the bar to observe the scene from a safe distance. I wasn’t lying, though. That blonde is kinda cute. Chuckling to himself, Bruno shook his head and turned to polish the clean shot glasses set out on the bar, eager to move past the queasy feeling that had settled in his gut.

“Hello. My name is Manny. I’m the owner of this club. You must be new ... haven’t seen you around here till tonight.” Manny spoke directly to Patti, leaving Frieda to start back slightly and raise an eyebrow. As Frieda surveyed the scene in front of her, something caught her eye just ahead and to the right of her vision. A tall, muscular, dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair was looking in their direction, shaking his head as he turned to tend the empty bar in front of him. Hmm. I wonder who he is? If he was the owner of this dive, I might even interview for the job myself. Turning her attention to the budding drama unfolding directly in front of her, Frieda reluctantly forced the fleeting thought to the back of her mind.

As Manny took Patti’s hand up to his lips, Frieda put her hand out to shake his. “Nice to meet you, Manny. Matter of fact, we are new, and we were wondering if that dancing position was still open.”

Manny glanced over to Frieda as if he had just realized she was in the room. “Uh, yeah. You interested in applying?” His eyes traveled briefly up and down the length of Frieda’s body, surveying her with a look of mild irritation, sending a shiver of instant revolt down Frieda’s spine. Frieda suppressed the shiver and surveyed Manny in a similar fashion as Manny’s gaze snapped back to Patti.

“Not me. My friend Patricia here.” Patti huffed and rolled her eyes at being referred to her by her given name. Something in Manny’s eyes made Patti step back involuntarily, then she dismissed her gut reaction and smiled like a Cheshire cat, matching his stare with what she hoped was an equally compelling one of her own. Her prospective boss matched that smile with an immediate and

dazzling response of his own.

Patti started to work the next weekend, which happened to be the second Saturday of March 1968. At least I don’t have to lie about my age now, she’d mused inwardly as she carefully climbed the back steps and onto the stage for her premier performance. Determined to make her new life work for her, she fought back the hysterical desperation she felt as her feet hit the stage for the first time. Just past her twenty-first birthday, Patti was rather shocked and more than a bit dismayed by the fact that she knew instinctively how to walk the walk that made the gentlemen who frequented Manny’s club tip heavily. And Patti’s natural performing ability was certainly not lost on Manny. She must be fivethree at the most, and she’s the most sensual bundle of energy I’ve ever seen walk across my stage, was Manny’s very thought as he watched Patti go through her routine for the first time.

Over a round of drinks one evening after work, Manny asked, “So, tell me, Patricia, what’s a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Taken aback by his obvious pick-up line, Patti replied, “Most people call me Patti. I hate the name Patricia. It’s what my Dad calls me when he’s mad at me. Actually, he’s called me Cat for as long as I can . It’s because of my eyes. He says they’re tiger eyes.”

As Manny’s slow smile came in response, Patti instantly regretted sharing this little piece of herself with him. With a brief snort of amusement, Manny tossed his grey-templed head back and replied, “That’s a perfect name for you. Really! It fits, the way you move up on stage.” His gaze slowly traveled the length of Patti’s form, from hazel gold eyes to the beginning of her cleavage and rested there briefly before he once again looked her in the eye.

Patti visibly shuddered, much as she tried to suppress the sensation, but Manny was too intent on his thoughts to take notice. “And since I am El Jefe, baby, that’s your new name around here. Cat Connor.” He chuckled again and smiled. “That’s rock star status right there!” He reached out and put his toffee-colored hand on Patti’s alabaster one, and she flashed what she hoped was her best Cheshire cat smile as she squeezed his hand back, all the while holding him with those cat eyes.

That had been two weeks into Patti’s new dancing career in Manny’s gentleman’s club. “More like a pole dancer in a cheap strip club,” Patti laughingly lamented to Frieda over Sunday brunch the next morning. Since that evening, “Patti” had ceased to exist, at least where Manny was concerned, and had been replaced by “Cat,” which now served not only as Manny’s nickname for her, but as her stage name, as well. Cat Connor was in the house, and when she danced, the gentlemen indeed took notice. The proof was in the tips that soon became more than enough to pay the rent and live the independent life that Patti had hoped for when she’d left home such a short time ago. Short time in truth, but lately, it seemed like an eternity since she’d seen her parents’ faces.

Patti had never wanted for anything growing up. But she possessed a rebellious streak that bewildered her parents. No matter how much they disciplined her, no matter how many therapy sessions they forced her to attend, the streak was never abolished, but instead grew wider as Patti grew up. And with that rebellion came impulsive behavior that her mother tried with all her heart to comprehend and her father tried with all of his to curb.

The last straw was when Patti, three years after graduating with average grades from high school, decided, with the quiet urging of her mother, to enroll in the local community college. First day of classes came. Patti went to her first class. Then her second. Then by noon, she was back home. She told her parents that school wasn’t for her, and that she’d rather scrub toilets than go back. Needless to say, this news didn’t go well. Windell blew up and gave Patti an ultimatum: “Go back to school or get a job and move out.”

Waking from her reveries, Patti looked down at her red-rimmed cigarette, which lay crushed and smoldering next to her pump that had stamped it out. Chuckling mirthlessly once again, she thought of how well she related to that butt. With another resigned sigh, she glanced at her watch. It read 1:20. Quitting time. She stood up and started for the door. Time to go home. As she walked across the floor, Patti counted up her tips for the night. Despite everything, at least Manny was right about one thing: she did make good tips, and after all, it was nice to eat.

At the thought of food, Patti’s stomach began to growl loudly in protest. It was nice to have a bit of an appetite for a change, but eating had recently become a bit of a challenge, something entirely new to Patti. She was baffled as to why she suddenly had been having stomach issues, and for the past week or so, she had tried everything to calm it. Eating light, not eating, Pepto…nothing seemed to remedy her digestive distress. Maybe the flu…No. Isn’t it a bit too late for flu season in late June in San Diego? And to have this issue for more than two weeks already? No, it probably wasn’t the flu….

Then a rather ominous thought crept into the corners of her mind and she stopped mid-stride. Patti shook her head. No. That wasn’t it. Manny told her after his wife had announced her fourth pregnancy, he had gone to the doctor to get things fixed, and that was, according to Manny, nearly a year ago now. He liked to joke that he was through with factory production and was going to just focus on show production from now on. He last said that 8 weeks ago, on the evening that Patti’s life first took a sharp turn….

Lighting up another cigarette, she moved once again toward the exit and Patti smiled despite herself as her mind once again drifted off, this time to that night in mid-April. As she recounted Manny’s overtures to her that night, she ed the high she’d felt as she finished counting the money she’d made in tips, the most she’d made to date.

“Ohmygosh! Look, Manny!” She’d exclaimed as she fanned out the bills in front of her.

“I told you, baby, you’re rock star status,” Manny practically crowed as he moved forward to embrace her.

Manny’s sudden nearness stopped Patti in mid breath. As she felt the firmness of his embrace, her arms came up behind him to lock in a similar fashion. “Um, hold on,” Patti pushed him away. “I need to put this somewhere,” she apologized, the fan of bills still grasped in her hand.

“Oh yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Patti stuffed the wad of cash--not just ones and fives, there were some twenties there as well—into what served as a sort of back pocket to her barely-there mini skirt, then turned again to face her boss.

“Now, where were we?” Manny breathed, wrapping his arms around his newest star with renewed determination.

Patti’s mind reeled. “Um, I think we were right about … here.” She smiled up at him as he bent down to kiss her.

Patti had kissed boys before. She’d even gone so far as to let them cop a feel

from time to time. But she’d never done more than that. Until now. With such an insistent and experienced man such as Manny Rodriguez, she stood little chance of resisting, and Manny innately sensed this. Moving up against her with growing urgency, his kiss deepened as his tongue probed her mouth, demanding a prompt response. Overwhelmed with the sheer force that was Manny, Patti pulled away as she gasped for breath. Manny smiled slowly as he pulled her into the direction of his office. Without further protest, Patti allowed herself to be led by his firm arm wrapped around her shoulder.

They’d been standing just inside the alcove that led up the stairs and onto the stage, and the place was abandoned, or so Manny had presumed. What he didn’t realize in his desire to own his latest acquisition was that Bruno had been working late, cleaning up from an unusually busy evening. Rounding the corner just in time to see his boss bend down and kiss Patti, Bruno scooted into the bar area and back into the shadows where he could observe yet not be observed. What he witnessed made his blood run cold. Oh God. Please. Not again, was what fell from Bruno’s lips as he shut his eyes and prayed that what he was seeing wasn’t really happening.

A sudden and unsettling prickle woke Patti up from her daydream, and she was abruptly back in the present. More than halfway towards her destination, she froze yet again. She quickly did the calculations. Shit. I’ve never been good at math, but the numbers don’t lie. Heart racing, Patti shook her head again and forced the ugly thought from her mind. Snuffing out her cigarette, she checked her watch as she continued towards the door.

As she reached the door, Patti’s mind started to play back the latest conversation she’d had with her parents a few weeks ago. Eleanor had been on the kitchen line. Windell, as was his custom, was listening in from the bedroom line. But what wasn’t customary this time was that Windell had interjected his thoughts into the conversation. A man of few words, when he spoke, people tended to listen due to such a rare occurrence. The didactic litany had continued on and on. He was so disappointed in her, she had let down the family, they hadn’t raised

her to be this way, and Patti had just hung up the phone in despair.

That was a first for her as well. She’d never cut off her parents before, but now it was somehow different. Living on her own had somehow emboldened Patti, and now she truly was starting to feel like a cat: independent and free from constraint.

New-found independence notwithstanding, there was still a part of Patti that wanted nothing more than to beg to come home, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, a litany of her own played through her mind. When will Dad ever ease up? Why won’t Mom speak out when he gets on his soapbox? Why can’t they just see me for who I am? These and many other questions were at present worming their way through Patti’s brain as she smiled at Bruno, who was also packing it up and calling it a night.

“Heya, Cat. Good night?” Bruno grinned down at Patti as he asked his customary question. Opening the back door, he made an “after you” gesture to Patti, as was his custom every night.

As they walked into the well-lit parking lot together, she looked up to meet Bruno’s dark and smiling gaze and replied with a lopsided grin, “Not bad. Not stellar, either, but enough to pay the rent.” A short chuckle escaped both of their mouths as Bruno stopped next to Patti’s car. Bruno had made it his habit to walk Patti out after her late shifts, and his self-appointed role of Protector was not lost on her. Meeting his brown eyes with her hazel-gold gaze, Patti’s voice wavered. “Thanks again for walking me to my car. I’m so tired tonight.” She reached up on tiptoe and pecked Bruno on the cheek with a quick kiss of gratitude.

Bruno glanced at the car, a new 1968 Chevy Camaro, canary yellow with black leather seats. “Hey, this new?’

“Yeah. My car, or my old car actually, blew the radiator the other day on the way to work. Told Manny about it, and guess what was waiting for me this morning when I woke up?” Cat tried to hide her irritation, but it betrayed her, seeping out in her voice as she explained this, the latest sugar-daddy gift, that Manny had bestowed upon her.

As Bruno ed Patti’s irritation, is smile became tinged with a slight frown of consternation as he ed back to the last time … with that pretty blonde hostess … Elena …. Manny had promised after that incident that that would be the last time. Thankful for the evening’s darkness, Bruno smiled again to shake off the unpleasant memory and exclaimed with forced joviality, “Whoa! I need to ask El Cheapo for a raise, then! Last time my car broke down, he didn’t even send me flowers, let alone a new ride!”

Patti grinned up at Bruno, his thoughts completely masked from her. “Ha! But you’ll be happy to know this is a rental. Just till Betsy gets out of the shop.” With that, she opened the car door and slid gratefully into the seat. Rolling down the window, she put her freshly manicured hand on Bruno’s dark, callused one and squeezed it thankfully. Bruno caught her hand and squeezed back.

“Be careful, Kitty Cat. Lots of crazies out there.” Bruno watched Patti as she backed out of the parking lot and onto the main road leading to her apartment, the one Manny was only too happy to pay for now, to keep her out of his way. Shaking his close-cropped, coffee-colored head in mild bewilderment and growing concern, Bruno realized that the crazies out there on the road weren’t the ones Patti had to worry about. If Deborah ever found out …. Shaking his head again, this time with violent resolve, Bruno pushed the thought out of his mind and started on his way home.

While driving down the I-5 the short 20 minutes to Middletown, Patti’s utter and

complete exhaustion washed over her like a leaden cloud, threatening to consume her before she could get to the small apartment she called home. Blinking back her fatigue, once again Patti’s stomach lurched up, threatening to expel the small late shift ham and cheese sandwich she’d consumed less than 45 minutes earlier. Eyebrows furrowing over half-closed eyes, Patti, for the second time that evening, contemplated the cause of her discomfort.

The unshakable feeling that something was wrong—very, very wrong—started to take hold once again, and Patti’s heart started to thump radically against ribs that rose and fell with increasing speed as her breathing quickened to match her heart’s pace. Oh my God. Please let this be a mild case of food poisoning, she prayed as she turned off the freeway and onto the main road leading to her complex.

When the car came to a stop in her parking space, before Patti could even open the door, her ham sandwich did indeed dislodge itself from her normally compliant, but now unruly stomach. It was all she could do to yank the door open and lean instinctively to her left, right hand grabbing her waist-long hair up and out of the way, before the contents of that rebellious stomach became the most recent addition to the flower bed planted on the curb next to her brightly-lit parking stall.

If anything, Manny insisted that his “favorite girl” and her “little friend” must live somewhere safe…and far enough away from Deborah and the kids so as not to accidentally run into each other at the grocery store. That was the tacit reason he’d insisted on them both relocating to this particular apartment, located about an hour in the opposite direction from where he lived.

Despite the distance, however, he’d found plenty of excuses to see Patti—Cat— outside of the club, a little-missed fact for Frieda, who constantly worried about her best friend, but mostly kept her concerns to herself. After all, it was Patti’s life, who was she to tell her friend how to live it? Her father did enough of a

whack job on Patti’s self-esteem, so why add to her angst with lectures that wouldn’t be listened to anyway? Not my circus, not my monkeys, was the phrase that daily came to Frieda’s mind when she contemplated Patti’s growingly complicated relationship with Manny. At the mere thought of his name, it was all Frieda could do in front of Patti not to visibly shudder. She didn’t like him from the start, and now he was showing her exactly why her instincts were correct.

Panting slightly as she caught her breath, her eyes streaming with exertion and a growing sense of panic, Patti unclenched her auburn locks. Then she gingerly swung the rest of her body out of the vehicle, and put her left foot, then her right, carefully on the pavement, well away from the newly christened flowerbed. Glancing quickly at the mess as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, she couldn’t help but think how perfect a metaphor that flowerbed was for her life right now.

She stood up on rather shaky legs attached to feet still somehow bedecked in her work pumps, and took a few tentative steps towards her unit, which was thankfully straight ahead about 20 paces and slightly to the left. Thankful that Frieda had left the light on—what would I do without her? Was Patti’s grateful thought—she stumbled on the turned-up corner of the welcome mat whose “w” had long been worn off by whomever had been a tenant before the two girls had moved in, leaving just a cursory “elcome.”

Patti crossed the threshold that bridged the outside world and what had become her sanctuary in the last couple of months. Fully expecting another violent episode of vomiting and dreading it—Patti didn’t vomit often, but when she did, it was nearly always a spectacularly drawn-out ordeal lasting well into several days at a time, the last incident putting her into the hospital for nearly a week— Patti keyed the lock on the door. She swung it open, kicked the pumps off to the left side where the hall closet was open for some reason, slammed the door shut, clicked the lock with a guilty shrug of chagrin for making so much noise, and made a beeline on fishnet-stockinged feet to the shared bathroom. Staring at the toilet, she braced herself for another round. It was times like these that she

missed her mom the most. Eleanor was like the calm to Windell’s storms, and Patti sure could use some of that calm for herself right about now. Eyes screwed shut, she took a deep breath, and waited ….

Nothing. Cautiously, Patti half opened one hazel eye. She thought, huh. Weird. Surprisingly, her stomach was behaving as though it had never been complicit in the flowerbed escapade. Maybe it was the mayo? Patti pondered the thought, and the memory of her last meal seemed to evoke some steady growling from that same unruly stomach, loud and demanding. Patti was more than just a bit shocked to realize that she was famished. “Are you kidding me?!” Murmuring aloud, Patti stared down at her abdomen, instinctively placing a hand on her belly as she made to vacate the bathroom and rummage through the kitchen for something to calm her capricious stomach. “This is crazy!”

And crazy was just the word to describe the next few months of Patti’s life.

Chapter 2: Expecting the Unexpected

The morning after her unfortunate encounter with the petunia patch, Patti woke up with a dull pain throbbing in the front of her head. Great, she thought. Just what I need. Another sinus infection. Maybe I just need water …. Ok …. Let’s get up and get to the kitchen. Her plans were abruptly halted mid-thought, however, as she started to move towards her target. The early morning dreammemory was already beginning to fade as her mind went back and re-played the scene. Manny and her on that rainy night, trying so hard to be quiet …. His face in her hands, smiling up at her, both breathing hard …. That dark and determined face morphing into her father’s image, blue eyes bulging, shouting incoherent, angry words …. Manny/Windell suddenly wrapping big, determined hands around her throat …. Her screaming and hearing no sound, her head beginning to throb from the pressure ... then sudden, blissful blackness.

As she slowly moved her head from side to side, she realized at last that it was just another one of her vivid dreams. Patti yawned out a deep and tired sigh as she stretched her arms out, fingers splayed, and arched her back. Halfway through her stretch, however, she was deterred, her throat again constricting. Wide eyed, Patti thought for a moment that perhaps she wasn’t dreaming. Then she put her own trembling hands round her neck and pulled the bedsheet from around her throat. She had apparently become entangled in it somehow. Patti unwrapped herself from the offending piece of cloth, sighing with relief.

As she recounted her evening, Patti swung her legs over the side of her full-sized bed and planted her feet firmly on the ground. Amazingly, her legs were stable, but her stomach was not. Water, she resolutely thought to herself. Maybe that will do the …

As she made another beeline to the bathroom, she nearly crashed into Frieda on her way down the hall. “Ooh, sorry, P, I didn’t see you coming!” Patti curtly nodded her response as her outstretched hand hit the bathroom door and she yet again assumed what was becoming an all-too-familiar position over the toilet. The cold spaghetti she’d hurriedly consumed before bed the night before was up and out before she could take a second breath, and she congratulated herself on aiming right this time, wondering grimly what the groundskeeper would think of her latest contribution to his prized petunia patch just outside her door.

Though she braced herself for another round, once again her stomach settled down as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Patti wiped her chin with a washcloth—the last one in the pile, she noted, time to do laundry—and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Staring back at her was a small young woman with a heart-shaped face, disheveled auburn hair that cascaded crazily down her back, and wide-set, scared-looking, hazel eyes. The eyes were what caught Patti off guard the most. She had never seen herself look so … frightened. So … lost.

WhatdoIdo, whatdoIdo, whatdoIdo …. Raw panic echoed through Patti’s mind as she washed her face and gingerly stepped into the shower. With a slight glimmer of hope, she checked to see if maybe things would start to get back to normal today. She peered down at the running water; it was clear and colorless, the washcloth as white and pristine as it had been the day it had been laundered. Shit.

As Patti stepped out of the shower and dried herself, a sinking feeling of dread took hold on her. Screw the laundry, I need to go to the doctor. Patti’s mind switched gears to figure out the logistics of this endeavor. Fuck! I’m 21 years old, newly on my own, single, living from paycheck to paycheck, and it’s 1968. Not a lot of choices were left to women who found themselves in her position at that time, and Patti knew that her options were extremely limited. The only

reason she had what she had was because of Manny’s generosity ….

At the thought of her boss, “El Jefe,” Mr. Smooth Talker, Patti’s breath caught in her throat and was held there by her hammering heart, which had decided suddenly to take up residence and beat wildly in her windpipe. Oh, my sweet Jesus, what am I gonna tell Manny? AM I gonna tell him? He’ll FREAK OUT! She finished drying off in a haze of deep thought on how she would be able to get to the doctor’s office today without insurance or money. Slipping on her new underwear—a matching set, a conservative black that belied the alluring cut and lift of the push-up bra, compliments of Manny, of course—she stepped out of the bathroom.

As she opened the door that led to the back hallway and the girls’ bedrooms, she was squarely met by a resolute Frieda, brows furrowed in deep concern and mouth set in a stern, straight line. “Ok. What the hell is going on? That’s two times you’ve barfed in less than 24 hours.” She met Patti’s surprised and slightly guilty look with, “Yep. I heard you last night before you came in. I was up with another bout of insomnia. But never mind me. Spill it, sister!” Looking into her friend’s wide, blue-eyed and unflinching gaze, Patti couldn’t keep up the façade any longer.

“Oh, Fred!” She sobbed, throwing her bare arms around Frieda’s neck. Taken aback at her friend’s sudden emotional outburst, Frieda slowly wrapped her own arms around Patti’s shaking frame and held her. Her tentative hug became a fierce and protective enclosure at the dawning realization of what was actually taking place hit her like an avalanche.

“That fucking son-of-a-bitch.” The words rolled low and matter-of-factly into Patti’s ear as Frieda, tight-lipped and reeling a bit herself, came to the full understanding of what was actually happening. “That lying bastard. Oh, Honey, what are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know, but I do know I need to get to the doctor’s office to make sure. Only problem is, I don’t get paid till next Friday, and this has been a rough month with the car and all, even though he kinda helped with the rental.”

“Ok.” Frieda’s voice came low and determined as she snapped into action. “I have a regular doctor who used to work with Dad, and he’ll see you on a cashonly sliding-scale. I have some tip money from the restaurant saved up. I’ll cover it. We need to make sure, then figure it out from there.” At her friend’s sudden look of panic, Frieda continued. “And no, he won’t tell him anything. Doc Williams has been keeping my secrets for years now.” Fred nodded for emphasis.

Patti pulled away from her friend and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Kleenex. Put that on the list of things to get today, the fleeting thought came to her as she took a long, jagged breath in and exhaled slowly, struggling for calm. “I need a Kleenex. I need a cigarette, too.”

“Here.” Frieda grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom and shoved it unceremoniously into Patti’s shaking hand. “It’ll do till we get groceries later on. But sorry, you ain’t gonna smoke right now. If you’re pregnant, you need to cut that shit out like yesterday.”

Seeing the resolve in her roommate’s face, Patti stared at Frieda for a moment, a snippy retort on the tip of her tongue. Thinking better than to start what might become World War III with the woman in front of her instead she sighed, her breath coming raggedly as she relented. “Yup,” she whispered. Then a bit louder, “You’re right. Dammit! This is NOT good!” Her eyes welled up again, and she swiped angrily at the tears threatening to make an encore appearance. “I need to get dressed and get my head around this. You’ll call?”

“I’m on it, Babe,” Frieda replied as she was turning towards the phone stand which was crammed against a tiny alcove in the small kitchenette area. The stand held their newish pink, square rotary phone with the extra-long cord, now twisted into a short, thick spiral. Taking the receiver off the hook and grabbing the cord as far down as she could reach, she let it slowly twist itself free as she walked to the corner of the kitchenette to put on a fresh pot of coffee before she dialed the number she knew by heart.

The numbness was starting to wear off while Patti sat in the enger seat of Frieda’s ‘65 gunmetal grey Pontiac Tempest. The doctor had been kind, just as Frieda had said he would be. And discreet, which was just as much a relief to Patti as his kindness had been. The exam had been routine, and the blood test results would be available in three days’ time. That had come as a bit of a shock to Patti, as she’d thought they’d be able to give her the results the same day. Dubious that she’d be able to get through the next 72 hours without losing what was left of her already tenuous sanity, Patti started to speak.

“Fred.” Eyes staring at nothing in particular in front of her at the road ahead, Patti turned to look at her best friend.

“Um-hm?” Frieda kept her eyes on the road, but cocked her head slightly, leaning in to listen.

“I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna get through these next few days.” Patti’s eyes welled up momentarily, her right hand coming automatically to swipe at tears all too willing to spill over.

“We need to take it one day at a time, P. One thing’s for sure, we need to figure out how you’re gonna tell your parents.” Frieda’s mouth was set once again in a thin, resolute line, her blue eyes narrowed into equally determined slits. Jerking her short, pixie-cropped blonde head up slightly, Frieda exhaled a long, exhausted breath as she glanced over at her friend as she thought, God, P. What a hot fucking mess.

“Fred. You know I can’t tell them!” Patti’s eyes grew even wider and she abandoned her futile efforts at stanching the relentless flow of tears. Her body had been shaking all morning, and now the flood came, brought on by utter exhaustion and a very real fear of the unknown future, and Patti sobbed in earnest. “Mom might take it ok after a while, but Dad won’t tolerate this at all! I’d have to come home, and he’d send me away! My life is over!” Patti’s voice had risen to a high-pitched squeak as primal fear and panic came flowing out of her, along with the deluge of tears.

“Ok. So, let’s just wait till the doctor calls with your results before we totally freak here,” Frieda’s voice remained ever-level, but it had risen just so slightly in pitch, betraying her own growing concern over this whole mess. Patti stared at her friend through a hazy blur, Fred slowly coming into focus amidst the tears, and slowly nodded her head, which had started to throb. She sighed and closed her eyes, laying back against the headrest as her breathing started to slow down. Even though her friend’s words had met Patti’s ears with what calming note Frieda could manage to be bestow under the circumstances, Patti already knew the truth: She was going to have a baby, and Manny was going to be a father. Again.

At this thought, Patti’s eyes popped open as she gasped in renewed terror. “Oh my God! What do I tell Manny?” The question escaped Patti’s lips and elicited a fresh round of panicked sobbing.

“You don’t have to tell that lying bastard a goddam thing.” Frieda’s voice was

low and matter of fact as she stared directly at the road ahead of her. “I wouldn’t even worry about that fucker. Right now, you need to think. You need to come clean with your parents, and you need to do what’s right for you. Quit being stubborn and selfish and suck it up. You and the baby deserve more than this life we’re living now.”

A sudden thought popped into Patti’s manic mind. With another sharp intake of breath, she exclaimed, “I could go to Mexico!”

“No, you couldn’t. You’re Catholic. Maybe not practicing, but Catholic nonetheless.” Frieda stopped at a red light and glared full on at her friend, who she was convinced had finally lost her entire mind. “Abortion is a sin worse than adultery. You’ll by Purgatory and go straight to Hell.” The light turned green, and Frieda stepped on the gas and the car lurched forward. “Shit, sorry,” she apologized as Patti lurched forward suddenly. Laying off the gas, Frieda drove through the intersection without further mishap.

Patti’s tears had stopped, and her breathing had started to slow down. As she leaned back once again, she lifted exhausted golden eyes to hold her friend’s baby blues, and she stated all too calmly, “I’m already living in Hell.”

As the car continued down the next street, Frieda remained silent as she absorbed the enormity of her friend’s cryptic statement. And Patti, her mind clearing as her tears subsided, began to think, really think, for the first time in months.

Chapter 3: Big Brother is Watching (Over You)

As Frieda parked the car in the open space next to where Patti’s rental sat under the covered parking stall, Patti opened the enger side door and stepped out onto the warm asphalt. It was only going to get warmer, she thought fleetingly to herself as she breathed a huge gulp of San Diego summer air into her tired lungs. She coughed as she did so and reached for her purse. Dammit. She ed that she had thrown out her cigarettes at Frieda’s insistence before they had gone to the doctor’s office. I need to do something, she thought to herself, the panic rising from her twisted gut. As her hands started to shake, Frieda came around the car and put her hand on Patti’s arm.

“Hey.” Blue eyes searched for hazel golds. Patti looked up at her friend and let out a long and shuddering sigh.

“Yeah. I forgot I can’t smoke anymore. But I’m bugging out, and I need to get a grip.” Patti’s eyes grew wide with the panic that was threatening to spill out and take over. This, she didn’t want to happen. She ed the last panic attack she’d had. It was the day after she’d lost her job at the diner, and despite her friend’s repeated assurances, it had taken her the better part of a week to be able to function again. Panic … that hair trigger that launched Patti into another dimension, dark and swirly, making her dizzy and stealing her power from her as quickly as it took to inhale in a breath. The last thing she needed right now would be to wake up one day and realize she’d done something outrageous again, like agree to work in a strip club. Ohmygosh! Patti’s breath caught once again as her mind settled on reality.

“Frieda, what am I gonna do about work?” Patti struggled to keep her voice at a lower level, but the unintended squeakiness gave away her agitation.

“We will come up with something.” Frieda’s mouth was once again set in its thin line of determination as she put her hands firmly on Patti’s shoulders and dictated her plan. “Till the doctor calls with news one way or the other, you need to take a deep breath, go to work, and do what you have to do to get through these next couple days.”

Patti nodded slowly, swallowed back the fear that was lodged in her throat, lifted her clearing head, and walked, arm in arm with her best friend—her rock—up the small walkway and into their apartment.

The next two days ed in a blur. Patti attempted to maintain normalcy, but she found it extremely difficult to focus on anything but the impending bombshell that that would drop once she told her parents about the baby that she just knew she was having. At work, though, she did her thing on stage, and smiled a bit more than usual to hide her growing discomfort at being in the constant presence of El Jefe. During lunches and breaks, Manny would come and visit, put his arm around her, and pull her close to his side.

The day after she’d visited the doctor, Manny walked in on Patti in the small break room off the side of the main stage. “Hey there, Kitty Cat,” he crooned as he smiled his infamous winning smile, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’ve missed you.” Patti kept her eyes down as she smiled her own winning Cheshire cat grin, struggling to keep the contents of her stomach intact, sudden nausea coming either from her suspected physical condition or Manny’s close presence, she wasn’t entirely sure of which.

“Oh, hey there,” she responded with a little intake of breath. Still averting her

eyes, she pulled away and dodged the kiss Manny attempted to plant on her lips.

Brows furrowing over eyes that were suddenly wary, Manny asked, “Hey, what’s the matter? You worried about the car? Don’t sweat it, Baby. I called the shop earlier today, and the guy said it’ll be all ready to go by closing time. I’m gonna go and take care of it, and Betsy will be waiting for you when you get off tonight.” The chuckle that accompanied this last statement made it clear that his double-entendre was directed at her as much as Patti’s car. To leave no doubt, he reached once again for her, and Patti froze up at his once-welcome touch.

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Thanks, Honey.” Patti’s grin was lopsided as she looked up at him and moved to give him a peck on the lips.

It was his turn to pull away. Scowling, with a new hard edge to his voice, he stated his growing concern at Patti’s evasive behavior. “Ok, so what’s really bothering you?” Immediately softening his tone as Patti involuntarily flinched, he continued. “If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?” He shot his right hand out and pushed Patti’s chin up with his squared index finger.

Eyes lowered once again and looking off to the side, Patti pretended nonchalance. “Oh, just tired tonight. Had a chat with the folks the other day, and you know how they stress me out.” Patti hoped her lie sounded convincing as she looked up, meeting Manny’s guarded brown gaze with her best big-eyed fake out.

That seemed to do the trick, and Manny’s face relaxed perceptibly as his pupils dilated. His hands went lower to cup her rear end, and Patti straightened up, pecked him once again, this time on his latte brown-colored cheek, and chuckled softly as she smiled. “Thanks for everything. I couldn’t have made it without you these past few months.” Glancing at the clock above the fridge, she started.

“Ooh, show time in 5. Gotta get out there and pay the rent!” She walked as briskly as she could on shaky legs attached to platform-clad feet, heaving a huge sigh of relief. Well, damn. That wasn’t so hard. Stomach intact. Manny appeased … for now. After tonight, one more day …. And Cat sauntered on to the dimly lit stage to earn her best night’s tips since the first time she started dancing in Manny’s “gentleman’s” club.

As Bruno walked Patti out to her newly washed--and what she hoped would be fully functional—vehicle, which was parked just where Manny said it would be, Patti stopped so suddenly that it was all Bruno could do to not walk into her barely covered behind. “Hey there, Cat. You ok?”

Patti responded with a brief nod and bent over in what had become a customary position as of late. As her stomach commenced its usual act of treason, Bruno put his square hand tentatively on the small of her back. “I take that as a no.” As Patti straightened and wiped her mouth on her hand, he reached into his jeans pocket and procured a white, relatively clean handkerchief and extended it as an offering to the obviously not-ok girl in front of him.

“Thanks, Bruno,” Patti’s voice was a tremor of combined frustration and exhaustion, tinged with more than a little fear. She struggled to regain her composure, dabbing gingerly at her mouth and took a step forward.

“Whoa!” Bruno steered Patti sharply to the left to avoid what promised to be a messy encounter directly beneath their feet, and the two made their way slowly to Patti’s car, now out of the shop and paid for compliments of the one who was partly responsible for this latest mess.

“Um … Cat … Patti … Patricia.” Patti had been leaning forward, struggling to unlock her car door with a shaky hand, and at the sound of her given name

coming out of Bruno’s mouth, she bolted upright, her rigid back to her friend’s face. Bracing herself for another convincing performance, she swung around, smiling radiantly up at her protector, eyes lifted, head tilted, in what she prayed would be a dismissive enough response. “I hate it when people call me Patricia,” she reed, hoping her half-hearted protest would suffice to turn the conversation onto a safer path.

Bruno, however, was not convinced. ing what he’d witnessed a few months before, he pushed on. “Come off it. I know you better than that. That’s the same smile you’ve been giving Manny all night. Look at me.”

Patti’s eyes widened in mock innocence as she met Bruno’s furrowed gaze. Then she quickly averted her eyes as the world around her swam out of focus.

“Hey.” Bruno’s index finger was under her chin, lifting her face gently to meet his. “Oh damn. Cat. Are you .… Did he ….” It was Bruno’s turn to be at a loss for words. Damn.

“I think so, I’ll know for sure tomorrow,” was what struggled out of Patti’s mouth as she focused on a loose rhinestone on her left stiletto. Instinctively, Bruno put his arms around Patti’s shoulders and brought her into himself. She closed her eyes and breathed in a long, ragged sigh, letting the tears flow freely as she melted into the man’s strong, protective embrace. Bruno, mind racing, drew Patti in more securely, and let her cry.

As Patti slowly recovered from her latest emotional upheaval, Bruno continued to get his thoughts together. Oh man, this is deja-vu all over again, he mused, shaking his head. Well, whatever happens, Deborah can’t find out. What she did to Elena, I could only imagine what she’ll do to this poor kid. Bruno’s arms relaxed as Patti disentangled herself from her new-found haven and she turned

towards her car. She managed to get the door unlocked and slid wearily into the driver’s seat.

“You ok to drive home?”

Patti smiled, this time a very sincere and radiant smile of gratitude. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“When’s your next day off? I want to take you to lunch and talk a little.” The tone of Bruno’s voice dimmed Patti’s smile to half-beam. She looked into his eyes for further explanation. They dimly reflected the light off the parking lot skylight that shown above Patti’s car. “It’s important.” Something in those eyes vanquished any further questions Patti might have had, and she nodded slowly.

“Um. Actually, tomorrow and Thursday I’m off. Maybe I can meet you after I hear from the doctor?” Patti met Bruno’s troubled brown gaze with her questioning hazel one.

“Ok. They’re calling in the morning?” At Patti’s nod, Bruno continued. “Good. Then give me your address and I’ll pick you up if you want. You might not be in the best shape to drive.”

Patti’s face quirked up in a half smile at Bruno’s pragmatic words. Fishing in her purse for a pen and a piece of paper to write on, she found a gum wrapper and wrote out her address in a surprisingly steady hand, slipping the wrapper into Bruno’s waiting hand. “Perfect,” Bruno leaned in, smiling warmly, and gently enclosed Patti’s bare shoulder in a gesture both protective and kind. Patti couldn’t help but notice what his eyes were still saying and wondered if he

realized how much they had already told her.

The doctor’s call came before 10 am. He confirmed what Patti already had known even before she answered the phone. She sighed with an uncharacteristically calm and stoic resolution as she hung up the phone. She glanced over at Frieda, who had been hopping in place from one foot to the other, staring at her friend as Patti spoke on the phone. “So, it’s official, huh?” Frieda stopped her nervous hopping and took a step towards her friend.

“Yup. I’m about 8 weeks along, give or take a few days.” Her matter-of-fact tone at first took even Patti by surprise, but then she drew in a determined breath, patted Frieda on the shoulder, and walked resolutely into her room. “I need to get dressed. Bruno’s gonna be here around noon to pick me up. We’re having lunch.”

Feigning nonchalance, Frieda asked, “Isn’t he that dreamy bouncer guy you work with?” Frieda’s right eyebrow quirked up in mild curiosity as the same corner of her mouth went up in a half grin. She’d found out the identity of that handsome guy at the bar she’d seen that first time through the many adventures in Manny’s “gentlemen’s club” Patti came home with over the last few months, and now she was downright intrigued with the man.

Patti glanced sideways at her roommate’s seemingly innocent inquiry. “I thought you hated the guys I work with, but yeah, that’s the one.”

“I said I can’t stand El Slimo. I didn’t say anything about the other one,” Frieda’s response came as a playful reder to her friend’s assumption.

“Oh. Well then. Yup, Bruno is kinda dishy, isn’t he?” Patti turned and paused mid-stride to her room to meet her friend’s half smile with a curled-up one of her own. “He’s almost like the big brother I should have had growing up.” With that, Patti commenced walking to her room, leaving Frieda mid-smile as the import of Patti’s comment lingered in the air.

“Oh, what the hell, a little lipstick wouldn’t hurt me either,” chuckled Frieda.

“And don’t forget to at least put on a bra!” Patti’s laugh floated from her halfclosed bedroom door. At that, both friends began to laugh in earnest; the first time either had laughed since Patti had come home and barfed in the flowerbed. And it felt good, which is probably why they kept laughing a bit longer than necessary.

As the doorbell rang, Patti called from the couch, where she’d just sat down to wait for her lunch date, “Hey Fred, you want get …” Patti grinned and shook her head as Frieda came bounding up the hallway to the door, dressed in a low-cut pair of flared-out jeans and the new halter top that she had just bought on clearance at Weinstock’s a few weeks ago while she was visiting her parents in Sacramento. The same weekend Patti had suggested she go visit those same parents because Manny … “Yeah, yeah, Manny wants to hang out here. And I can’t stand him,” Frieda had said. “That’s a good weekend for me anyway, cuz finals are done and the restaurant will probably be slow anyway …” Lord, the excuses we make for our friends, Frieda shook her head at the memory as she skidded to a stop in front of the closed door, adjusted her top, shook out her pixie hairdo, and opened the door.

Standing in front of her was the most handsome and one of the nicest—judging from Patti’s stories of him—men she’d ever met in her nearly 22 years on this planet. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt that showed off well-defined, coffeecolored biceps attached to broad shoulders. The t-shirt was tucked into jeans that looked tailored to fit just him. Bruno, expecting to meet Patti at the door, smiled

even wider, surprised at the sight of the young blonde woman who greeted him instead. “Hey … Frieda, right?”

Frieda nodded and opened the door to let Bruno into the apartment. “Yeah. I’m impressed you ed. I think the last time I saw you was the first time P. and I walked into where you guys work.”

“She talks about you all the time. Don’t worry, it’s all good stuff.” Bruno’s grin transformed into a soft chuckle as he walked into the living room where Patti stood up from the couch to greet him.

Frieda’s wide-set eyes narrowed in mock anger. “She better talk nice about me. I know where she lives!” She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose at Patti, who by now had grabbed her purse and was headed to the door.

Patti giggled in answer. “You know it!” She scooted over to Frieda and gave her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “We won’t be long, Fred.”

Frieda smiled at both Patti and what she was now convinced was the most beautiful specimen of male perfection as the two walked the door. Bruno turned around and shot Frieda a dazzling smile. “Hey, good to see ya again. If you’re ever at the club ….”

Frieda rolled her eyes. “I doubt that, but don’t be a stranger here either.”

Patti glanced sideways playfully at her friend. “You two should go out to dinner

sometime.” At that, she watched with amused satisfaction as Frieda blushed furiously and said something that sounded like a choked “Sure.” Or was it another “S” word that escaped her lips?

Shutting the door behind them, Bruno fell in step next to Patti. “Oh my God, Bruno, I’ve never seen a Black man blush before!”

“Huh?” With a silly grin still painted on his face, Bruno looked down in what he assumed would for mock anger at Patti. Laughing off what he knew was for her an unintended racial commentary as to the darkness of his skin, he responded in what he hoped would be an equally light-hearted manner. “Girl, it’s this sudden summer heat, that’s all. But your roomie sure is cute.”

“I’ll give her your number if you want. She has no problem calling the guy first.” Patti was thoroughly enjoying this moment, and she was loath to leave it behind.

“And I have no problem with her having no problem calling the guy first.” Bruno lifted his head up and chuckled once again. “But can I tell you something?” The question came before he could convince himself that it wasn’t worth asking.

“Sure,” came Patti’s cheerful response.

Oh, she really doesn’t know what she just said, does she? Bruno realized as he took a breath and continued. “Well, when you commented that you have never seen a black man blush, I know you think that sounded kinda … cute.” He emphasized the last word more than the others, causing his friend to look up in

genuine puzzlement. Seeing the look on her face, Bruno continued. “Well, think about it. Doesn’t it sound a bit … racist?”

At the honest tone of Bruno’s query, Patti’s eyes widened in embarrassed realization as the unintended impact of her words came to her. Patti cringed as she drew in a sharp breath of realization. “Oh my God, Bruno. I never thought about it like that. I am so sorry!” Tears threatened once again to make their appearance as her friend put his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed.

“It’s ok, I just wanted to point it out to you because I knew you didn’t mean anything by it, but it did mean something to me.” Bruno nudged his friend in the ribs and smiled impishly as he exclaimed in mock surprise, “Wow, I’ve never seen a white girl cry so much!”

At the ridiculousness of Bruno’s playful reder, Patti started to giggle, and her friend ed her. “Sorry, it won’t happen again,” she smiled up at him as Bruno drew her into a side hug that said all that his mouth didn’t. They were friends for life, and that would never change. And both of them were grateful for that.

As they approached Bruno’s ‘66 Mustang convertible, Patti had to comment. “I gotta it, Bruno, this is one tuff car. Perfect for the bachelor life.”

“I love this car, Cat … Patti,” Bruno replied, opening up the enger side door to allow Patti to slide in before closing it securely behind her. “Where are we going for lunch?”

“You pick, it’s been one of those mornings,” Patti deferred to Bruno as he pulled out of the guest parking area and onto the side street which would lead them to

the Midway.

“Oh yeah. Doctor called?” Bruno glanced down at Patti on the other side of the seat.

She nodded silently and looked down at her hands. “I need to tell Manny,” she stated flatly, resolutely working at a chipped red nail, not looking up at Bruno.

“Um, about that.” Patti looked up from her nail to meet Bruno’s sidelong glance. “Let’s get settled, then we’ll talk.” The two friends didn’t speak another word until Bruno pulled off the Midway and into a diner parking lot. “You cool with this?”

“Yeah, we hang out here whenever we have the morning off to eat breakfast. I mean, me and Fred.”

“Fred? Oh, that’s what you call your roomie. Somehow, it fits her,” Bruno couldn’t keep a small grin from appearing as he made his astute observation.

“You have no idea. I mean, it fits her personality better then Frieda, for sure!”

“I bet. So, let’s go eat. You hungry much?”

Patti thought for a minute. Amazingly, this morning she woke up, took a shower,

smelled the coffee brewing, made a beeline for the bathroom, and her stomach remained compliant for once. She had gotten down some toast and jam without further incident. As long as she avoided the smell of coffee first thing in the morning …. “Believe it or not, I’m STARVING! Today’s the first day in about a week that I haven’t had to puke my guts out first thing in the morning, and if you don’t think that feels amazing, you’re crazy!”

“That’s great to hear,” Bruno smiled encouragingly as he opened his door and stepped out. As Patti did the same, he stepped towards her and put a casual yet protective arm around his companion’s petite shoulders. Patti leaned comfortably into his protective embrace as they walked towards the front of the diner.

Bruno let the door shut behind them, and they seated themselves at a corner booth away from main foot traffic.

As they ate their lunch, Bruno started to speak. “Ok. I asked you to lunch because I care about you,” he started, his eyes seeking Patti’s undivided attention. She promptly gave it to him, meeting his gaze with an equally attentive one.

Between bites of his sandwich, Bruno told the story, reliving it in its entirety for the first time since that night …. He told her about Elena, who knew Manny’s wife, Deborah, from high school. They hadn’t been best friends, but they had had a few classes together. At the time, they still had friends in common, and news travelled fast about Elena’s tragic turn of events when her husband died suddenly of a heart-attack. It was Deborah who had actually reached out to Elena, figuring that she probably needed a way to make a few bucks since her husband had left her with three children, a mortgage and car payment, no life insurance policy, and no money in the bank.

Gratefully accepting Deborah’s suggestion to talk to Manny about the cocktail waitress position that had opened up at Manny’s club, Elena turned out to be the perfect fit. She was vibrant and pretty, a woman always ready with a friendly smile who walked in heels as if she’d been born with them on her feet. Manny raved about how she didn’t look at all like she had had three kids. He had always had an eye for a pretty face, which Elena had, and she had a trim figure “for a gal her age.” That had sealed the deal for him. Yes, he’d always had an eye for a pretty face ….

At first, Deborah and Elena had bonded while Elena worked for Manny. They might not have been close in high school, but they became fast friends because back then, Deborah would drop in frequently to chat with Elena. Deborah was always grateful for a little time to herself and took full advantage of her parents who at the time were only too happy to have their grandbabies with them for weekend sleepovers. Plus, it was nice to have an ally in this world of dirty diapers, crying kids, and absentee husbands. Even though she was not a single mother, sometimes Deborah felt that she might as well be, with Manny gone so much, and she and Elena found solace in each other’s maternal plight.

It had been a few months into her new job, and Elena hadn’t shown up for her shift one night. Deborah had been in to see Manny and had come in in a huff. Bruno ed that there had been something not quite right in Deborah’s eyes. He’d asked her if she was ok. She’d nodded and smiled, but something in her smile alerted him to the contrary. Amidst the sheer outrage that was so obvious on her face, there was a hint of … triumph? shining from her eyes. Doing his best to shrug it off as another one of their frequent marital squabbles, Bruno had turned back to his work, the uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Then the shouting commenced in the back room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an angrily shouting Deborah making a beeline for the door, patrons looking up in mild puzzlement as she went. As Bruno recounted the look on Deborah’s face, he felt his gut twist yet again. The rumors were apparently were true then,

judging from the look on Manny’s face as he ran out of the club after his very angry wife.

A few minutes later, Manny shuffled back into the club, head bent and an ugly maroon palmprint on his cheek. Without looking up, he went straight to his office in the back. An hour or so ed, and Bruno saw his boss walking briskly up the hallway and into the bar area. “I’m leaving for the night. Lock up for me, I gotta go find my fucking wife,” was all a tight-lipped Manny said as he brushed past his bouncer. At this terse direction, Bruno had nodded and gone back to his work, a growing sensation of dread gnawing at his insides.

As the minutes ed, he had tried to focus on his work, to no avail. Bruno knew he had to go and check on Elena; he had come to care for her much the same way he had for Patti, and he sensed with foreboding that all was not right. He could feel it in his gut. Less than a quarter of an hour after Manny had left, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and slipped out and left the new bartender, a burly young man who could hold his own in any bar fight, to take responsibility for locking up at the end of his shift.

He arrived at Elena’s home and saw Manny’s car parked haphazardly in the driveway. Just to the left, he saw Deborah’s station wagon parked against the curb, and his heart jumped into his throat. He ran up the driveway and knocked on the door, which opened at his touch. The angry voices coming from the back of the house told him that his premonitions were correct.

Deborah was shrieking with unfettered rage. “She told me in the grocery store yesterday, you goddam bastard!” Bruno was now sprinting down the hall, and the scene that met him in Elena’s bedroom would haunt him for the rest of his life: The coat hanger, bent and bloody, on the floor. Deborah, hands on her hips and her head up defiantly, her brown eyes blazing into her husband’s stricken face.

“Why did you do this?” was all Manny could manage to breathe out.

“The bitch did it to herself, I was just here to help. That’ll teach her to go fucking around with other peoples’ husbands!”

It was then that Bruno saw Elena. She was on the floor next to her bed, lying on her back … so much blood …. For a fleeting moment her green eyes met his, and she mouthed, “Oh God, please ….”

The police. The ambulance. Elena never making it to the hospital. She was three months along and had gone home to call her mom and tell her she was going to be a grandmother again …. But the only call her mom got that night was from the police station to inform her that her daughter was dead, please keep the children until arrangements could be worked out.

Patti’s eyes, wide with horror, started to show signs of comprehension. “Oh my God. Then what do I do? I can’t tell Manny now!”

“No, you can’t. Not if you want to make it out of this thing in one piece.” Bruno put a strong, square hand over Patti’s trembling one, and squeezed tight. “I work for Manny, but I’ve known the man for a very long time. I ain’t gonna say nothing to him.” Seeking her eyes again, Bruno emphasized each of those last seven words very carefully. Patti looked up at him, and for the second time that week, calmly started to map out her plan, a silent and nodding Bruno listening raptly as she spoke.

Friday night. Showtime, Patti thought resolutely as she pulled into the parking lot. Amidst the distant booms of early Independence Day celebrations, Patti turned off the engine of her newly repaired car and nearly jumped out of her skin as the premature crack of an illicit M-80 went off somewhere to her right. She closed her eyes as her heart skittered toward some sense of normalcy. A wave of dizziness suddenly took hold, blood rushing to her head in the panic. This was promptly followed by a flood of immediate relief that it wasn’t her car making that noise. Jesus, that’s the last thing I need tonight, she mused, turning a quick gaze heavenward in begrudging thanks.

Looking around one last time and taking deliberate, slow breaths to calm herself, she opened the car door and stepped firmly out onto the asphalt. Left foot. Right. Terra firma. Stomach calm, check. Poker face, check. Shaking out her long auburn locks and taking in a steadying breath, Patti lifted her chin and strode into work for what she planned to be the last time.

Manny’s gonna flip when I tell him I’m quitting. I won’t tell him. Just stick to the plan, Patti. Then it’s home to tell the folks….

She had called her mom yesterday afternoon and had told her she needed to tell them both something important. She didn’t tell her what over the phone, but Eleanor, having keen maternal instincts, had suspected something was amiss. Despite her gentle prodding, Patti remained resolute. “No. I’ll tell you in person,” she’d said.

Tears threatened to spill once again, and this time they felt bittersweet. Patti took another deep breath to shut the floodgates. No. Not tonight. It’s gonna be ok. Not tonight. But it will be. These determined thoughts were echoing in Patti’s mind when she ran headlong into Manny coming out of the door that she was entering.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Manny looked Patti up and down with a hungry gleam in his dark brown eyes. Then he stopped short of embracing her as his gaze rested on her face. “Hey, I know there’s something wrong here. You been acting jumpy all week.” Manny grabbed Patti’s arm as she tried to slip past him and into the relative safety of the main hall.

“Hey, easy there, Manny, I’m not a football!” Patti gasped as she tried to move forward. Manny didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he yanked her inside and guided her forcibly to his office, which was off slightly to the right of the hallway.

As he shut the door behind them, he said, “I want to know what the fuck’s going on.” Manny’s voice was low and matter of fact, and there was no mistaking the dark edginess in his demand. “I’ve seen you with Bruno these past few days, and I want to know what the fuck?” He practically growled the words as he pushed Patti firmly into a chair across from his desk, then went around to sit facing her.

Staring up at Manny with what she prayed was a sincere look of utter shock, Patti breathed out, “Hey, Manny. I don’t know why you’re so angry. Bruno is like a brother to me, you know that.” Patti struggled to maintain every ounce of calm she could muster as she navigated this unexpected encounter.

“Then I guess it’s ok for brothers and sisters to fuck each other nowadays, then?” Manny’s voice had risen a decibel, but still retained its deadly-calm edge.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Patti stared this time with genuine incredulity mixed with growing anger at Manny, all pretense now gone from her eyes. “You’re a fine one to talk, Mr. I’m-married-with-four-kids-and-screwingmy-employees-at-the-same-time!” Patti clamped her mouth shut as she realized the imprudence of her words, and she held her breath as she waited for the response.

She didn’t have to wait long. It came in a flash as Manny suddenly stood up, pushing his chair over as he did so and slammed his fists on the desk, a tsunami of rage threatening to spill over at any second. He leaned forward, towering over Patti as she continued to sit where she was, wide eyes fixed on Manny’s stormy brown gaze.

“Listen, you bitch—”

Unflinching, Patti kept her eyes locked on her target as she made a quickly calculated move meant to distract the raging man leaning in as if to strike her. “Manny. This is payday, right?” Patti’s voice came out calm and clear, and the unexpected question asked so matter-of-factly seemed to have its desired effect. At Manny’s incredulous stare, mouth hanging in mid-retort, Patti continued, softening her words in a deliberate attempt to diffuse a potentially deadly situation. “Look, I’ve been going through some serious shit lately, and when I’m ready, I’ll tell you. After all, if I can’t tell you, who can I tell?” Patti prayed her tone sounded more sincere than she felt as she gave Manny back some of his own words.

Not seeming to catch the irony of her last statement, Manny peevishly retorted, “Obviously, you can tell Bruno.” With Patti’s expectant gaze as his silent reder, he straightened up and breathed out an exasperated “Yeah.” Hands reaching for his upper desk drawer, he continued. “I have your money right here. And show time’s in five. But we’re not finished.” He swung around, opened the drawer, fished out a wad of cash, and slapped it on the desk with a forced calm that chilled Patti to her core. “It’s all there.”

“Of course. It always is.” Patti smiled as she reached over and put the cash into her side pocket without counting it. “We can talk tomorrow, if you have time.” Patti stood up and caught Manny’s eyes and held them in what she hoped was a

sincere plea for understanding.

“Yeah. Before work. This is making me crazy, Cat.” Manny put his hand on Patti’s shoulder as she stood, and she involuntarily shrank from his touch. “Look, Honey, I didn’t mean to come off like that. It’s been a hard week for me too, Baby.” Manny exhaled another long breath as his shoulders slumped. “But we can talk it out tomorrow. Now go do your thing up there.” As he waved her out the door Manny stood directly in back of Patti and reached out, slapping her playfully on the behind.

Patti jumped at his touch, cringing inwardly, but tilted her head up over her shoulder as she flashed her best Cheshire cat grin in his direction. “K, but right now I gotta go and pay the rent.” And with that, Patricia “Cat” Connor walked out of Manny’s office, and towards the back door of the club. She pecked a waiting and wary Bruno on the cheek with a grateful kiss as she reached the door, and beelined it to her waiting car. It was just where Bruno promised it would be, not five paces from the back entrance. Patti was grateful that she’d thought to have a spare key made. She’d told Bruno where she hid it, up in front of the bumper. How many times had she forgotten and locked herself out of her car she couldn’t , but Bruno had found the key just where Patti said it would be and had moved her car to their predetermined spot.

As she started the car’s engine and drove out of the parking lot, Bruno shut the back door. A sudden sense of knowing calm had descended upon him, spurring him on as he turned to do what he didn’t really want to do. After all, right was right, and Elena would be the last casualty in this game Manny was playing if Bruno had any say in things. Yep, the game ends tonight, he thought as he moved to confront what would certainly be a very confused and not just a bit enraged Manuel “El Jefe” Rodriguez.

The time it took for Patti to get to her parents’ house flashed by in a manic blur. As she’d planned with Bruno in the diner, and later with Frieda when they got

home from lunch, Patti had packed her car to the gills with everything she could fit into it. Although it was late, she had told her mom in their last conversation that she’d be coming in around two that morning, further adding to Eleanor’s growing concern over her daughter. Frieda would bring the rest of Patti’s things the following weekend to Patti’s parent’s house, ironically located not far from where Manny and his family lived.

They knew once Manny figured out Patti had run away, he would force Frieda to move, and that would most likely be the least of her problems. So, Bruno, in a sudden fit of gentlemanly gallantry, offered to let Frieda stay with him for a while, as he had a house with a spare room. Gratefully, Frieda readily accepted, with the one condition that Bruno find a different job as soon as he could, so they would have nothing to do with “El Jefe.”

“Are you gonna be ok with all of this?” Patti’s question had come on the heels of a gut-wrenching sigh of exhaustion as the trio finished their plans.

Frieda, with characteristic bravado, had replied, “I can handle my own, P. Besides, now I have a super-sexy bodyguard to protect me if there’s any heat from the boss.” As the two friends broke up in a series of giggles, for the second time that day, Patti witnessed the goofiest grin she’d ever seen creep onto Bruno’s face.

Putting the events of the last few days in the back of her mind, Patti sighed once again as exhaustion started to blunt the initial exhilaration of the fight-or-flight reflex that had had its firm hold on her all evening. As she turned in the opposite direction from what had become her sanctuary, a growing sense of unease started to gnaw at her adrenaline-fed consciousness. What if she ran into Manny before she got to wherever her father would send her to? The thought chilled her to her very bones. Patti thanked God that she’d never told Manny how close her parents lived to him. Ultimately, the plan would be to get Patti out of San Diego as soon as possible. Maybe she could stay with Frieda’s parents in Sacramento

for a while? She ed Fred telling her that they had a nice home with an extra room …. Maybe that would work until more permanent arrangements could be made. As her heart slowed down to a more normal rate, Patti turned up the radio as she started down the I5, back home, if only to stay ther for a little while.

Chapter 4: Homeward Bound

July first. 2:15 am at the Connor house, and as their neighbors slumbered unaware of anything amiss, Eleanor sat bolt upright on the living room couch at the sound of a car’s engine rumbling up the road. She had told Windell to go to bed around midnight as his red-rimmed blue eyes closed for the umpteenth time with ill-hidden fatigue. As he had once again jerked suddenly awake from his momentary surrender to exhaustion, Eleanor spoke. “Dell, please, just go upstairs to bed. I promise to wake you the moment Cat comes up the drive.”

Windell Connor had looked up at his wife, meeting her hazel eyes—so like their daughter’s—with a half-smile that made Eleanor’s eyes water at the thought of their daughter’s identical and often-present expression of concern. He then took a long and shuddering breath. “Ok.” Windell sat up straighter in the chair across from his wife as a colossal yawn unwillingly escaped his mouth. Eyes watering from fatigue, he stood up gingerly, straightening his back as he moved into a standing position. “I’ll just go lie down until she’s here.”

Eleanor had watched her husband of 32 years climb slowly up the stairs of the two-story house they’d called home ever since the day he’d carried her over the threshold. Her mind began to wander back to the day she’d been carried into her new life as Mrs. Windell Connor.

Windell Connor had always been a rather serious sort of man. Originally from Missouri, he was the poster child for the gentleman farmer, except that for the occasional Roma tomato or cucumber vine, he hadn’t farmed a thing in his life. What he had produced, however, was a stable career working as an actuary for

the Fireman’s Fund, and had met his wife, Eleanor, at a church social back home.

The year had been 1943, and America was fully engaged in World War II. All the young men in Eleanor’s town, Windell being one of the few exceptions, had seemed to sign up eagerly and had gone overseas to fight Hitler and his evil Nazi regime. Windell (thankfully, at least in his own mind) had flat feet, so had been exempted from the draft. He had always been good with numbers, however. This trait somehow ran in his family, his brother being a math whiz with a PhD at the age of 27 and shortly after a professor at Harvard.

Eleanor had been teaching at the local elementary school and left her post to marry Windell, who was kind and reliable, two traits she most ired in a man. They were immediately off to California, where Windell had been offered a job in San Diego doing similar work to what he’d been doing, but with a chance at a new beginning with his new bride. Eleanor, who loved Windell the first time she set eyes on him, went willingly with her new husband with a mixture of excitement and fear, crying the day she set out as Mrs. Windell Connor, watching as her family stood stolidly in the driveway until they disappeared into the rear-view mirror.

Her mind hovered over that week as they had emerged newly wed from the church in which she’d been baptized. She saw the well-wishers throwing rice as she and Windell hurried down the church steps into the waiting car just ahead, the memory a mere blur to her now. The cans and old shoes tied behind their new car with “Just Married” written on the back window were jangling and thumping their applause all the way to her parents’ home were still vivid in her memory. She ed well her feelings of uncertainty and trepidation at moving all the way to California from her little town in Missouri, the picture of her family waving their goodbyes rapidly fading as she stole star-filled glances at her new and very handsome husband at the wheel, driving cross-country to the new life that awaited them both.

Once they got to where they were going, they’d moved into a cute two-story home that Windell had made sure would be waiting for them, located on the better side of town, and settled into married life. Try as they did, the children never came, and soon they were convinced that they would never have any. Then Patricia came by some miracle, and the Connors were a family at last. Windell worked for over 20 years at his job, and Eleanor, after a brief time teaching 4th grade before she had her daughter, stayed home and took care of Patricia, the home, and of course, her husband, with whom she never fell out of love.

When she brought Patricia home, they’d marveled at how unexpected the birth had been. They were never supposed to be able to have children. Then one day during a routine check-up following the sixth deep radiation treatment for an ovarian cyst, the doctor said, “Mrs. Connor, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we need to stop the treatments right away.” To the look of bewilderment on her face, he blurted, “Congratulations, you’re going to be a mother!” The shock quickly turned to incredulous joy when she told Windell the news that night, and that scene would never fade from her memory. At the school Eleanor had taught 4th grade, her coworkers gave her a baby shower that was a small, intimate affair, filled with loving wishes and much laughter. The speed with which Cat came into the world amazed even Eleanor’s doctor. She marveled at how quickly her daughter had grown from a sweet and compliant girl into a rebellious teenager and she heard the roar of the car as Cat drove solo for the first time ….

But that last part about the car’s engine wasn’t just a part of Eleanor’s freeassociating dream. Her reverie was in fact broken by the sound of a real car engine coming up the street. She had dozed off briefly, or so she had thought. She looked at the Grandfather clock on the adjacent wall and was shocked to see that it was 2:15 am. She heard stirring upstairs as Dell’s tired sigh came to her ears. Then she heard the slam of a car door. Heart hammering in her chest as if it would burst at any moment, Eleanor steeled herself and moved toward the door, noticing how crisp and clear every detail seemed to suddenly be.

Patricia turned the familiar corner that led to her childhood home. There. On the

left. She took a few deep breaths as she willed her heart to stop hammering in her ears. Approaching the only childhood home she’d ever known, she thought about how the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Turning to park under the light of the nearby streetlamp posted just up from the house, it seemed as if she’d never left. The same warm light was in the entryway, the same crabapple tree was in the yard. She half-smiled as she looked at that tree, the one she used to climb with the neighborhood kids. The same one she fell out of and sprained her ankle when she was eight. Musing to herself, she contemplated how that ankle had never quite been the same, despite her apparent success at dancing in stilettos.

At the thought of stilettos, Patti’s smile vanished, along with any resolve she might have had driving home to tell her parents about her rather dire situation. Her calm suddenly abandoning her, she took in a big and shaky breath as she nudged the car towards the curb. Putting it in park, she reached to open the door. And found she couldn’t. Her body had gone rigid at the thought of walking up the driveway and into the house she knew so well, the house that contained the two people in the world who she both yearned and dreaded to see.

Closing her eyes, she willed her hand to open the door, and with a click of the handle, the car’s interior light sprang to life. Left leg. Check. Right leg. Check. Ri on knees that she was not at all sure wouldn’t betray her, Patti moved her body out of the relative safety of her car, shut the door with strengthening resolve, and took the first step towards what lay beyond that threshold. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn that a light in one of the second story windows of the house across the way seemed to flicker for an instant, but when she turned to make sure of what she was seeing, the house was of a uniform darkness befitting the middle of the night.

She hadn’t taken two steps when she saw the front door open to reveal the figure of Eleanor Connor stepping out onto the well-lit porch. Patti tried to swallow down her heart that had somehow taken up what seemed like a permanent residence in her throat. Unsuccessful, she forced her blurry, tear-rimmed eyes to

focus on the form of her mother, as petite and trim as ever, coming at her with the growing speed of recognition.

As she made her way to her daughter, Eleanor’s face lit up as she walked under the streetlamp’s ambient circle. Tear-rimmed hazel eyes framed in fine-lined concern met wide hazel eyes swimming in tears, and Eleanor knew all she needed to know.

“Mama, I’m home.” Patti fell like a rag doll into her mother’s waiting arms. After what seemed like an eternity, Eleanor hurriedly wiped at her tears and pulled away just enough to gently chide her prodigal daughter. “For goodness’ sake, Cat, it’s the middle of the night! We can’t stay out here crying and blubbering on each other. Let’s get in the house. Are you wearing stilettos?”

Arm in arm, mother and daughter walked the short distance between the street curb and front porch. Eleanor opened the door. As she did so, she looked at her daughter whose eyes were red-ringed with exhaustion and emotion, and said, “Honey, I’m so glad you’re home. There’s no other place you should be right now.”

Patti’s eyes remained focused on her mother as she followed her through the door. Before she could ask what her mother meant by her cryptic statement, she met her father’s stern blue-eyed gaze from the staircase. “Hi, Dad,” Patricia stopped in the middle of the entryway as Windell looked her up and down.

“Stilettos? How on earth do you walk in those?” Windell’s eyes came to rest on his daughter’s feet, still bedecked in her work pumps.

“Nice to see you, too, Dad.” Patricia straightened her back and resignedly started toward what used to be her old room, side-stepping her father as she clambered up the stairs. She walked the few steps it took from the top of the stairs to her room, opened the door, and shut it without another word.

“Dell, really? You haven’t seen your daughter in almost six months, and all you can do is criticize her choice of footwear?” Eleanor clucked her disapproval at her husband’s cutting remark, shaking her head as she made to follow her daughter to offer what comfort she could as she shook her head.

“I was not criticizing, just making an observation.” Windell’s head followed his wife as she made her way up the stairs.

Eleanor stopped short and fired off her response. “You lost her once, are you going for a second shot?”

Something in Eleanor’s uncharacteristically pointed candor caught Windell momentarily off guard. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “You’re right, Honey. It’s been hell for all of us, hasn’t it?”

Eleanor stopped in her tracks at the sound of her husband’s confession of wrongdoing. She could count on one hand the times he actually had ever apologized for being wrong.

“Then maybe you need to go in there and tell our daughter what you just told me.” She had stopped in front of Patti’s closed door, where a thin beam of light was radiating from the bottom of the jamb.

“I will in the morning. I think right now the best thing is for all of us to get some sleep.”

“At least go in there and tell her you love her.” The uncharacteristically determined set of Eleanor’s face was so insistent that her husband relented with another heavy sigh and knocked on Patti’s door.

“Come in, Mom. It’s open,” Patti’s muffled voice came to her parents’ ears from the other side of the door. When Windell came in instead of Eleanor, Patti stood up from the bed she’d been sitting on, stilettos finally off her aching feet and lying askew in the corner.

“Hi, Cat.” Even though it was her father who called her by her childhood nickname—the one he’d given her to begin with and used to make her smile— Patti involuntarily shuddered Windell, as astute at reading body language as he was reading spread sheets for the Fireman’s Fund, noticed his daughter’s uncharacteristic reaction, but said no more on the subject. Clearing his throat, Windell continued, “I can tell you’ve had a rough time of it all.” Patti looked up at her father to see him peering into her face, searching for something that would give him a clue as to how to proceed. Seeing his daughter’s large, frightened, exhausted eyes framed in a drawn and pale face, Windell faltered for a moment, then pushed on. Clearing his throat again, he spoke as Eleanor moved in behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Honey, we’re not sure what’s happened, but it must be pretty serious. I might be an old numbers guy, but I know when my child is in trouble.”

Patti glanced from her father to her mother, uncertain how to react at her father’s uncharacteristic verbal display. “Dad, I—”

“No, Honey, let me finish. I should have been more ive out there, and I failed you miserably. I want you to know that I love you more than life itself, and my number one priority is your well-being. Your mother and I have been talking a lot about you since you left. The phone call yesterday worried us something awful, and we have our thoughts on the subject. But you need to say it for us to hear.”

Eleanor had moved in front of her husband by now and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Honey, it’ll help you to say it out loud. I know the look of a breeding woman. Been there, myself.”

Patti kept her eyes glued to the floor, although at her mother’s words they widened to the size of small dinner plates. The words she knew she needed to say stuck in her throat as she struggled to get them out. Swallowing the lump that threatened to strangle her, she breathed in deeply and whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

And it was out. Patti kept her head lowered as she studiously observed her throbbing feet, waiting for Windell to explode. When the geyser didn’t go off as expected, she cautiously raised her gaze to her parents’ expectant and worried faces. “How did you know?” Patti directed the question to her mother, but again it was Windell who answered.

“You are your mother’s clone, Honey. That’s exactly how she looked when she was carrying you.” Windell’s voice cracked, and his exhausted eyes teared over as he took Eleanor’s hand in his. Patti plopped back down on the bed, flabbergasted. She had never, in her 21 years on this planet, seen her father cry. She was at an utter loss as to what to do or say, so she just sat mute, her mother coming to her on one side, and her father on the other, enveloping her in arms linked together in an unbreakable chain of love and protection.

As they sat together, the bonded three, Patti fell into a tired slump. Her father was the one to break the chain first. “Come on, Lea. We’ll talk more in the morning.” With that, Eleanor stood up and kissed her daughter lightly on the forehead and made to leave the room.

“Welcome home, Cat.” And this time when her father called her by his childhood nickname for her, Patti smiled.

Chapter 5: Decisions

Over the next few days, Patti divided her time between sleeping and trying to wrap her head around all that had transpired in the last week or so. “Back home” was the last place she had imagined she’d ever be, and she knew that she couldn’t stay, at least for long. Waking up on the first morning in months back in her own bed, she recalled the emotional encounter of the wee hours of that morning, but she knew better than to delude herself. Her parents wouldn’t want anyone to find out that their daughter had gotten pregnant out of wedlock—and with a married man’s child, nonetheless—that would be a scandal too great for them to bear in their well-established community. Most of all, she knew they’d blame themselves for this whole mess.

She knew what happened to a girl if she ever got “in trouble.” She recalled a girl in her senior class that had the misfortune to come up pregnant. She went away for “vacation” at some distant aunt’s house in the Midwest somewhere for a while. The baby was born in secrecy at some unnamed hospital and given up for adoption to some unknown family and the birth records were permanently sealed, and the girl was never to have with her baby or the family, and that was that. Period. End of story. The girl came back home and resumed her life, no questions asked, and no answers given.

But Patti didn’t need to be told to know the truth. Everyone knew without being told. They knew because the girl, despite what she was coached to believe, would never be the same again. She could smile all she wanted, but the inability to mourn her loss and deal with her trauma invariably took a permanent toll on her well-being. The last Patti had heard was that she’d married a sailor she’d met who was stationed on the naval base towards the edge of town after getting pregnant yet again after a drunken night on the town. In her “delicate” condition,

she’d never even told him about the first baby, for fear that he might reject her. He’d married her right away, to make an “honest woman” out of her, he had joked, and she kept her dirty little secret so that she might survive. Patti shuddered, wondering how the girl was doing now and prayed that she would in time heal from the nightmare she’d endured alone and in shameful secrecy. Then Patti prayed that she herself would survive the same nightmare awaiting her.

Patti just knew her parents would blame themselves. She could just hear Eleanor lamenting “Oh, Dell, what did we do wrong? We didn’t raise her like this!”

And Windell would answer with characteristic silence, mulling the situation over quietly, processing things the only way he knew how: alone.

Then the lecture would start. Why hadn’t it already? Her father was always getting after Patti for not doing things right. That last big blowout that sent Patti on her own was actually over that exact concept. After graduation it was to school or not to school, that was the question…. And when she decided not to go, she ed once again how Windell had hit the roof in complete frustration at his truculent daughter. But no matter how he shouted or threatened, Patti had made up her mind: School was not for her. She recalled indulging them by g up for classes at the community college, and how by noon that first awful day, she’d walked out of her third class, out to the parking lot, gotten into her car, and drove off. She was not going back, and that was that. Her anxiety had reached an all-time high, and she knew she couldn’t step foot into another classroom. Ever.

Patti’s musings were interrupted that first morning back home by a robin singing in the ancient maple tree right outside her window. Robins were her favorite bird; she supposed because they were always known to be the herald of spring. New hope. New beginnings.

As she listened to the bird sing his signature tune, she noticed how quiet it was and realized that it was rather late in the morning for her dad not to be up. Usually, Windell was up at the crack of dawn, making a pot of coffee and searching for the newspaper that never quite made it to the front porch, much to his very vocal grumblings of discontent. The absence of her parents’ regular morning chatter around the breakfast table also struck Patti as a bit odd.

Concern started to seep into her brain as she swung her legs over her comforter and slipped her feet into her slippers, placed as if magic by her bedside. Smiling, she shook her head gently as she realized that her mom hadn’t changed. Slippers by the bed, that was one of the many little things Eleanor did that Patti had missed the most.

Standing up, she caught sight of herself in her dresser mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were still half-shut with stubborn sleep. She shook her head at the image staring back at her and half-smiled as she lamented her current appearance. Well, Patti, you need to face the music. Time to go downstairs and see what’s up. This thought followed her as she made her way to the door and down the hall to the stairs that led to the main floor.

At the smell of coffee, oh yeah, he had made some, after all, she fully expected her stomach to lurch up and rebel. Turning abruptly to the guest bath in anticipation, she stopped short at the door, as the nausea she was expecting never appeared. Breathing a grateful sigh, she closed her eyes and smiled her relief, feeling almost content for the first time in weeks.

As she turned the corner to the kitchen, she saw her mother and father sitting at the little breakfast nook. Her father was reading the paper, and her mother looked up from her breakfast of cereal and skim milk and smiled at the image of her daughter walking towards her.

“So quiet in here, guys,” Patti stage whispered as she moved into the kitchen from the sitting room.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” her father glanced up over the finance section and smiled briefly over his reading glasses at his daughter, quickly bringing his attention right back to what he’d been reading.

“Oh, glad you’re up. I hope we didn’t wake you. We tried to be as quiet as we could because you need your rest.” Eleanor frowned momentarily as she took in her daughter’s exhausted countenance. “Honey, you must be starving!” Eleanor stood up to get Patti some breakfast, reaching out and smoothing her daughter’s hair as Patti moved towards her customary seat at the kitchen table.

Shifting trajectory, Patti gently insisted, “Sit, Mom. I can get something for myself.” Patti made her way to the fridge and gently kissed her father’s head on her way. Windell grunted his acknowledgement and continued to read his paper.

Patti again half-smiled and shook her head at her father’s recovery from the outpouring of sentiment he had displayed just a few hours earlier. “Glad to see you’re back to normal, Dad,” She chuckled as she opened the fridge and grabbed the milk.

“You sure you don’t want some toast and eggs? You look a bit peaked.” Eleanor once again peered into Patti’s face, and her words were tinged with concern mixed with relief that her wayward child had at last come home.

“Oh God no, Mom. I can barely handle the smell of coffee. Eggs, they’re out of the question!” Patti’s nose wrinkled at the thought of anything but what she was

serving herself at the moment: good old-fashioned Wheaties and milk.

Hearing nothing more from her father, Patti fixed her bowl of cereal and ed her parents at the table. She was halfway through her bowl of cereal when Windell put the paper down and looked over his glasses across the table to where his daughter was sitting. Eleanor looked over to him as he cleared his throat.

“Honey.”

Patti put her spoon down as her stomach clenched. Here it comes, she thought as she braced herself mentally for the verbal onslaught.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to yell at you,” Windell’s voice came out a bit peevishly at first, then softened as he took in his daughter’s tense form. “I’ve done enough of that in the past, and the last time, I almost lost you for good.” Windell cleared his throat again, speaking clearly and carefully. He didn’t want to make a mess of things, not now.

“Cat,” Windell looked at his wife for . Eleanor met her husband’s eyes and nodded her assent, and he continued. “Cat, last month I had a heart-attack. Put me in the hospital for nearly two weeks. It happened after the last big fight we had on the phone.” Windell’s voice was quiet and calm, and Patti swallowed the last bite she’d had in her mouth, eyes growing wider by the second.

“Why didn’t you—”

“I made your mom promise not to tell you. I figured you didn’t need the added stress.” Windell’s voice became a whisper at the end of this last statement, and Patti watched as her mother looked down at her own bowl, scrupulously avoiding eye with either of them.

“But Dad, I had the right to know! I’m your daughter!” Patti’s voice came out angrier than she’d intended and belied the panic and fear that had taken up residence in a bubble just beneath her breastbone.

It was Eleanor’s turn to speak. “Honey, the doctor had a long talk with your father.” She looked back up then at Windell, and he nodded. “He told him that he needed to learn how to alleviate stress, or he’d have another one soon.”

Patti faced her father. “Dad. Look at me.” Windell’s eyes moved from his wife to rest on his daughter’s face. There was a determination etched on her features that he’d never seen before, a determination that he was not expecting to ever see on his daughter’s face, and for a moment, he was quite taken aback.

The time had come, and the words came of their own accord from Patti’s mouth, unrehearsed and unbidden. “I’m going to have a baby. I know I messed up. I expected you to scream bloody murder at me last night. Now I understand why you didn’t. And you know what? I’m grateful for what you told me. If I’ve learned anything these past few months is that we need to stick together. Because family is everything.”

Patti held Windell’s gaze as he slowly nodded, taking in this young woman in front of him who for the first time was strong, confident, and grown. Tears started to gather in the corners of his care-worn eyes, and he paid no attention to them as they started to fall. At the sight of her father crying, Patti stopped her speech, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes.

She reached across the table and took her father’s hand in hers, which he enveloped in a strong, yet slightly shaky embrace. “Dad. I know I can’t keep this baby. But I also know I can’t kill her, either. At least I think it’s a her.” Patti smiled as she glanced down at her belly, hand already pressed protectively against it on instinct. Windell nodded gravely in agreement. Eleanor looked from husband to daughter, utter astonishment plainly written on her tired face as she witnessed this role reversal play out before her very eyes.

“I need to figure out what to do, where to go, to have her in a safe place and give her to people who can take care of her. I couldn’t imagine taking care of a baby right now when I can hardly take care of myself!” Patti knew that this last statement was only true in part. She knew that keeping this baby was out of the question for a multitude of other reasons as well. Despite her father’s apparent about face and sudden outpouring of , she knew the stain of single motherhood would be too much for him to bear. It would be too much for Eleanor, too. They had both worked so hard to become a part of the middle class, and having a grandchild born out of wedlock would do untold damage to the reputation they had so carefully built in their community. Patti cringed at the thought of putting her parents through all of that.

Ultimately, it would be too much for her, as well. Her life would be over before it began. The stigma that a single mother, especially one who had her baby out of wedlock, was simply too great to bear in this era, and Patti understood this implicitly. Even if she had the at home, which she was sure she could muster if she pushed it, she could never raise her child in peace. She would be shunned from her community. She would never be able to find a job or a nice man to settle down with. Even the idea of raising her child as her sister, assuming that her parents would be on board, was untenable, as Windell and Eleanor were already well past child-production age. And the child would bear the brunt of the stigma that society would brand it with, forever being known as a bastard. That last part is what broke Patti’s heart the most, for she couldn’t imagine bringing that much pain to someone she had already grown to love so much.

Patti looked at her parents’ faces and ed the emotions she saw there, completely shocked at herself for the sudden ferocity of her own words. Life decisions? Since when did I start making those? Oh yeah, she thought fleetingly, since I found out I was gonna be a mom.

Day two of her return to the nest, the phone rang. Patti was sitting on her bed, debating on whether or not to take a shower before breakfast. She heard footsteps on the stairway, and her mother tapped gently on her closed bedroom door. “Come in, Mom,” Patti yawned as she stood up, deciding to eat before her shower. She was starving this morning, for some reason.

“Morning, Sunshine!” Eleanor’s voice travelled with her as she opened the door and stepped into her daughter’s sunlight sanctuary. “Frieda just called. She said she’d be by later on today with the rest of your things. I told her you’d be here. Hope that was ok?” Eleanor looked into her daughter’s eyes, noting that the black smudges that were there the day before were nearly gone, and awaited a response.

Patti returned her mother’s questioning gaze with a brilliant smile as she said, “Oh yeah! She told me she’d drop by this weekend with the rest of my stuff. Wait, what day is it?” Patti’s smile transformed into a scrunched-up face of minor confusion as she tried to clear her sleep-fogged brain. “Sunday?” She responded to her own question.

Eleanor nodded, continuing to look at her daughter as she silently exhaled her relief that she was finally getting some rest, and from the looks of it, some much-needed nourishment, as well. Patti’s hearty appetite had not escaped the notice of either of her parents, and both Eleanor and Windell were grateful that at least the morning sickness had apparently disappeared. They were, however,

carefully aware of Patti’s intolerance to eggs, temporarily removing them from the morning menu. As if Patti’s stomach somehow had heard Eleanor’s thoughts, it growled suddenly and rather loudly, causing Patti to reflexively put her hand on her abdomen. “Oh! I guess it’s time for breakfast.” Patti stated rhetorically. “Do we have any eggs? I could kill for a fried egg sandwich!”

Following her daughter, who was making an earnest beeline for the kitchen, Eleanor shook her head. Just when I thought I knew what to expect from this child, she changes the rules again, she mused, two steps behind her determined daughter.

After a breakfast consisting of two fried eggs between two buttered pieces of French bread toast, the sight of which brought more than a little confusion to her father as he hid behind his morning paper and a small shrug of bewilderment from her mother, Patti washed up her dishes and set them on the dish rack to dry. Frieda was coming around noon, and it was already 10, so she wanted to go to the grocery store down the street to pick up a few things for lunch. Eleanor would have gone, but Patti had insisted on going herself. “It’ll do me some good, getting out and doing something normal,” she said to her mother as she went to take a quick shower upstairs and get dressed.

After her shower, she stared at herself in the mirror. No time to dry this mop, she mused, combing back her hair and putting it up high in a wet, yet practical, ponytail. She slipped on an old romper she’d found, one that still miraculously fit, though not for long, she observed, as it was already a bit snug around her middle. Slipping on a pair of old sandals she’d found the day before at the back of her childhood closet, she clambered downstairs, grabbed her keys and purse from the entryway table, shouted her goodbyes to her parents, and opened the door to a California classic: not a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze, and warm sunshine guaranteed to put even the most troubled soul at ease.

The robin had moved to the neighbor’s front side fence. That neighbor was now

poking her head out from her front porch, ostentatiously coming out for her morning paper. As she caught her eye, Patti waved and smiled at Mrs. Flynn, who waved back and smiled her own morning greeting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the old lady duck back inside without the paper. Within seconds, Mr. Flynn popped his head out, bringing the rest of his body into full view as he went to retrieve the said paper from the front lawn. “Damn paper boy. I told him to aim for the front porch. How hard is that?” He grumbled his annoyance as Patti waved at him as well. Catching sight of her, he nodded and shouted, “Hello there, Patti!”

Patti turned around and rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself as she unlocked her car door. She had known the Flynns since they had moved in next door, some 15 years ago. Mr. Flynn and her father would chat in a neighborly fashion, exchanging tools and stories from time to time. For the most part, however, Mr. Flynn was a quiet man who kept mostly to himself. Mrs. Flynn, however, was another story. She was known as Mrs. Telephone, because it was tacitly understood that if something was happening in the neighborhood, a person could put their money on her knowing it first. And what she knew she shared liberally with anyone else she deemed necessary to know, and that was just about everyone. Eleanor had caught on early to Mrs. Flynn’s garrulous ways, and would politely nod and listen, always looking for a reason to cut their visits short. Yesterday was no exception, as Eleanor was watering the hydrangeas in the front corner of her yard and Mrs. Flynn scuttled out of her house, hair piled high in the ridiculous beehive hairdo she insisted looked so good on her.

“Hi there, Eleanor!”

Eleanor pretended not to have noticed her neighbor until she’d heard her overly cheery voice ring across the cul-de-sac. “Oh, hi there, Lonnie, I didn’t see you there!” Eleanor bent back down to her work, smiling genially at her nosy neighbor.

“I see Patti’s come home for a visit?” The question hung between the neighbors for a brief moment as Eleanor groaned inwardly, searching for the words she’d use to satisfy Lonnie’s appetite for gossip.

“Yes, she has decided to move back here temporarily, then go to school, but she’s not sure where.” Eleanor was careful to keep her voice friendly and edgeless, so as not to give away any of her thoughts.

“Oh indeed?” Lonnie Flynn’s eyes grew round with surprise. “And where is our little girl thinking about going?” she pressed.

“Not sure yet. Probably up north somewhere.”

Lonnie’s questions kept coming like bullets from a semi-automatic rifle. “Really? What’s she going to study?”

Making a most supreme effort at hiding her irritation, Eleanor replied, “Well, she has several options, but I’m sure she’ll tell you when she decides.” There. That ought to give the old gossip a hint. At least that’s what Eleanor hoped.

Oblivious to the tension that was becoming hard to miss on Eleanor’s features, Lonnie Flynn continued, undaunted. “She looks awfully thin. Is she well?”

At this last question, Eleanor stood up to her full height and met Mrs. Lonnie Flynn with a golden flash of overt irritation. Unsmiling, she replied, “She is thriving. Why do you ask?”

Taking a step back in mild surprise at her neighbor’s uncharacteristic defensiveness, Lonnie stumbled on her response. “I-I was j-just concerned, is all. I haven’t seen her in almost 6 months and then she comes home in the middle of the night—” Her mouth snapped shut. Realizing that she’d said too much and had just given her most recent snooping away, she ended with, “Well, I hope everything’s ok, that’s all.”

Eleanor’s demeanor didn’t change as she replied with a grave, “Thank you, Lonnie.” Then she turned without another word and walked with her head held high back into the house, clicking the door shut behind her without so much as a backward glance.

Lonnie Flynn stood dumbfounded for a few seconds, not sure what had just transpired, then turned quickly to scurry back into her own house, making a direct line to her little black phone book. Before the week was over, the entire neighborhood was abuzz with Lonnie Flynn’s interpretation of what happened between her and Eleanor, and what she thought was really going on.

As Patti pulled into the little parking lot in front of the grocery store she ed well, being practically the only one she and her family shopped at since she was born, her mind turned to her visit with Frieda. I hope Fred’s hungry, because I’m going to get some stuff for sandwiches. I’ll bring extra because maybe Mom and Dad will want to eat ….

Her thoughts trailed off as she watched the woman with one, two, three kids— no, four, she corrected herself as she took notice of the baby strapped in its car seat—emerge from the station wagon next to her. As she came around to the back enger seat to gather the three oldest of her little darlings, the woman smiled briefly at Patti, nodded, and said a quick and harried “Hi there.” Patti was returning the salutation as her eyes rested on the man in the driver’s seat. He was

staring straight ahead, impatience written all over his dark features.

“Come on, Baby, can’t you get them to go any faster?”

“They’re going as fast as they can, Manny. I am too.” Patti’s heart stopped cold. She looked closer at the man behind the wheel and froze. It was a dark-skinned male Hispanic driver, wearing sunglasses and a bandage over the bridge of his nose. He looked very familiar, but she couldn’t tell for sure looking at him because his nose was obviously swollen, and the glasses acted as a partial mask to hide the details of his facial features. But the voice, well, that was unmistakable.

Manny Rodriguez let out an impatient sigh and glanced to his right at the young woman in the sloppy ponytail. Doing a double take, he looked a bit closer, recognition slowly dawning on his face. It was a bit early in the week for the fireworks to begin, but Manny could swear he saw little stars exploding in front of him as his mind ed exactly who it was in the car next to him.

As he turned to look at her more closely, Patti ducked her head down and threw the car in reverse, nearly knocking Deborah over as she stooped to pick up a pacifier the baby still strapped in the car had thrown onto the asphalt. “HEY! What the hell?!!” Deborah shouted as the car revved into reverse and careened out of the parking lot.

But Patti didn’t wait to see the reaction on any of their faces. Her mind was a complete blank of white fear and all she could think of was getting home. Fast. Forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths, Patti made it to the curb and screeched to a halt in front of her home, grateful that nobody had followed her.

At the sound of screeching tires outside, Windell jumped up from his chair and looked out the front room window. “Hey Honey, it’s Cat. What’s she doing back home so soon? Uh oh. She looks upset.” His voice betrayed his concern more than he realized.

Eleanor came up next to her husband and opened the door as Patti, breathless and now sobbing at the sight of her mother, ran into her arms. “Shut the door, quick!” Patti’s plea was unmistakably tinged with a primal fear that wouldn’t be lost on anyone, even Mrs. Flynn, who at the sound of the screeching tires had hurried up to her customary viewing perch and was watching this latest scene from behind her own curtained front room window.

With a supreme effort, Patti tried to control her emotions, yet failed miserably as she relayed to her parents, through intermittent sobs, what had just happened. Eleanor reached over and took her hand and Windell remained stock still as he listened, blue thunder gathering behind his eyes.

“Bloody hell.” Eleanor and Patti both looked up at Windell, both women taken aback at his uncharacteristically strong reaction.

Before he could say anything else, though, the doorbell rang. “Knock, knock!” Frieda’s voice wafted into the kitchen as she let herself in, so accustomed was she at being at her friend’s house that she saw nothing improper in this gesture. As she walked toward the kitchen, a second set of footsteps could be heard, just behind hers. Looking up, Patti, Windell, and Eleanor greeted Frieda with happy exclamations, and as Patti gasped in unexpected and gleeful surprise, Bruno came up beside his companion and put his arm around her waist, putting the bags of food he’d been carrying onto the kitchen table.

“Oh Fred! I’m so happy to see you, you have no idea!” Patti’s sobs had returned,

but this time she could speak clearly. “And you brought Bruno! And food!” At the puzzled and wary looks of her mother and father, Patti explained, “Mom, Dad, you know Fred, of course. This is Bruno, a very good friend of ours. And I’m so happy to see them both!”

Eleanor and Windell visibly relaxed a bit, and Windell stood to shake Bruno’s hand. “So, tell me, Bruno, how do you know my daughter?” Windell’s paternal tone was obvious to everyone in the room, and Eleanor now stood to find the travelers something to drink.

“Pull up a chair, kids.” Eleanor’s voice was kind and insistent at the same time. Frieda and Bruno exchanged confused glances and did as they were bidden.

Ice water in hand, Bruno glanced across the table at Eleanor for a hint as to what hung in the air when he and Frieda had first walked into the house. When Eleanor only smiled back at him in response, he started explaining how he knew Patti, and how he’d helped Patti escape just three days ago, filling in the details that had occurred after Patti had left the club.

Right after Patti had left Manny’s office, Manny stood at the door and watched her as she moved towards the stage. He waited for her to appear, and at her delayed showing he thought that maybe she was taking a little time to calm down and focus. He had to it to himself, he had been a bit tough on the kid. Maybe after closing tonight, he would apologize for losing his temper like that. But Manny was not so much stupid as thin-skinned, and he wouldn’t tolerate his woman cheating on him. The irony of the fact that he was a married man didn’t with him as he stewed over the possibility of Patti and Bruno—

Speaking of Bruno, where was he? And why wasn’t Patti on stage yet? Brows

furrowing into a double dose of consternation, Manny started to walk slowly down the hall, when he saw Bruno coming from the other direction towards him.

“Boss!” Bruno hoped his voice ed the appropriate level of concern as he prepared to tell Manny what he and Patti had planned for him to say.

Before he could get another word out, Manny jumped in.“What the hell is going on? Where’s Cat? She should be on by now, and I have a full house!” The sound of increasingly impatient male voices floated from the front of the house to where the two men stood, just to the side of the main stage. The stage that was still empty, and Cat was nowhere to be seen. Manny stopped midway down the hall to confront his long-time bouncer who, in his agitated mind, was the reason for Patti’s odd behavior lately.

“Patti told me to tell you she had to go home sick. She seemed really upset, too.” Bruno put his arms out, palms up, fingers splayed in an act of what he hoped conveyed bewildered concern.

Bullshit, pal. Manny leveled a stare at Bruno, which Bruno met with a slight shake of his head and widened eyes that were convincingly confused to make Manny take a step back and think before he spoke his thoughts. Switching tactics, Manny responded, “Yeah, she has been acting weird lately, and she looks like hell. I didn’t wanna say anything tonight, but did you see how skinny she’s getting?”

At Bruno’s nod of agreement, Manny threw caution to the wind and plowed forward. “Ok, so level with me, buddy. I’ve seen you guys together these past few days, and I know it ain’t over work stuff.”

Bruno’s eyes widened in genuine confusion tinged with a growing anger at Manny’s suggestion. “Huh? What are you talking about, Manny?”

Manny snorted derisively and raised his voice a decibel, all pretense of understanding gone as the angry shouts up front mixed with the door slamming as patrons started storming out. “Oh, I know that look. The one you get on your face every time she walks by. And she doesn’t exactly look like she’s blowing you off, either!” Manny was almost shouting by this time. “I tried to ask her what was going on just a few minutes ago, and she gave me a bullshit story about another fight with her parents, but I’m not stupid, man.” Manny emphasized these last four words clearly and matter-of-factly, head lowered like a bull ready to charge, brown eyes honing in on their target. He pointed an accusing finger inches away from Bruno’s chest.

Despite his greatest effort to control his temper, Bruno’s anger at the injustice of the whole situation suddenly erupted. He took a step forward, towering over his boss and long-time friend. In a low voice that was almost a growl, he called Manny’s bluff. “And why would you care? You’re married with four kids, and we both know what happened the last time you messed with the help.”

“Fuck you!” Manny charged forward, intending to push Bruno out of his way so that he could look for Patti backstage, and as his open palm ed the younger man’s chest, Bruno instinctively grabbed Manny’s arm and pushed him out of his space. Everything seemed to evolve at the speed of light from that point on, and the next thing Bruno knew, Manny was on the floor in front of him, his left fist curled tightly and starting to throb. Bruno saw the blood on Manny’s face from where he had broken his former friend’s nose, and looked wonderingly down at his own fist, fresh blood on knuckles that would surely be swollen by morning.

Gingerly flexing his injured hand, Bruno made an impromptu decision. “No, fuck you. You’re a bastard, and I quit.” As Manny tried to move himself away

from Bruno, anticipating another attack, elbows working furiously to propel him backwards to a safer space, Bruno turned on his heel and took a step in the direction of the backstage door, through which moments before he had helped Patti escape.

“If you think this is ober, you’re duts. I’mb godda find her, and whed I do, I’ll bake Eleda look like Mudder Fuckid Teresah!” Manny tried to shout this last threat, but he winced and put his hand up to his face, choking as the blood from his shattered nose poured freely into the back of his throat.

Bruno didn’t turn around. He didn’t wait to see if Manny could stand up. Instead, he walked purposefully into the main room, shouting “Show’s over, go home!” and out the front door of Manny Rodriguez’s gentleman’s club for the last time.

“Oh noooo!” Patti’s voice came as a wail of regret and alarm. “You were there a long time, too! This is all my fault. Here you are risking so much for me, and now you don’t even have a job, and it’s all my fault!” Patti’s eyes blurred as tears threatened to spill over once again.

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Bruno hurriedly replied, reaching out and taking hold of Patti’s hand. “What’s 10 years, anyway? I started when I was 18, and I needed a change anyway. Fred says they’re looking for a bartender at her restaurant, and I know the owner. He likes me. Can’t stand El Jefe. He’s been trying to steal me away for years now.” Smiling and chuckling, he looked up at Patti’s horror-stricken face, and met her eyes reassuringly.

“Hey, he has an interview on Wednesday, and if things go like we all think they will, the boss’ll put him to work this coming weekend. No sweat!” Frieda interjected, half-smiling her encouragement, first at her sweetheart, then at her

best friend. Patti smiled back at her friends and sighed in partial relief.

It was only partial relief because a sudden image pushed itself up into Patti’s consciousness. “No wonder his nose was all messed up!” She blurted this out without thinking, as Patti was continuing to connect the dots, the picture getting uglier by the minute.

“What do you mean, his nose was messed up? Whose nose?” Bruno dropped Patti’s hand, glancing up at her with hooded eyes, his voice unmistakable in its growing concern. Patti relayed the incident in the grocery store parking lot, the danger of her current situation rapidly making itself clear as she continued to connect dots that now were creating a discordant, jagged scene before her eyes.

Eleanor and Windell had remained mute throughout this entire exchange, eyes riveted on Bruno as he told his story, then fixed on Patti as she visibly shuddered while putting the pieces of this nightmarish puzzle together. It was Windell who spoke next. “I’m calling the police. This has gone far enough.” As he stood to walk towards the phone on the wall, Fred spoke up.

“Wait, Mr. Connor. What are you going to say? ‘Um, my pregnant daughter’s baby’s father, who is a married business owner with a family in the suburbs, is stalking her and has threatened to kill her?’ Do you even know where he lives? Do you really think they’ll believe you? Even if they do, do you think Manny will stop with a warning from the police?”

Windell stopped mid-stride and looked back at Frieda. “I don’t know, but I can’t sit by and do nothing as my daughter is being stalked and potentially murdered!” Voice shaking, he involuntarily put his right hand over his heart and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe more slowly.

“Dad! Come sit down!” Patti quickly explained her father’s recent health scare to her two friends as Windell reluctantly sat down at the kitchen table.

“Uh, maybe I have an answer,” Frieda looked up and locked eyes with Patti. “That’s what I wanted to tell you today, P.” All eyes were now on Frieda as she explained. “You know my folks are in Sacramento, right? they moved there a few years ago when Dad got promoted?” As she took in the nods of all before her, Frieda continued. “Well, Auntie Carla has been there for years.” She paused as the nods turned in to looks of slight puzzlement. Frieda took a breath and continued. “Well, that Aunt Carla, uh, Sister Mary Carla, is attached to Holy Spirit Church in Sacramento, and she divides her time between working at the parish and that place called Fairhaven Home, I think. Last time I was down, she showed me where it is, and it’s a cute little place in downtown Sacramento, as far as those kinds of homes go.” At the sound of the word “cute” coming out in the same breath as “Fairhaven Home,” Windell and Eleanor exchanged guarded glances. Never before in their lives had either of them known any home for unwed mothers as being “cute.” Not by a long shot.

Amidst the swirls of secrecy that surrounded such “homes,” the stories always persisted. Coming in the front door the first time a girl arrived, often they would only be able to use the back door from then on out. It was standard practice to be forced to give up their names and assume other identities in order to discourage friendships from being formed amongst the expectant mothers. The girls who wound up in so many of these “homes” were routinely abused and often malnourished, being made to feel ashamed of their condition, dirty and sinful. And when it came time to have their babies, so many of these young mothers would be left alone to labor and deliver without friends or family, often without any but the very minimal assistance to ensure they would more or less come out of the experience intact. Frequent verbal abuse by staff, both lay and religious alike, was directed at these young moms. Their babies were often taken from them without so much as an opportunity to hold them, even once, and they were shuttled off back home to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. The wounds from those traumatic

experiences were covered up, but so many were left to fester, and these women were never the same for the rest of their lives.

Frieda caught the look of concern that ed between Eleanor and Windell at her mention of Patti going to live in a “home,” and she repeated, “My aunt works there.” She sought eye with Patti’s parents and nodded her head. “She doesn’t take any shit from anyone, and she won’t let anything happen to Patti. That’s why I brought Fairhaven up.” Frieda nodded her head again for emphasis as Eleanor and Windell’s features started to relax a bit.

Patti ed Sister Mary Carla well, who was her own aunt by default. She had known the nun as long as she’d known Frieda, the former being part of all major family celebrations and a frequent visitor to both of their homes. She was always clad in her traditional Carmelite garb, and Patti got a kick out of the sandals she wore, even in the dead of winter. A quick smile came to her face as she recalled the nun’s hand-knitted wool socks, peeking out from her brown Birkenstocks, often creating a bright and cacophonous contrast to the rather dull coloring of the rest of her attire. A member of the third order discalced Carmelites, Sister Mary Carla had never been able to bring herself to take the final steps of enclosed contemplation. Her carefully worded explanation had always been that she was “far too social and a part of this world” to live a life of cloistered contemplation. So, she contented herself with being a member of the Third Order religious sisters yet remained as dedicated to her mission of loving Christ above all others as her Second Order cloistered sisters were.

Patti’s mind came back to focus on the conversation at hand. Despite her best friend’s repeated assurances, her smile evaporated as her stomach clenched into a little ball of fear. A “home”? Sacramento? That’s so far away! Her mind raced as she listened to Frieda explain this possible solution to her present dilemma. Her mind rested briefly on the girl she’d known in high school that had gone away to have her baby, and she knew she could not end up like her. But something in Frieda’s blue-eyed confidence as she spoke to Patti’s parents about Sister Mary Carla put Patti’s soul at ease. She knew what she had to do,

especially as in a flash of comprehension, Patti suddenly realized how timely this all was. Manny had seen her at the store. According to Bruno, he had promised to find her, and she didn’t want to think what he’d do when he did, because she had no doubt that he was capable of anything he put his mind to. Anything. So, as Frieda finished her pitch, looking round the room in anxious expectation, Patti nodded slowly. She fixed her eyes on Frieda. “So, when can I go?” Patti’s voice did not waver as she calmly surrendered herself to a fate that had been set in motion nearly three months ago.

Now all eyes swiveled in Patti’s direction. Windell, apparently recovered from his anxiety attack, cleared his throat authoritatively. “Well—”

“Frieda, dear. I know your mom and dad. They’re wonderful people, so I would feel better if my daughter were close to them, if she can’t be home with us.” It was Eleanor who piped up before her husband could speak any further. She glanced at her husband sideways, and he nodded, remaining mute in his silent agreement. The Connors had known the Bettancourts for some time before Frieda’s parents had moved to Sacramento a few years back. George and Jaynie had wanted to wait until after their daughter had graduated from high school to move, but as it turned out, Frieda had ended up spending her senior year with the Connors, nonetheless. And truthfully, Eleanor meant every word when she stated that she couldn’t think of better people to watch over her daughter if she couldn’t be there herself.

“So, when can I go?” The question came again, just as gravely, as Patti continued to wait for Frieda’s answer.

“I’ll call my folks when I get back home tonight. I’m not sure if there’s a waiting list to get into the home or not, but I know you can stay with them till you can get in.” Frieda breathed in and exhaled as she smiled gently at her uncharacteristically calm friend. Then, brows furrowing, she added, “Hey, you ok?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away,” Bruno piped in, reaching over and wrapping Patti’s limp hand in his strong grasp.

Patti blinked and replied, “I feel like I’m a million miles away.” She swallowed and gave an exhausted smile as she squeezed Bruno’s hand back and reached for her mom’s hand on her other side.

Patti then shifted her grasp on her mother’s hand and raised up her glass of water. “I’d like to make a toast, everyone.” The rest of the table looked up in collective surprise and seeing the look of serene acceptance on her face, moved as one to raise their own water glasses. Chin up, Patti inhaled, her resolve now firmly apparent in her golden eyes, and raised her glass. “Here’s to new beginnings.” As everyone raised their glasses, she smiled, grateful for her small but close-knit family.

And that small family, bonded by a love thicker than blood, started to talk out their plans.

Chapter 6: Just Breathe

Patti closed the enger side door of her parents’ ‘65 Pontiac Bonneville, heaving a heavy sigh as she reached across to buckle herself in. It was hard to believe that only three days ago she was sitting at the kitchen table making plans with Fred and Bruno, her parents contributing and commenting, as well. Eleanor was at the wheel as Patti recalled how Fred told her she’d phone her parents that evening and explain to them that Patti needed a place to stay for a while.

There had been no hesitation as Frieda’s mom promptly agreed to take in their temporary house guest. The past 72 hours had been filled with frantic, lastminute cleaning and preparing the room Frieda used when she visited to accommodate a woman who had grown to be like a second daughter to both Jaynie and her husband.

Jaynie and George Bettancourt had watched their daughter and Patti grow up together in the same neighborhood. Both were loath to separate the two girls when George had accepted a promotion with his long-time employer, Kaiser Permanente. Actually, it wasn’t so much a promotion as a change of venue with better pay, benefits, and lower cost of living. Patti recalled the conversation they’d had that night a few years ago at supper when George mentioned the phone call he’d had that morning at work.

He mentioned the call as they were finishing up the main course, meat loaf with mashed potatoes and green peas with those little pearl onions George was so fond of. “Honey, you outdid yourself on the meat loaf tonight. It was fabulous!” George sopped up the last bit of brown gravy remaining on his plate with the last

bite of corn bread and popped it into his mouth, sighing and shaking his head, smiling his gratitude at his wife who was seated across from him and getting up to bring dessert. She had been working the graveyard shift at the hospital lately, so she actually had time to cook a real meal or two these past few weeks.

“Aw, thanks, hon. It’s been nice to have time to cook lately, so I’m glad I could swing it.” Jaynie smiled up at the love of her life as she rose out of her chair, plate in hand, and reached over to scoop up Frieda’s as well. “All done? Can I take your plate?”

Nodding and pushing his chair out slightly to accommodate his wife’s goal of plate retrieval, George took a breath and said casually, “Hey, I had an interesting call at work today.” At Jaynie’s quizzical glance and raised eyebrow, he cleared his throat and continued. “Ah. I got a job offer with Kaiser in Sacramento.” This was the newer facility in the Kaiser Permanente network that had recently been erected in the heart of Sacramento. They had made him an offer that he’d be crazy to refuse: chief surgeon. The former chief had suddenly ed away while on vacation from an apparent heart-attack. The irony was not lost on Dr. Bettancourt, because the poor guy was a cardiac specialist.

The words hung in the air a bit, surprised silence adding to the growing discomfort that was starting to enfold the doctor. After what seemed like half an hour, but was in fact only half a minute, Frieda spoke up. “Huh. I’m sure they were sad when you told them no.” She snorted briefly and half-smiled in her smug confidence that her father had readily turned down the position. After all, she was going to be a senior in a few short weeks, and there’s no way she was going to miss her last year at high school. No way.

Another brief pause that felt like an eternity fell upon the table. Jaynie broke this one as she prodded her husband to continue. “And so, what does it entail?”

Hearing her mother’s further inquiry into a subject she herself considered already closed, Frieda turned to stare at her, eyes wide with surprise that her mother would even ask such an irrelevant question. “Wha-?”

“Well,” George interrupted his daughter’s imminent protest. “They are in need of a new chief surgeon at their main hospital in the downtown area. I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow with my answer.”

Hearing that it wasn’t a done deal yet, Frieda breathed a sigh of heart-felt relief. “You’re gonna tell them no, right Daddy?” The certainty in her voice was enough to make George turn to look her full on with surprise written on his own face this time.

“I didn’t say that.” At the look of dismay on his daughter’s face and before she could launch any more objections he quickly continued. “The pay is nearly double, the hours are much better, and the cost of living can’t be beat. Your mother and I have been talking for some time about getting out of San Diego. This place is growing way too fast, and we miss a small town.”

As George explained his thinking to Frieda, Jaynie nodded her head in solemn agreement. Noting her mother’s complicity in this plot destined to rip her away from the only life she’d ever really known, Frieda stood up from the table, tears swimming in her eyes. “Mom! I can’t believe you’re agreeing to this crap!”

“Hey, watch your language, young lady.” George’s voice raised slightly in anger tinged with a little hurt. “I’m just looking out for our family. There are lots of opportunities for you out there. Good schools, universities, and that new aerospace plant, Aerojet—”

“But Dad, I have all that and tons more here!” Frieda’s imioned response shot out as she whirled on her heel and ran from the table without asking to be excused. As the front door slammed, both parents cringed and looked at each other with a mixture of sadness and guilt.

“Ouch.” George looked down at his lap and sighed.

“Don’t worry, Honey, she’ll come around.” Jaynie smiled down at her husband as she put a reassuring hand on his slumped shoulder.

“I’m not so sure you’re right, Jay. She takes after her mother when it comes to getting what she wants.” George looked up at his wife, half-smiling as she shook her head slowly, returning that same smile.

But Frieda did come around. It took weeks of planning and talking, but in the end, convinced by a tearful Frieda and her equally tearful best friend, eyes raised and pleading, the Connors and the Bettancourts—over a game of pinochle the next Saturday evening hosted by the Connors—relented. It was settled. As long as she kept her grades up, Frieda could stay the last year of high school with the Connors, sharing Patti’s room upstairs. The only catch is that at least once a month, Frieda would have to come stay a weekend with her parents.

Jubilant at their unexpected win, the girls had eagerly accepted the set out by their parents, and by summer’s end, Frieda was moved in and ready to finish her last year of high school.

The Bettancourts had settled into their quiet home in East Sacramento, and nearly four years later, they found themselves busily readying their 1940’s style

cottage for its long-term guest in grateful reciprocation for her parents’ generosity with their own one and only. As she smoothed the comforter over the freshly laundered sheets on the bed in which Patti would be sleeping, Jaynie mulled over what she’d been told of Patti’s predicament. She sighed as she put the finishing touches on the bed, then turned to exit the room.

Jaynie had just spoken to her sister-in-law on the phone earlier that morning. Sister Mary Carla, or Carla, as she called her. Jaynie was one of a handful of people who the nun didn’t mind calling her by her given name—a privilege reserved for close friends and family—and Jaynie was both in her book. She’d often said that Jaynie was the best thing that had ever happened to her brother, and it was obvious by George’s demeanor when he was around his wife that her observation was not off the mark.

Jaynie’s sister-in-law had just filled her in on current situation at Fairhaven. The news was rather daunting. The facility was packed to the gills and had a waiting list of at least a dozen or more girls as of that morning, and the prospects of getting Patti in quickly were just as quickly falling away. Jaynie had been cheerfully optimistic at hearing the news and had made firm assurances that there was no rush on their part. “It’s ok, Carla. George and I would be happy to have Patti stay her as long as she needs to,” and Jaynie meant every word.

The nun breathed a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Oh, you’re a saint, Jaynie,” she responded, feeling better about this whole arrangement as she spoke. After a few more exchanges, Sister Mary Carla had put the phone back in its cradle and her mind wandered briefly to her soon-to-be charge. She ed Patti well, because whenever she got a chance to visit George and Jaynie down south, the girl was always there. She was Frieda’s constant companion, and it was almost as if the two girls were somehow one. She ed watching them one day, short blond-haired head bobbing in tandem with long-locked auburn. The girls must have been … 16? Must have been, because that was the weekend that they both were running around, frantically preparing for the prom, their slightly older dates coming to pick them up at

Patti’s house that Saturday evening, she recalled with an amused smile. She ed how those girls were one big ball of energy, giggling and skidding around, cheeks rosy from the excitement of it all.

Her mind skipped ahead to the next year when the phone call came from George. He and Jaynie were moving to Sacramento, where were some good places to buy a house? That news came as a surprise to Carla because she knew her brother. He was a SoCal guy through and through, and she’d thought Jaynie to be of the same inclination. After allowing for a moment of silence to collect herself, Carla had pressed her brother for the reason he suddenly wanted to move so far north. He had never had anything nice to say about Sacramento, being one of the many who poked fun at the fact that such a cow town could possibly be the capitol of California. As George gave his explanation, Carla listened without interrupting, then informed her brother what she knew of Sacramento and its suburbs, being a fairly recent transplant, herself. That is, if one could call ing the Carmelite order at that time 18 years ago and being asked to work with Fairhaven Home for Unwed Mothers for most of those years “recent.”

Nearly four years had ed since that phone call had taken place. The girls did end up living together and shared Patti’s room for their senior year. A few months after graduation, the time had come for the two to find a place of their own. They had grown even closer, if that were possible, over their shared time of “imprisonment,” as Patti referred to it. Now they both felt the need to strike out on their own and breathe a bit freer than they had been allowed under the rather constricting rules of Windell’s house. It was Frieda who had found her own place first. It took Patti a little over two additional years to finally make the move out of her parents’ house as she bounced between promising to go back to school and never going, and a series of jobs that “just never worked out,” according to her, each of her failures adding to Windell’s growing frustration and Eleanor’s growing concern.

Being best friends was not the only thing the girls had in common. They also shared the experience of being only children to parents who never were

supposed to have children: Eleanor and Windell, because they thought Eleanor couldn’t; George and Jaynie, because George was convinced that he would not. Both of George and Jaynie were in the medial field, Jaynie being a nurse at the same hospital as her husband. They had seen more than enough human suffering in their line of work, and George did not want to contribute to that by bringing yet another life into the world.

Needless to say, both couples had undoubtedly been thrilled to learn they were going to have their babies. Although they didn’t know each other at the time, they would become good friends through their daughters, who met for the first time when the Bettancourts moved to the Connor’s neighborhood, and Frieda began to attend 5th grade at Patti’s school.

And now the two girls, grown into young women, were going to be separated, but Frieda promised she’d come to visit as often as she could. She knew where Patti was going was one of the few homes for unwed mothers that had comionate staff who allowed visits “from the outside” from time to time. Most of those places discouraged visitors, and Frieda was happy that her best friend wouldn’t end up in one of those horrible homes.

The first few days that Patti was to be at the Bettancourts’ home, Frieda had to work the entire week, and Bruno had his interview at the restaurant, but they both promised to let Patti know when they had some days off to come visit her and see how she was settling in. As Patti’s best friends rose to leave that Sunday afternoon, Patti noticed how Bruno slipped his hand into Fred’s, and the slightly rosy color that bloomed on her friend’s cheekbones as she glanced up at him with eyes that told what her lips didn’t have to say. Clearing her throat, Patti caught Frieda’s side glance and quick, shy smile, and smiled back, shaking her head slightly in not-so-unexpected amusement at this most recent turn of events.

Pulling away momentarily from her new sweetheart, Frieda turned to face her best friend. “Ok, so I’ll call you when we can get some time to come see you.”

At her use of the word “we,” Bruno’s head shot up a bit and he glanced at Patti and lifted his chin in acknowledgement and agreement, stepping forward to put one hand on Frieda’s shoulder, the other reaching around Patti in a warm embrace of ive encouragement.

Pecking both Frieda and Bruno on the cheek, Patti squeezed them both, and the three of them stood there for a moment, until Frieda looked up at the faces of parents who were practically her own. “Hey guys, group hug! That includes you, Windell!” Hearing Frieda call him by his first name, a sound he’d never encountered out of her mouth before, Windell Connor momentarily balked at her perceived impertinence, then seeing the smile on her face and the tears forming in her eyes, smiled back in similar fashion, putting one arm around his wife’s shoulder, drawing her in, and the other around the trio already bonded together, it seemed, into some form of bizarre, three-headed, six-armed creature from another planet.

Disentangling themselves from each other at last, Patti wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, Frieda and Eleanor doing the same, and the men of the group ostentatiously cleared their throats. They all walked to the door together, and Patti gave Frieda one last quick hug, and Bruno another peck on the cheek. As she closed the door, she thought she saw the lace curtain across the way move as a beehive-headed shadow moved out of view, but she wasn’t positive.

The owner of that beehive hairdo had indeed been looking out that laceenshrined window and not making much of an effort to hide herself. As Lonnie Flynn stared after the car pulling out of the driveway across from her house, Patti closed her eyes, lay back in her seat, and just breathed.

Chapter 7: It’s a Long Way to Sacramento

The eight-plus hours it took to get to Sacramento ed slowly. As Eleanor drove, Patti alternated between thinking and catching up on much-needed sleep. As the radio faded in and out, picking up different stations as they ed through county after county, Patti hummed along at times, appreciating the chance to just sit and exhale the tension that had built up within her over the past few weeks. Images of recent events would float to the top of her consciousness, and she would stop humming for a few moments, examining each thought as though she were a buyer of rare art at some exhibit being housed in her brain. Turning each memory carefully around in her mind’s eye, she recounted some of those times with a detached curiosity, taking care to study some more closely than others.

As her mother pulled in off the Tejon , just outside of Bakersfield, after an adventurous ride on the Grapevine—the second pit stop so far on their journey— Patti was extremely grateful, as her bladder felt as if it would burst. After a quick stop at the restroom and a hamburger with fries and a strawberry shake, one meal both women absolutely adored, Eleanor filled up the gas tank, and Patti took her turn behind the wheel.

“You get some rest, Mom. I can drive for a while,” Patti put her hand on Eleanor’s shoulder as she was moving towards the driver’s side to resume her pre-pit stop position.

Eleanor looked back at her daughter, smiling wearily. “You sure?” Her voice was tinged with doubt, but her relief at the prospect of catching an hour or two of

sleep belied her concern.

Catching the fatigue in her mother’s voice, Patti replied, more forcefully this time, “Yep. I’m good to go. You can take over again when we get to Merced. You know, that little town next to the air force base, what’s it called … Castle?” At Eleanor’s blank look, Patti added. “You know, ‘The Gateway to Yosemite?’”

As faint recognition ed on Eleanor’s care worn face, she looked at her daughter with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Where on earth did you ever get that little piece of trivia?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what you pick up in a bar,” was Patti’s half-joking response. Looking once more at her mother, by now standing by the enger side door with a completely different set of emotions on her face, Patti hastily added, “You know what I mean, right? Lots of different folks come in with lots of different stories. I heard a lot behind the scenes.”

A brief look of sudden understanding ed quickly over Eleanor’s features as she smiled and sighed out her relief. “Oh, ok. Now I can stop picturing just what that could have meant.”

With this last small attempt at humor, both women giggled, sliding into the gassed-up car, buckling up for another three-plus hours of driving before they hit “The Gateway to Yosemite.” Patti put the car in reverse and pulled out to the side road leading to the onramp that would take them to Highway 99-North, through the great Central Valley, what many referred to as “the Breadbasket of the Nation,” or at the very least, “The Raisin Capital of America.” As Patti started to whistle “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary,” her mother glanced up at her and rolled her eyes, chuckling to herself, then soon ing in, whistling turning to vocal harmonizing where she could, echoing the melody with her daughter

where she couldn’t.

As they continued on the road ahead, Patti jumped in her seat as the thought of Manny flitted across her mind for the first time since Sunday afternoon. She stopped singing, leaving her mother to momentarily perform solo. In the craziness of making preparations to flee, Patti hadn’t thought of him until this moment. Now his face came across her consciousness like a lightning bolt, brown eyes flashing dangerously, that bandage still on the bridge of his nose.

At the sound of her sharp intake of breath, Eleanor stopped singing and swiveled her head, her eyes searching her daughter’s face for clarity.

“Manny!” Patti yelped, putting her right hand to her mouth in a momentary realization.

“What about him?” Eleanor inquired cautiously.

“I know he’s looking for me! He saw me the other day at the store!” Patti glanced quickly to her right, meeting her mother’s eyes momentarily as she merged onto the highway.

“Ok, so he’s looking for you. But he won’t find you, Honey. He doesn’t know much about Fred, except she’s your best friend and was living with you during that time.” Eleanor’s shoulders slid up momentarily in an involuntary shiver and she grimaced as she recalled the past few months. “He didn’t follow you home, and he doesn’t know us.” Eleanor explained facts that should have been obvious to Patti but were lost in the jumble of emotion that she had been experiencing lately.

“I just hope you’re right, Mom. I know how ruthless he can be, and his wife isn’t exactly the nicest person in the world, either.” It was Patti’s turn to shiver as she recalled the story about the bloody death of Elena at Deborah’s hands, and how Manny had just stood by and watched his erstwhile lover die. But to her mother’s questioning glance, she only said, “She has to live with him. I heard stories about what she would say sometimes to him, how she’d demean him in front of the kids and his coworkers.”

Although she hadn’t exactly heard these things in so many words, Patti had to assume this must be the case, and made it so to appease her mother, because she didn’t feel like telling her the real story. Not right now. Maybe some other day. But for now, she needed to get her mind focused on the road. She had already gone over the double yellow line twice since she’d started, the warning bumps bringing her quickly back into her lane, and she’d be damned if she let her out of control thoughts be the reason that she lost her life and possibly took her mother with her. Car wrecks were such a horrible way to go. And now she had another life to consider. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she sighed out her angst.

“You ok?”

“Yeah. I’m ok. Just a bit frazzled, is all.”

“Honey, I don’t blame you. This has been hard on everyone, especially you. And your father.”

Patti glanced again at her mother. “Yeah, I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. He’s been so ive these last few days. I don’t know

what to say, but I know that I’m grateful for the change!”

“Honey, you know he loves you.” Eleanor’s voice was grave with meaning. “He grew up in a household where men didn’t express their feelings. They worked them out. Literally. Back in Missouri, on the farm, the measure of a man was how well he could provide for his family. Provision. That’s the measure of a man’s love, where your father came from.”

Eleanor smiled, recalling in a wistful tone the early days just before they got married. At that time, he had made it clear that he was not going to be the one to carry on the family farm, but his younger brother, Elden, would. Windell’s strength lay in numbers, so the career he chose, becoming an insurance actuary, would suit him well and serve him just the same over the years.

“But this heart-attack, well—” Eleanor stopped short, pausing to choose her words carefully as she ed the last time one Windell had a few years back. “Well, Honey, it scared him. I think he finally realized that he’s not going to live forever. He loves you more than life itself.” Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears as she looked over at her daughter, her younger mirror image, “When you came back home that night—Lord, it feels like a year ago—I said to him, he lost you once, did he want to lose you again? The look on his face! I’ve never seen anything like it, not even when he held you for the first time after you were born. He just looked at me and followed you upstairs. I think he finally understands that the real measure of a man is not how brave he can be for his family, but how well he can demonstrate how much he loves them.”

Patti nodded her head slowly, absorbing her mother’s words like desert sand absorbs the rain. Never before had she heard her mother talk like this about her father, and she doubted she would ever again.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. Eleanor resumed driving the last leg of the journey, after the two made another quick pit stop and grabbed a bite to eat at another little hamburger t just off the highway between Chowchilla and Merced. The only thing Eleanor knew about Merced, other than you had to go through it in order to get to Yosemite, was what her daughter had mentioned about the air force base … Castle, she thought Patti had called it.

Merced, like much of California’s Central Valley, was primarily agricultural. Eleanor could not imagine why anyone would deliberately move there unless they were associated with the base. Hot and dry in the summer, about the only thing that kept this region alive was the water that came from up north by way of irrigation. Southern California vied for the same water and the three regions were in a perpetual battle to lap up what each believed was its fair share.

Two hours later, Eleanor was pulling off the freeway and into light traffic. She looked up at the signs to her right, directing her to East Sacramento, where the Bettancourts lived. Waking Patti up to read the directions Eleanor had written down the night before while on the phonewith Jaynie, she maneuvered the car down the one-way street to Santa Ynez Avenue. She shook her head in slight amusement as she read the street signs to her left … 32nd street, 33rd, 34th, Santa Ynez, 36th ….

Realizing that she’d gone too far only after seeing the street she needed was sandwiched between numerical ones, she clicked her tongue in slight irritation, turning on to 36th street and looking for a place to make a U-turn. Up the block a pace, an island materialized to her left, allowing for easy turning, and she found herself on Santa Ynez. Shaking her head and clicking her tongue once again, Eleanor slowed down to look at the addresses, all painted on the curb in uniform neatness, each house its own custom rendition of a bungalow, cottage, or in one case, a taller-than-wide two-story flat.

Noting how tidy and well-kept each house was, Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief

from the anxiety she didn’t even realize she had until now. Yes, she thought to herself, my girl will be safe here. Thank you, God! Eleanor sent up the quick prayer of thanks as Patti said “Stop! There it is!”

Eleanor brought the car to a stop in front of one of the few two-story houses on the street. It was camel brown in color. She looked up and noticed that the second story boasted a gabled balcony, from which various pots of flowers bloomed, sending vivid bursts of color into the greenery that surrounded them.

“How pretty,” she breathed to Patti, who was also looking at the house. But Patti didn’t see the balcony or its colorful array of spring blooms. She had her eyes on the front door as it opened and Jaynie Bettancourt stepped out onto the porch, which was similarly gabled and festooned with spring flowers.

Petite with short blond hair and blue eyes identical to her daughter’s, Jaynie waved and smiled her joy at seeing her longtime friend and her daughter pull up to the curb. Bounding down the steps like a little girl, she met Eleanor at the sidewalk. Patti climbed out of the front seat looking well but a bit tired, smiling at the woman who could easily be another mother to her.

The three met in an embrace of sheer joy at seeing each other again. It had been well over three years since the Bettancourts had moved from San Diego, and their absence had taken its toll on Eleanor and Windell. But at least for today, the hole left from their departure was not so huge.

“Oh, you two look good!” Jaynie swiped at an errant tear that had rolled down her cheek. “But where’s Dell? I thought he was coming?” Her eyes searched the inside of the vehicle, coming to rest on her friend, concern apparent in her questioning blue glance.

“Dell decided it was best to stay home, Jay. I didn’t tell you, but he’s recovering from a heart-attack.”

At Eleanor’s explanation, Jaynie put her hand to her mouth, shaking her head in surprise. “Lea, why didn’t you tell me? I could have gotten some time off and come to help you! I know these past few months have been tough on—”

Glancing at Patti, who by now had stepped back a pace, smile fading, Jaynie directed her last word to her daughter by default “all of you,” she finished, smiling her sympathy to both women.

“Well, is he alone? Who’s checking up on him while you’re gone?” Jaynie, ever the caretaker, expressed the concern she couldn’t suppress.

Patti answered those concerns as she piped up, “Don’t worry, Mrs. B. Fred promised to stay with him while Mom was gone.”

The look of concern quickly faded as relief spread across Jaynie’s face. She sighed, the little crow’s feet around her eyes crinkling and adding emphasis to her obvious approval. “That’s my girl,” she smiled, her maternal pride evident as she put her arms around her two guests once again and directed them into the house. “Come on, I’ll bet you two could use something cold to drink. Oh, and maybe something to eat. I think George wants to take us all out for dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. You’re staying over tonight with us before you drive back, right Lea?”

Eleanor nodded her thanks as her friend chattered away, glancing at her daughter as Patti took in the space that she’d call her temporary home. Patti jumped suddenly as she heard another cherry bomb go off in the dusky distance. Then she recalled the date. July 4. Independence Day. Freedom from tyranny. Freedom, indeed.

Chapter 8: Times, They Are A-Changin’

The day after America celebrated her independence from England, Patti awoke in a strange bed, not sure where she was for just a moment. Her mother had left her earlier that morning, and they had held onto one another in a last long and tearful embrace. Even though Patti knew she was with family—not by blood but certainly otherwise mutually chosen—and that her mother would be back up soon to visit, there was a hollow pit of ice in the center of her stomach that just wouldn’t seem to warm up once Eleanor’s car disappeared around the corner and she’d come back into the house. She hugged both of her surrogate parents and asked if she could go to her room for a while, feigning sleepiness and a need for a little nap. They’d nodded with a simultaneous and encouraging “Sure, Honey!” and she had turned down the hallway to the guest room where she’d spent a rather restless first night.

As she shut the bedroom door behind her, a riptide of loneliness washed over Patti, taking her by surprise. She was soon overwhelmed with a sudden, intense grief that took her completely off guard. Her emotions brought with them images from the past few weeks that made the pit in her stomach even colder and emptier as they flew across her mind’s eye. This was the first time in weeks that she had been truly alone and being alone in a strange place, even if it was in the house of her best friend’s parents, brought home the reality of her situation. Patti was engulfed with a sense of utter and complete helplessness, the enormity of her situation at last catching up with her as she caught a glimpse of her pathetic, pale-faced image in the mirror. Despite Fred’s assurances, Patti couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that added its presence to the ball of ice that had seemed to take up permanent residence in her stomach. She’d heard stories, too, and she knew them to be true. She’d never wished living in one of those awful places on her worst enemy, and now she faced the prospect of not only living in one, but giving birth there, too. She just hoped against all hope that Fred was right, and that her aunt by default, Sister Mary Carla, would turn out to be the saving grace

she was made out to be.

Too distraught even to cry, she turned back to open her suitcase and surveyed its contents, grimacing slightly at the new nightie and the maternity underwear her mother had packed for her. Not having the heart to decline—the night gown was so grandmotherly, and the underwear, well how could anyone possibly grow into a pair of those bloomers—she smiled now, missing Eleanor with longing tinged with a growing sense of panic. She bent to sit down on the bed and frowned as she felt the fabric of her jeans cut uncomfortably into her midsection. She hadn’t noticed before breakfast when she’d put them on, but now after a big meal, complete with pancakes and sausage, the discomfort was quite noticeable. Unbuttoning the waistband that simply would not give another centimeter, she looked down at the red marks left on her belly by those used-to-fit-perfectly jeans, feeling the tears start to prick the corners of her eyes, though they never quite became large enough to fall.

Maybe things’ll look better after I take a nap. Man, I’m tired! Patti itted to herself as she turned down the covers of the freshly made bed. She sighed, yawning with an exhaustion that seemed to take hold of her as quickly as her grief had earlier. Giving up any attempt at buttoning her traitorous jeans, she lay back and turned on her side, yawning a second time, welcoming the calming comfort and warm darkness of sleep.

She was at the beach with Fred and her parents. Patti’s parents had just gone into the bungalow to get the picnic basket and blanket, and everyone was eager for the food to be set up, as it had been a long time since breakfast. Every year, the Bettancourts and the Connors went to Bodego Bay in the summer, renting the same little bungalow beside the sea, and this was the fifth year they’d managed to carry on the tradition. The weather could not have been more perfect.

It was hot and sunny, and the sky was an expanse of pristine blue overhead. Patti longed for nothing more than to run to the edge of the beach and for a few

minutes wade into the blue-grey waves crashing magnificently onto the shore before digging in to the gastric delight contained in baskets she had personally helped pack earlier that morning. With a shout of her intentions aimed in the general direction of the cottage, she quickly made her way to her intended destination without waiting for a response, and waded ankle-deep into the cool, salty water. As the waves lapped at her hot and tired feet, she noticed something that wasn’t quite … normal. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her as the sun’s glare bounced off the water and threw shadows and light across her white feet and pink-painted toenails. Then, as she watched the color play directly below her legs, the shadows congealed into dark, wispy tendrils that were soon caressing her feet, gently pulling them forward until she was up to her knees in their insistent embrace. Powerless to resist their urgings, Patti allowed herself to be led further into the waves, now feeling the power of the tide as it surged ahead and moved backward, taking her further out to open sea with each receding pull.

Alarmed, Patti tried to step back to solid ground, only to watch in horror as the strands of darkness shifted to human form. Faceless, their grasp on her body insisted that she stay where she was. Taking another frantic step backward, Patti’s heart raced as she realized that the grasping form was taking on a more familiar shape, its inky and formless limbs becoming arms and legs that were by degrees all the more insistent in pulling her towards the sea. Trying to scream, she heard nothing come out of her mouth as the top of the figure formed the shape of a human head that housed a pair of red-rimmed eyes in a mocha-latte face. As she struggled to be free, the face formed a dazzling white smile, and spoke in a quiet, insistent calm, just audible enough for her to hear its deadly intent. “I told you I’d find you.” The image chuckled, mirthless and unsmiling, drawing her closer. “You’re mine. The both of you. I’m not letting go.”

Struggling to breathe, Patti attempted to sit upright, but was prevented from doing so by some sort of winding, binding restraints. Starting to panic, her eyes opened wide and she was now very much awake. Looking down at what was restraining her, she saw that she was tangled up in her bedsheets. Closing her eyes in relief and taking in a ragged breath, she disentangled herself from what had felt like those arms that sought to drag her into the ocean just a few moments

ago. Unlike those arms in her dreams though, the bed sheets gave way obediently at her unspoken command, and soon she was able to sit up and catch her breath.

Still feeling the arms of dream-Manny around her neck and back, it took a few minutes to realize that what she’d just experienced was simply not real. Coming to her senses, she turned her head toward the door, listening for any possible footsteps coming towards it in answer to her dream screams. When only silence met her inquiry, she breathed in another quivering sigh of relief and lay down again, folding the errant sheets neatly under her chin.

This time, as her breathing slowed enough to catch a somnolent rhythm, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that took hold of her until the smell of fried chicken woke her up, signaling that dinner was being prepared. Sitting up, initially surprised at how long she’d slept, she was thankful that she had not had any dreams. She yawned serenely and stretched, arching her back in the fashion that had earned her dad’s nickname for her. As she stood up, she reached down to button her jeans, which she just managed to do if she sucked in her stomach with every ounce of resolve she could muster. Finding this position much too uncomfortable to maintain standing up, she could only imagine how it would be if she had to sit like this. Huffing out another sigh of frustration, she promptly unbuttoned the jeans, reg to let her tunic hide her suddenly not-so-flat belly as she turned from the mirror to go help Jaynie get dinner on the table.

The next week found Patti settling into her temporary home. She had brought only one suitcase with her, the little square grey-checked overnight bag with the handle on top she’d had since before she could , figuring that whatever clothing she had with her right now would need to be replaced soon enough.

She had unpacked her new nightgown and the rest of the suitcase’s meager contents, and now she tried to imagine what she would look like with a big belly as she stared at her side profile in the full-length mirror perched in the corner by

the nightstand in her room, taking another side-glance at the gigantic underwear now half-flung into the nightstand. Reaching over to shove the offending undergarment the rest of the way in, Patti sighed and returned to her selfassessment in the mirror. For the third day in a row, even with the lure of pancakes and pasta, Patti had little appetite, a sharp contrast to her now normally hearty eating habits. But still, even though she was eating less than what had become her new normal, those damn jeans just wouldn’t button, confirming the reality of her situation.

Fleeting memories of the haunting nightmare having all but been banished, Patti grabbed a pillow from the unmade bed and surreptitiously put it under her smock-style blouse. She smoothed the folds of her shirt over the pillow, frowning slightly at first. Moving her arm down her lower belly, she couldn’t help but giggle to herself in surprised shock at how audacious she looked, bulging out in a way she’d never pictured herself.

But suddenly, staring at the image in front of her and realizing that it was herself staring back, the giggling turned again to tears, sobs this time that shook her body so hard and were so unexpected, she dropped the pillow at her feet, bringing her hands up to her face, madly swiping at the tears as they fell rapidly from her eyes. Her mind tried to make sense of the image, as she still clung desperately to the denial that was shrinking rapidly into sickening reality. What am I doing here? This can’t be real. Maybe I’m still dreaming. But if it’s a dream, I wish I’d wake up soon! And to test her dream theory, she pinched her upper arm, and yelped slightly at the pain. Looking in the mirror once again, she saw the welt forming on the tender skin of her arm just under her shoulder, and the tears came afresh. Nope. I definitely am NOT dreaming.

For the second time in less than a week, full realization of the reality of her situation settled onto Patti like a wool blanket that, try as she might, she couldn’t get her head out from under. Struggling to breathe for an instant, Patti curled up in a little ball on the twisted sheets of the bed she would be sleeping in until God only knew when, grabbing another pillow and squeezing it to her chest. And as

she cried, Patti closed her eyes as she started to feel the caressing hands of somnolent relief move over her, and then she heard a tentative knock at her door.

Patti’s funk had not been lost on Jaynie and George. So, after Patti excused herself from the breakfast table after only picking at her plate on the third day of her stay, Jaynie Bettancourt decided that something had to be done. She knocked on the closed door of Patti’s room, where the young woman had just been standing in front of the mirror, observing her side profile. As she entered, her eyes took in Patti’s curled-up position on the bed. Taking a breath, Jaynie broached the subject. Perching on the side of the bed, she put her hand on Patti’s shaking shoulder. “Hey, Patti. I thought we could go shopping today. I figured you would be needing some new clothes soon, and I wanted to get you set up as long as you’re here.”

Jaynie watched as her daughter’s best friend sat up and wiped her face. She appraised Patti’s red-rimmed eyes in the mirror as she resumed her standing position. Jaynie rose with Patti, waiting for the younger woman to gather her thoughts. Patti sighed and shook her head. “Mrs. B., I can’t picture myself in those awful maternity pants. They look so … big!” Patti’s eyes were wide with a curious sort of disbelief, and her face showed her dubious stance as to whether or not she’d ever wear such things.

Jaynie couldn’t help herself. She giggled softly as she reminisced back to when she was carrying Frieda. “Oh, Honey, I thought the same thing when I was just about as far along as you are. And I’ll share this with you,” her voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone as she took a step into the room and shut the door halfway. “When I first put them on, they came all the way up to my boobs.” Her hand came up to mark the spot for emphasis. Patti shook her head and, despite her morose mood, snickered in amusement at the older woman’s uncharacteristic use of the word “boobs.”

“But by the time I was ready to deliver, they barely came to my belly button!”

Jaynie’s hand moved down to her middle to demonstrate the difference a few months could make in the way a pregnant woman’s underwear could fit.

Patti’s quick intake of breath was immediately followed by a wide-eyed look of mild shock, and she had no other choice but to throw her head back and laugh, at the outrageous words coming from Jaynie’s mouth or the comical expression of overblown perplexity on her face, she couldn’t decide. It was a belly laugh that broke the stressful feel of recent events, one that was much appreciated and one in which Jaynie shared.

As both women wiped tears from their eyes, Patti breathed a sigh of appreciation mixed with relief and put her hand to her own belly. “I still can’t imagine—”

“Oh, I know. Like I said, I couldn’t either,” Jaynie moved in front of Patti and put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “But it happens faster than you think. So whaddya say? How soon can you be ready for a shopping spree?”

The carrot was too sweet to resist. Jaynie didn’t have to do too much armtwisting, and Patti, with growing enthusiasm, quickly took the bait. She brightened at the thought of getting out and doing something, anything, other than sitting around and thinking. “I’m ready now, actually. I just need to put on some shoes, and we can go. But are you sure you want to do this? I hear maternity clothes are expensive!” Patti’s brows furrowed in concern, guilt tugging at her consciousness at the prospect of her best friend’s mother buying her anything, let alone new clothes that would cost a small fortune and would likely not be worn a year from now.

Jaynie caught the concern in Patti’s voice, and saw the look of growing consternation in her eyes. Meeting those same eyes with the blue salve of

maternal love, Jaynie assured the disconcerted girl in front of her. “I talked it over with George. Actually, he was the one who suggested it.” Jaynie’s voice was casual, yet adamant. “And I’ve never known a girl to ever refuse new clothes.” She winked and smiled as she put the other hand on Patti’s opposite shoulder, holding her firmly in her kind, yet determined grasp.

Patti raised her arms up and embraced the woman standing in front of her, sighing her thanks. “Yeah, that would be a big help. I was wondering how long I was gonna fit into these.” At that, she disentangled herself from Jaynie’s embrace and pulled her shirt up to reveal a bright red mark stretched across her belly made by the constraints of jeans that still made marks even though they remained unbuttoned. Sucking in her belly as best she could, she tried several times to once again work the buttonhole, then sighed, letting her middle relax, and turned again to Jaynie.

“Shit. Sorry, Mrs. B.,” Patti hastened to add as the curse word escaped her lips. “You see what I mean?”

Smiling across from her second daughter by default, Jaynie Bettancourt’s mouth quirked up in an intimate half-smile of understanding. “Yes, I do. So, no time like the present, Honey. Get those shoes, and let’s go! Lunch first though, I’m starving!”

The central and northern part of the valley had been enjoying uncommonly mild weather that felt more like spring than summer. However, as is typical of that region, that wonderful weather had been abruptly replaced by the more common July heat. It was the kind of heat that left a body sweltering on the pavement by noon, and Jaynie and Patti could feel it coming through the windows as Jaynie pulled into their destination. As waves of heat rose from the parking lot at the Arden Fair Mall, Jaynie parked as close to Weinstock’s as she could. The two women walked quickly into the department store and spent the afternoon shopping and chatting, bemoaning the fact that Sears, the mall’s other anchor

store, was located outside the main mall area, forcing them to brave the heat once more as they continued their quest for maternity clothes.

As Patti tried on piece after piece, she nearly started crying again as she looked at herself in the mirror. God! These dresses are so UGLY! This was the primary thought that ran through her head as she shook it in resignation to her fate. However, in so reg herself, she let Jaynie purchase a few items, including more of those infamous maternity underpants, enough at least to get her by until the baby came. Patti still had a hard time wrapping her mind around the concept that those big old things wouldn’t come up practically to her neck forever. Taking one pair out of its packaging as she settled in for the ride back to the Bettancourt’s house, she thought that she could almost get away with wearing them as a sort of short summer jumper as she inspected the garment, turning it upside down and sideways to take in all the fabric involved. Almost, but not quite, she shook her head and snorted involuntarily, eliciting Jaynie’s equally amused grin as she glanced over at a rather perplexed-looking Patti. Even in all seriousness, or as much as she could muster at the moment, try as she might, Patti simply could not imagine those things coming up just under her own navel.

They were driving back home, a relatively short trip compared to the one if they had gone to the Sunrise Mall across town, when Jaynie ed what she wanted to tell Patti. “Oh, Honey, by the way, George’s sister Carla, er, Sister Mary Carla, is coming for dinner tonight. You her when she used to come down to visit, right?”

Patti, who by this time was exhausted despite her nap earlier that morning, was finishing up a chocolate malted that Jaynie had been kind enough to stop for. She slurped the last remnants from the bottom of her cup, putting the underpants back in the bag at her feet, and nodded. “Yep, I . She was always so nice to me and Fred, even when we got into trouble. Especially when we got into trouble.” Patti smiled as she once again recalled the kind nun who always wore her brown robes and black veil set off in contrast with the whiteness of her long wimple. And those sandals. Always those sandals. She ed asking her

aunt by default about the significance of her attire and was fascinated at the stories the nun would tell her, all steeped in the tradition of the Roman Catholic Church.

Sister Mary Carla was in a rather unique position, being of the Carmelite order. The Carmelite Order was traditionally known for being a contemplative and cloistered community. However, Mary Carla, who had volunteered in San Diego at her brother’s hospital as a candy striper for several years after high school as she contemplated becoming a nurse, was one of the few sisters of her order who had only gone so far as to take her vows in the Third Order. During those first few years she’d once and for all rejected the man who would marry her before moving up north and eventually taking her vows and ing her convent located on Stockton Boulevard in Sacramento, California. In fact, in 1935 she was one of the very first of her order to found that particular convent, and she’d been d with them for nearly two decades when her current position materialized.

When a certain government-run facility in Sacramento by the name of Fairhaven Home for Unwed Mothers had expressed a need for spiritual counsel a few years back, she was the first person that Mother Superior thought of to take the job. The facility was coming out of a particularly horrific phase that had been marked by horrendous rumors of misuse and abuse of staff towards the young mothers who resided there, cumulating in the death of one of the mothers who had been left to labor and deliver her child alone, without medicine or proper postdelivery care. That sort of thing couldn’t be swept under the rug, especially after the local news media had gotten hold of the story ….

Mary Carla had readily accepted the offer, knowing at last that she’d found a genuine fit, being a woman of deep faith who nonetheless needed to be out in the “real world,” so to speak. The fact that she was a ionate advocate for the dignity and rights of all God’s people factored greatly into Mother Superior’s choice and the nun’s ultimate acceptance of the post. It was with pride and joy that Sister Mary Carla accepted the position and took it upon herself to be an

ambassador of sorts for her Order. It was also with the utmost ferocity that she advocated tirelessly for the women who resided there, “her girls,” as she called them.

At the thought of her adopted aunt coming to visit, Patti perked up significantly. “Oh goody! So, what can I make for dinner? I saw a recipe a few weeks ago for a great summer salad deal ....” As she chattered away, making plans to prepare for their much-welcomed guest, Jaynie smiled to herself in satisfaction as she made the turnoff for the grocery store. The plan had worked, and Patti was smiling once again, all traces of demons banished for the day.

Sister Mary Carla sat down at the kitchen table as Patti and Jaynie put out the last few items. She adjusted the wimple that was wrapped around her head, lifting the rather heavy habit a few inches to let in the cool breeze. Grateful for the newer central air conditioning unit her brother and sister-in-law had installed after that first awful summer they lived in this house, she smiled up at the two women as they took their places around the table, her brother already seated to her left.

“Ok! This looks wonderful,” she clapped her hands together, surveying the classic summer supper in front of her: Barbequed hamburgers and one of her favorites, macaroni salad, along with various condiments and glasses of freshlymade iced tea. She cast an appreciative glance towards Patti, who had made the salad, and the younger woman smiled her pleasure in return, happy to have pleased her favorite nun in the world. Actually, she was the only nun Patti knew, but still, she was glad to have pleased her Auntie Carla.

“Shall we say grace first?” Mary Carla smoothed the black fabric of her habit away from her face as she looked toward her left, where her brother sat, politely waiting for what he knew was coming. At his nod, she asked “Will you do us the honors, George?”

George Bettancourt nodded, making a small humming sound of affirmation. Clearing his throat, he bowed his head and closed his eyes, putting his hands together in perfect tandem with his sister’s. The rest of the group gathered around the table quickly did the same.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts,

Which we are about to receive

From thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord,

Amen.”

There was a collective Amen that followed, and George handed his sister the bowl of macaroni salad. “I know it’s your favorite,” he smiled, looking up at his sister.

“And thank you to our wonderful new houseguest for being so thoughtful to make it,” Mary Carla nodded her smiling appreciation once again at Patti.

“It’s the least I could do. I wish I could do more,” Patti’s voice was somewhere between gratitude and regret, mirroring the feelings that were skirmishing around in her stomach at the moment.

Conflicting feelings notwithstanding, Patti did manage to eat well than evening, even having a second helping of the salad, noting to herself that it was indeed rather good.

After dinner was done and the dishes cleared away, the family moved en masse to the living room, where Jaynie brought out a dessert of strawberry shortcake in one hand, in the other carrying the pitcher of fresh iced tea and glasses filled with ice, setting it all on the coffee table.

Mary Carla surveyed the small crowd around her and noting that this was as good a time as ever, cleared her throat. “Patti, I understand you are going to be staying with us at Fairhaven for a while.”

Patti, fork poised to dig into her dessert, froze in mid-dig, looking down at her plate for a moment before she met Mary Carla’s polite and questioning gaze.

Putting the fork down on her plate, she responded, “Uh, yeah. Yes, that’s the plan, I think.” The doubt in her voice betrayed the same uncertainty and wonderment she’d been feeling since the subject had been first broached.

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Sister Mary Carla’s decisive tone offered some relief to Patti’s growing doubts that the plans were somehow going to come to fruition.

As George reached over to grab a glass and fill it with tea, Jaynie took a bite of her dessert, pointedly avoiding eye with either Patti or her sister-in-law.

Mary Carla continued in the same matter-of-fact tone, so typical of her. “Well, I’ve spoken with the woman who runs the place, her name is Joan. She will have room for you in time, but it won’t be for another month at the most.” At the startled looks exchanged between husband and wife at this unexpected bit of news, Mary Carla added hastily, “But that’s the absolute longest you’d have to wait.”

Recovering quickly from this mild shock, Jaynie looked at her husband once more, and at the slight nod of his head, she addressed Mary Carla. “Well, we’re just happy our girl is here. She can stay as long as she needs to, and we won’t hear anything to the contrary!”

As Patti listened to this brief exchange, her eyes grew wide momentarily with the shock that had circulated around the room. The full force of her guilt had finally hit her, and she felt like she had to share her feelings, or she’d burst. “I feel like garbage mooching off you like this. I need to pull my own weight because I can’t stand sitting around and waiting.” A growing sense of suffocation was starting to take hold, and Patti knew she had to do something to alleviate it, or else she’d wind up in the hospital again if her anxiety had any say.

“Well, my dear, funny you should say that.” Sister Mary Carla swiveled her glance towards her adopted niece, the fabric of her habit moving obligingly to the side, allowing her a full-on view. “There are several jobs posted that need filling at the Home, and I mentioned to Joan that you were skilled in the food services industry.”

Patti turned a deep shade of crimson, assuming her aunt was using the term “food service industry” as some sort of polite euphemism. Choking back her chagrin, she started to explain. “Umm, wellll—”

Sister Mary Carla cut in before Patti could finish her sentence. “Food is served in just about every bar on the planet, so am I lying?” Her grey eyes locked with Patti’s for a moment as if to say, just go with it, kiddo. There’s a method to my madness. “Besides, if I had any doubts before, your culinary skills definitely shined through tonight!” Mary Carla smacked her lips in as she put her hand to her small belly, hardly noticeable under her brown robes, in thankful appreciation.

Patti nodded her head slowly, reading her aunt’s pointed look, and smiled her comprehension. “Yes, I do believe you’re right, Auntie Carla.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” Sister Mary Carla nodded her head decisively, her brother and sister-in-law staring with mouths slightly agog at the nun as they took in her words. Ignoring their responses and focusing on the girl in front of her, she continued. “Then after Mass this Sunday, I’ll take you to the Home, and introduce you around.” She sought Patti’s eyes with her own and held them in an unshakable gaze. “Unless, of course, you will be busy?” Her tone betrayed a slight amusement as she her mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

Patti held her aunt’s gaze. “Well, I need to check my calendar, but I think I can pencil you in.” She smiled and couldn’t contain a small giggle from escaping into the room.

“I take that as a yes, then.” Sister Mary Carla’s smile met Patti with a warm enthusiasm that gave the young woman a sense of quiet calm, which was much needed this night. That calm managed to seep into the rest of the room, having its effect on George and Jaynie as well. Somehow, Patti knew she would be ok, and even more so her baby would be as well, as long as she had her Auntie Carla on her side.

“More tea, anyone?” Jaynie rose with an easy air of casualness to grab the empty pitcher as her husband nodded, scooting into the kitchen to fill it up once again as Patti dug into her dessert now in earnest.

Chapter 9: The Crosses We Bear

The following Sunday, Sister Mary Carla picked Patti up in the ‘60 Rambler American Sedan she drove, recently donated by a kind benefactor of her current home parish of Holy Spirit Church. Being in a rather unique position of relative self-sufficiency, Mary Carla was one of a few Carmelite nuns who were able to live off monastery premises. She lived within walking distance from the Home and appreciated the beauty of the tree-lined streets she would almost daily travel to and from her primary place of work.

Mary Carla did receive a small stipend from the Diocese of Sacramento for working with the Home, and the rest of what she required to live somehow always manifested when she needed it. Well-loved in her community, Sister Mary Carla never went hungry, and all of her needs were met by God’s good graces. She thanked Him daily for all of that good grace, sometimes feeling a bit guilty for all that He had provided her, for who was she, after all, to be worthy of receiving so much grace? Or so she would contemplate at times. The car was one of those blessings that she used regularly to take who she always referred to as “her girls” back and forth to medical appointments and other excursions when needed. Joan might have been the director of the place, but as she tended to play her role strictly by the contracted hours of eight am to five pm, no more, no less, it was Sister Mary Carla who was there to fill in the many gaps that the director left, both physically and emotionally. Indeed, if not for Sister Mary Carla, Fairhaven Home might well have had a much worse reputation, and the community was well aware of this fact.

Pulling up to the drive, she tapped the horn, and Patti emerged from the front door, smiling shyly as she caught the nun’s eye. She waved tentatively as she proceeded, head down, towards the curb. The reason for her subdued demeanor

quickly became evident as Sister Mary Carla surveyed the outfit her young niece by default was wearing. It was one of the new dresses she and Jaynie had picked up the other day at the mall, and its purpose was painfully obvious by the way the empire waistline merged into a skirt whose hem came to Patti’s knees, shapeless over a belly that had yet to swell with the life it carried within.

Opening the enger side door and scooting in, Patti smoothed the front of the dress down with a short sigh of irritation mixed with slight embarrassment, tinged with the faintest bit of amusement. Face screwed up in wry assessment of her new ensemble, Patti communicated the ascertainment of her current situation. “Umph! Well, now I really feel ridiculous!”

“Aww no, Honey. You look … radiant!” Mary Carla smiled back, chuckling at the rueful half smile that appeared on Patti’s slightly flushed face as the young woman processed the commentary on her current condition.

She rolled her eyes at the nun’s clichéd response. “Gee, thanks, Auntie Carla. Humph.” She pulled down the sun visor and wrinkled her nose at the reflection staring back at her in the tiny mirror positioned on the sun visor. Her face sans makeup still made her jump in surprise a bit, and she noted how pale she looked without her customary cherry red lipstick. But considering her current situation, Patti just couldn’t bring herself to wear all that crap on her face anymore. Ahh. Those days are behind me, she silently lamented as she slid the cover over the mirror to block the reflection staring pathetically back at her.

Putting the visor up, she sighed her resignation, and looked out the window as parts of East Sacramento went by. There were some truly magnificent houses in this area, each with its own unique flair, and the trees that lined these streets were all tall and of varying species. There were Raywood ashes, sugar maples, and at least a dozen other types that stood like watchful sentinels over the houses they protected.

But as soon as they hit Folsom Boulevard, past the little French laundry and a series of small shops and stops, the more-seedy elements of downtown became somewhat evident for a few blocks. Patti closed her eyes for a minute, enjoying the sun on her skin, thankful it was early enough in the morning that it wouldn’t be too hot coming home. Opening a sleepy eye half-way, she asked her aunt what she had been wondering for a while now.

“Hey, Auntie Carla?”

“Hmm?”

“I have always wondered where the ‘Mary’ in your name came from. I mean, I’ve always called you Auntie Carla, like you told me to, but I’m curious.” Patti turned to look at the nun as she drove, arms extended over the steering wheel, showing delicate wrists peeping out from under her brown robe.

“Oh, that’s the name I chose when I took my vows,” Sister Mary Carla smiled, taking a moment to tuck an errant strand of silver-streaked brown hair back where it belonged, in her close-fitting coif.

“Really? I was born Catholic, but I guess I never paid that much attention, cuz I never knew you could actually change your name when you take your vows.”

“Well, think of it. When we take our vows, we want to emulate the saints who have gone before us, who have blazed the trail, so to speak. And last time I checked, there was no Saint Carla, and what better example of perfect sainthood

to emulate than our Lord’s mother?” What better way, indeed, thought Mary Carla as the car rolled down the next street.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Patti smiled as she absorbed this new concept that she evidently had not learned in her sporadic catechisms growing up in the Church. “I think that’s neat, kinda like being born again.” Patti slowly nodded her head, approval and growing understanding showing on her face.

“Well, in a very real way, at least for me, it was like being born again. You see, I felt like I had to die to my former self in order to live for and to serve Christ.” Mary Carla felt a sudden twinge of sadness pluck at the edges of her memory as she continued to explain. “I truly don’t believe one can serve two masters, and for me, Jesus is the one Master Of Truth. In a world so filled with that temporary feeling, God is the One Constant, and His Son the Beacon Of Truth that no amount of earthly trappings can match.” Mary Carla paused as she exhaled, the decades melting away as she was brought back to her days as a novitiate. The serene and fierce love of Sister Mary Margaret, then Mother Superior of the convent Carla was living in, Brigitte’s lovely blue eyes staring and empty as she lay lifeless in Carla’s arms, St. Teresa of Avila’s statue telling the tale of spiritual love taking on carnal dimensions, the utter feelings of loss and worthlessness, and God’s unconditional grace that saved a grieving Carla from certain death by her own hands …. Sister Mary Carla shook her head slightly as she fought back the assault of her past, coming back to the present as she continued her catechism.

As she explained the core of her beliefs to her adopted niece, Sister Mary Carla’s eyes clouded over for a moment in what looked like … is that conflict I see there? Patti thought fleetingly as she stared in earnest at her aunt. Then they took on a sort of distant serenity, the inward glow of her conviction almost a palpable thing, and Patti couldn’t help but feel its warmth—its power—as it emanated from the middle-aged nun, brown habit flowing down toward the car seat, sandaled feet confidently moving in tandem with the traffic flowing around the car’s little bubble of safety.

“And why did you choose the Carmelite order?”

Patti’s next question was met with one of those beatific smiles so often ascribed to the faces of saints painted during the Renaissance. “Ah, that’s a good question, kiddo.” Sister Mary Carla explained, “You see, the Order has a long and complicated history, and it gets rather confusing, but I hearing the story of St. Teresa of Avila, a young girl who lived in Spain in the late 1500s. Well, the story goes she and her brother tried to go to the Moors, who were most certainly not Christian, to be martyrs, because at a young age, she believed the only way to be one with God was to literally die for Him. Thankfully, her uncle stopped them before they could do such a thing, and she went on to help reform the Carmelite Order, the particular order I belong to. I just love the idea of putting aside earthly trappings, in a sense dying to myself, to become more at one with God. And when the day is over, I crave holy contemplation as much as I crave human companionship.” Those unblinking blue eyes that a young Carla had so many times become lost in once again flitted across Sister Mary Carla’s mind as she explained her choices to the young woman sitting next to her.

Sister Mary Carla had somehow always known that becoming a nun was to be her destiny. Until her junior year of high school, however, the sense of something missing deep inside of her never manifested because she couldn’t ever really put her finger on what exactly was missing. Never a girl to chase after boys, Carla had always been a serious child whose head was always in a book. And John Malone was her constant shadow since before she could . John was two years older than Carla and played the role of a big brother to her up through his senior year of high school. Then he started looking at her differently, which made Carla rather … uncomfortable. Soon after graduating from high school, he asked the one question she’d been dreading for a while, her family teasing her for the past year or so about his constant presence by her side. She said no. He asked again, and her answer remained constant. Having rejected his proposal of marriage not once but twice, Carla knew that she was destined for a different kind of life. She knew she’d let her family down and had hurt John terribly, but she also knew that married life was not an option for

her, even to her best friend that her entire family, especially George, adored.

There were other things she recalled vividly from her childhood. She had been born in 1913 and he in 1911, so both she and John were very young children during the First World War. The times that by candlelight she would “help” her mother knit socks for the soldiers defending America from the enemy overseas were ones she ed most vividly. Those were the times that the electricity went out, which happened more frequently than many people might have thought during those early years, and the yarn was rough and scratchy between Carla’s fingers. To this day she dreaded the feel of wool socks, so many of the itchy things she’d watched her mother knit never quite leaving her skin’s memory.

She also recalled the ration books and how one day she’d thrown out her uneaten dinner remains and the lecture she’d received from her father as George watched from the other room, timidly peeping his head around the door jamb as their father’s voice rose to a pitch seldom heard in the Bettancourt household. To this day Mary Carla wasted nothing, the lesson learned ingrained into her and her brother so well that night that she’d never forget.

All the while, John was her constant companion, as their parents lived next to each other in a very different-looking San Diego at that time. She ed like it was yesterday how when she was five years old, the war was coming to a close, and she’d contracted the Spanish flu; how it had ravaged the entire neighborhood, John’s family included. She had luckily survived, so had all of her family, but John lost his father to the deadly virus, the loss in turn devastating his mother and his two older siblings.

Carla and George’s father, being a generous soul, made sure John’s family didn’t go hungry after Mr. Malone ed, and the devastation that the flu caused in his own little world alone was the impetus that set George on to becoming a doctor and Carla to turning to God for succor. She ed making a promise when

she was in the throes of the virus that if He would spare her, she would dedicate her life to Him.

Yes, even at that young age, Carla just knew what she’d be when she grew up, and she never really swayed from her path, Brigitte notwithstanding. Brigitte. Beautiful inside and out, her death was one of the few occurrences that had rocked Carla to her core. The only human being she’d loved so completely and without reserve, Brigitte was the one person who would convince Carla that she could not take her Second Order vows. After all, how could she serve God with a pure heart when she longed for another human being so ionately?

After Brigitte’s death—one that she still blamed herself for despite the fact that Brigitte had been severely anorexic and had an underlying congenital heart condition—it took Sister Mary Margaret’s counsel to convince Carla that her chosen path was the right one. The conversation was still branded upon Mary Carla’s soul:

She lay broken at Mother Superior’s feet, weeping uncontrollably. “I am not worthy,” was what emitted from her lips, broken with wracking sobs that shook her to her core. “I am not worthy,” she repeated over and over, images of Brigitte’s contorting body writhing in her arms as she struggled to breathe through the pain of the heart-attack that would take her from this earth.

They had been in the garden together head-to-head laughing over some foolish story and then Brigitte had collapsed with a cry of pain, clutching her chest as her heart gave out on her, tired at last from pumping through years of being starved and maltreated. Sister Mary Margaret had been walking up to the chapel when she’d heard Brigitte’s scream. Rushing upon the scene in the rose garden, she took in the sight of the two women who were both so very young. It was she who had called the medics, and she who had called Brigitte’s family to let them know of her ing. Now it was she who held the life of this young woman at her feet in the balance. She listened for a few moments as the young woman

lying in a crumpled heap before her sobbed in unspeakable agony. Then Sister Mary Margaret bent down and cupped her hands gently under Carla’s chin.

“Carla.” At the insistent tone of the nun’s voice, Carla looked up through a haze of tears and was silent at once. As she hiccupped once, twice, three times, Mother Superior held her there and peered into her red-rimmed eyes with a love so deep, so real, that for a moment Carla’s grief left her as she absorbed the love pouring from her mentor. “Carla.” The older woman drew in a deep breath and shook her head in sympathy as a gentle smile appeared on her normally austere face. “ Saint Teresa of Avila.”

At this, Carla frowned in puzzled response and waited for Sister Mary Margaret to clarify. When she didn’t, Carla sniffled as she asked in a slightly shaky voice, “I’m sorry, but what do you mean?”

Sister Mary Margaret smiled even more so as she explained. “The statue in Rome. You’ve seen the pictures and you know her story, yes?”

At this, Carla nodded. “Oh yes, the statue still makes me blush a bit.” Despite herself, she chuckled softly.

“Me too, Carla.” Sister Mary Margaret responded in kind. “But the story behind that statue. How Saint Teresa described her union with God as an actual physical sensation. There is a reason why the word “ecstasy” is used to describe both the statue and her story.” Sister Mary Margaret waited a few moments for her young novitiate to process the information.

Carla was still a bit confused as to why her mentor would bring this story up at

this very moment. “But Sister Mary Margaret, I don’t understand …”

“Carla.” The older nun’s voice was soft yet strong in its insistence. “We are all human. That is what makes us so desirable to God, for we are His creation, and He made us like this.” Peering down to her young novitiate’s kneeling form, she motioned, “Stand up, Carla. Do not remain on your knees. You have known a love that so few ever acquire in their lifetime, and that is a gift.” As Carla stood on wobbly legs, her eyes grew wide with uneasy surprise as she realized that the older nun who stood in front of her knew about the love that she and Brigitte had acquired for each other. Sister Mary Margaret nodded slowly as she took in Carla’s shocked countenance. “You thought I wouldn’t know? Child, how could I possibly miss it?” As Carla’s eyes filled once again with tears unbidden yet destined to fall, the older nun put her finger up to her novitiate’s eyes to wipe those tears away. “You, my girl, are human. You are equipped to love. That is a gift.”

Carla gathered her wits and asked the question that still imposed itself in her mind. “But what does that have to do with Saint Teresa’s ecstasy?”

Ahh, my girl. Everything, of course!” Sister Mary Margaret went on to explain as her face broke into a full smile, never before witnessed by Carla. “That she could feel such a carnal love for God shows that she is human as well, at least in my opinion. That even after all of what you have experienced you should be here having this conversation with me instead of packed off and headed back to your home shows that you still have the desire to serve Him.”

Carla shook her head. “No. I can’t do that.” At the look from her mentor, she continued. “I can’t serve two masters. I have loved another human being so deeply that I fear that I could never dedicate myself so completely to God. But at the same time, I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

As she listened to the sheer agony in Carla’s voice, Sister Mary Margaret had a sudden insight. Nodding her head slightly she said, “There is another way.” Watching Carla’s face carefully, Sister Mary Margaret continued. “You could take your Third Order vows, that way you could—”

“Oh!” Carla exclaimed. “Sorry, I interrupted you.”

“No, that’s fine. Speak, please!”

“So, I could work as a kind of lay/religious person. Kind of have my cake and eat it too?”

“Mmm, yes and no. You would not be a lay person, per se, but you could still take your vows and stay within the lay community as a religious person, does that make sense?”

“Ohhhh. Yes, it does.”

A few moments ed and Carla asked to be excused to mull her new situation over.

That was 35 years ago, and she was still as active in her community as she could possibly be. Never once did she regret her decision, and the blessings, although still tinged with the loss of the woman she’d loved above all other people, were indeed plentiful in Sister Mary Carla’s life.

“But you drive, and a decent car at that, Auntie, and you actually live amongst actual people. You’re not all hold up in a monastery somewhere, all quiet and away from the world.”

“This is true, and most of my sisters lead a very quiet life at the convent just outside of Sacramento. But there are various levels of cloistering, ranging from no with the outside world to the ability to work closely within it. That’s why I am what is called a Third Order Carmelite. First order is the priests. Second are the cloistered nuns. Third is for lay people and other religious men and women who don’t take their second or first order vows. I’m far too social to be happy living all day in cloistered quiet, but I still feel that this is my calling.

Although all of this was true, Mary Carla stopped short of sharing her experience with Brigitte with her young niece, just as she always did whenever she very openly shared her reasons for being a nun. And so far, so good, nobody ever pressed her on the issue, for if they did, they would likely see a side to the nun they’d never thought existed. God doesn’t like ugly, Mary Carla was fond of saying, so it was best not to test her on this point.

At Patti’s glance toward her sandaled feet, the nun chuckled and continued her history of the Carmelite order. “I see you are looking at my feet. You do that a lot.” As Patti quickly averted her gaze in a moment of slight embarrassment at being observed in her quiet questioning of the nun’s choice in footwear, Mary Carla continued. “The Carmelites are discalced. That means “without shoes.” So, we wear sandals. It’s a thing with us.”

At Patti’s sudden look of comprehension, the nun continued her story. “When we learned that Fairhaven was looking for spiritual guidance, a Catholic spiritual presence, I volunteered for the position, because I honestly crave interacting with people more so than some of my sisters do. The car was donated to us by a

very generous patron of our parish, so it’s come in handy for the work I’m now charged with doing. I personally feel that God is more present in the people I meet and work with, whereas others might see Him most clearly in contemplation and prayer. Not that prayer isn’t important, mind you.” Obviously engrossed in a topic she found most ionate, Sister Mary Carla continued her animated overview of matters of faith and practice as she saw them to be relevant to her.

Patti listened with rapt attention, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of complete and utter willingness to “die to oneself.” Looking down at her lap, she realized that her hands were clasped firmly round her middle, and it struck her like a bolt of lightning. Tears pricking her eyes as a slow, radiating shiver ran up then down her spine, she began to understand what that level of self-sacrifice might feel like, maybe not so much towards one’s Creator, but to one who has been created. She wasn’t sure what dying to herself would entail, but she clearly understood now how it felt to be willing to die for another.

As they pulled into the parking lot of Holy Spirit Catholic Church, Patti opened her eyes and yawned, stretching out her fatigue before the car came to a stop. Land Park surrounded Holy Spirit, and the natural beauty of the place gave the church an air of serenity quite fitting to its name. Shaded by an abundance of trees, all full leafed in their summer glory, the outside of the church was positively alive with dancing shadow and light, which changed subtly yet constantly as the leaves moved with the gentle morning breeze, the trees to which they were attached swaying ever so slightly, keeping up in perfect rhythm. She stared up at the small building in front of her and noticed that the most striking thing about it was the tall, cross-topped spire soaring above the trees that lined the sides and back of the entire building. One thing Patti had noticed about this area was that it had so many trees of all kinds …. Flowers, beautiful bushes, and trees. And the squirrels that inhabited the majority of the older trees were not shy, nor did they look like they were starving in the slightest.

One of those plump grey squirrels scurried up a majestic pine tree to Patti’s right

side as both women got out of the car and walked up the steps and into the church. Patti watched it hurry up and disappear into the evergreen branches, pausing ever so slightly along its way to survey the scene below, tail twitching in alert curiosity, chattering in consternation from being disturbed by the human intruders below. For a brief moment, Patti envied that squirrel its freedom, and wished wistfully that she could it in its escape from the rest of humanity.

Her reverie was interrupted as Sister Mary Carla put her hand on Patti’s arm, gently steering her towards the steps of the church. Patti turned to her aunt and took an inward breath, letting it out quickly as she smiled and turned from the direction of that now completely hidden squirrel. It had been several years since she’d set foot in any church, let alone a Catholic one. The last time she had been in one, it had been for a distant cousin’s wedding in Anaheim some four years back. Never an overly devout church goer, Patti swallowed back a surge of mild apprehension rising from her gut, wondering wryly if the roof would cave in once she stepped through the door … and into the hall. Closing her eyes and half-believing they were in for quite a demolition, she opened them again. Thankfully, the building didn’t seem to be falling down around her, and she and Sister Mary Carla walked past a few more well-wishers loitering in the hall and past the last pew before the aisle began.

They had about fifteen minutes before Mass started, and Sister Mary Carla waved and nodded at many a parishioner as she and her charge moved toward her customary pew: three from the front, left hand side, aisle seat. As they turned into the awaiting pew, a small woman with salt-and-pepper hair--more salt than pepper, Patti recalled later--came up from behind and put her hand on the nun’s shoulder.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Sister Mary Carla turned around and greeted the woman with a warm hug, joyful at seeing who Patti observed must obviously be a good friend. “I’d like you to meet my niece. Patti, this is Claire Howard. Claire, my niece, Patti Connor.”

“Och, I thought yer niece was a tow-hied,” Claire frowned with a slightly confused air, looking quizzically up at Patti, surveying the girl through silverrimmed cat-eye spectacles. Immediately, Patti noticed the older woman’s Scottish burr, and looked up, at once enchanted and intrigued.

She ed her father telling stories of his grandfather, born in Scotland of an Irish washerwoman working for a wealthy family. Named Rory for his red hair, he had immigrated to America when he was in his early 20’s, and Windell knew him briefly until the old man died. Windell had just turned 10 at the time of his death, and although it had been decades since he’d heard his grandda’s voice, he ed it well. At rare times when he allowed mirth to get the better of him, he could do a pretty good impersonation of the old Scotsman. Among other things, he would occasionally chuckle over the stereotypical persona of his great-grandmother, citing the popular reel “The Irish Washerwoman” as evidence of such a commonplace reference to his ancestry.

Patti recalled the little nursery rhyme Windell would recount on rare occasion when she was very young, solemnly circling the top of her hand with his index finger, waiting for the underarm tickle his walking fingers would eventually give as they crawled up her arm. Roond aboot, roond aboot, lives a wee moose. Up-abit, up-a-bit, in the wee hoose!” And she’d dissolve into a cataclysm of giggles, begging for just one more.

Suddenly, tears pricked her eyes at the memory of her father, younger and actually smiling, and Patti was brought back to the current conversation. “Oh, she is,” the nun smiled, laughing at the look of confusion on her dear friend’s face. “This is my other niece, Fred’s best friend from San Diego. She’s staying with my brother and his wife for a little while.”

A look of comprehension slowly replaced the one of bemusement, and Claire put

her hand out to take Patti’s in a warm, heart-felt embrace. “Ah, yes, I ye tellin me aboot Frieda’s friend from time te time.” Mischievous brown eyes sparkled out of a kindly-smiling face as Claire added, conspiratorially, “Don’t worry, child, she only told me the good stuff!” Claire Howard winked at the surprised and vaguely alarmed-looking girl in front of her, and chuckled gently, squeezing Patti’s hand in friendly jest.

For a moment, Patti really was taken aback, wondering just what her aunt had told this sweet-looking woman. Then catching the humorous tone in her voice as the older woman winked at her and smiled, Patti smiled back, wiping her brow with the back of her free hand, in exaggerated relief as she played along. “Oh, phew! I owe her big time, then.”

Laughing and giving Patti’s hand one last warm squeeze of affection, Claire excused herself to go sit at her customary spot, stopping mid-stride. Turning back to face Sister Mary Carla and Patti, she suddenly ed something. “Oh, tha’s right. Hugh and Caroline aren’t here tiday. Mind if I sit wi’ ye two?”

“Not at all, come, sit next to Patti on the other side,” Sister Mary Carla quickly responded, indicating the empty space with a slight flourish of her hand as she herself started to sit. Patti smiled again and nodded her agreement, patting the seat next to her as she took her own seat. Although it was still cool in the church, she suddenly felt like the meat sandwiched between two pieces of bread, not at all claustrophobic, just snug and safe.

As the three women settled in, a voice from the front of the church came strong and clear. The choir director greeted the congregation with an amiable smile and gave direction. “All rise, please turn to your missal, page 233, and us in our opening hymn, ‘Crown Him with Many Crowns.’” As the processional progressed up the aisle to the front of the church, the entire body of worshippers rose en masse, some singing heartily and others politely standing, opting not to sing their praises so much as just be present in the Lord’s house.

Sister Mary Carla and Claire Howard were of the first group. Enthusiastically singing along with the choir director, organ music accompanying his baritone vocals, they paid little mind to Patti, who chose to mimic the second group and silently take in what was going on around her. Her hymnal poised modestly in front of her face, she peeked around and made a few observations.

So many older women were wearing veils, and many who knew both Sister Mary Carla, bedecked in full Carmelite regalia, and Claire Howard, veiled in her favorite Roman lace head scarf, were glancing surreptitiously her way. A few even turned to whisper to their neighbors, noting the young girl, wearing the telling dress, who was wedged between the two pillars of their parish, obviously disconcerted at Patti’s own lack of what they still deemed as “proper” head cover. To give Patti credit, there were more than a few younger women and girls present who were bare headed as well, exercising their freedom to choose to be so.

Even in 1968 it was obvious who adhered to the pre-Vatican II traditions. Patti ed hearing vaguely from her aunt how things had changed so radically a few years back when the Church deemed, among other things, that the Mass could be said in the vernacular of the congregation, abandoning its Latin only tradition. To add further shock to many, the priest now said Mass facing the congregation, and women needn’t veil if they so chose. Such change was terribly hard on some more conservative and traditional parishioners, and the battle lines seemed still clearly drawn in the sand, even after the better part of a decade of such change had ensued.

Observing herself being observed, Patti glanced sidelong at Claire, then at her aunt, but they seemed unaware of the stir she seemed to be making. Sighing to herself, Patti hummed the last few verses and the chorus line, eyes eventually resting on the huge cross in front of her, a statue of the crucified Jesus, wearing a crown of thorns, arms outstretched, head down, a look of sad peace on his

lifeless features. A plaque that read “INRI” was attached above his thornbedecked head. Again, she ed that the letters on the plaque meant “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,” the title He Himself was said to be given by Pontus Pilate before he was crucified. She did recall from her smattering of catechism that it was a title he never directly accepted, nor did he deny. Why she ed this little piece of information at this moment, she hadn’t a clue.

As the opening hymn came to its last verse and the procession of priest, reader, altar servers and another young berobed man reached its destination, all participants in the sacred celebration of the Mass took their respective spots at the altar. Patti’s eyes focused at first upon the elder priest, who greeted his flock and asked them all to pray. Again, from the sporadic times she’d attended a Catholic Mass, she recognized each person in their respective roles, noting with a sort of detached interest that the lector was a woman. One for womankind, she half-smiled to herself, her eyes traveling again to the priest, altar servers no girls among them alright, she briefly noted, resting her gaze on the young man who sat to the side of the priest, out of the way of the altar, but close enough to be an active part of the celebration going on in front of her.

The opening prayers finished, the first and second readings, responsorial and Gospel reading ensued. Instead of delivering the homily himself, the priest, Father Frank as she was later told he was called, introduced the young man to his left.

“My brothers and sisters in Christ, you all know Deacon James.” Father Frank smiled amiably at his younger companion, and then out to his nodding and smiling congregation. “This is his first time delivering the homily, so please go easy on the poor guy.” The older priest chuckled, clearly using levity to ease the distress the young deacon must be feeling at such a monumental occasion, and Deacon James smiled back at his mentor, shaking his head and lifting his shoulders, hands outstretched in a gesture of supplication that brought more warm laughter and a few quiet claps from the congregation. The son of Italian immigrants, being born himself in Italy during Mussolini’s fascist reign of terror,

the deacon’s dark hair and brown eyes bespoke his heritage as the gesture brought with it a characteristic “whaddya want from me” hint that was quite endearing.

“Thank you, one and all. This is indeed a glorious Sunday, is it not?” To the enthusiastic nods from the congregation, Deacon James delivered a homily that moved in perfect tandem with the gospel just read by Father Frank. The theme was “Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and the door shall be open unto you.” The simple way he related the gospel to his flock, the sweet personal story he included, and the very nature of complete faith that he had in his loving God plainly written on his face, made for a compelling homily.

By the time he was finished, not a sound could be heard, save for the occasional clearing of a throat or an overly tired baby crying out their displeasure at being confined for so long. From an outsider looking in, it was obvious that the young priest-in-training was clearly adored by this congregation, and they were very much aware that this man had more than a bit of the risen Christ in him. Much more than a bit. In fact, his unaffected, simple spirituality seeped through every pore of the man and out into the room and mixed with what he constantly and humbly referred to as his own many imperfections. It made for a powerful combination, a perfect mix of holy and human. Yes. Deacon James had not missed his calling. And this fact was lost on no one, Patti included.

Patti had perked up as the young deacon started to speak. She wasn’t particularly religious, being born Catholic and generally “Catholic” in name only. So, what happened next took her completely off guard.

After the first two minutes of Deacon James’ homily, she couldn’t what he said next to save her life. Try as she might to focus on his words, the beauty of his movements, the dark brown hair and brown eyes filled with some sort of unearthly light she couldn’t define to save her soul, became distractions quite unbecoming for a woman in church listening to a man of God, much less a

woman experiencing impending motherhood, regardless of its circumstances.

Yes, he was nice-looking, but he also belonged to God. Nice looking? Gah! Where the hell did that come from? Patti mused. And yes, his “first time” homily was fantastic as far as Patti could judge, hearing so few others in her lifetime. It certainly did have a powerful effect on the entire congregation, and Patti wished fervently that she could focus on his words, because she knew she surely needed to hear some sort of Good News. But there was something about this man that, as the old cliché goes, quite literally took her breath away.

Patti was both alarmed and dismayed at her reaction as against her bidding her eyes followed Deacon James as he finished speaking, stepping from the altar and taking his seat off to the side. She did indeed find it a bit hard to breathe, but she wasn’t sure if it was because …. Yeah. She was sure. She couldn’t name it, exactly, just knew innately that this man who would be a priest had a certain something that soothed her raw heart, bringing a calm that she hadn’t experienced until this moment. Oh God. What a man You’ve made there, she thought as she shook her head, gulping down her heart, which was beating rapidly in her throat. She suddenly realized that he had finished speaking and was looking out at the congregation from his seated vantage point, giving a little nod of gratitude and a soft smile of thanks as he caught Sister Mary Carla’s eye.

As for the nun, she smiled back, giving a very furtive “thumbs up” sign, making the deacon smile even more broadly. Kinda like a kid does when his mom tells him what a good boy he is, Patti mused, doing her level best not to make her clandestine observations of the young man obvious. His eyes settled on the young woman sandwiched between his favorite nun and Hugh’s mother Claire, taking in her rather obvious attire. Patti looked down at her shoes, then her nails, assiduously picking at the last bit of stubborn red polish on one of their tips, anywhere but back up at the man who obviously knew her aunt so well. She knew she was blushing, and the panic was surging over into something almost palpable. Oh crap. I need to—

As she looked up and straight ahead, the crucified form of Jesus on the cross drew her attention. Breathing a long sigh of relief at finding something other than those wonderfully brown eyes to focus on, she fixed her gaze on the crucifix right in front of her, and for the first time since she’d pleaded with God before she found out for sure that she was pregnant, Patricia Connor closed her eyes and prayed.

As the Mass ended and the masses departed, Patti followed Claire Howard out of the pew and into the aisle. Noticing her hands were dry, she discreetly fished out a small bottle of hand lotion from her bag and rubbed a dab into her skin. Hmm. I love this one. Strawberry. My favorite, she thought as her aunt followed her, nodding and waving at parishioners as they went. Father Frank and Deacon James were at the church entryway, warmly greeting of the congregation as they filed into the parking lot. Snippets of enthusiastic exclaim over James’ first homily wafted to Patti’s ears as she moved toward the growing cluster of human acclaim, but by now she’d managed to find her game face, plastering on a smile wide enough to hide behind. Judging from the countenances of the two older ladies who accompanied her, Patti gave a silent little prayer of thanks that they hadn’t noticed her most unexpected reaction earlier on. Or so she thought.

As it came her time to shake hands with the two men of the hour, Patti extended her right hand first to Father Frank, nodding her greeting and hearing Sister Mary Carla say, “Oh, Father, this is my niece from San Diego. She’ll be staying with my brother for a while this summer. You George and Jaynie, don’t you?”

The older priest lifted his head and looked heavenward for a moment, searching his memory. “Ah yes, and they have another daughter, as well, do they not? Pretty little blonde girl, yes?” The priest frowned in puzzlement as he took in Patti’s long auburn locks and hazel eyes.

“Yes indeed, and Patricia is Frieda’s best friend, and my niece in every way but blood,” the nun proudly stated by way of explanation.

“Oh, I see. Well, welcome to Holy Spirit Parish, my child. I hope to see you again next week,” Father Frank smiled down at Patti, squeezed her hand warmly, and released it, patting her on the shoulder as she stepped forward, politely oblivious to her obvious maternity attire.

When she turned to take the deacon’s extended hand, who was heretofore filled with curiosity at the new face before him, he suddenly comprehended, and nodded, grasping Patti’s extended hand warmly in a firm embrace of encouragement and enthusiasm. “Welcome to our little parish, Patricia. Hopefully we will see you again before the end of summer?”

When she was sure she could speak without giving herself away, Patti looked him in the eye, ignoring his use of her full given name, and said, “I’m not sure, but this place is beautiful. It’s my first time here.” Patti’s voice managed to sound level and calm, her attempt at mild casualness seeming to pay off. “I understand you had a first today, too?”

James smiled warmly at Patti’s observation and asked, “What did you think of it? Is there anything you heard or didn’t hear that I could improve on?”

His expectant gaze held Patti for a moment before she managed to take a deep breath. “Honestly, I was so taken with that giant crucifix, I didn’t hear everything you said, but what I heard sounded great. No complaints from me!” Praying her Cheshire cat grin wasn’t too wide, Patti smiled and chuckled slightly, unable to remove her eyes from his steady gaze. Wow. He is just about

the most beautiful man I’ve ever met—

Catching herself wandering into dangerous territory, she cleared her throat, squeezed his hand once more in thanks for the brief dialogue, and excused herself, walking with the rest of the crowd into the now hot early June sunshine of the church parking lot.

As she walked away, James couldn’t help but watch her go, surveying the dress she was wearing, along with the flush of color that had appeared on her face, and was still there as she turned around and smiled at him, waving shyly as she went. She must be another of Sister Mary Carla’s girls, is what had initially entered the young deacon’s mind, until he’d heard the nun’s introduction of her charge to Father Frank. Then something unexpected happened that would haunt the young man for the rest of his life: He put his hand that had held Patti’s to his face to wipe away the sweat that had appeared on his forehead and caught a whiff of … oh my God, is that … STRAWBERRIES? A strange prickle ran down his spine as he continued to watch the young woman walk into the parking lot, her scent overwhelming his olfactory senses for just a moment. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It wasn’t a disconcerting sort of sensation, but instead was one filled with an innate kind of knowing that is only experienced when one is touched directly by the hand of God. It was that same feeling he had had when he visited Notre Dame Cathedral in the summer before his senior year in high school—the summer he knew he was called to the priesthood.

James Salvatore had known he wanted to be a priest since he was 16 years old and despite his good looks and winning personality had never been interested in being with a woman (or a man for that matter). At the age of 23, he’d officially dedicated his life to his studies as a diocesan priest, laughingly explaining to his mother that of course he’d have to at that level. After all, he loved to argue and was ionate at defending what he believed in, but he loved learning new things, so needed the flexibility that being a diocesan priest would offer. During those early years after the Council of Vatican II, the sky seemed to be the limit as to where the Church might go, and James wanted to be in the forefront as She

moved forward.

He quickly found then that not only did he love history, he also had a ion for canon law, and was contemplating specializing in an advanced studies program in it after ordination. Yes indeed, he had some pretty big plans as to what he wanted to do, but he had to force himself to stay grounded and actually get ordained first. A lover of learning, James didn’t see himself ever not in school. There was so much to learn, and so little time!

Along with his ion for learning, James had dedicated himself completely to his calling and had never doubted that he had made the right decision. Now with less than a year to go until full ordination at the age of 27, he was on the fast track to realizing quite a career in the Catholic church. Adored by mentors and parishioners alike, Deacon James Salvatore had a bright future ahead of him. He could feel it in the base of his spine. His only big regret was that his mother wouldn’t be there to see him take his vows.

She’d been his greatest champion throughout his growing up years and had raised him with plenty of love and the help of both her parents and his father’s parents, once they came over from Italy to settle in America. She’d worked hard to provide for her only child after her husband had died, and James was grateful for her, at least now that he understood. When he was growing up, however, he was very angry at her because he ed well that day when he saw just his dad’s feet, still in his slippers, peeking out from the corner of his garage door vantage point, and shouting for him to wake up. He’d shouted until he couldn’t shout anymore, the torrent of tears pouring from his eyes as he begged his father to just wake up. Loud as he shouted, however, his father never woke up, and it was his mother who had cut the rope pulled taut around the center beam of the roof of that garage in a desperate attempt at getting air to her husband’s lifeless body. No amount of tears that day would bring his father back to him, and that was the last day James had ever cried.

Although he did not understand back then, for he was but seven years old, there had been whispers about his auntie back in Italy who was a nun. About how she helped the good people escape the bad guys trying to kill them. How when one day, five years earlier, she was helping a good family with nothing to eat escape to a safer place she was killed by the bad guys, her death used as a warning against any more disobedience to the Furher and his Nazi regime. And how the news of his sister’s death changed James’ father from a kind and laughing soul to a man utterly devoid of life.

Five years after his sister had been taken from him—his only sister and a twin at that, who he had begged to come to America with him but had refused, citing God’s work to be done at home—James’ father couldn’t take the pain anymore. So, he quietly strung up the rope and literally took his life into his own hands, joyful in the knowledge that he’d soon be with his sister, confident also that his wife and his child would be ok with their parents around now to look after them. It was true that suicide was a mortal sin, but he’d chance eternal damnation rather than live another day in such interminable agony.

James had gradually come to understand the reality of the situation and had finally forgiven his mother just before he’d gone to the summer before his senior year of high school. Forgiven her? He now corrected himself. No. I forgave myself for not understanding all those years. Standing in the back of the church watching Patti’s form grow smaller in the distance, the scene came before his eyes momentarily. He recalled once again the smell of fresh coffee as he walked into the kitchen that morning only to see his mother sobbing at the sink. ing the day, he realized that it was the tenth anniversary of his father’s death.

Wordlessly, he’d come to his mother and embraced her, tears never shed since the day he’d seen his father in the garage threatening to spill from his own eyes. He’d managed to keep himself in check, but all the anger and fear he’d felt all those years seemed to leach away with every tear that fell from his mother’s eyes that day. He ed bending down and kissing her on top of her head, for

he’d grown to tower over her, and drawing her in tightly to him, silently praying to God to forgive him for ever blaming his mother for any of the pain his father had caused their family by taking his own life. And he ed that she smelled like … strawberries. She always smelled like strawberries.

He found it hard to believe that it had been only eight months since he’d buried her. In her later years, James’ mother had become diabetic. Thinking that her blood sugar was low when it was actually incredibly high at the time, she’d consumed a glass of orange juice, which sent her sugar levels, which were already sky high, even higher, inducing a coma and eventual death. Although it was a nightmare to live through, James did thank God every day that his mother had died peacefully and quickly in her own bed, and apparently at His hands and not her own.

The week after he had held his mother in his arms in the kitchen, absorbing her sobs and struggling to control his own desire to cry, he was off to , where he went to Mass at Notre Dame Cathedral one day and was given the confirmation, he needed to seal his fate and put him on the road to priesthood. He’d been absorbed in the beauty of the place, when in the middle of Mass, he got the most distinct tingling in the base of his back. At that very moment, the priest saying Mass was raising the host to consecrate it, and James just knew he was on the right track.

Because he was not a fan of jumping head-first into what might end up being the shallow end of the pool, he forced himself to spend a couple of years after high school at community college, not going right away into the seminary, for he wanted to make quite sure his calling was real, and after he graduated with his Associates in History, the subject always being one that utterly fascinated him, James put himself on the path he knew he must travel. At the age of 21, he continued his education, but this time in earnest preparation for entering the seminary. Yes, James had always known that being a priest would be his ultimate calling, and the two years he spent after high school to make sure proved only to strengthen his convictions, for the desire never faded, but only grew stronger.

As far back as he could , even back before he and his family had come to America when he was scarcely past toddlerhood, James had had what best could be described as a love affair going on with the saints of the Catholic Church. This is where history came in for him and his love for the stories of all saints, but especially Saint Teresa of Avila. As a child growing up in a rather religious family—his very religious grandparents had been back to Italy a few times once the war was over and had even taken him to Rome a couple of times to see the Pope say Mass at St. Peter’s Square as well as Bernini’s sculpture of The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa—he knew her story perhaps the best. His own murdered aunt had been rumored to have been a Carmelite, which was an oddity given the time and place in which she resided. So, it was no surprise when once he shared this piece of family history with Sister Mary Carla that they somehow bonded. After all, she too had dedicated her life to religious service in memory of Teresa of Avila.

Of his many conversations in the seminary about what actually constituted what he had termed through his readings of Merton and others as “Absolute Best Love,” it was Saint Teresa of Avila’s story, or at least a key part of it, that had set it all straight in his mind. He had quite an extensive library of many of the Catholic saints, and the book which contained all of her works was one he went to often. There was one description of her experience in becoming one with God that had always haunted him:

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron’s point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so suring was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying.⁵

The vivid details of Saint Teresa’s experience were ones that further bonded James with Sister Mary Carla, as the saint herself had been instrumental in both of their decisions to pursue a religious life.

It was true that James Salvatore had never been in love before, but that was not to say that he didn’t notice the glances some of the women at his parish threw his way while he was giving the homily or hear the underlying intent of the innocuous-sounding invitations to dinner from a few of the young unmarried women as they warmly greeted him after Mass. Every time he politely declined those invitations, he’d smile to himself and shake his head as the disappointed female would turn her back and walk away, and James would quickly occupy himself with the whatever or whoever next would be vying for his attention. Father Frank also couldn’t help but notice these very same antics at times and would have been concerned if his young protégé had not so firmly declined those “innocent” invitations to a home cooked meal.

No, Deacon James Salvatore had never been in love before, so he didn’t know the warning signs that his body was trying to give him that morning. Thinking nothing more of his physical reaction to meeting Patti, he merely shrugged his shoulders to stop the tingling, shaking his head slightly as he turned back to greeting his flock.

As they pulled out of the smallish church parking lot and into the tree-lined road, Patti stared ahead at nothing in particular. Her main focus was turned inward, and as they got further away from Holy Spirit Church, she was relieved to find that her heart was resuming its normal rhythm, her breath now coming more easily.

“Hello in there, kiddo. Anyone home?” Mary Carla addressed her enger in a

questioning tone, glancing sideways, her smile containing a slightly quizzical air.

“Huh?” Patti snapped out of her reverie and swiveled her head to the left to focus on her aunt. “Oh, sorry, just off in my own little world.” She smiled, and the older woman repeated what she’d just said a moment ago.

“I was saying how lovely the homily was today. That James sure is a special one.” Sister Mary Carla shook her head in affectionate acknowledgement of the young man’s alacrity for speaking. “I don’t think he missed his calling, at least in the public speaking aspect of the job.” The nun glanced sideways at her niece, silently observing the young woman’s facial expressions as she began to respond.

Poker face. Ok. “I’m sorry, I didn’t listen as carefully as I should have.” Patti shook her head in what she hoped was an appropriate show of remorse. “But that crucifix, something about it, I dunno, just sucked me in. I haven’t prayed like that in Church, I don’t think ever, in my life, Auntie Carla.”

Patti’s adopted aunt nodded decisively at Patti’s semi-confession. “Godsmacked.”

“Huh?” Patti wrinkled her nose up in puzzlement at the unfamiliar phrase.

Mary Carla chuckled. “Heh. Yes. That’s what you were. You were Godsmacked.” And to Patti’s continued stare of incomprehension, the nun explained, “Something touched you in that church deeply enough to smack you to attention. You were Godsmacked. It happens to me a lot. Actually, it happens to most people more than they realize. Some call it inspiration, others call it

revelation, epiphany, it goes by lots of names.”

“Oh.” Patti smiled as she started to understand what her aunt meant by what now felt to her to be a most accurate explanation for what she had experienced. “I see how it got its name. He sure got my attention!” As her aunt chuckled her response, Patti was grateful that the nun didn’t realize just what he she was referring to. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

But Sister Mary Carla was a sharp observer of all things human, honing her skill at observing its nature by years of training in silent contemplation. She couldn’t help but notice how James had looked at Patti from the altar, staring a little too long before he caught himself and averted his eyes, and how Patti refused to look in his direction, fixing her wide hazel gaze directly in front of her. She noticed too how warmly the deacon had smiled at Patti when he first took her hand to welcome her to the parish, how he pointedly looked her directly in the eye, making an effort not to observe her maternity dress.

Mary Carla knew James to be a very friendly person in general, jovial and kind to everyone, with a wicked sense of humor that was both keen and profound. However, he always maintained a sort of aloofness, particularly with the younger women of the congregation, although more than a few of those women had often made it clear that they’d be more than happy to test the theory that he was born to be a Roman Catholic Priest, celibacy being the first vow they’d gladly help him break. He seemed painfully aware of his predicament and had once confessed to the nun that he hated the fact that God had made him so bloody attractive. “Not to ring my own bell, mind you, but it’s a damned curse,” the young deacon once blurted out in exasperation after Mass one Sunday when all the parishioners had left.

Sister Mary Carla’s mouth had quirked up into an involuntary, amused grin and she had taken great pains not to laugh outright at the seriousness of the young deacon’s exasperated and heartfelt confession. Gathering herself into a position

more apropos of a woman of her standing, she had instead straightened up with exaggerated dignity that hid her amusement and responded, “Ah yes, I get that all the time, myself. I think it’s the way the habit sets off my wimple just so.” Fluttering her eyelashes up at the young man, she broke into a sly grin. At this point, James had looked over at this woman who was quickly becoming a mother figure to him—one could never have too many mothers, after all—and they both laughed, the kind of laugh that hurts the gut, but at the same times heals the soul. They had to wipe the tears away from their eyes as they parted company that morning, parishioners within earshot glancing quizzically at the older Carmelite nun as her laughter, rarely heard in public, reached their unaccustomed ears.

And if there was any doubt, the far-too-wide grin Patti gave in response to his handshake was plain and simple overkill. Sister Mary Carla knew that grin. It was the same one Patti and Fred both had plastered on their faces that day she was visiting them when they were in junior high and they had brought in a kitten and had been hiding it in Frieda’s room for the three days the nun had so far been staying in the house. She didn’t have to see the cat to know it was there; her allergies told her what the errant girls would not.

Needless to say, her brother and sister-in-law had capitulated and let the girls keep the cat, which hung around the Bettancourt residence for a few weeks, then mysteriously disappeared over Fourth of July weekend. The girls were heartbroken, but then were overjoyed when it re-appeared two weeks later, a little worse for wear and a bit too skinny, but otherwise unharmed. The smiles they wore that day were quite genuine and lacked that too-much-teeth look of the overdone ones.

Taking a deep breath of resolve and promising herself she’d contemplate this situation later, another thought hit Sister Mary Carla as her mind settled on Claire and her brood. Claire Howard had lost her husband the year before to lung cancer. It had been a long battle and had gotten very ugly in the end. Claire’s husband Francis had been a part of the blue collar set and was a pack-a-day

smoker since the age of 12. And it was the most tragic irony that Claire had been recently diagnosed with the same thing that had killed her husband, although she hadn’t smoked a day in her life.

Claire had been born in Ireland and raised in Scotland. An educated woman, degree in business in hand from the University of Edinburgh, she could find no work when she had first come to America, feeling much as her father before her when he had gone to England in the 1860s only to be turned away from jobs due to the NINA laws firmly in place there. No Irish Need Apply was a sentiment that haunted the Irish immigrants of Claire’s time as they came to America, even though technically this discrimination was considered to be illegal. She ed the looks, the double-talk, the excuses that met her from the mouths of would-be employers.

But meeting Francis, an English immigrant himself, was in many ways a saving grace for Claire. Francis proved to be a loving and loyal spouse as he started married life being employed in the factory industry. For the Irish, along with the rest of the bedraggled and beleaguered masses coming to America for a better shot at life and settling into their community, jobs eventually became easier to acquire, and by the time she was ready to work, Claire found herself pregnant with her first child, who turned out to be a boy. Quickly bringing her second child into the world, Hugh, she did the same for three more little souls, ending 14 years later with her last child, a boy named Thomas.

She was 44 when Thomas was born. The lateness of age in which she gave birth was not only a happy surprise to her but came with a certain natural consequence that so oftentimes accompanied later-in-life births. Thomas was born with Down Syndrome. The more common term was “Mongoloid,” and this was a typical reference she often heard either whispered or in some cases more loudly proclaimed as she walked out and about with her youngest son. “An angel of God” is how she herself referred to him, fiercely refusing to have him merely warehoused when it came time to go to school. She worked closely within her beloved Catholic church, and when Thomas was four, helped to found a school

for children like him, himself included on the roster, with the Order of the Holy Innocents, a sect of religious order that dedicated their lives to advocating for the innocent children of the world.

Now Hugh and his wife, Caroline, unable to have children of their own after multiple attempts, were talking about adoption. It was Claire’s most fervent wish to see the couple made whole with the addition of a little one to their small family. She never brought it up when she was with them, but she saw the sadness in both their eyes. Education and career had deferred the start of a family, and now that there was time, no babies ever came, despite their diligent efforts in this area. And with her recent diagnosis of lung cancer, well, Claire knew the prospects of recovery were dismally low; she had watched her husband slowly waste away and it made her ever more determined to fulfill her mission for her second son and her lovely daughter-in law, whom she loved fiercely.

So, as she knew Sister Mary Carla from church, Claire asked if they could use some help at Fairhaven Home. Packed as the Home always was and as long as the waiting list was to stay there, she knew that the best chance she had for finding a viable match might be for her to be there to help make it happen. Her reckoning was that if she worked closely with the moms-to-be, she just might find the perfect arrangement for Hugh and Caroline. Mary Carla was thrilled to welcome Claire into the Home, grateful that she had in her friend a staunch ally for who the nun called “her girls.” Indeed, “her girls,” placed at Fairview from all over the state, needed every ally they could get, and as long as Sister Mary Carla drew breath, she was determined that it would stay that way.

After church one day, Claire took Sister Mary Carla out for lunch, and they talked about what Claire desired to do. Sister Mary Carla, moved to tears over the sentiment of such an action, told Claire to come to the Home the next day and speak with the director, Joan Coates. As there happened to be an opening in the istration office, which was badly in need of a good organizer, Joan took one shrewd look at Claire and told her she’d do. If she would, three hours a day, she could start with the intake staff, interviewing prospective residents. That

next Sunday, Claire lit an extra candle in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary housed in a side nook of her home church for thanks at such a stroke of incredible luck. Not luck, a blessing, she firmly reminded herself as she left the church that morning.

Sister Mary Carla recalled the chain of events, and how the past six weeks Claire had been working at the Home with her had gone so well. Sister Mary Carla was a living institution at Fairhaven for as much as she did as well as much as she didn’t do. A required part of their stay, each mother-to-be had to take classes and receive counseling, and after a few sessions, most of the women simply adored the nun, who fiercely advocated for and adored her charges just as much, if not more. Women? God in Heaven, most are no more than girls! The thought came to Sister Mary Carla as she again stole a furtive glance in the direction of the newest would-be inhabitant of Fairhaven Home, who by now had closed her eyes and lay back on the headrest, catching a quick cat nap in the enger’s seat. I wonder—Praise be to God the kids couldn’t make it to Church today, because rules are rules—It would have to be a closed adoption, strict adherence with State guidelines, which meant that Patti would have to give her child up to parents she would never meet, and who would never meet her, and it being California, the birth records sealed to that even the child couldn’t access them on their own. So next week we need to find another church to attend, which might be the best thing, considering James —

Sister Mary Carla’s mind was building quite a mousetrap, the saying goes, as they pulled into the parking lot of Fairhaven Home for Girls.

The two women got out of the car and walked up the short pathway that led to a gated entryway. As Sister Mary Carla opened the gate, she looked over at her charge, who was taking in what would be her lodgings for roughly the next six months, eyes wide and mouth slightly agog. She smiled and placed an encouraging hand on the young woman’s shoulder, gently nudging her forward with a nod of encouragement.

Patti felt like she was a sponge, and her environment was tepid water, neither too hot nor too cold, and she soaked it up at a steady rate. She frankly had had no real idea of what to expect to feel or see before this moment. Despite all of her misgivings, what she did see gave her an innate feeling of finality. This is where she needed to be, regardless of how much her world had been turned topsy-turvy as of late. It was an ironic way to feel, it dawned on her, because up until now, the girls that went to these kinds of homes were those kinds of girls. And now she was one of them. She just prayed that she’d be spared the horrors that so many before her had been forced to endure, and she glanced over at her aunt by default as she sent a hasty prayer to God that she never leave her side.

She didn’t feel like she imagined one of those kinds of girls ought to feel: alone, desperate, despised, well yes, she itted, a bad girl. Try as she may to identify with that stereotype, she could not. She knew beyond any doubt that she not alone, she was loved, and she was good. The feeling of living for another, sacrificing oneself for the benefit of the innocent, enveloped her as she put a protective hand to her belly, and smiled wistfully down at the life she knew now she was going to bring into the world, knowing at that moment that her own life would never be the same.

As she walked through the gate held opened by Sister Mary Carla, she met the nun’s glance with one of her own which reflected all she was feeling, smiling slightly at her aunt’s encouraging demeanor.

“You ok, kiddo?”

“Yeah. Just a little overwhelmed. It just got real all of a sudden.”

And with a deep breath, Patti followed Sister Mary Carla through the swinging glass door and into the lobby of Fairhaven Home for Unwed Mothers, soon to experience just how “real” life could get.

To their right, there was an abandoned reception desk, and directly in back, there was a closed-in office, its one glass partition facing out into the reception area. A tall woman with a tall, black beehive hairdo who might have been in her early 30’s was sitting at a desk, typing something out on one of those newer electric typewriters. At the appearance of unexpected visitors, the woman stood up to her nearly six feet, looking taller for her upswept hair. Her dark brown eyes quickly surveyed the duo, a tight smile of recognition forming on her angular face.

The woman, brows furrowed slightly in mild surprise at seeing the nun come on a Sunday which was not her usual day, took in the young woman by her side. As she spoke, her smile remained plastered on her face, her irritation at being unexpectedly disturbed thinly veiled by her half-hearted attempt at friendliness. “Hello, Sister, I see you’ve brought company, and on a Sunday at that.” Her eyes swept Patti from the top of her head to the tip of her toes with a cursory glance, making Patti feel vaguely like a piece of meat at market being considered for that evening’s Sunday supper. As she finished up her visual assessment, the woman continued. “I’m not usually here on the weekends, but we are a bit shorthanded at the moment.” Her smile grew wider, but somehow no warmer as she finished up her explanation.

“Oh, allow me to introduce you to my niece. I believe I mentioned that she’d be coming to stay with us for a while.” Mary Carla maintained a pleasant tone, which overlay the maternal protection she clearly felt towards the girl, as evidenced by the hand that shot from underneath her brown robe and glommed firmly onto Patti’s right forearm. Patti inwardly thanked the nun for that hand of , and began to believe that maybe, just maybe, Fairhaven would be ok after all. So long as she had Sister Mary Carla, Patti knew she’d be ok.

Meeting Patti with that same tight smile, the woman answered. “Ah yes, I . Waitlisted, I believe.” As Patti and the nun both nodded, the woman quickly added, “But I have an update. It seems as if there’s an opening coming up sooner than expected.” Honing in on Patti with another laser look of what the woman assumed came across as businesslike and professional, she watched as both women in front of her exchanged surprised glances.

It was Patti who spoke up next. In an attempt to break the ice, she started to explain her connection to the nun. “Um, that sounds like good news. By the way, I’m Patricia, but everyone calls me Patti—”

“Yes, I’ve heard all about you, Patricia,” the woman cut her off in mid-sentence. “And my name is Joan Coates, but everyone around here calls me Miss Coates. I am the director of this facility.” At this last part, Joan Coates’s chin came up with an air of self-importance, all the while her eyes locked with Patti’s in what seemed a challenge, somehow daring her to disagree with her position of authority. “We will actually have a room for you next Monday.”

Patti now stood mute, her breath starting to come in shallow gasps. She suddenly felt the need for air and knew that this woman was the cause of her sudden anxiety attack. “I’m so sorry, Auntie Carla. I need to go out for a minute.” The look on her face was plain enough, and Sister Mary Carla dismissed her niece with a nod.

As Miss Joan Coates and Sister Mary Carla waited by the reception desk for Patti to return, Joan commented, “She’s a pretty one. But goes to show, they come from all kinds of families.” The director’s jab hit the nun in her gut, and she winced inwardly at the unnecessary nastiness with which the comment was delivered.

Wondering if this perhaps was not the best plan after all, Sister Mary Carla chose her words carefully as she replied. “Yes, she is beautiful. Inside and out. And it’s true, they do come from all kinds of families, even the best, like ours, wouldn’t you say, Miss Coates?”

In answer to the formal way with which the nun addressed her—Sister Mary Carla was one of the few people with whom she worked that Joan would allow to address her by her first name—Joan jumped slightly, taking in her breath. Eyes wide in sudden recognition of her faux pas, Joan attempted to back pedal. “Oh, Sister, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t, Miss Coates. Surely, as the director of this place, and coming from where you have come from yourself, you’d never assume the worst of any of our girls, now would you?” Sister Mary Carla kept her tone pleasant, but it was clear by the way her face was set as she held Joan’s gaze that the nun ed more than what the director would have preferred.

“Of course not,” the director responded, smiling a bit too brightly as her evervigilant eye caught the sight of Patti coming back into the hallway from outside. As the girl drew closer, she plastered on her own Cheshire cat smile, but the evidence of her tears was written all over her face as she swiped at her nose with the back of her hand, red-rimmed eyes bravely meeting Miss Coates’ with the pleading look of a frightened animal caught in a snare staring down the hunter who would take its life.

Madly attempting to master her panic, Patti inhaled deeply and extended her other hand out firmly. “Like I said, Ma’am, my name is Patricia Connor, and I am going to have a baby. I hear this place is the best in the area, and I am happy to be able to stay here. My baby deserves the best I can give her, and this is a good start.” Taken aback at her own boldness, Patti couldn’t help but think of what she had just said. Her bravado belied the dawning realization that this place was not as “cute” as Fred would have it be in her imagination. She sent up

another quick prayer of thanks to God that her Auntie Carla was with her, because judging from the looks of Miss Joan Coates, this place would be an absolute nightmare without the nun’s presence.

Then she realized another thing she’d just said. She’d said “her.” Her. Yes, she decided, it’s definitely a her. And I am going to give her the best start I can, even if it means facing more than just my own demons.

Miss Joan Coates looked at the proffered hand and her mouth quirked up in a half-smile of surprise mixed with a sense of mild disbelief. Checking herself, she took the hand and shook it firmly. “We do what we can with what we have. And one thing we have that others don’t, is your aunt,” Joan turned a tooth-filled grin to Patricia’s adopted aunt.

As Joan searched Sister Mary Carla’s face and locked with the nun’s eyes, she had nearly recovered from her momentary shock at Patti’s unexpected boldness. In response to Joan’s slightly defiant stare, the nun returned her gaze with a kind one of her own that did not belie the strength that lay behind its mild countenance.

“Ok, then,” Joan gave another toothy smile, Patti noting with mild amusement at how the director’s left canine stuck out like … like a fang. Holding in the giggle that threatened to escape from her mouth, Patti instead averted her gaze and took in her surroundings as they moved down the hall. “Shall we go on a little tour? I understand you’re familiar with the food industry, yes?”

The director and her two attendees walked down the hall and into the ading rooms, Joan chatting casually the way through, Patti sneaking frequent sidelong glances of the woman who would hold much of her life in her hands for the next half of a year. Amidst the amusement she’d felt at beholding Joan’s unfortunate

dental dilemma, the feeling that she was drowning lay just below the surface and now threatened to consume her. But Patti Connor held her own, a quiet resolve growing within her with every step forward she took. Although she was certain that she was walking straight into the lion’s den, it was new sense of calm that propelled her forward, almost effortlessly, keeping her utter sense of panic in check. Patti smiled to herself as the realization hit her. So, this is what it means to be a mom.

5 Saint Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle, The Way of Perfection, and The Book of her Life (Autobiography). 3rd Ed. Rev. Trans. by the Benedictines of Stanbrook. 1921.

Chapter 10: Fairhaven

The week that Patti had been told she would have to wait to move to Fairhaven turned out to be the better part of a month. After a few starts and stops, paperwork snags, and more than a little trepidation on Patti’s part, the time finally arrived. The fourth Monday after her first encounter with Miss Coates, Patti found herself in her mother’s car, last night’s conversation with Fred fresh in her mind.

“Heya, P. Me and Bruno are gonna be coming up and visiting you next week, if that’s ok.”

“I think there shouldn’t be a problem, I’ll let your aunt know, and she can deal with the director of the place.” Patti’s voice gave her facial expression away as she wrinkled her nose at the memory of the very tall, very intimidating Miss Joan Coates.

“Oh. Um, sounds like she’s a lovely person, what little Dad got from Aunt Carla,” Frieda responded. “Yeah, Auntie Carla called Dad last week and told him you had met The Dragon Lady.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “She didn’t say much, but Dad knew by her tone that it wasn’t exactly a love connection between you two. He said that she almost sounded apologetic.”

“Oh, Fred! I don’t know what I did to piss her off. One minute I’m introducing myself, and the next minute she’s cutting me off and looking at me like she wants to eat me for dinner. The old cow!” Patti’s eyes grew wider as she

expressed how nonplussed she was, and as much as she hated to it the director had gotten to her, there was more than a little hurt mixed in with her confusion.

Then she caught what Fred had said about Mary Carla’s apologetic tone. But before she could ask any further, Fred continued. “Hey. Don’t sweat it too much. You have my aunt there, and for a Carmelite, she is fierce.” Frieda giggled. “I wonder why the heck she chose that order. I visited her when she went to the convent once, and I swear to God, nobody except her spoke to me. Oh, and Mother Superior. But the rest of the sisters are very, um, contemplative. I can see why she didn’t take her full vows.”

“Ya know, I actually asked her that last week. She said something about orders and lay people and stuff. But it got a little confusing. I try not to think too much about it, because I got too much in my brain already to worry about.”

“I bet. So, I wanted to tell you that when you’re settled, me and Bruno are coming up to see ya.”

“I’d love to see you! And it looks like I’ll be ‘settled’ sooner than I thought. They have an opening that’s available tomorrow. Just found out last week. So, I guess I’ll go then.”

The hesitancy was apparent in Patti’s voice that sounded small and scared in her best friend’s ears. Closing her eyes and praying for the right words to say, Frieda sighed on the other end of the phone line and said, “You’ll go, and you’ll be fine. This is a big effing deal, P, but I’m just glad you’re with people I know will watch over you. By the way, if the Dragon Lady pulls any shit, you need to let Auntie Carla know. Her cloister is attached to a monastery that is attached to a huge institution called the Catholic Church.” She let her words sink in for

meaning. “AKA the Bank of God.”

Realization slowly dawning on Patti, she closed her eyes to stop the tears from falling. When she could speak again, she responded. “Ooohhh. I get it now. It’s a money game, isn’t it?”

Frieda smiled on her end of the phone line. “Yep, and that woman knows it, even if she wants to have you think otherwise. So, mind your p’s and q’s, do your work, keep your head up, and that you have all of us here, and we love you so much.”

Patti breathed in a heavy sigh of relief simultaneously mixed with dread. But she felt more of the former than the latter. “Thanks, Fred. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Babe.” There was something in Fred’s reder that told her that this wasn’t the end of the conversation.

“So, spill it. What’s really going on? Patti demanded.

“When we come up, we’ll talk. Don’t worry, though. It’s kinda a good thing.”

Eleanor Connor pulled up to the front of Fairhaven Home for Unwed Mothers, her daughter seated in the enger seat of the car, quiet and somewhat resigned to her fate. Windell had decided to stay home at the last minute, not at all comfortable with what would prove to be an emotional goodbye. He had listened in from his customary bedroom perch two nights before when Eleanor had called

her daughter just before Frieda had to tell her she’d be staying with the Bettancourts and taking Patti to the Home on the appointed day. Saying he loved Patti made her tear up once again. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to hearing her father express affection. This heart thing has really changed him, she ed thinking as she hung up the phone and swiped at the tears before they started to fall in earnest.

Patti exited the car, moved toward the front gate, and suddenly stopped. It was as if her legs had frozen up, and her feet had rooted to the spot. Heart pounding, a sudden surge of sheer panic gripped her without warning, and it became almost impossible to breathe. She couldn’t blame it on her too-tight jeans this time, either, as she was wearing one of those smock and skirt numbers Jaynie had helped her pick out just that last week.

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe in deeply, then exhale slowly, willing her heart to slow down and her legs and feet to work properly. It’s not all about you, Patti. who you’re doing this for. As if in response, she thought she felt something like a little butterfly move in her abdomen and breathed in in sharp surprise. She smiled and shook her head, thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was the baby making itself known to her. Even at three months, the thought of that life growing within her was enough to spur her body forward and out of her temporary panic-induced paralysis. Walking towards the gate with renewed resolve, she met her mother on the other side of the car and answered the look of concern that had appeared on the older woman’s face with a smile.

“It’s ok, Mom,” Patti reassured Eleanor. “I just had to take a breath. And I’ll tell you something else. I think I just felt the baby move!”

In answer to her daughter’s beaming face that was at once filled with awe, terror, and excitement, Eleanor felt tears prick the edges of her own eyes. “Oh, Honey, that brings me back a few years.” She sighed and took her daughter’s hand,

squeezing it for reassurance—although who needed to be reassured the most at this point was questionable--and both women walked through those gates together, hand-in-hand.

Walking up to the reception desk, instead of being greeted by the normal volunteer, which would have been Claire Howard, they were met with none other than Miss Joan Coates herself. Standing up from the desk, the director came out from behind it to greet her newest resident and the older woman holding her hand. Aww. Must be the mother, she thought, her mouth curling up in a half smile that she hoped conveyed a warm welcome.

“You must be Patricia’s mother,” Joan’s voice addressed Eleanor in what she assumed was a friendly enough voice.

“Yes, I’m Eleanor Connor. And you are?” Eleanor momentarily let go of her daughter’s hand to firmly grasp the hand of the tall, dark-haired skyscraper of a woman who loomed directly before her.

“My name is Miss Coates. I’m the director of this institution. It’s early, so our regular intake volunteer is not quite here yet, so I get the honor of welcoming you, personally.” Joan shook the offered hand, noting the firm grasp Patricia’s mother used. Momentarily glancing down at their clasped hands, she reciprocated with like firmness. Both women smiled tightly at each other, and the handshake continued for longer than it might usually have, neither woman taking their eyes from each other nor being the first to relinquish their grasp.

Eleanor at last took the high road and released the director’s hand first, but not before nodding her head as if to convey her understanding of things, keeping her hazel eyes locked within the other woman’s shrewd brown gaze. Glancing over at her daughter, she saw that Patti was taking in this little battle of wills and

judging from the look on her face, had to assume that the girl had already met this woman, and was well-acquainted with her acerbic manner. And now, as Patti caught her mother’s glance, Eleanor was disconcerted to see how her daughter lowered her eyes, her shoulders slumping as she stared at her feet. Then, she experienced sudden relief as Patti lifted her eyes to hers and nodded almost imperceptibly, those eyes conveying the message that she was going to be ok and that she loved Eleanor very much.

Just as Miss Coates was ushering Patti and her mother down the hallway and into what would serve as Patti’s room for the better part of the next half of a year, the front door opened to it a petite, grey-haired woman who Patti instantly recognized as Claire Howard.

“Oh hi, Mrs. Howard!” Patti beamed, relieved at seeing another friendly face amongst the sea of outrageous angst she seemed currently adrift in. “I didn’t know you worked here!”

To Patti’s genuinely surprised greeting, Claire Howard made a kind response. “Och, yer auntie didna tell ye? I do volunteer work in the office in the mornins a few days a week.” Claire smiled beatifically, taking a few steps forward to embrace the young lady in front of her. “And this must be yer mam!” Warmly embracing Eleanor in like fashion, Claire welcomed both women to Fairhaven Home in a way Miss Coates would never think of doing, business being business and the whores being whores and all.

Despite her longstanding relationship with Fairhaven, the director felt little sympathy for any of its residents and she never let an opportunity go by to let them know just how she felt about them. To be comionate would only be ing them in to continue down their paths to perdition. Besides, comion was something Joan Coates seemed to utter lack from birth, so giving it was just a moot point. More than once since her stay had Claire wondered privately just why the woman had been with Fairhaven for as long as

she had been; surely she was better suited for the home across town where everyone, from what Claire had heard, was more of Joan’s ilk ….

Whores being whores and all. For that is how Miss Joan Coates viewed all of Fairhaven’s residents: little whores who had the unfortunate luck to get caught and were now paying for their sins. Never mind that when she was younger, she’d graced these very halls herself, a fact she’d done all in her considerable power to hide …. But that was another time and under completely different circumstances, at least in Joan’s mind. Her maidenhead had been stolen from her, her older brother keeping things all in the family. The baby had been stillborn, and Joan had refused to even look at his face, thinking to herself in a flood of relief as they wrapped the body and prepared it for burial thank God! One less male in this world!

Refusing comfort from her fellow residents—all dirty little cunts doing penance for their sins, because really, who would actually want to do that thing that put them here in the first place—and finding herself with no kith or kin to go home to, Joan had been in a dark and desperate place after the baby was born, and Sister Mary Carla knew it. The nun had been working with Fairhaven for a while when Joan came to live there, and she saw an opportunity to assist the young would-be mother. She knew that the current director was retiring, and it was none too soon, judging from what she’d witnessed in her early years working with the abusive woman. The nun had suggested that Joan take the woman’s place, as Joan had some college credits in business from American River Community College. At first, Joan balked at the idea. “Are you kidding me, Sister? These past few months have been the worst in my entire life, so why do you think I’d want to have a career dealing with these whores on a daily basis?”

At the sound of Joan’s berating response, Sister Mary Carla, who had been placidly sitting next to the younger woman on a park bench outside the facility, drew herself up to her full five feet, three inches, which did not compare to Joan’s nearly six feet, but was nonetheless impressive at that moment. “Joan Elizabeth Coates! I am offering you the chance to make the best of a horrible

situation. As I see it, you don’t have much of a future if you go back home, and the damage done so far might be a trifle compared to what would come in time!” The nun’s grey eyes blazed with a mixture of anger, hurt, and maternal protection as she stood over the young woman still seated on the bench.

Joan looked up at Sister Mary Carla, whose features were wreathed in a halo of mid-morning sunshine. It was on the tip of her tongue to flatly refuse the generous offer being made to her, but at that moment Joan swore she saw more than a small nun dressed in Carmelite garb standing over her. She saw something much more profound, however, and that profundity struck Joan to her very core. She knew the nun was right. She knew she was safe here, even if she had to deal with such filthy little females. At least she could finish her degree and get the hell out of this place. Eventually ….

Joan Coates had quietly accepted Sister Mary Carla’s offer of a chance at a new beginning. That had been nearly ten years ago when she was twenty years old, and she was still here at nearly thirty. Still feeling plagued by her charges. Still looking upon them with thinly disguised disgust. Except for a few of the pretty ones. The ones who were quiet and compliant. The ones who were naïve and didn’t know they had rights that Joan would be damned if she ever told them they had. The ones with no from home. The ones who were utterly and completely alone. Vulnerable. Those were the ones that Joan hand-picked to be her assistants and whom she victimized mercilessly and blackmailed into submission. And this all went on under Sister Mary Carla’s nose, so good was Joan at maintaining her façade and her victims’ silence.

Mary Carla had hoped that by working with these women that somehow Joan would grow some comion and empathy for them and thus for herself, but this had been one of the few times that the nun had misjudged the situation, for the only thing that grew within the person of Miss Joan Coates was an even stronger conviction in her original sentiments: whores were whores, and regardless of their situations, they would have to pay the price for their sins, just like Joan had. Just like she was still doing. And she was only too happy to dole

out the punishments she felt that were still being bestowed upon her.

As the trio started to move on with Miss Joan Coates’s little “welcome to the neighborhood” routine, Claire watched them go, and a small thought came to rest gently on her conscious. I wonder. Yes. Maybe indeed. She just might be the one.

Patti smiled back at Claire as she turned back to her tour. As the small group moved down towards the corridor, Eleanor had her hand planted protectively on her daughter’s arm. Miss Coates led them through the main common area into the dormitories located towards the back of the building. Coming to the third door on the right, she unlocked it, ushering its new inhabitant and her mother into a room that had a window facing a small but brightly blooming rose garden, which was in the center of what looked like a small courtyard.

It being mid-morning, the sun shone brightly through the window, revealing a twin bed scooted up against the left wall, a modest chest-of-drawers directly across from it on the opposing wall, and on top of it, a wind-up alarm clock. The only adornment on the wall was a small crucifix above the window. Apparently, the Catholic church had more than just a perfunctory role when it came to Fairhaven Home, the crucifix on the wall being the unfailing testimony to that dawning revelation.

As Patti took in her surroundings, Eleanor put the bags she’d been carrying onto the rocking chair that was situated next to the door, and Patti put her small grey suitcase on the twin bed as she sat down to further survey her new surroundings. Well, this is it, she thought to herself, reality still not quite kicking in due to the dream-like quality of the whole morning so far.

Saying goodbye to the Bettancourts earlier with promises of visits soon—Jaynie

promised to try to come and see Patti as soon as Frieda got into town, which was supposed to be early the next week—Patti had been too focused on what lay ahead of her to even cry. Her last night at the Bettancourts had been filled with dreams filled with a haze of wispy black tendrils, warm brown eyes, dazzling white smiles, and in the end, the feeling of spiraling downward, unable to breathe. The problem was, though--and this is where Patti woke confused and flustered--that she wasn’t so sure that she minded drowning, because the big brown eyes were the last thing she saw as she was spinning downward and out of control before she woke up. Eyes filled with comionate truth that saw right into her soul, taking everything in, and not judging as they looked past her sins. The black, wispy, octopus arms could hold her down all they wanted; she was somehow redeemed by those beautiful brown eyes, soft with the glow of unconditional positive regard. An absolute best love, even.

The day after her introduction to Deacon James, Patti had been worrying about how to break the news to her aunt Carla that she couldn’t go back to Holy Spirit parish. She knew she needed to say something, but what to say simply eluded her. How do you tell your aunt who is a nun that you can’t go to her church because you think the priest is hot? This was the thought that muted Patti’s words and try as she might, she just couldn’t find a decent excuse to bring to her aunt. But thanks be to God the nun had come over to visit in the middle of that week and had suggested that they start going to a new parish, walking distance from the Home, by the name of St. Mary’s.

When Sister Mary Carla mentioned the possible change of venue, she emphasized the convenience of the short distance it was from Fairhaven and stated that there may be times when Patti might want to go by herself or with new friends she made at the Home. She avoided eye with Patti until the part where she mentioned “new friends,” only then glancing in a carefully casual manner over at the young woman, who was nodding her head in what she hoped was an appropriate level of enthusiasm, consciously dialing her Cheshire Cat grin down for realistic effect.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks, Patti felt the relief of not having to face Deacon Brown Eyes ever again. At this point, if she did manage to lay eyes on him, she wasn’t entirely sure that she’d be able to maintain her composure. Indeed, further intrigue was the last thing she wanted or needed in her life right now.

Patti came back from her momentary musings as reality hit her once again. Miss Coates had been speaking, eying the two women the entire time. “I’ll leave you two to settle in for a while. When you’re ready, Mrs. Connor, come on out to the reception area and flag me down. I have some little odds and ends to tie up with you and you can be on your way. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” Joan Coates’s eyes flicked briefly up and down in a cursory survey that barely hid her distaste for the woman in front of her; the same look she gave Eleanor’s daughter as she turned on her heel and silently vacated the room.

“Well, isn’t she just lovely?” Eleanor observed, clucking briefly under her breath and exhaling in an indignant explosion.

“Oh yes she is,” Patti replied, rolling her eyes as she caught her mother’s rather incredulous look. “But don’t worry, Mom, it’s only for a little while, and I’m sure once we get to know each other, it’ll be fine.” Patti smiled as a thought brightened her spirits. “Besides, I have Auntie Carla to watch over me, so I’m sure Miss Fang won’t mess with me too much.” At the quizzical look her mother gave her, Patti explained. “Oh, sorry. It’s the nickname I’ve come up with for Miss Coates.” Her mouth quirked into a half-smile of amusement. “Didn’t you notice that one tooth of hers that sticks out when she smiles?”

As an identical smile grew upon her own face, she visualized the smiling director and Eleanor couldn’t help but snort in amusement. “Oh yeah. I see what you mean. But be careful! Don’t slip and call her that to her face. That would be just … awful.” By this time, Eleanor was in full giggle mode, her daughter following suit as they both visualized Joan’s crocodilian grin with just one tooth sticking out to mar the effect.

Composing herself as her giggles subsided, Patti sighed, then almost as if she were thinking out loud, she asked, “I wonder why she’s not married at her age?” In answer to her own question, she laughed again, because she suspected that she knew the answer already.

Her mother ed in, giggling under her breath as she shook her head in feigned bemusement, shrugging her shoulders and opening her eyes wide for added effect.

Patti continued her musings. “She sure doesn’t seem to care for her job very much.” Eleanor nodded her agreement. “I dunno. To me, it’s kinda like letting the fox guard the henhouse.” At her mother’s sudden look of consternation, Patti hastily added, “But this chick can hold her own. I have the best role model.”

Smiling at her mother, hazel eyes meeting identical ones smiling back at her in semi-relief, Patti stood up from where she had been sitting on the corner of the small bed. She scooted closer to Eleanor, who scooped her daughter up in a fierce hug that left no doubt as to just how great a role model both women had come to be for each other.

The next morning before dawn, 3:32 am to be exact, Patti awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in an unfamiliar bed. As she took a moment to gather her bearings, the last 24 hours came flooding back with a force that knocked what little breath she still had completely out of her lungs. She slowly came back from the dream she’d just had, a dream involving tentacles and menacing white smiles, mocha-latte skin, and brown eyes. But these brown eyes had no hint of kindness to them. They were excruciatingly familiar and came with tightly clinging tentacles that sought once again to pull her under the water. “You’re

mine,” emanated from Manny’s mouth. And so is this baby. I’m never letting go of you, Cat.”

Catching her breath, she slowly started to that she wasn’t in the Bettancourt’s home anymore. The unfamiliar setting started to make sense, and her heart felt like a lead anvil, even though it was pounding wildly, trying madly to recover from the dream. After Eleanor had left the day before, she was allowed to settle in, and she appreciated the privacy that was given to her, at least for the few moments Miss Coates had given her to herself before knocking heavily on the door and opening it without waiting for a response.

Without her mother or Sister Mary Carla there to protect her, Patti was completely at the mercy of this tall and more than slightly menacing woman, and Joan Coates knew very well her position of authority brought with it certain advantages. In fact, she prided herself on running a tight ship, but knew damn good and well that she had to walk a fine line with these girls. They for the most part posed no problem; most were overwhelmed and would be mortified at being exposed for the whores they were, so she knew well enough that she held considerable power over them, and that they would do whatever she proposed. And there was always a chance that any noncompliant girl could find themselves in the other facility across town. That was the home that put the horror in horror show, judging from the whispers that came to Joan’s ear from time to time. A forgery here and a switch-up there, and it would all be taken care of. In fact, it was just last year that that young mother had inexplicably died right after giving birth to a little boy. She had been a resident of Fairhaven Home until Joan had asked a favor of her she could not bring herself to deliver, and she had refused …. She should have listened to me while she had the chance, Joan thought, I tried to tell her, but she left me no other choice …. Miss Joan Coates was a woman used to getting her way, and no little whore would ever gainsay her without paying a price. And that one had ended up paying the ultimate price ….

Even as she felt like a queen in her castle with Fairhaven’s residents, it was the outside entities that she had to appease in order to keep her job, and she worked

diligently at putting on the air of propriety whenever they were around. “They” included that little nun, Sister Mary Carla. That bitch never misses a beat, is what Joan thought for the umpteenth time that decade as she opened Patti’s door and came in without waiting to be itted. And it appears that I now have to deal with her own little miniature, but this one is quite pretty. At the thought of Patricia Connor, a small thrill stirred in Miss Coat’s belly. She didn’t like the girl at all, but this physical sensation was undeniable. God, why do you find it so necessary to make my life difficult? Miss Coates sighed inwardly, coming face to face with the young woman who was the last person on earth she wanted to deal with today but knew she must. “You start kitchen duty tomorrow. 6 am sharp. Do not be late,” the director barked. Noting the momentary surprise followed by a more sullen nod of comprehension, Miss Coates nodded back, flashing her crocodile smile as she held Patti’s eyes for a moment, as if to dare the young woman to speak. Hearing no reply, the director turned on her heel and exited as quickly as she’d come in.

The dislike emanating from Joan Coates, seemingly growing by the minute, frankly baffled Patti, and she would how hard she tried to figure it out for the rest of the afternoon. Finally, after a dinner that she didn’t eating but must have because she wasn’t starving at the moment, she had given up, deciding to look up from her plate at the rest of the mothers-to-be who currently inhabited the dining space.

As she slowly gathered her wits about her, Patti sunk back down into the bed, resting her tired head on the pillow. At least the pillow is a good one, she contemplated as she yawned and drifted back to sleep.

As the sun began to lighten the room, Patti opened one eye halfway and stretched, arching her back and flexing her fingers and toes in an attempt to shake off the evening’s dream she’d just awoken from. She glanced at the alarm clock, where she’d moved it closer to her, on top of the dresser so she could see it, and it read three minutes till six.

Opening both eyes in wide-eyed panic, she jumped out of bed. “Shit!” she said, under her breath, quickly glancing up at the crucifix and crossing herself involuntarily. “Sorry.” She had been given her work detail, and she needed to be in the kitchen in exactly three minutes.

Frantically changing into one of those God-awful jumpers and pulling her long auburn locks into a hasty ponytail, Patti squeezed some toothpaste onto her finger and swished it around her mouth a bit, swallowed, found her shoes from yesterday and slipped into them. Running out the door, she was halfway down the hallway when she saw her.

Miss Joan Coates was striding towards her room with purpose, a slight frown of irritation furrowing her brows. Chin set and eyes focused, she nearly mowed Patti over as she rounded the corner. “Oh, there you are, Patricia.” Her voice came clipped and formal. “I was beginning to wonder where you were. You’re late.” She spat these last two words out like daggers, cutting Patti down in her tracks.

“Miss Coates, I’m so sorry! I forgot to set the alarm last night. I had a rough night, but it won’t happen again.”

“You know, young lady, just because you have friends in high places, doesn’t mean you get a free ride. Please see to it that tomorrow you are on time; not every girl in this place has the luxury of privilege.” Miss Coates minced her words with precision, the last one tinged with such malice that Patti stopped dead in her tracks once again.

“Excuse me, Miss Coates, but I have to know something.” As the director let out

a prolonged sigh and whirled round to face the young woman, Patti took a deep, calming breath before continuing. “Have I done something to make you not like me?” Her polite inquiry was met with a stare that could turn the devil himself cold.

Oh, how she dares! Smiling sweetly back at the newest resident of Fairhaven Home, Miss Coates replied all too kindly, “No, Patricia, not at all. Why would you ask such a thing?”

To this reply, Patti merely shook her head and half smiled. “Oh, I dunno. Never mind, then. I have to get to work.” And with that, Patti excused herself, walking around a rather nonplussed Miss Coates, in the direction of the kitchen.

Breakfast shift done, Patti grabbed an extra sweet roll from the cart and started to walk towards the reception area. She was curious as to exactly what Fairhaven’s surrounding neighborhood had to offer, so she’d planned a little walk before it got too terribly hot; the weather had been uncharacteristically cool once again, considering it was mid-August, commonly referred to as the “dog days” of summer up and down California’s large central valley. The weather thus defying the typical heat so common to Sacramento and its surrounding areas, it made for a rare reprieve from the heat, and everyone seemed to be just a little bit more animated this morning because of it.

As she rounded the corner, she looked up just in time to madly careen into someone coming at a brisk clip in the opposite direction. Sweet roll flying, she stopped short and gasped her apology. “Oh, I’m so sorr—”

Her blood froze in her veins as she looked up and into the face of the person she’d literally run into and took in two of the most beautiful brown eyes she’d ever seen in her life, vaguely familiar somehow, whose face in recognizing her

smiled back in response. In horrified shock, she ed the person of Deacon James Salvatore looking back at her.

“Oh, sorry!” The deacon reached out a hand to steady Patti as he quickly recovered his balance, the force of their meeting knocking him back a step as well. Reaching back quickly to retrieve the pastry that had sailed past his shoulder at the moment of impact, James dusted it off gingerly and handed it back to Patti with a small flourish, the latter still gaping like a fish out of water at this most unexpected of encounters.

Recognizing Patti for the first time since almost running her over, his eyes grew wide with unexpected surprise before James had the presence of mind to get himself back in control. “Five second rule,” he said, chuckling in what he hoped sounded like casual banter as Patti reached out, trance-like, to take the errant roll from his hands. As she did so, her fingertips brushed against his, and she felt a jolt of electricity that emanated from his hand to hers, as if literally being shocked. She quickly brought her hand back with the wayward roll, and she smiled back, ing herself, and said, “Oh, thanks. God made dirt—”

She cut herself off with a little giggle, all the while madly trying to get a foothold in the emotional quicksand in which she suddenly found herself sinking. Taking a bite of the pastry, she stood mute for a moment as she chewed, all the while Deacon James taking in the sight in front of him: Long auburn hair put up in a hasty ponytail, large hazel eyes, wide with … is that confusion? Is she flustered? Why on earth—

“Oh, sorry. I’m in your way,” James apologized, bringing himself back to the present moment.

Patti made an effort at nonchalance as she responded. “No problems, Padre. I

was just going out for some air before it gets too hot.” She figured if she tried for a casual tone, her heart would stop beating in her ears. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, her panic seeming to subside rapidly for some unexplained reason. As she got a bit of her confidence back, she asked, “But wait a minute. What are you doing here, anyway?”

I was going to ask you the same thing. Then putting two and two together, James took a deep inward breath and onished himself for not catching on earlier. Oh damn, that’s right … why wouldn’t she be here with her aunt working here and all? “Wait, your aunt didn’t tell you?” James asked, this last part sounding more like a statement then a question. That would explain her surprise, then. And mine, too, evidently.

With a growing sense of irritation, he wondered why on earth, indeed, had Sister Mary Carla not told him that Patti would be here. He figured this kind of change of living quarters was significant enough to at least have been mentioned, especially in light of what he’d shared with the nun just the day before. He quickly recounted the brief conversation they’d had yesterday after Mass, and now understood the strange look that had settled on the nun’s face when he’d told her he’d be doing his mandatory community care hours at Fairhaven. But why hadn’t she told him?

“Um, tell me what?” Patti’s voice came out more guardedly than she’d hoped through what she prayed looked like a casual smile of inquiry.

“Well, part of my training mandates that I do community service, and I have been assigned to work with your resident priest for a bit. I’ve heard that he needs, er, um, help. This is Day One on the job, and I’m telling ya, there’s never a dull moment, it seems.” James couldn’t suppress a half smile and a small chuckle as he finished the explanation of his sudden appearance at a home for unwed mothers, of all places. “By the way, I’m still a deacon for now; you called me ‘Padre’ a minute back. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another year to call me

by that title.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, conveying his mild irritation at the length of time it was taking to acquire said title.

Shitshitshitshit! was all Patti could think, but she forced herself to be calm, and nodding at his explanation, smile still plastered on her face, moved forward, and without meaning to, brushed up against the would-be priest as she moved past him towards the door. “Oh, sorry,” she apologized, adding without thinking, “Better get used to that; it’s only gonna get worse before it gets better.” Glancing down at her belly and putting her hand there for emphasis, she giggled to hide her panic, not wanting to meet the deacon’s eyes.

Those same wonderfully brown eyes widened with surprise for a moment, then James smiled, and his smile quickly turned into a laugh, despite his efforts at maintaining decorum. “Uh, no problem,” he choked out, recovering from this most unexpected display of slightly off-color humor.

Then the same tingle that had emanated from his backbone the last time he saw Patti radiated once again from the small of his back, and he suddenly understood that indeed, he had made the right choice in agreeing to do his mandatory volunteer work at Fairhaven. It was, after all, part of his seminary training to do community care, and whose hand could possibly affect him so deeply if it wasn’t God’s? Equating the feeling he had now in the base of his spine to the one he’d experienced in Notre Dame Cathedral all those years ago, he drew in a decisive breath and nodded slightly at his solemn charge. James marveled at how great, how perfect, God’s timing was as he continued to take in the nervous, yet rather pretty girl standing in front of him.

If he had been in love before, he might have recognized that this time around, the feeling at the base of his spine was just a bit different. Indeed, Deacon James Salvatore might well have quickly walked the other way and asked for an immediate change of assignment that day after his body had given him such a strong and unmistakable signal, but he stayed his course because of his

conviction that God had put him here for a reason. After all, he didn’t know the difference. He only prayed that he would be worthy of God’s decision to place him here as counsel and comfort.

As she ed, he noticed that Patti wouldn’t look him in the eye and wondered at the dichotomous conundrum that this girl was: Quick-witted and shy at the same time, and all wrapped up in such a pretty package. James instantly realized that he’d thought that last part, and gasped as the words sank in. Yep, he’d thought she was pretty. Forgive me, oh Lord, James made a hasty prayer of contrition, forcibly putting the girl out of his mind as he continued his assigned rounds, his first day on the job turning out to be considerably more interesting than he could have possibly imagined it could be.

As he watched her make a beeline towards the front lobby, wondering fleetingly at how Fairhaven let its residents use the front door instead of insisting they go in and out of the back one, he caught a whiff of the unmistakable scent of strawberries lingering where she’d so recently stood. He suddenly ed where he was going before he’d bumped into Patti, and he continued on his short journey down the hall, whistling the catchy tune from Manfred Mann’s “Do Wah Diddy Diddy.”

It was a good thing that nobody else was around to witness his terribly uncharacteristic display of musical prowess, because there was no way that James could have possibly explained any of what just happened to anyone who would have asked, least of all to himself. Nobody had been around, that is, except for one, who had hidden herself out of direct sight as the scene had unfolded. As Deacon James moved forward on his rounds, Miss Joan Coates, having witnessed the entire awkward meeting in the hallway from behind one of the front partitions, walked back into her office and shut the door, the wheels in her brain whirring. Game on, my girl, game on. She half-smiled to herself, looking for all the world like a crocodile preparing to catch her prey.

Chapter 11: Astute Observations

The Sunday before Patti and James unexpectedly collided into each other, Sister Mary Carla had gone to church as was her custom at Holy Spirit parish. This time, the Howards—Claire, Hugh, Caroline, and Thomas—had all been present, as was the young Deacon James Salvatore.

After the service was done and the rest of the congregation, including Claire and her brood had departed, James proceeded to walk the nun to her car as was his habit, aware that for the third Sunday in a row her young charge had not come with her. The first Sunday after she’d brought Patti with her, he’d asked about her, his curiosity getting the better of him, and Sister Mary Carla had briefly explained the situation, and that she considered Patti to be her niece by default, to which James had nodded, understanding dawning on his face.

“Oh, that explains it,” he’d exclaimed upon hearing the nun’s explanation.

“Explains what?” Sister Mary Carla queried, her mouth quirking into a half smile of slight amusement at what the deacon’s face said that his words did not.

“Why she seemed so relaxed around you,” the deacon continued. “You know, you would have made a great mom,” he teased, smiling down at the woman who had become more of a mother figure to him as of late than any other woman other than his own flesh and blood.

At this, Sister Mary Carla reached up and put her arm around James’ back and clasped him in a half-hug to which he responded in kind as she patted his shoulder. “Well, kiddo, evidently it wasn’t in the cards for me, but Fairhaven sure does make up for not having any of my own most of the time!” She laughed out loud as James turned to her and chuckled, nodding his head in agreement.

“Oh, I can only imagine!” And with that, he’d opened her car door for her and seen her off to do another day’s work at the very place she’d just mentioned.

Coming back to the moment, James proceeded to act in what he assumed was a casual manner as he asked what he’d meant to the week before, and the week before that. “So, your niece by default—Patti, she calls herself, right?” At the nun’s nod of affirmation, he continued. “I noticed she hasn’t been back since the first time she came.”

Sister Mary Carla, not missing a beat, for she had noticed the bloom in Patti’s cheek on the way home from Mass that day a few weeks ago, gave a practiced reply to the deacon’s seemingly casual observation. “Oh, yes. You see, she’s been under the weather lately, so she’s decided to stay home these past few weeks.” Forgive me, Father, for the lie, but what else can I say to him?

Try as she might to sound casual, there was a hint of finality in her voice that caused the good deacon to take note. “Oh, I hope she’s back in good health soon. Give her my regards, won’t you?” James wondered inwardly why he added that last part, then blamed it on the familiarity he felt towards the nun that he’d even ask about the girl’s welfare, much less send his regards.

All hint of concern relegated to the back of her mind, done so by employing discipline ingrained in her from decades of practice, Sister Mary Carla smiled up at the young deacon, the edges of her eyes crinkling in maternal fondness

towards the man. “I will do that, James.”

They’d reached her car by this time, and she unlocked the door and was in the process of sliding into the driver’s seat when James added offhandedly, “Oh, by the way, I have a new day job starting tomorrow.” At the nun’s upturned face and “Hmm?” of inquiry, he continued. “Yeah, Claire Howard was telling me a few weeks ago that the priest who says regular mass at Fairhaven Home seems, um, rather overwrought. Since I still have to do my volunteer work, I figured that would be as good a place as any to do it.”

His mouth quirked up in a soft half smile as he briefly recounted the story Claire had told him of the multiple times the elderly man had fallen asleep during Mass, forgetting several times to keep appointments made with the girls who were in need of his priestly counsel, and had mentioned in a bout of frustration one day just how overrun he’d been feeling lately. So, she’d suggested he get some assistance, and the chain of events took care of themselves from there, landing James with a job equivalent to what a parochial vicar might have in an actual parish, but with much less time put into the job due to Fairhaven’s relatively small population of Catholics. Which was all fine and good with James, as he had his studies on top of it all, so close to ordination that he could taste it. Less than a year, he had pondered, feeling rather grim at the prospect of even that much more schooling.

Although James was grateful to have a new diversion from the rather monotonous routine of studying, attending classes, and assisting at the daily Masses at Holy Spirit, a parish he’d grown to love dearly despite the predictability of his position, he knew this assignment was just part of the program. True, he’d be working with some wonderful mentors, both happening to be female, rather than the predictable male types. However, he was eager to start what he thought of as “real work in the real world,” and he struggled not to feel bogged down or resentful of the fact that he was still not where he wanted to be just yet in his life plan. I guess this is what they mean by the old saying, ‘the impatience of youth,’ although I don’t exactly feel so young anymore, James

reflected as he finished recounting the reader’s digest version of the story as to how he’d received his newest assignment to the nun standing next to him, her eyes focused on a spot just above his head. Sighing inwardly as this last thought came upon him, straightening his long frame, Deacon James readied himself to accept this as one of many challenges that came with his chosen way of life.

Sister Mary Carla remained standing in front of her open car door, the warmth of the sun no match for the ice that suddenly ran down her back as James finished up his story. She struggled to keep her face neutral as she listened to the young deacon speak in such a casual and amiable way. Of course, Carla. He has no idea she’s there, or at least will be there starting … TOMORROW! As she quickly put the scenario about ready to play out together in her mind, she remained quiet, her years of contemplative training and discipline serving her well at this moment.

“So, I guess I’ll be seeing you and Claire more than on just Sundays, then!” The deacon beamed, the prospect of working with the nun and her good friend outweighing the fact that he still had nearly a year to go in his program. However, the nun in question didn’t exactly beam back.

Maintaining her composure, which was no easy feat, Sister Mary Carla smiled again at the young man in front of her. “Well, that’s going to be quite an experience for you, my boy.” Should I tell him? No. He will find out soon enough, as if knowing would change anything for him, was the thought that flitted through her mind next. Instead, she proceeded with her lecture. “You do know that the place is full of vulnerable females, right?” At James’ initial look of blank incomprehension that quickly changed to one of understanding mixed with a tinge of affronted horror, she quickly added, “Not that you’d do anything wrong with them; I’ve seen how you handle the feminine flock at this parish.” She chuckled and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But please, be careful. You’re determined to be on your path, but you’re also so young, and human, to boot. Plus,” she added with a sly grin to mask her growing worry, “with you being so accursedly good-looking and all …”

James recovered quickly from his momentary shock at this most unaccustomed round of teasing from the woman who suddenly sounded so much like the mother he’d had to bury just a few months before. Rolling his eyes, he smiled down at her. “Yeah, you’re really funny.” Then in a more somber tone, “I appreciate your concern, Sister, but I’m well aware, and knowledge is power, after all.”

She’d smiled up at him when he’d said this, nodding and slipping into the driver’s seat of her waiting car, thinking what her face would not betray. Yes, knowledge is power. Just look what it did to Adam and Eve.

The first week or so at Fairhaven Home ed without much further excitement. Patti’s breakfast shift soon became routine for her, and she was never late again after the unfortunate run-in with Miss Coates that first hurried and harried day. As for Deacon James, he continued to make his rounds, filling in for the elderly priest assigned to the Home, soon learning that the man would be retiring within a year.

And none too soon, James thought grimly to himself when he first heard the news; the poor priest was obviously suffering from some sort of memory loss, often losing his train of thought mid-homily or skipping entire portions of the Act of Contrition during Mass. From what little James knew of these things, it sure looked for all the world like some form of dementia, as when one day he gently expressed his concern after the elderly priest had forgotten to deliver the homily in its entirety and the younger man was greeted with a series of angry curses from the older man, followed immediately by a profuse and tearful apology.

The more the elderly gentleman forgot, the more James had to pick up and put on his own plate. That plate was soon full to overflowing, providing plenty of

“real world” experience for the young deacon to occupy himself with when he was on call. However, as busy as he would inevitably get each day, he always made it a point to seek Patti out and at least say hello.

On day seven of Patti’s stay at Fairhaven, she received the disappointing news that Fred and Bruno would have to delay their visit for a few weeks. Bruno had started his new bartending job and couldn’t get time off just yet. However, she was pleased that she’d for the most part avoided with Miss Fang. Patti managed to keep her head down and stay busy with work, taking long walks right after her shift, and diving into a new hobby she’d taken up—knitting of all things—keeping out of the woman’s way and off her radar.

Miss Coates, on the other hand, was biding her time. She watched her girls like a hawk, and Patti was no exception to that rule. Indeed, it was Patti that she watched most often these days. She saw how the new deacon sought out the girl, saw his soothing effect on her become more evident by the day. More than mere soothing, Joan mused, as she observed the pair in casual conversation in the hallway or the main lobby.

But there was something more than mere voyeuristic interest that Miss Joan Coates had when it came to Patricia Connor and the would-be priest. Perceived propriety of relationship aside, she couldn’t help but ire how the young woman’s hair flowed down just so, right past her full breasts, which were getting fuller by the day it seemed to the director’s observant eye. And despite the stodgy maternity dresses and shapeless smocks the girl wore, Joan saw that she had further makings of what must normally be a cute little figure underneath all that bulky material.

Letting her mind wander, she wondered what that young, firm body that resided under those smocks and sheaths felt like to the touch. Not to worry. She was confident she’d find out. Cindy, the other little mouse, was almost ready to have her rug rat, then she’d be gone, and who else would Joan have to play with? One

of the perks of this job was that they always complied. After all, what choice did they have? And despite her well-connected status, Miss Joan Coates was certain she would convince Patricia Connor to do her bidding. Because after she explained to her newest charge what she could do to Father What-a-Waste if she was denied, what choice would Patricia herself have but to comply? No. This was not Joan’s first rodeo. She knew how to ride, and ride well. And she had no intention of falling out of the saddle now.

Monday morning, the fourth Monday in a sweltering August heatwave and of course the central air conditioning unit would have given up the ghost the day before. Jolting awake from yet another black-tentacled nightmare, Patti craned her neck to glance at the clock. It read three-thirty-two am. Taking one last shuddering breath to calm her racing heart, she gradually settled back on her pillow, too hot even to wrap the sheet around her, which was already damp with the sweat of her most recent nightmarish reminder of the past. Or is this actually the dream, and I’m stuck in some sort of forever nightmare I’ll never wake up from? The thought drifted forlornly through Patti’s muzzy mind as she sought the somnolent rhythm of heart and breath she so desperately needed.

It was challenge enough to sleep since the a.c. died yesterday, and it was supposed to be fixed today sometime; but for now, sleep eluded her. Patti’s mind drifted to the day ahead of her. This was the day Fred and Bruno, sans Eleanor this time, would come to visit! It had been a challenge to even get permission for them to come, what with Miss Coates doing all she cold in her power to den the visit. If not for the intervention of Sister Mary Carla, Patti was convinced that the visit would never have happened at all. Eleanor had decided to stay home this time around, as Windell was recovering from his latest bout with heart failure and the recovery this time was slower and more arduous for him than the last time. At the thought of those so near and dear to her actually being in the same room with her, Patti’s heart again leapt into her throat, but this time for joy rather than in terror. Concentrating on her breathing, Patti eventually rolled into a rather fitful, yet thankfully dreamless doze, until the alarm went off and she had to go to work.

Since she’d been so successful with the breakfast shift, it had been decided that she could remain in her position, which was behind the scenes in the kitchen. She’d never been keen on cooking, but this past week had brought with it an opportunity to hone some of her basic culinary skills, and Patti found, much to her surprise, that she enjoyed cooking more than she thought she would. So, when the alarm went off, she was eager to get up and go to work. Well, it doesn’t tip well, but at least I don’t have to dance for my dinner,” came to Patti as she walked into the kitchen, the thought making her smile and snort gently as she glanced at the clock. Good. Five minutes early. Let’s see Miss Fang complain now!

In fact, “Miss Fang” was nowhere to be seen this morning. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, Patti dismissed the woman’s absence with a brief hmm, and took her position. As the minutes went by, she noticed that the other helper, Cindy, who was six months pregnant, hadn’t shown up at her usual station across from Patti.

Mild curiosity turned to more than mild alarm when, 20 minutes into their shift, Cindy burst through the back door leading to the kitchen from the dorm hallway, breathless and clearly upset, and skidded to a halt in front of Patti. Just one look at the girl, and Patti knew something wasn’t right.

Catching her eye and holding it with her own concern-filled gaze, Patti spoke first. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Shaking like a leaf from head to toe, Cindy’s voice came thin and higher pitched than she’d have liked it to sound, “Oh, Patti, I didn’t sleep a wink last night!”

“I didn’t either. Who could, with this heat?” Patti smiled gently, encouraging the woman in front of her to continue.

And continue Cindy did. “I need to talk to you after break—”

Before she could finish, Miss Coates came into the kitchen via the same back door, slightly out of breath, her bouffant hair, normally impeccably intact, slightly dented on one side, a wispy black tendril floating around her left ear. Straightening her blouse, she stopped short at the sight of the two girls, emitting a small gasp of surprise as she rounded on them.

Glancing from one young woman to the next, she straightened to her full towering height, regaining her composure. “Cynthia, the little conversation we just had.” Warning shot clearly fired, the young mother-to-be looked at her feet, or at least the tips of her toes, which was just about all she could see of her feet, given her present condition, and nodded, silently.

“Good,” was the clipped response to the girl’s submissive reply.

During this exchange, Patti was looking first at Cindy, then the director, a growing sense of dread spreading in her gut. “What are you looking at, Miss Connor? You have a job to do, and I expect you to do it.” Miss Coates’ brown eyes bored into Patti with a serpentine stare, upper lip snarled up just slightly to reveal blunt teeth crowded so that one incisor stuck out considerably more so than the rest. Only able to focus on the one errant canine, all Patti could think at the moment was Fang. Miss mother-freaking FANG!

She knew better. Thinking back on it, she would remonstrate herself for not acting in a more decorous manner. But despite every fiber of her being telling her to respectfully turn back to her work without another word, she couldn’t help herself. Giggling, and trying her hardest to stop, she choked out “Yes, Miss

Fang,” and turned back to her work.

Miss Joan Coates turned her full attention to Patti now. “What did you just call me?” Her voice was dangerously quiet, and she enunciated each word clearly and concisely.

“Miss Coates. Yes, Miss Coates, I’m getting the food ready. That’s what I was doing before you came in. I’m just glad Cindy is here now, because I can’t do this by myself.” Glancing at her friend, Patti noticed that the girl’s eyes had gone big as saucers, and if she didn’t stop holding her breath, she’d be sure to out soon.

As her gaze turned once again to the director standing in front of her, Patti noticed that the woman had gone stock still, and the color had drained from her face. Oh shit. I think I pissed her off. But at least there’s a reason now, Patti silently observed, straightening to every inch of her five foot three inches.

Breaking the standoff, Miss Coates turned abruptly, and without another word, made her exit via the door from which she’d first appeared.

Cindy spoke first, much to Patti’s surprise. “Shit! If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now!” Her voice was still shaky, but at least she was breathing again.

Patti reached out a hand to squeeze one of the girl’s own delicate, long-fingered ones, and found Cindy’s frightened eyes and held them there with her own blazing hazel ones, “But I’m not lying on the floor. Yet.” She emphasized this last word, and both girls inhaled deeply and turned to the task of getting breakfast out to several dozen very hungry pregnant women.

Breakfast was done and both girls were now free to resume their morning routine, which over the past few days had become to take a walk around the premises before it got impossibly hot. Patti waited for her walking partner as Cindy finished folding the last towel and hanging it neatly by the kitchen faucet. The girl still maintained a sense of nervous angst, and Patti was determined to get to the bottom of it all. Breathing deeply, Patti squared her shoulders in preparation for a productive and enlightening conversation before Fred and Bruno arrived sometime later that afternoon.

Poking her head out of the back door from the kitchen and into the hallway, Cindy, a naturally timid girl to begin with, asked in a hushed voice, “Is the coast clear?” No apparent humor in her voice, the girl was genuinely frightened. Patti put her hand on Cindy’s arm, much like her own mother had done in the presence of Miss Fang on their first meeting.

“Yeah. Miss Fang is busy with a new arrival. I heard her voice a few minutes ago, and she’s giving a tour right now. If we hurry, we’ll just miss her and make our escape.” Her eyes grew wide in mock intrigue as she smiled and squeezed her new friend’s arm, noticing how the muscles beneath her fingers relaxed slightly as a small smile appeared on the obviously frightened girl’s face.

“Ok. So, let’s get the hell outta here,” Cindy breathed furtively, and both girls scooted down the hallway, eager to elude the director and all the negativity that woman represented.

Exiting straightaway, nodding the barest recognition to Claire Howard, who was sitting at the reception desk, smiling pleasantly as they ed in what both girls hoped was a causal enough manner, Patti opened the front door of Fairhaven Home and Cindy slipped out directly after her. Compared to the stifling confines of Fairhaven, the outside air, promising another punishing blast of August heat in

its latent warmth, felt as refreshing as an Arctic blast to the two mothers-to-be. The relief the two young women felt as they slipped out the door and into the small front courtyard wasn’t only due to the lack of air conditioning during the past day or so.

“Oh God, I hope they get the ac fixed today!” Patti breathed in a lungful of fresh air, exhaling in ecstasy as her senses filled with the freshness of the outdoors.

“Yeah. Me, too.” Cindy smiled, watching her feet as they walked up the sidewalk and through a side street to ensure privacy.

There was a bench a few blocks up from where they were walking, and Patti suggested they sit for a while. This time of day the shade of the huge mimosa tree covered the bench nicely, providing a comfortable late-morning reprieve from both weather concerns and prying eyes. “Ooof!” Cindy plopped down on the bench with a bit of a thud, rubbing her back and smiling. “My back has been killing me lately, and I still have three months to go,” her voice came out forlornly, sounding lost in spite of her best efforts at keeping her tone light and conversational.

“I have a lot to look forward to, it seems,” Patti responded, sitting down next to her friend and taking in another big breath of fresh air.

A few moments of silence elapsed, and Patti decided it was now or never. “So, what’s going on?”

A few more moments ticked by, giving quite a pregnant pause to the conversation, and Cindy spoke, low and halting at first. “Oh, Patti. I don’t know

what to do. I don’t think I told you this, but my father is an evangelical minister, and he is very … strict.” The way she emphasized this last word made it clear that there was more to the story than what her words were revealing. And indeed, there was much more than she felt capable of explaining at this moment.

Her mind flashed back to her shaking confession to her parents that she was pregnant. She started to relive that awful night as she told Patti her story. Flashes of her father, drunk and screaming in her face that she was a whore, she needed to get down on her knees and repent, holding a bible high above his head, promising almighty God in Heaven that he’d beat the devil out of her. How he’d done just that, within an inch of her life. Tommy, wide-eyed with horror, running out the door for fear that a similar fate surely awaited him for being the reason for Cindy’s disgrace. She still had the scar on her back where her father’s belt buckle had dug in deeply, enough to need stitches, which she never got, because how could she possibly explain how she got the gash to begin with ….

“His mantra has always been, spare the rod, spoil the child, and my mother isn’t much … kinder.” Again, the emphasis on that last word told Patti far more than actual words could ever manage to convey.

ing flashes of her mother by her father’s side, coming to stand in front of her kneeling form, holding her shoulders down so that she couldn’t stand to face her father’s lashing blows, Cindy could still see the woman’s silent face looking imively down at her, stone cold and blank, all except for the fire that blazed in her eyes. Those eyes said it all: Cindy was going to get what she deserved, and she’d be a better person for it, once she was purged of the demons that plagued her sinful soul. She had stared into those eyes, pleading with her mother between sobs to make him stop until blackness enveloped her, her body gone limp and nearly lifeless at her abs’ feet.

Patti sat straighter, silently willing her friend to continue as she read the unspeakable pain, terror, and grief in the other’s eyes. And continue Cindy did,

putting to words, for the first time, details she’d so vigilantly kept to herself. “My father has this special belt. I’m surprised he didn’t name it, he used it so much on us. Well, he also has a problem with alcohol.” At this point, Cindy took a breath in to steady herself, because she knew she had to continue, or she’d burst.

Swallowing back her fear of retribution, Cindy, slowly, between ragged and tearful breaths, continued telling the story of that awful night she came home and told her parents about the baby. Then she continued, her mind going back still further, the dam broken and the waters of confession now freely flowing out, unstoppable once they started to run. “He used to get on a tear some nights, and line us up, me, my brother, and my baby sister, all in a row. And I’d beg him not to hit the little ones, that I’d take punishment for all of them. And sometimes, that’s what he’d do, punish me for whatever he thought we’d done, and there was this one time—”

Cindy’s voice had become thick with emotion, ing one night a few years before when her father, her mother watching from the other room, beat her with the buckle of that belt until she’d ed out. How she ed waking up on the kitchen floor, aching so badly she could hardly stand. How her little sister, only five at the time, had snuck out of bed, and was laying in front of Cindy, curled up so her back molded perfectly to Cindy’s aching abdomen. How this was just one of the several times she’d be beaten so savagely.

She had to stop at this point because her voice simply gave out on her, and the silent tears streamed down her face. Patti’s eyes had grown wide as saucers, her hand now clasping Cindy’s shaking one in a fiercely protective embrace. Cindy breathed in a shuddering sigh and continued.

“When I met Tommy, that’s my boyfriend, or at least he was, I couldn’t tell my parents. But then I got pregnant, and he left us after my dad beat me that night I told him about the baby, and I didn’t know what to do. I was 18 at the time, so I

didn’t need their permission to come here, so I just ran away and checked myself in. That was five months ago. Since then, Tommy hasn’t visited once, and when my dad found out where I was, he was ready to kill me. I mean that, too.” She had stopped crying, but it was obvious that this wasn’t the end of the story.

“Miss Coates knows I don’t have anywhere else to go. And at first, she was real nice to me.” Her eyes darkened as she continued. “Then, about a month into my stay here, she changed. She became too nice, complementing me on my hair, my face, my breasts.” She stopped there for a moment, gathering herself for the final reveal. “Then one night, she came into my room, supposedly to discuss a new work detail that she’d forgotten about. It was weird because she doesn’t normally stay that late. It didn’t feel right from the get-go. I was getting ready for bed, and I had my nightie on, and she kinda looked at me,” Cindy recalled with a shiver. “Then, she told me how attractive I was in that nightie. I said ‘thanks,’ cuz what else was I supposed to say? Then, she told me she knew about my parents, and that I had nobody but her to watch over me, so what did I think? It wouldn’t be hurting anyone. It’s a lonely place, and she could make it less lonely for me if I just said yes.”

Cindy’s confession came quiet, in short bursts of soft speech, punctuated with the latent rage she’d been feeling at being violated and in such a vulnerable stage of her life. “I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything, and I guess she took that as a ‘yes.’” At this point, Cindy caught Patti’s eyes, still wide with shock and growing outrage, with a look far calmer than it should have been at this point of the conversation. She reached up to touch her breasts involuntarily. “I still feel her, touching me, kissing—” She broke off. Then continued with one last burst of sheer will to finish her horror story.

“That wasn’t the last time, either. She does stuff every chance she gets and tells me that if I don’t like it speak up, and she’ll be glad to call my father to take me home. But I can’t go back home. He would kill me!” And finally, the dam broke, and Cindy dissolved into a river of tears, falling into the arms her friend instinctively wrapped around her shoulders, Patti’s own mind spinning and her

gut clenching at this incredibly ugly story as it came to its no less-uglier end.

Shit, was all Patti could think as she held her friend in a protective embrace, absorbing her wracking sobs as they came.

As her sobs subsided, Cindy hiccupped one last time as she sat up on the bench, Patti’s hand still planted protectively on her slightly clammy shoulder. Realization dawning on her face, Cindy’s eyes grew wide with growing panic when she realized the magnitude of what she’d just confessed to a woman she’d barely known for so short a time. She turned her eyes to meet Patti’s goldeneyed gaze of—was that a maternal look she found there? “I’m sorry to lay all this shit on you, Patti.” Her voice came out in a small, quavering plea for understanding mixed with the embarrassment that often comes with dawning realization of a deed just committed that one would never think of committing under normal circumstances.

“I’m not.” Patti held her new friend’s gaze with a strength she’d just recently found she had herself. “Cindy.” At the sound of her name being spoken with such quiet conviction, its owner swallowed and waited silently for her friend to continue, her heart in her throat, fighting the growing sense of panic blooming in her gut.

Patti closed her eyes and took in a deep breath before she continued. God, please give me the words I need to make this right for her. If You love her, let me be Your voice. Mildly surprised at her own fervent prayer, she opened her eyes and spoke what she knew would flow from her soul. “Cindy,” she began again, “what that woman is doing to you isn’t right. It isn’t acceptable. And no matter what you think of yourself, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. You have more say than you think, and she doesn’t want you to know, but she could lose her job over this.” Watching her friend’s eyes dawn with this new realization, she drilled her point home. “She has less power than you think.” Patti’s voice grew in volume slightly as she continued, emphasizing her conviction in the utter

wrongness of the situation. And as she did so, the dawning of the same realization crept over her own consciousness. She has less power than you think.

Cindy didn’t speak, only listened, hanging on Patti’s every word as if her life depended on them. And that wasn’t an exaggeration of by any means at this point. She was so close to just giving up and willing her heart to stop beating. First Tommy, the boy who swore his love to her forever, left when she needed him the most, and now this nightmare. Up until this point, she’d gladly suffered the unwanted advances of Miss Coates, preferring her cold, intrusive hands on her breasts to her father’s brutal, deadly ones around her neck.

Patti brought Cindy back to the present, squeezing her shoulder for emphasis. “Hey, you still in there?” Patti searched her eyes for a sign that Cindy was still listening.

Cindy nodded quickly, smiling timidly, willing Patti to continue, because she knew something—anything—done from this point on had to be better than the living nightmare she’d been forced to endure for the past three months.

Patti’s mind was still reeling from the shock of such an impossibly horrific story. Looking at her friend and how she was pleading with her eyes for some sort of respite, she made her decision. “Ok. I think you know Sister Mary Carla is my best friend’s aunt, right? Well, where I come from, that makes her my aunt as well.” At Cindy’s quick nod and another smile of affirmation, Patti continued, holding the other girl’s gaze firmly within her own hazel eyes. “You have to tell her.” She added hastily at Cindy’s sudden look of panic as she drew away instinctively from Patti’s steadying hand, “No, Cindy. The cycle ends today. I won’t let you be abused a minute longer. Nobody deserves that. Nobody.”

By now, Cindy had started to hyperventilate with panic, and was shaking her

head, eyes wide with the fear that haunted her soul every waking—and unwaking—moment. “No, please, don’t say anything! I know you’re right, but please promise to let me do this on my own. I promise I will go to your aunt but let me do this on my time. PLEASE!” Cindy had dissolved into another puddle of hysterical tears, and it was difficult for her to catch her breath. As her hand suddenly shot to the left side of her belly, she gasped, and started to turn a delicate shade of reddish-purple.

“Oh my God, Cindy, are you ok?” Patti leapt up from the bench and helped her friend up.

The girl nodded, struggling to regain her composure. She closed her eyes to regain her balance. “Yeah,” she choked, “I’ve been getting these pains lately. It’s the baby just making itself at home in there, or that’s what the doctor told me.”

Patti, not wanting to give her friend any more reason to be distressed, relented. “Ok, we’ll do it your way. But if it doesn’t stop—”

“I know,” Cindy breathed out. “I know. Then we’ll do it your way.”

Later that afternoon, Patti waited anxiously in the reception area in front of the building. When the doors opened, in walked Fred, Bruno in tow. Smiling brightly at the appearance of her dearest friends, Patti arose from the couch she’d been sitting on, feeling yet another butterfly run amok in her belly. It was very late August, and at just into her second trimester, Patti marveled at the sensation once again, wondering if it was normal to feel this stuff so early on. Sighing, she put a calming hand on the small swell that had seemed to have appeared overnight where the movement was taking place. Then, extending both arms to greet her friends, Patti was enveloped in a double-wide embrace and they remained entangled for what seemed a small eternity.

Tears of joy pricking at Patti’s eyes, she was the first to release the other two. “Well, whatchya think of the place?” Patti’s eyebrows shot up in curious expectation of a critique.

“Well, it’s definitely not what I had in mind, P,” Fred was the first to comment. “Even though Auntie Carla says this is one of the few good places, I still was expecting bars on the windows and guard dogs at the gate or something.” She giggled as Bruno gently nudged her arm, a smile appearing on his handsome face.

“Yeah,” he continued as Fred playfully punched him back, reaching up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. “I really dig the flowers. Roses. Those were my mom’s favorite flower. She had dozens and dozens of them in her yard back home. Man, you should have seen them!” Bruno’s voice trailed off nostalgically.

Before any of them could utter another word, Claire Howard rounded the corner from the restroom area. Catching sight of the knot of three in the hallway, her gaze went immediately to Patti, who couldn’t help but catch Claire’s warmth as their eyes locked briefly in recognition. “Och, goodness! I’m sorry I wasna here ta greet ye!” At the sight of the slight-framed older lady, both Fred and Bruno turned their attention to her, extending their hands in greeting at the same time.

“That’s ok, hon. Ladies first,” Bruno relented, as Fred gave him a quick smile of thanks, taking Claire’s extended hand in a warm and firm embrace.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Howard,” Fred responded, knowing the woman at once from the Scottish burr Patti had described the last time they had spoken on the phone. “I hope you’re taking good care of my girl here,” she onished with a

mock frown of consternation and a small chuckle as she shook Claire’s hand.

“O’ course, my dear. And please, call me Claire. Mrs. Howard was ma muther-nlaw, God rest ‘er soul.” At her revelation, Claire Howard smiled and crossed herself in quick fashion. Turning her attention to Bruno, she let go of Fred’s hand. “And this is?”

“Bruno MacDonald, ma’am,” came Bruno’s reder, as he reached to shake Claire’s hand in similar fashion to Fred’s.

“Och, it’s so nice ta meet ya both! Patricia has mentioned you two, and she’s been lookin’ forward ta yer visit!”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before Miss Coates floated into the room from somewhere behind the reception desk. At the sight of her, it was all Patti could do not to run at her and choke the life out of the woman who was now no more than a horrible excuse for a human being in her eyes. Deliberately avoiding eye with her now arch-nemesis, Patti instead turned her gaze onto the next person directly in front of her, who happened to be Claire.

“Oh, hello there,” came the clipped salutation from Miss Coates’ thin-lipped smile. Moving a piece of hair back into its upswept bouffant, she extended her hand, adding, “I’m Miss Coates, director of Fairhaven Home. You must be friends of Patricia’s?” Her eyes moved from Frieda to Bruno, more than a hint of ill-concealed dislike creeping into her countenance as she surveyed the darkness of Bruno contrasted with Fred’s blonde-haired, blue-eyed fairness and their obvious attachment to each other, attested to by the firm grip Fred had on Bruno’s hand. Eyes level with Joan’s, Fred smiled back her response and nodded, the picture of politeness, all except her eyes, which held a challenge, daring the director to give so much as a hint at her obvious displeasure at seeing

the two so clearly coupled.

It was Bruno who spoke first. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Bruno MacDonald, and this is Frieda Bettancourt. Pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand, which Miss Coates reluctantly shook, her own usually firm grasp wet-noodle limp in his, a slight curl to her lip revealing the one tooth that stood out from the rest. She looked like a wolf ready to snap at her prey. Looking her in the eye, Bruno smiled and nodded, his eyes telling the director that her distaste for him was reciprocated.

Trying for small talk, the director asked, “MacDonald, isn’t that Scottish?” Miss Coates glanced at Claire as she withdrew her hand and surreptitiously wiped it on the side of her skirt, the action nonetheless observed by the entire group standing in front of her.

Bruno coughed politely and cleared his throat. Taking the high road, he responded, “Yes, it is, ma’am. I think some time last century I had a great-great grandfather who was Scottish.” Seeing the look of surprise on Joan’s face at this revelation, he added, “You know, there were a lot of Scottish slave owners back in the day.” Looking at Claire, Bruno added quickly, “No offense, Mrs. Howard, er, Claire.”

“Och, noon taken, m’dear,” Claire smiled kindly at the young man’s hasty addon, ing for a moment her own challenge at finding work when she first arrived in America. It hadn’t mattered that she’d grown up in Scotland. She was Irish by birth, and that was all that mattered during those discriminating times. She began to move towards the reception desk, which was where she was working this particular morning, reading the stack of assessment and intake forms for new arrivals. “I believe your auntie will be in today as well,” Claire added with a nod to Fred and a sidelong glance at the director.

“Aunt?” Joan’s eyebrows shot up in what was obviously unexpected surprise.

“Yeaaaahhhh. Sister Mary Carla is my dad’s sister,” Fred responded, smiling at the rather confused-looking director. I’m sure you know her.” She fixed her gaze onto Joan’s now hooded eyes, suddenly wary and obviously showing her struggle to regain command of the situation.

Fred glanced at Patti, and Patti couldn’t help but add, “Yep, small world.” She smiled, cat-like, her hazel eyes revealing a new confidence not seen before that was not lost on Miss Joan Coates.

At this point, giggles started to emit from the small group as Claire Howard, in a very uncharacteristic public gesture, stared pointedly at the director’s back, which was the only one turned to her at the moment, shaking her head and crossing herself. It seemed that everyone present was in a jovial mood, except Miss Coates, who whirled around sharply to confront Claire, who by this time had moved towards her customary perch at the front doors and was sitting in the chair behind the reception desk, once again busying herself by shuffling through the papers there that she had to deal with for the day.

Seeing nothing amiss yet sensing quite the opposite, Joan nodded curtly at Claire, and ignoring Bruno completely, she said her general goodbyes and turned back into her little hole in the wall, located just behind the reception desk. As she ed, she looked Patti up and down with a most unpleasant assessment, nodding to herself as if she’d made up her mind about something that only she was privy to. Patti didn’t look up at the director once, and Fred, nervous giggles covering up her mortification at the confrontation that she’d just witnessed between the director and her boyfriend, couldn’t help but notice her best friend’s tension melt away as the director vacated the premises.

For lunch that day, the three decided to eat at a café that was within walking distance; however, Bruno insisted on driving there due to the rather extreme heat. Once there and seated, their meals place before them, Fred brought up what had been troubling her since she’d met Fairhaven’s director. “Hey, P? So, what’s with Miss Big Hair? I mean, I knew she was kinda bitchy, but wow!”

Patti couldn’t help but giggle at her friend’s epithet for Miss Coates. “Oh, Miss Fang?” She giggled again, finishing the fry she had in her hand, and saying midchew, “Her name is Joan Coates, but people around there call her Miss Coates,” she mimicked, somber-voiced, ing the first encounter she’d had with the director. “And she’s a horrible human being. We’re dealing with some shit that I can’t talk about, cuz it involves another girl, and—” She let her voice trail off, catching Fred’s eye with a meaningful look that said much more than words could ever say.

Feeling a cold shiver run down his spine, Bruno looked from Patti to his love, warning bells sounding in his brain. “Uh, Patti, wait.” His voice came low and slow, realization dawning in his brown eyes. He glanced over at Fred, and she met his eyes with her own blue query. Once she read what was there, though, the horror dawned on her, slowly, its little feet creeping up and down her spine, ice cold and black as sin.

Patti wouldn’t meet either of her friends’ eyes. “Guys, I can’t talk about it. I made a promise.” At this last part, she raised her head up and gave each of them a pleading look, begging with big hazel eyes for understanding.

“Holy shit.” The phrase came from Fred’s mouth, stone cold and heavy as lead. “Is she … I mean … you’re—”

“No, Fred, it’s not me. Trust me. It’s a friend. She knows she has to tell

someone, cuz I told her if she didn’t, I would. It’s complicated. Please guys, trust me. Give it a little time. It’s gonna be ok, especially when your aunt finds out, and I promised the girl she would, one way or the other!” Patti looked first at Bruno, then at Fred as she pleaded with them to keep this knowledge to themselves, taking in the growing shock and horror on both their faces. Fred started to shake her head and opened her mouth to object to such a dangerous plan.

Horror turning to anger flashing in his eyes, Bruno spoke next. “No, Babe, wait.” He took Fred’s hand in his, and squeezed gently, getting her attention. As she rounded an incredulous stare of disbelief at the man she loved, hardly believing what she was hearing and ready to tell him just that, Bruno continued. “No, seriously, wait.” He squeezed her hand and turned to face Patti. “Ok, P. I say you have maybe till the end of the week, then someone has to say something. If y’all don’t, I promise, one of us will.” His dark eyes were hooded with controlled rage, and Fred yelped suddenly as his hand closed around hers a bit too tightly. “Sorry Babe.” He let go of her hand.

Still eyeing Patti, he ed her vigorous nod as she stated, “That’s what you didn’t let me finish. I told her the same thing. Like I said, she has a lot of drama, and she needs a few days to figure out how to say what she needs to say. I even volunteered to be with her when she told Auntie Carla.”

At the mention of her aunt’s name, Fred swiveled to look at her friend, momentarily amused to hear Patti refer to her blood aunt as her own—she always was whenever Patti referred to the nun as “Auntie.” Taking a deep breath, she relented, half-smiling her concession. “Ok,” her voice came quiet and controlled, her concern and rage still apparent in its pitch and volume. “Ok. But if that—that—Satan spawn so much as looks at you funny, she’ll have me to deal with,” she spluttered, trying with supreme will to control a temper which was ready to come out raging and consume all in sight.

Patti nodded her agreement, not having the heart to tell her friend that Miss Joan Coates had already done more than look at her “funny.” Yes indeed, the threat was there, and now that she knew what the woman was capable of, she realized that she, too, was in danger. The subtle gestures, the searching looks, all the small hints hidden under cover of distain now came rushing at Patti, her own anxiety growing by the moment, crawling in her belly, its own icy feet playing footsies with the life moving inside her at the same time. The sensation was a very odd one, both terrifying and affirming at the same time.

“Ok, now I need to tell you that thing I started to tell you over the phone the other day,” Fred said, switching gears and shaking her head briefly to clear it for the task that lay ahead. She grabbed Bruno’s hand for reassurance, and Patti looked up at the both of them, her heart beginning to beat in her throat and her cold-footed anxiety battling for dominance in her belly. Fred took a deep breath in and looked Patti straight in the eye. “It’s Manny. He’s dead.”

The bluntness of the message took Patti a moment to process, and when she finally ed what Fred had just said, she started to ask the questions in rapid-fire succession. Before she could get too far, however, Fred reached into her bag and extracted a newspaper clipping, which turned out to be an obituary. Staring at the paper in her friend’s hands for a moment, it was as if Patti could actually see what had happened.

For a split second, blackness enveloped Manny’s mind as he struggled to what had just happened. It had all started innocently enough. All he did was confront Bruno with the facts as he saw them. There was no way they weren’t more than just friends. No way! He knew that look, the one they often exchanged, and in his soul, he knew she was—

“Where the fuck is she?”

“I told you, she left in a hurry. Said she was sick.”

“And I told you that’s bullshit. I know what’s going on! You’re fucking her!”

Then as he stepped forward to emphasize his point, his face suddenly exploded with a burst of red light, followed immediately by a surge of the most exquisite pain he’d ever felt. Propelled to the ground by the sudden impact of what he quickly ascertained was Bruno’s fist coming in purposeful with his face, he lay there, eyes screwed shut, allowing a brief moment of recovery. Opening his eyes through the mounting pain, he looked up, trying desperately to focus his rebellious eyes, to find the other man towering over him, chest heaving, eyes blazing, fists curled, knuckles on the left side smeared with—was that blood?

Gingerly, Manny put his hand to his face. Feeling something slick on his fingers, he breathed in a small gasp of surprise, immediately choking on the blood from his broken nose as it slid profusely down his throat. Spitting great red globules out to his left side, struggling to gain his breath, he scuttled backward on his elbows and heels, genuine fearful as he moved at the sight that loomed directly above him. Bruno took a step forward, then halted, struggling for self-control as his eyes burned with unmitigated rage.

Manny sensed a slight advantage as he observed his former friend attempting to control his fully inflamed temper. He opened his mouth to shout and choked again. “Fuck you,” he shouted, which came as a garbled gurgle. He instantly regretted his decision. Bringing his voice down to a level that wouldn’t threaten to split his head open at any moment, Manny made his threat. “When I find that bitch, I’ll make what happened to Elena look like an act of mercy.” His words, although somewhat altered, came out clearly enough to have an effect, although not the one that he’d intended.

Instead of what he expected—that Bruno would somehow engage further in battle—his bouncer and best friend of nearly a decade merely closed his eyes, breathing in a commanding breath of self-control. Manny’s words had clearly ed with him, their import reflected in the look that settled in his eyes, but he did not move forward. Instead, he uttered five words, then no more, and he was gone. “No, Fuck you. I quit.”

Not taking his eyes from the back of Bruno’s receding form as he walked purposefully towards the same back door Patti had escaped through moments before, Manny rose cautiously from his position on the floor, slowly moving to all fours from his belly-up position. As the blood flowed freely from the middle of his face, his head began to throb with the rhythmic beat of his pulse, quick and terribly loud, each beat of his heart causing extraordinary pain that threatened to force him back to his prone position.

Closing his eyes against the throbbing in his head—he couldn’t feel the place where his nose was supposed to be—Manny cautiously snorted back the blood running from that numb spot in the middle of his face, again choking back the fluid that was dripping onto the floor directly below him. Ri to his knees, he fought the sudden dizzy wave of nausea that seized his body and slowly rose to a standing position, doing his best to ignore the tiny shooting lights that shot across his field of vision. Tilting his head back slightly to avoid further with the blood, as quickly as he could without stumbling, he made his way to his office, just two steps back from where he now stood, groping in his desk drawer for anything he could use to help stanch the rapidly flowing red river emanating so freely down his face and onto the carpet.

Sitting back in his chair, head lifted slightly upward, an old cleaning rag over his face, Manny closed his eyes against the incredible pain in his head. He sat there for the better part of half an hour before his brain started to kick in and he began to think. The only thing that kept running through his brain was that he’d

been duped. His woman had been seeing his friend behind his back, he knew that now, despite Bruno’s protests to the contrary. And where was she, exactly? Why did she run, if she wasn’t guilty? Manny swiveled his head to an upright position, opening his eyes and grimacing at the sudden dizzy agony that freshly assaulted his head.

In all the years Manny had been on this planet, he had never felt so wronged before. He had given her so much. Bruno too. Taken them both in when they had nowhere else to go. Hadn’t he given them both a great job? Hadn’t he been good to Cat, given her the best money could buy? Why did she do this? If I were her, I’d be grateful, he mused, indignant self-righteousness rising to the forefront of his addled brain.

Looking down at the blood-soaked rag he had been holding to his face—it reeked of Pine-Sol—he debated on what to do next That he needed to get to the bathroom across the hall and clean himself up was the first line of business. Cautiously, Manny stood up, fighting the next sudden dizzy bout of nausea that assaulted him, and slowly made his way across the hall to the bathroom.

Splashing cold water on his face, he noticed that the blood had, more or less, stopped. Looking at his image in the mirror above the red-tinged basin, he stared in amazement at what he saw there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose now veered crazily to the left. Knowing that it must be broken, Manny did what he had done years ago when it had been broken in a game of high school football. He put his hands on both sides of his nose and moved them quickly and ruthlessly to the right.

More stars, bigger and brighter this time, instantly assaulted his line of vision, and black pain immediately threatened to bring him down into oblivion. Groaning with the suddenness of that renewed pain, Manny lowered his head to the basin, knees buckling under this new corporal assault. As his vision cleared and a few last drops of blood spattered into the basin, Manny opened one

cautious eye and peered once again into the mirror. His nose now just sloped slightly to the left. Satisfied with this slight improvement, Manny inhaled through his mouth, closing his eyes in fresh agony, and made for the hallway that would lead to the corridor where the violent encounter had occurred.

After a hurried and painfully strangled shout backstage from Manny and a few disappointed and angry boos from what was left of the male audience awaiting Cat’s performance, Manny managed to get the place closed down, and knew he had to get home. For a moment, he debated whether or not he would be in decent enough shape to drive. After a few moments of gaging the pain intensity in his head, now crawling down his face to where he was quite aware of the existence of his nose, he decided to call Deborah to pick him up. Picking up the phone, he stopped mid-dial. No. She had the kids, all four of them, and it was late. He didn’t want her to see him like this, much less the children. Debating on what to do, he made the decision to man up and drive himself home.

As he pulled onto the freeway, the throbbing in his head became so unbearable that he started to see two of everything on the road. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he instantly regretted his automatic response as the pain throbbed more intensely, forcing a small and sudden groan from his parched mouth. The pain was all that filled his mind, that and knowing he had to get home in one piece. He had work to do, and he didn’t feel like dying tonight.

He closed his eyes momentarily against the pain and felt the bumps of his tires meeting the raised double line in the middle of the road. The frantic honking of an oncoming vehicle forced his eyes open, and he corrected his trajectory into his own lane. Heart beating in time with the pounding of his head, Manny gulped in a huge breath, and forced himself to focus on the few more miles he needed to travel to get home.

With what luck he couldn’t say, Manny did manage to pull into his driveway and park the car. Stumbling up the front porch steps, he was met at the door by an

obviously agitated Deborah. Ready to light into her very late husband, Deborah stopped mid-breath when she saw his face. “Manny, what the hell—”

Her husband cut her off with a gruff shove to move her out of his way. “Bar fidt, Baby. Barely made it home. I need to get cleaned up and go to bed. Im’b closing da bar for a few days.”

“You need to go to the hospital.” Manny’s wife had recovered from her initial shock enough to start thinking logically. This wasn’t the first time her husband had come home from work looking the worse for wear. More than one customer had gotten out of hand in the past decade plus that Manny had owned that damned club. And Manny being Manny, well, he just couldn’t keep out of it and let Bruno do his job by himself.

Always one to need to prove he was the boss, the black eyes and cracked ribs he came home with sometimes were all too regular a sight. But this time there was so much blood and Deborah, for the first time since she’d married Manny 13 years ago, was afraid for her husband.

Manny wheeled around to glare at his wife. “Dammit, Deb, I said I’ll be fine.” The quiet and clipped emphasis he put on this last word made Deborah involuntarily step back a few paces. Caught off guard by the deadly edge of his words, Deborah opened her mouth to clip off a retort of her own, then saw what lay in his eyes. She closed her mouth and turned to go to the bedroom, mute with the knowledge that this was no ordinary bar fight.

No amount of threatening, cajoling, or begging could convince Manny to say anything more than it was just another stupid bar fight that caused the injuries that were so apparent on his face. Refusing any type of medical treatment, he spent those next two days resting, thoughts of Patti pulsing through his mind, in

time to the beat of his heart, which seemed now to live painfully in the frontal lobe of his brain. When it came time for grocery shopping the following Sunday morning, he grudgingly agreed to drive Deb and the kids to the store, swearing and declaring that he would drive them, but he’d not go into the store looking the way he looked.

Sighing, Deborah knew this was as good as it was going to get for her. As Manny rose from the couch to walk towards the garage where he kept the wood-ed station wagon, the “family car,” she gathered the kids and they all piled in, and Manny slowly backed the car out of the garage, careful not to hit his other vehicle, still parked on the right side of the driveway.

The three older kids had just stared at their father the morning after his unfortunate incident. The oldest, aged 12, asking “Jeez, Dad, when ya gonna learn how to duck?” The teasing smile on his face was immediately replaced by a guarded look of fear when he caught the look in his father’s eyes. Manny stared at his oldest son, and no words needed to be said. That was the last thing anyone had said about Manny’s appearance.

Pulling up in front of the grocery store, Manny glanced at his face in the rearview mirror. Aside from a little swelling and the bandage he wore in the bridge of his nose, nothing looked truly amiss. He was grateful for his sunglasses as Deborah opened her door and paused as another car rolled up to the parking spot next to her. As the little one started to fuss in his seat, he rolled his eyes and told his wife to hurry up and get the kids out of the car.

Swiveling her head to level a dangerous look at her husband, she shot back, “I’m doing the best I can, Manny, and so are they.”

Catching the warning glint in his wife’s eyes, Manny involuntary shrank back, a

slight shudder running through his tired body. A flash of sudden recall came of a beautiful and bloody Elena in her bed, lying in a pool of her own blood, mangled and bloody coat hanger lying at Deborah’s feet, begging him to call for help. Looking helplessly from her to his wife, standing over her, hands on hips, chin held high in triumph, eyes blazing, silently daring her errant husband to pick up the phone and call the cops, Manny had been frozen to the spot. He vividly recalled Elena’s green eyes moving to her bedroom door as it burst open, Bruno running to the bedside, stopping short at the horrific scene in front of him. He clearly heard her last words directed at her friend and co-worker, green eyes wide and beseeching, “Oh God, please help me!” Then the terrible sound of silence that followed as she took in one more raspy breath, those beautiful green eyes forever fixed but no longer seeing the man who had done everything to create this situation yet would do nothing to help her live.

The driver’s side door of the car parked next to Manny’s car suddenly stopped in mid-swing, causing Deborah to huff impatiently. Manny snapped out of his unpleasant flashback and glanced over at the other car’s driver and did a double take. She was an attractive young thing with long auburn hair put up in a damp ponytail. She was wearing no make-up, but her side profile was unmistakable. Shooting her a second look of dawning recognition, the girl met his eyes for a second, her own recognition and subsequent alarm ing in those large hazel eyes he knew so well.

The girl slammed her door shut and shot out of the parking lot, screeching her tires and nearly running Deborah over as she opened her own door and set about getting the kids out of their seat belts and into the store without too much drama, oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place between her husband and the careless female driver of that other car.

“Hey, what the HELL—” Deborah yelled in angry surprise as the car missed her right foot by mere inches. “Jesus, did you see that?”

Manny had mere seconds to hide what was so plain on his face. Putting on his mask of neutrality, he said “Yeah, what the hell was that all about?” He shook his head slightly to feign confusion at the whole incident, and Deborah cautiously opened the enger side door and the kids tumbled out. “I’ll watch the little one,” Manny volunteered, smiling at his wife as she looked back in surprise. “It’s such a nice day, is all, and I know you have your hands full already.”

Deborah was just about to agree, when something in the back of her mind told her she’d better take the baby with her this time. Shifting her tone to suit the moment, she replied, “No, Honey, I’m good. Besides, you’re still recovering from that, uh, bar fight the other night.”

Manny glanced quickly at his wife as he caught the doubtful tone of her voice when she hesitated on the words “bar fight.” He knew she wasn’t stupid. But neither was he. Better to pretend to be grateful and let her win this one.

“Ok, I really appreciate that, Baby.” Manny smiled up at his harried and confused wife as she bent down to unstrap the baby from his car seat. Their eyes met briefly, his smiling into her perplexed look of inquiry, all traces of challenge momentarily vanquished in her quest to get the kids out of the car and into the store without having to enact a monumental act of congress.

Later that night, Manny was replaying the scene in the grocery store parking lot for the dozenth time in his mind. That was her! She was here! And the thought of Cat being so close to him, just out of reach, was enough to make him crazy. Then a thought came to him. She’s staying with HIM. Still certain that Bruno was the man responsible for stealing his girl, the thought of doing nothing for the rest of the week as he convalesced was simply too much for Manny to bear.

As soon as they got home, he made an excuse to his wife and Manny got into his car and backed into the road leading to one of the main veins that led to the heart of the city. Turning onto the familiar street, he drove up to the house where he and Deborah had been welcome so many times in the past and stopped across the street from where Bruno resided.

There was a different car parked in the driveway, vaguely familiar to Manny, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on who it belonged to. As he waited in his own car, observing if any activity was apparent behind the curtained windows, he saw her. That blond bitch, the one that Patti called her best friend. Then he ed seeing the strange car parked next to Patti’s at the apartment when he’d sometimes come to visit. Realization dawning in his racing mind, he struggled to recall her name.

What was her name? Fred? It figures she’d have a MAN’S nickname, with that awful short hair. Manny had never really cared for the look of Frieda, and as he got to know her these past few months through Patti, he liked her less and less as time ed by. She was always present when he’d come visit if she was in town, and he didn’t care for the silent looks she’d shoot him from across the room that told him she knew everything. They told him that she had his number, all right.

But where there’s smoke, there’s bound to be fire, Manny concluded. He bided his time as the two came out of the house, Fred saying something to Bruno that Manny didn’t quite catch, and Bruno smiling and smacking her on the butt playfully, eliciting a high-pitched giggle and a retributive punch in the arm from his paramour.

Confused at this unexpected intimate exchange, Manny’s brow furrowed as they climbed into the strange car, apparently unaware that he was parked across the way. He watched from his voyeuristic standpoint as they drove to the corner of the street and turned toward the main road.

By this time, Manny’s need for answers had completely overwhelmed him, and any good sense he might still possess seemed to have flown right out of his head. If Patti wasn’t with them, where would she be? The apartment? Unlikely. She knew that’s the first place Manny would look for her. But still ...

Manny turned on to the road leading to the freeway. He was going to check to see if she was there. Desperation being his pilot, his distracted mind wandered back to their last conversation. How jumpy she had been. Then she was just gone. Manny was feeling the exhaustion that was creeping into his brain. Yawning, he turned on the radio, and Simon and Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson” suddenly sang through the front dashboard.

He didn’t notice this time when his tires went past the double yellow line. By the time he looked up, the truck, carrying tomatoes ready for packing, horn blaring, was right in front of him. The driver of the truck tried to swerve, but the head-on impact spun Manny’s car clear across the divider and into a concrete barrier on the other side of the freeway, upturning the contents of the truck bed as he slid across, the red of wrecked tomatoes quickly mingling with the blood draining from Manny’s body as he smashed into, ironically, the very feature that was meant to save lives, not take them. The last thing he saw as he stared wide-eyed out of the shattered windshield, was a pair of hazel eyes, ambivalent at the scene before them, slowly blinking into the darkness that surrounded him for the last time.

With shaking hands, Patti reached for the paper, willing herself to be calm. Loving husband … leaves behind a wife and four children … successful businessman … pillar of the community …. As her eyes scanned the words, she shook her head slowly, first confusion and then anger emerging at the realization that she was reading Manny’s obituary. For all the platitudes and accolades, however, it might as well have been a stranger’s.

As she finished reading, a single silent tear ran down Patti’s cheek, and her hand began to tremble again, at first slightly, then so badly that she had to give the paper to Bruno so that she could try to steady herself. Swiping away the solitary tear, Patti looked into the eyes of her friends, first Fred’s, then Bruno’s. From somewhere within her, she heard a voice emerge, low, slow, and steady. So now it’s finally over. The nightmare is finally over.

That night when she fell asleep, she didn’t dream of Manny. In fact, she would never dream of him again. The nightmares simply stopped. They disappeared, as if on cue, torments to their tormentor, forever banished from Patti’s dreams. She would, however, continue to have the other dreams, and those dreams held for her vague images of eyes and arms. But now the eyes were soft brown and smiling, the arms affirming and protective. And when she woke up from them, instead of screaming and struggling, she found herself smiling and floating on a warm cloud of what could best be described as sheer bliss.

Chapter 12: The Jig is Up

The Sunday before Fred and Bruno came to visit Patti, the day Patti had discovered the horrible truth about Cindy, Sister Mary Carla sat with Claire Howard and her family at church. Deacon James had delivered the homily, as had become his new custom, and the group was filing out of the pew, the recessional hymn being played out by the ever-enthusiastic organist who never missed a Sunday morning Mass, and who always played with such vigor as to bring a smile to the nun’s face as she contemplated such singular dedication.

This morning, Claire’s son, Hugh, and his wife, Caroline, were present, along with Claire’s youngest son, Thomas. Today, Sister Mary Carla had several things to smile about, the organist’s enthusiasm being but one. Besides the fact that Thomas always made the nun smile—he was a sweet young boy of ten—she couldn’t help but feel the warmth that his mother felt towards him, her youngest son. His Down Syndrome affected him enough to require special schooling, but not so much that he didn’t come up with some profound observations on life from time to time.

Sister Mary Carla now recalled the story Claire had just told her the other day about Thomas. It involved Claire’s handmade white cotton table runner, an old white sheet, the dining room table—just rectangular enough to serve his purpose —and her mother’s wine glasses, antiques carefully preserved, hand blown in and given as a wedding gift some 60 years before.

Thomas—who had formed a fiercely loyal attachment to Deacon James—had been especially entranced on a recent Sunday as the deacon delivered one of his

best homilies yet. The theme had once again centered around the entreaty of “Ask, and ye shall receive, knock and the door shall be open unto you.” Thomas had been pestering Claire for weeks for a new bicycle, and apparently this particular message stuck with him.

The next day, it being summer and Thomas thus home from school, Claire rounded the corner from the front room into their modest dining room and found Thomas “saying Mass,” something he’d taken to doing in various parts of the house when he thought his mother wasn’t watching, lifting one of the handblown family heirlooms high into the air, invoking God’s blessing and a hastilyadded, “Please, Father, and the bike,” a furtive whisper from an face smiling in earnest, and a wink added for good measure as the boy looked heavenward. Claire, not wanting to disturb her young priest-in-training, stifled a chuckle until she could extract herself from the scene, sidestepping into the kitchen, shoulders shaking with heartfelt amusement for her son who saw the world through his own uniquely colored lenses.

Later that afternoon, Thomas casually mentioned that he’d said Mass that morning. Feigning ignorance, for it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him doing so, yet it was the first time he’d itted to it, his mother merely nodded with an interested “Oh?” to which Thomas responded, “You see, ma, I want a bike, and I know God is very busy. But I thought if I said Mass, I’d catch his attention, cuz Deacon James said if I asked, I’d receive, and he says Mass all the time, and everyone listens to him.” As he finished his impromptu explanation, Claire nodded in agreement, her grey eyes fixed upon her son, and emitted a grave, “Aha, I see.” Upon sharing this latest incident with her friend, Claire’s mind had been busy ever since, contriving a way to get that bike to the ever-earnest Thomas.

As Thomas walked ahead to greet the newest rock star of his limited world, Deacon James, Sister Mary Carla decided now was as good a time as any to breach the subject. “Well, Patti is adjusting well to Fairhaven,” she opened to Claire, as Hugh followed after his baby brother, Caroline quickly keeping up just

behind her husband. As they greeted the deacon, Hugh took his brother’s hand, Thomas being rather reluctant but resigned, and began to guide him to their awaiting car. James, spotting in the distance the two ladies who he had grown so fond of standing together, seeming to be engrossed in casual conversation, started walking towards them.

“Och, I would say so, aye,” Claire responded, nodding in approval, choosing not to breach the topic of Joan Coates and what she observed of the woman’s attitude toward Patti. “It’s no’ the most perfect situation, but she’ll bide fine.”

Mary Carla looked down at her friend and caught her eye as she nodded. “I think so, yes,” is what she said, her eyes finishing what her lips would not. “So, I think it’s time to talk about where her child might be placed when it’s born.”

As Claire Howard looked up at her friend, searching her eyes for further meaning, hoping she was thinking the same thing she was, the nun continued. “Do you think Hugh and Caroline might consider adopting the child?” As her friend’s eyes started to shine with tears of excitement, head bobbing up and down with a similar notion, Sister Mary Carla continued. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes to center herself. The next part would be rather difficult to say, but being that the year was 1968, closed adoptions were the general rule, and Fairhaven’s policies were no exception to that trend. Having such strict guidelines in place, Sister Mary Carla felt it her duty to reiterate what she knew her friend knew already. “You know, they can’t ever meet. And Hugh and Caroline can’t ever know. She can’t, either. The records have to be sealed.”

Claire’s eyes were shiny with the emotion she felt, both the hope that was present within her for her son and daughter-in-law, and the sadness she felt for Patti, knowing full well what would come next for the girl. She’d seen enough of it already in her short time working in the Home: the girl would give birth, then she would be allowed to hold her new baby and even name it if she so desired. Then, within a week, the baby would be taken from her and placed temporarily

in foster care until the paperwork could be completed and the process worked through, and the mother would resume her life, sans her baby, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever taken place. The new parents had the right to either keep the baby’s name or change it at will. They also had the right not to know where the baby was born and omit the birthplace from the baby’s birth certificate. This last part, in fact, was encouraged, to “avoid stigma” for the child and ensure anonymity for the birth mother, and the experts at the time concluded this was the best possible practice for everyone involved. Claire, however, had mixed feelings about the whole process. She knew well that Fairhaven was an exceptionally progressive place as homes for unwed mothers went, but she was painfully aware of the trauma that awaited Patti as the process would play out.

Torn between her desire for her children to be happy—for Caroline, as far as Claire was concerned, was her daughter, after all—and her comion for the girl she’d learned to love as much as one of her own, she replied. “Aye, that’s the way of it.” Her voice was soft as she met her friend’s eyes, her own gaze awash with a muddle of emotions.

The two women were so engrossed in their conversation at this point, they hadn’t noticed that Thomas had gone with his big brother and Caroline, all three now waiting expectantly next to Claire’s old station wagon. James had come up to the two women and had been unnoticed up until now. Once Claire realized that the deacon was in their midst, she gasped, putting her hand on her mouth.

James looked first at her, then Sister Mary Carla. Then he smiled and said, “It’s ok. I only heard the last part. He put out his hands, one on each woman’s shoulder, and squeezed gently as he added, looking pointedly at the nun, “You aren’t the only one commissioned with keeping secrets. I won’t say anything.”

Claire removed her hand from her mouth and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank ye, James. This means so much to everyone involved.” Looking towards the car

and seeing the trio waiting for her, she started to walk towards her brood. “Weel, I’d better get those three back. They’ll be wantin’ te get home.” With that, she hugged the nun goodbye, pecking her on the cheek with a grateful kiss, and doing the same for James.

As the third week of August made its presence known on the calendar, Patti’s anxiety about Cindy’s situation grew even more, nearly consuming her dreams as much as Manny once had. She continued working the breakfast shift with her friend, noticing that Cindy often could not meet her eyes and was thinner and paler than she had ever been since Patti had met her not two months earlier.

The day after she’d agreed to tell someone of her situation, Cindy had not. When Patti inquired as to when they should go to her adopted aunt with the news, Cindy had taken in a sharp intake of breath, eyes swimming with tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t do it,” was her simple reply to her friend’s query.

Patti fastened her eyes on the young woman in front of her, noting how Cindy’s hand had gone to her back, a slight grimace of pain mixing with the look of panic and fear already playing on her face. “Wait, what?”

“Patti, please.” The younger woman’s hand came to the front of her belly and wrapped protectively around the rounded bulge beneath her smock. “I don’t have anywhere to go, and she has stopped coming to my room so much lately. I just want to get through this and figure out where I will go in a couple of months after this baby is born.” At this last statement, Cindy grimaced in pain as she bent over slightly. “All this stress is bad for the baby. I just can’t take anymore drama!”

Patti’s face said what her mouth would not. A mixture of shock, disappointment, anger, fear, and concern flitted across her countenance as she thought carefully of her response. “Hey, you need to sit down.” Her end of the deal temporarily forgotten, Patti led her friend into the dining area and Cindy scooted gingerly into one of the cafeteria-style benches, trying for all she was worth to get control of her breathing and praying that the sharp pain at the base of her belly was just another false alarm. She had been spotting the last three days, but she had just attributed it to stress and hoped that it would stop soon.

Her timing always being impeccable, Miss Coates bustled through the back door into the kitchen. Not seeing either girl at their post, she proceeded through the double doors into the main dining hall in time to witness Patti guiding Cindy to the bench, the latter clearly upset. As Patti turned to go back to her post in the kitchen, her eyes fell upon those of the woman responsible for most of Cindy’s current anxiety. What Joan Coates saw in that momentary glare told her all she needed to know. With a dawning sense of panic, she thought, she knows.

The next day, Cindy was relieved of her kitchen work detail after an emergency visit from the doctor, who insisted that she be placed on immediate bed rest or risk losing her baby. Miss Coates was on high alert and decided to ramp up her vigilant lookout for any sign of the two girls possibly meeting. She made sure that Cindy received no visitors under the auspices of her “needing her rest,” and that Patti had as little opportunity to meet with the girl as possible by keeping her busy on work detail. All Joan needed right now was for either of them to say anything. She could not afford to be out of a job, not right now. Sitting at her desk in the little niche at the front of the building that she called her office, Joan was in a contemplative mood. No, I think that little whore has had enough attention for now, she thought, flipping through Cindy’s file on her desk. Patti’s was next in the pile, and as Joan tossed the first to the side, she picked the next one up and started perusing it. Seeing nothing out of order, she tossed it to the side as well and sighed. Something needs to be done about those two. But what? Joan sighed again, closing her eyes to ward off the impending migraine that had started just behind her left eye.

It was the second Monday of September, and Sister Mary Carla walked through the front door of Fairhaven Home to be greeted by Claire, sitting at her customary seat at the reception desk. Nodding hello and smiling at her friend, the nun proceeded to make her customary rounds, peeking around the corner close to the kitchen in hopes of catching Patti on her way back from her breakfast shift in the kitchen.

She met Cindy instead, who seemed to have recovered from her earlier distress and was now allowed to resume her regular routine, sans work detail, so long as she felt good. She’d made it an hour earlier to the cafeteria where Miss Coates always managed to be present, especially during lunch. Under the constant watchful gaze of the director, the two young women had little opportunity to speak to each other but managed to convey what was necessary through eye .

It was nearly one o’clock and Cindy had just finished eating and was on her way back to her room. Miss Coates had gone momentarily into the kitchen, and Patti had come out onto the floor to grab the dishes on the tables and bus them back to the sink. As she rose to leave, Patti came by to take up the dishes on Cindy’s table and whispered a quick, “Hi, happy to see you,” before Miss Coates would re-appear.

Cindy had smiled her gratitude and grabbed Patti’s hand, giving it a heartfelt squeeze. “Talk soon,” she’d whispered, letting go of Patti’s hand just in time to see Miss Coates come through the kitchen doors and onto the floor. The director’s sharp gaze had landed on Patti as Cindy had made to leave, only seeing Patti scoop up the dirty dishes on her way to the next table. Seeing nothing amiss, Miss Coates had nodded in satisfaction, leaving as well, making her way back to her little hole in the wall.

Seeing Cindy walking out of the cafeteria, Sister Mary Carla asked if Patti was coming out after her. “Oh, Sister,” Cindy glanced quickly up at the nun, turning

her gaze just as quickly to the approximate area where her feet would be, could she actually see them. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“Tell me what, dear?” Sister Mary Carla’s voice was casual, carefully masking the sudden prickle that lifted the hair on the back of her neck at the sight of the girl in front of her who was suddenly avoiding making direct eye .

“Oh, um, Miss Coates switched her to lunch duty this week, and she’s out on the floor now, bussing tables.” Still not meeting the nun’s kind gaze, Cindy excused herself. “I’m sorry, Sister, but I just got off bed rest, so I need to get back to my room. Plus, I need to, er, utilize the facilities. This baby is playing kickball with my bladder.” She began to move from one foot to the other to demonstrate her very real need to relieve herself. Grateful that at least the ache in her back was nearly gone and she hadn’t spotted once these past two weeks, she was happy that it was only her bladder that was being demanding this minute, as more of the “settling in” contractions she’d had a few weeks ago had started to come on once again in the wee hours of that morning. At seven months, she knew it was way too early to be going into labor in earnest, so what she was feeling had to be those Braxton-Hicks contractions she’d heard about in her health class a few months back.

“Oh, don’t let me keep you, sweetie,” Sister Mary Carla hastily shooed the young woman on her way to the hallway restroom. With a grateful smile and a nod of thanks, Cindy scooted past the nun and hurried into the bathroom, thankful that it was empty. She took the middle stall, then went directly back to her room to do as she’d been directed by the doctor: rest.

Consternation and a bit of confusion started to occupy Mary Carla’s mind, her concern for Patti growing by the minute. She was relieved to see her adopted niece rounding the corner, coming from the front entryway to the dining hall. “Oh, there you are,” Sister Mary Carla breathed, her concern abated somewhat by Patti’s relatively placid-looking face. “I was looking for you, and your little

friend told me your shift had been changed.”

Patti couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she responded. “Oh yeah. Miss Fang decided that the lunch shift needed an extra busser, because according to her, the current one is about to deliver, and she wanted to have the position filled before it happened.” She sighed and shook her head. “But I think there’s more going on than that.”

She eyed her adopted aunt, trying to determine if Cindy had yet mentioned anything about their conversation a few weeks ago. Seeing no notion of understanding dawning on the nun’s face, she continued. “Ah, Auntie Carla.” She sought the nun’s direct eye . “There’s something that girl needs to tell you. I gave her some time to come to you, but I promised that I’d say something after that if she didn’t.”

The little hairs on the back of Sister Mary Carla’s neck stood on end as she sensed the gravity of the situation without knowing any of the particulars. “Ah, well, ok. Is she in immediate danger? Because if she is—”

Patti cut off the nun’s question. “Not this minute, no, but if she doesn’t get help —”

Patti’s own response was cut short as the restroom door opened and Cindy emerged, at first wide-eyed with surprise, then with suspicion mixed with a good amount of fear as she saw the two women conversing.

“Heya,” Patti greeted her friend, reaching out to squeeze Cindy’s arm in an act of ive friendship.

“Oh, hey Patti. Sister,” Cindy nodded, eyes downcast.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence but was in reality just a few seconds, she turned to exit down the hall towards her room, when Patti piped up. “Hey, wait a sec.”

Looking at Sister Mary Carla for a cue, the nun nodded and picked up the thread of conversation. Looking pointedly at her niece, she said decided that she would assert her considerable influence in this case, and she spoke. “Ladies, how bout we go to Apple Hill? And maybe dinner afterwards? Nothing fancy, but I figure it would be nice to get out of here for a change, I’m sure the food is ok, but maybe a break is in order?” Looking from one expectant mom to the other, she read the abject fear behind Cindy’s eyes even as the nun’s mind started to rehearse what she’d say to Miss Coates in order to take the two moms away from the Home for such an unusual outing. Before Cindy could make an excuse, though, Patti spoke up.

“I’d have to look at my social calendar, but I think I’m free Sunday. And I think Cindy is, too, now that the doctor’s cleared her to start walking a little again.” Patti locked her pointed gaze with Cindy, her eyes telling the girl that Sunday would be the day she’d tell her story, and that it was going to be ok.

Reluctant though she was to acquiesce, Cindy slowly nodded her assent. “Uh, you have a calendar for your social life? Jeez, Patti, I knew you were popular and all that, but come on, a calendar?!” Cindy started to giggle as she made the joke, hoping against hope that her attempt at humor would dispel the anxiety that had spread rather thickly in the air.

“I know, go figure,” Patti giggled, putting her arm around her friend.

“So, we’ll start early, around 8-ish, if that’s ok with you? That way we’ll avoid some of this heat. And we’ll play the walking by ear, Cindy.” Both girls nodded, and Sister Mary Carla gathered them up in a warm hug that gave both of them a burst of renewed hope for a happier day. As the girls started to walk towards their rooms and the nun walked the other way to complete her rounds, Miss Joan Coates poked her head out from her office door, watching the small group disband.

She had been making her own rounds that morning, having deliberately changed Patti’s shift a few weeks after she’d witnessed the two women on the cafeteria bench. Patti and Cindy had become awfully chummy lately. Better be safe than sorry and discourage such bonding. It was true that Cindy had much to lose if Joan wished to make good on her threats, but Joan knew damned good and well that it was she who had much more to lose if certain things got out in the open.

And now those three had been chatting together in the hall—she’d seen the heartfelt hug the nun had given the two young women. The look of relief on Cindy’s face coupled with the defiant one on Patti’s own set alarm bells ringing in the director’s brain. She knew she had to act, and act quickly, so that her dirty little secret wouldn’t be revealed. For the first time since she’d taken her position as director of Fairhaven Home nearly a decade ago, Miss Joan Coates felt the little cold feet of fear march down her own spine. Running a hand down the middle of her back to erase the sensation, she squared her shoulders and made for her office. It was time to do a bit more research on Patricia Connor.

It turned out that Joan Coates didn’t have to look very far. It was the third Monday of September, the lunch shift was nearly over, and Patti was out and about in the dining area, cleaning up tables and bussing the odd plate or two—it was towards the end of the lunch rush, as she was fond of calling the noon hour, when most of the moms-to-be came out to socialize as much as to eat—when she

stopped short. It was the second week of her new shift, and each day for the past week or so, she noted that the young deacon had managed to come in for lunch while she was working. Not knowing if it was his normal habit to dine with pregnant ladies, she had shaken off her growing suspicions of his motives early on as being her own self-centered paranoia. However, the sight of him still caught her by surprise. Her stomach clenched, and she wasn’t sure if it was her nerves or the baby, so she decided it was a bit of both, putting her hand automatically across her belly as she moved toward the soon-to-be priest.

Looking up expectantly, his eyes moving quickly from Patti’s hand across her abdomen to her face, smiling and just a bit too flushed, he greeted her. “Hi there, Patricia—Patti,” Deacon James hastily corrected himself, ing her remonstrances at being called Patricia the last time they’d chatted, which was just the day before in the hallway after her shift had ended. Patti had finally asked him not to call her by her given name of Patricia, because “that’s what my dad calls me when I’m in trouble,” she explained as her eyes rolling upward, emphasizing her earnest request.

Patti returned the smile, making sure hers wasn’t too terribly bright. Try as she might, this man somehow always made her want to smile more than she ought to, but at least she wasn’t jumping like a scared rabbit anymore whenever he was around. At least most of the time. “Hi, Padre. Er, James,” she responded, ing hastily that the deacon had half-jokingly corrected her more than once regarding his official status. “Your usual?”

“Yes, ma’am. Whatever the special is today is fine,” James smiled up at Patti, noting that her apron-covered smock somehow fitted her differently today. It dawned on him belatedly that she was now starting to show slightly, and he hastily lowered his eyes from her countenance, where they had naturally come to rest at her midsection after briefly noting the awkward—is that gravy?—stain smack center of where her usually pristinely-white apron covered her right breast. Lowering his head to hide the blush he felt he must have on his face at this moment, he cleared his throat. Get it together, “Padre,” he laughed inwardly

at himself.

Observing his sudden downward glance, Patti pretended not to notice the flush that suddenly invaded the deacon’s face. Hope he’s ok; he looks kinda sick,” she contemplated. “Oh, you’re gonna love it, I promise. Boxed potatoes and brown gravy mix with canned chicken.” She wrinkled her nose, looking up at the ceiling in mock concentration. “Mm, at least I think it’s chicken, but I’m never really sure around here.” She spoke these last words in a conspirational whisper, putting her hand to the side of her mouth in a dramatic fashion, feigning superspy secrecy. Thankfully, that last part made them both laugh, and broke the tension that was beginning to build, threatening to become another awkward moment.

As she brought out his order, James couldn’t help but notice that Patti looked … distracted; had seemed so for a few days now. Not only did she look distracted, but she seemed sort of distant today. This was not at all her usual animated demeanor and as she placed his plate in front of him, without thinking of the consequences, he gently grabbed her hand and held it briefly in his, his way of stopping her and getting her attention. He wanted to ask her—

Patti’s heart jumped into her throat at the feel of his hand closing in on her own slightly sweaty one. This was completely out of character for the deacon. He was always so professional, even though easy-going and kind, and for a moment, she didn’t quite know what to do. So, she froze on the spot, swallowing the lump in her throat that must have been her heart hammering away, once again threatening to choke her outright, and waited for James to speak.

Quickly releasing her hand, he said with equal speed, “Oh, sorry, but I wanted to ask you something.” Observing her deer-in-the-headlight demeanor, the growing suspicion that had been eating at the outsides of his consciousness now broke through to the here and now. Inwardly nodding at the sudden realization, he took a breath, and forged ahead. “Are you ok?”

Patti responded quickly—too quickly to be very convincing—“Yeah, great, why would you ask?” She glanced at the deacon sideways, making James’ heart leap unexpectedly into his own throat.

“I dunno. You seem, er, distracted.” James braved up and sought eye with Patti, which he eventually found. Despite her greatest efforts at hiding her terrible secret, he read something of it there in the twin pools of hazel gold staring back at him.

Eyes growing wider as she saw the questioning concern in James’ own brown gaze, she inadvertently nodded, slowly and almost imperceptibly. “It’s kinda twisted, James, and I’m not sure what to do about it. If I can do anything about it.” Patti’s heart had stopped pounding in her throat, but the little creature that seemed to live in her belly—the one with cold feet, and a lot of them—had started its hellish dance in her gut once again. As Patti moved her hand once again to her belly to calm what was residing there, James again glanced down at where her hand had gone. Looking up again into her face, his growing concern for her wellbeing was evident. Sensing his worry, Patti smiled and shook her head briefly. “Er, maybe you want to skip the entrée today, Padre. I had some earlier, and it’s not agreeing with me. But maybe that’s just me ...” Patti’s voice trailed off as she caught something in the young man’s glance that made her want to perk up and listen, somehow.

Shaking his head dismissively and bravely putting his fork into the mass in front of him of what ed as mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, despite its rather dubious effects on Patti’s own digestive tract, he continued. “Well, if you want —” James didn’t break eye with the young woman standing in front of him—Oh, James, do be careful, he could hear the voice reverberating somewhere in the back of his brain, even as he forged ahead with his impromptu overture, “I have time this afternoon. Don’t take it the wrong way, but if you want to talk, I know a place close by, away from walls with ears.”

Shocked at his own audacity, James almost immediately regretted his offer. His natural desire to help had obviously outranked his equally natural tendency to remain guarded, but the offer was out already, and there was no taking it back. Besides, this girl was different somehow. She was sweet, kind, strong, beautiful. There’s that beautiful thing again. But he didn’t sense anything about Patricia, er, Patti Connor that would lead him to believe that her intentions were anything but platonic. Still, what possessed him to offer to take her off-grounds, no matter how innocent the reason, well, he had not a clue. All he had was a feeling he interpreted as being akin to brotherly, fatherly, friend-like and protection, all rolled into one big hazy blob that bounced around his brain and had somehow managed to migrate to his heart. Despite his earnest assumption of its meaning, he couldn’t quite recognize this new kind of feeling, not to save his soul, because it was so familiar, yet completely foreign to him. After all, he loved many people, but Deacon James Salvatore had never been in love before until now, he just didn’t recognize it. Yet.

Patti’s heart once again jumped into her throat. This is ridiculous, she onished herself. He just wants to help. You’re a client, not his girlfriend, ? Armed with this conviction, Patti blinked, drew in a perceptible breath, and said, “Well, I need to clean up here, and I could be ready at about two if that works for you, Padre.” She heard her words respond to his invitation as if from far away, spoken by someone else, someone who had obviously completely forgotten herself and was certainly losing what little sanity she had managed to hold on to up until now.

The deliberate addition of the word Padre made James blink in a moment of amused surprise, and he smiled at her, a brief chuckle escaping his lips before he had time to suppress it. “Sure. Let me go and get some stuff done, and I’ll meet you in the lobby?”

“Uh, so long as Miss Fang doesn’t poke her nose out of her door, she’s really

nosy.” Something in the tone of her voice, mentioning the director in such a manner, immediately raised the first of what would be many red flags for James regarding the director.

Suppressing his concern, the deacon responded in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “I get it. Don’t worry about her. I think there are several new girls coming in this afternoon, and she’ll probably be out and about, giving tours and stuff,” James responded, smiling up at the now rather flummoxed Patti.

“Let’s hope,” Patti responded. And this time, she wasn’t smiling.

As she finished cleaning up in the kitchen, Patti glanced at the clock above the chipped enamel sink. It read five minutes to two. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she wrung out the dishrag she’d been using to scour the sink and spread it out onto the raised neck of the faucet to dry. Removing the apron that was pristine white at the beginning of her shift, the young woman grimaced as she took in the big gravy stain located just where her right breast would be that she hadn’t realized until now would have been visible to anyone taking her in. Well, that’d explain the padre’s awkward look earlier, she mused, shaking her head in slight embarrassment mixed with amusement.

As Patti moved through the double doors of the kitchen and into the main dining hall, the skin prickled at the back of her neck, as if someone was staring right at that spot. She glanced quickly over her shoulder to make sure she was only imagining things as she continued in the direction of the dorms. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her as she made a beeline to her room to toss the soiled apron into the overflowing laundry basket in the corner of her already-cramped living quarters. Looks like it’s time to do laundry again, better get to it tonight. That was my last clean apron, Patti mused as she watched the offending article of clothing sail smoothly in the general direction of its intended target.

Looking both ways before she made her move outside the door—paranoia had become a close friend of hers lately—Patti was satisfied that the coast was clear and started to move toward the front of the building, where the prospects of fresh air and a bit of freedom showed brightly. Grateful that the hallways happened to be empty, she came to the main lobby and peered to the left where Miss Coates’ office was located. ing what James had said about the director having an afternoon tour planned out, Patti casually walked past the reception desk, which also happened to be unoccupied at the moment, and out the swinging glass door, meeting a smiling Deacon James just outside on the walkway, which lead through the front courtyard and onto the sidewalk in front of the Home.

Despite the seeming emptiness of Joan’s office, the director did indeed observe the furtive meeting between the pregnant woman and the soon-to-be priest. Her tour had ended early, and as Patti had emerged from the dorm side of the building, Joan had just entered her office off the side where she could not be observed. She prided herself in many things, but this covert corner was one she prided herself on more than most, for it gave her an invaluable vantage point into the lobby and beyond, and there were a lot of things one could observe when others didn’t know they were being observed. In fact, Joan had observed much more than just this meeting between the two as of late, and not just from the secret corner of her office that granted her virtual invisibility from the rest of the world.

It’s time. The director had observed enough. When she was certain that the two didn’t know she was around, she’d observed on a daily basis how they interacted with each other. How that whore flaunted herself around that so-called man of God. How his eyes took her in and how his smile betrayed what truly lay in his heart. Sinful, sinful, sinful was the mantra that marched through Joan’s brain as she watched as the two walked through the courtyard and onto the sidewalk directly ahead. They seemed to be in serious conversation, the deacon for the most part listening, his smile now transformed into a grim look of consternation, and Patti, equally as grim-faced, doing most of the speaking. As they came to the sidewalk, Joan observed Deacon James put his hand on Patti’s shoulder. She

couldn’t see his face now, but by the way the young woman’s own face reacted, Joan was certain of it. Sinful, sinful, sinful continued its cadence in her mind as she moved to her little black book, opening it up to the “C” section. As her left index finger found the entry she was looking for, she smiled at the cleverness of her plan. After all, a whore is a whore, and sinners have to pay for their sins, she thought as her other hand picked up the receiver, put it to her ear, and dialed the number of the bishop’s office for Catholic Diocese of Sacramento.

Chapter 13: Confessions

As James and Patti turned from the main walkway of Fairhaven Home and onto the ading sidewalk, James’ smile melted into concern while he continued to listen as Patti’s story came—haltingly at first, then more fluidly—from her grimset mouth. As his hand came instinctively to rest on her shoulder, she faltered for a moment. Soon realizing that her lunch “date” had no intention of removing that hand anytime soon, Patti steeled herself, drawing in a deep breath. As her eyes fluttered at the knowledge just bestowed upon her—that this man was very much vested in her well-being, his hand saying all that his lips could not—she continued her story as James searched her eyes, nodding his head in encouragement.

“Well, it’s twisted, like I said before,” Patti began. Met with the deacon’s expectant silence, she blurted, “It’s Cindy.” She hesitated, eliciting a small squeeze from James’ hand, still glued to her shoulder, bidding her to continue. “And Miss Fang.” With this last statement, Patti looked up and directly into James’ eyes, searching for any sort of recognition in their chocolate-brown depths. When she saw nothing but guarded curiosity, she went forward with her confession. “Joan is molesting her.”

As Patti’s matter-of-fact statement hit his ears, James inhaled a sharp breath, his surprise evident on his normally carefully kept countenance that was immediately followed by an initial shock of disbelief. His first inclination was to ask the woman walking by his side if she was certain, but one look into those wide hazel eyes told him it was best not to ask such a patronizing question. The truth that shown from those eyes was unmistakable, and unmistakably damning.

Watching all these emotions flit across her companion’s face in a matter of seconds, Patti was relieved that at last she saw comprehension dawning on his face, which had become a rather deathly shade of white. She continued her confession, letting it all spill out: Cindy’s father, Joan’s threats, the director’s attempt at blackmailing Cindy all came rushing out in a torrent of words that once uttered would never again be silenced. As she recounted the conversation years later, Patti would be both amazed and proud of herself for how calm she had been, her face for once tear-free and determined. There was no time for tears, for the mother bear in her had been awoken early from its slumber, and now all Patti could think about was keeping Cindy and her baby safe from imminent harm.

As James’ mouth set in a grim line, she answered the next question that was on his lips before he could ask it. “No, she hasn’t touched me.” Despite his greatest efforts to keep a neutral countenance, his eyes closed momentarily as heart-felt relief flooded his body, and James felt for a moment that his knees might give out on him. His reaction was not lost on Patti. His hand on her shoulder gave another involuntary squeeze as she yelped at the unexpected force of its grip.

“Sorry,” James apologized, making to remove his hand from her shoulder. Patti, not wanting him to move further from her, reached out and grabbed onto that hand, encasing it in her own smaller, yet equally determined one. And James did not stop her, so engrossed was he in Patti’s story, instead returning her grasp with one of his own.

Hand in hand, they continued their way to the café he had suggested as Patti finished her story. They walked into the little hole in the wall in silence, James opening the door for her, and she smiling her thanks, charmed at once by this small gentlemanly gesture. As the two ordered their lunch, James’ mind was awhirl with the information he’d just been given. Patti noticed the inward contemplation that was written on his face, and this time it was she who reached out a tentative hand to place on his forearm. “Hey, you still in there?” she smiled in her attempt to bring the man back to real time and place.

Looking down at where her hand lay on his arm, James felt his heart beat double time for a moment as he allowed his left hand to come to rest upon Patti’s warm, yet still slightly sweaty one. Finally waking up to what was happening, he smiled inwardly for an instant at this woman’s now obvious attraction for him and James, for the second time in less than an hour, experienced a life-altering epiphany: he realized that he shared the same sentiment with the mother-to-be sitting across from him and who was searching his face with two of the most beautiful golden eyes he’d ever seen. Naturally, this revelation should have been warning enough for him to remove his hand (and hers) from their precarious positions, but for the life of him, James simply could not bring himself to break the spell that had been cast upon this moment.

Reading something new in James’ gaze, Patti’s heart comprehended what he simply could not speak aloud. She too knew that she should remove her hand, now sandwiched between the deacon’s forearm and hand, but she was just as loath to disconnect from the moment as was the man leaning across the table and into her orbit.

So, the two remained, each navigating their meal single-handedly as James moved his arm out from under Patti’s hand, keeping his other hand firmly upon hers lest she think she must move her own, Patti sharing how she managed to come to Fairhaven, not holding back on any details from her rather colorful past. Somehow, she felt safe in this man’s presence, and it was now obvious to her that he cared deeply, maybe too deeply, for her.

As she told her story, James watched her face in earnest fascination. He’d never noticed before how her nose, slightly upturned, would wrinkle when she became animated, or how her mouth quirked up into a half-smile that—dammit—melted his heart. Ah, this was no Notre Dame redux. No. This was something completely different. The truth of the matter had hit him, and hit him hard: James Salvatore had fallen hopelessly, helplessly, and thoroughly in love with

this paradox of a woman who sat in front of him, her long auburn hair still pulled up in her work ponytail, her face animated to match her words, and two of the most beautiful hazel eyes he’d ever encountered. Knowing that he should feel some sort of panic at this moment, instead James sighed inwardly and just let it flow, soaking in the enormity of the occasion as he nodded his response to his companion’s story as she grew more confident and therefore more animated by the moment.

Midway through their meal, the conversation waned as Patti finished her story, and James, taking another bite out of his half-eaten sandwich, stole a French fry from Patti’s plate. Smiling and shaking her head gently, Patti pushed the plate towards him, and he put up his hand, shaking his head.

“No. I’m just about full,” he responded, smiling at Patti’s generosity. Then he lowered his eyes and said, “You’re not the only one with an interesting past.” And for the next half hour, James made his own confession, telling Patti things he’d never spoken of since they’d first happened. He told her about finding his father, dead from a broken heart. He told her about his aunt who had bravely rescued so many Jews from the Nazi reign of terror. He spoke of many things that day, and as he spoke, he felt his heart grow lighter with each word. It was when he got to his mother that his eyes misted over, and his voice cracked with emotion. It was the closest time James Salvatore had come to crying in over twenty years. At the end of his story, James sighed in relief, still baffled at the hold this woman had on him and utterly amazed at how effortlessly comfortable he felt around her.

By the time they had finished their lunch, Patti felt completely hollowed out. She hadn’t been to confession since she was eight years old when she’d received her first holy communion, but this conversation felt like it had made up for each of the confessions she’d missed all these long years. But something else had happened, as well. Although he hadn’t said a word about it, somehow Patti knew that James, too, had been to a sort of confession that afternoon, and as her secrets would be safe with him, so his would remain forever locked in her own heart.

As they emerged from the café and onto the sidewalk, James’ hand automatically--and this time deliberately--sought Patti’s and enveloped it in a firm, protective embrace. Patti’s heart once again leapt into her throat, but this time, it didn’t threaten to choke her. Instead, it merely beat there, strong and steady, in rhythm with her feet walking in perfect tandem with her partner’s. Letting this wonderful man walking in time with her own footsteps hold her hand, she squeezed James’ hand in tentative encouragement. Her face had broken out in a gentle smile that crinkled her eyes, and she cast an upward sideways glance at James, who in turn felt his own heart melt a bit as he smiled down at her. All too soon, they were approaching their destination. Taking in a breath and all-too-briefly contemplating the consequences of his next statement, James stopped in front of Fairhaven with Patti at his side, their hands reluctantly breaking the bond they’d just made a few blocks down the street. “Hey, Patti,” James began. At her upturned look of expectant response, he threw caution to the wind and blurted, “I think you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.” Well hell, if there was any chance at putting all of this away before, I just closed off my only escape, was what met James’ mind as he contemplated the enormity of these last few hours.

Patti’s face remained frozen in place, but the fact that she ed her companion’s compliment was evident as her pupils dilated, and then her mouth bloomed into a soft smile of gratitude. She held James’ gaze for what seemed like an eternity, then he bent down to enclose her in what he meant to be a quick departing hug, his one last desperate attempt at a fraternal air. Patti reached up to peck him lightly on the cheek, but instead of his cheek, her mouth somehow found his lips, which automatically recoiled as they locked with her own, then relented to meet hers in a resigned, yet growing sense of carnal ion. As he brought her in closer, his arms of their own accord moved around to lock her in an embrace of growing urgency he’d never before experienced with any human being, let alone a woman.

It was Patti who drew away first, her breath coming so fast that she felt like she might out on the spot. Taking her cue and putting his arm out protectively to

steady her, James struggled to regulate his own breathing as he disentangled himself from this most unexpected embrace. Looking up at him with an expression of shock, wonder, and more than a bit of irony at the timeliness of it all, Patti marveled, “Whoa. I just felt something.” Not thinking of the consequences of her action, she at once guided her companion’s hand to rest on her abdomen just in time for James to witness something bump up against it, sending shockwaves of awe up his arm that flooded his senses with a wonder he’d never experienced before.

Catching himself at last, James quickly removed his hand as Patti realized the impropriety of her impromptu act. “Um, I better go in now,” Patti stammered, her eyes suddenly glued to her feet.

“Yeah,” came James quick reder. “Hey.” He searched her face, then put his index finger under her chin and gently pushed her face up to meet his eyes.

Patti, doing all she could to control the torrent threatening to spill out of her own eyes, with a supreme effort of sheer will met James’ with what she hoped was a calm that she certainly was not feeling at the moment. “Hmm?”

“Thank you.” The simplicity of James’ earnest reder put them both at ease, and Patti nodded and gave a half smile in response that melted James’ heart afresh as she silently turned to walk up the courtyard pathway.

“No, James. Thank you,” she whispered huskily to nobody but herself as she turned around to wave goodbye. She moved as steadily as her legs would allow her through the swinging door and across a thankfully empty reception area and towards her small space of private sanctuary on the other side of the hallway, tears finally spilling out and washing away the grimy remnants of a past that mattered so much less right now than it had just a few hours ago.

James’ eyes followed Patti almost involuntarily as she walked up the concrete pathway and through the swinging glass door. He did not witness the emotions that were so apparent on her face, but it was no matter; those same emotions were flooding his own being at the moment, overwhelming him in their utter power and portent. I thought I had it all figured out, but Saint Teresa had nothing on me, was the irreverent thought that flickered through James’ mind. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to the outside world for a moment, he made a supreme effort to regulate his breathing and make his legs move, for they had somehow ceased to coordinate with his feet, which he knew had to somehow propel him forward and away from the spot to which his body remained stubbornly rooted.

Finally able to make his legs and feet cooperate in propelling him forward, James continued to walk a short distance to one of the small side parks that occupied the street leading up to Fairhaven Home. Finding a bench beneath an ancient redwood, he sat down and closed his eyes to meditate and pray, hoping to clear his head, which was still awhirl with all that he’d been made privy to that afternoon. Lord, what just happened? was the only question that would occupy James’ mind. Getting no answer as he repeated his prayer for clarification, he opened his eyes as a fat red-tailed squirrel wobbled up the redwood, chastising the intruder sitting underneath his tree for invading his space. James couldn’t help but chuckle and smile ruefully at the ruckus the little animal was making. Ok. I get it. But You still didn’t answer my question. At this last thought, the squirrel, as if on cue, stopped his chattering and bobbled up the tree and out of view, leaving a very tired, very confused Deacon James to sigh in resigned frustration as he at last stood up with the effort of ages to start the short yet arduous walk toward his car, parked just up the street.

When he finally got back to his room, Deacon James Salvatore was exhausted. When his head finally hit the pillow, he was sure he’d fall asleep immediately, but that did not happen. As he waited for sleep to at last overtake his overactive mind and launch him into blissful oblivion, he kept the deliberate mantra running through his head, “forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” which he

dutifully played over and over, its rhythm beating louder and louder with each repetition.

As he did so, flashes of his beloved statue of the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa wormed themselves through his conscious, further adding to his confusion. The question once again started to play over again in his mind. Lord, what happened? What the hell happened? To James—the canon law scholar, the Catholic Saint aficionado, to whom answers had always come so easily in the past—the silence that met his earnest questions was both maddening and deafening, the images of Saint Teresa disturbing rather than soothing him.

As he tossed and turned, seeking respite and receiving none of it, for the first time in weeks his mind harkened back to the conversation after Mass between Sister Mary Carla and Claire Howard to which he had accidentally been made privy. The two women seemed to think that he’d overheard a lot more than he had, but what he had heard that day after Mass came back to him in whispered snatches: Patti’s baby … Caroline and Hugh … been trying for so long … perfect match ….

His original prayer for forgiveness had now morphed into a far more bittersweet mantra which had begun to worm its way through his exhausted brain as he realized what now must be done. Forgive me, Patti, for I must go. These were his last thoughts as James Salvatore finally drifted into a fitful sort of sleep filled with questions asked and answers withheld, white marble statues staring upward in carnal ecstasy, and hazel eyes looking sideways and up at him in his dreams, the hopeful expectation living in them turning to profound sadness as their golden depths pierced him to his very soul.

Chapter 14: More Confessions

Patti awoke early on the first Saturday of October. She hurriedly got dressed and checked herself in the mirror, grimacing at what she saw there. Nothing really looked out of place except for the now rather obvious protrusion in her midsection, and her outfit did not exactly augment her better features: The smocked shirt was avocado green and long-sleeved. Although the color complimented her auburn hair that she’d pulled up in her signature ponytail, its billowy button-down style did little to accentuate her figure, and it spilled over chocolate brown polyester bell bottoms that still went halfway up to her breasts, making her chuckle softly at the memory of Jaynie’s hilarious maternity underwear antics.

Patti’s vision suddenly blurred as her mind replayed Jaynie’s big, round eyes and look of mock shock as her hand came up to her chest and pushed her own breasts up slightly to emphasize the hilarity of what those bloomers must have looked like. It was still hard to believe that Patti would soon be struggling to get her own bloomers—for that is what she’d taken to call them lately--up past her navel. Sighing with resignation, Patti shook her head. Well, at least I don’t have to wear one of those God-awful girdles like Mom had to. The thought came as a small comfort to her as she made her way out of her room and down to the hall for outside—and a moment of freedom from her musings about James.

The deacon had made himself rather scarce this past week, and Patti implicitly understood why. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t even seen Miss Fang for the past few days, but she thought she knew the reason for the director’s absence. After all that had transpired at the beginning of that week, Patti knew that her life had changed, and there was no turning back.

Even though she didn’t yet know his plans, she sensed innately that she would never see James again. She’d managed to get through her shift the day after they’d had lunch together, smiling as brightly as she could to compensate for the immense pain that she felt in her heart at the thought of never seeing those brown eyes again, and her demeanor was not lost on Joan. Indeed, the director sensed that there was something different in the air, and the scent of sadness and defeat made her heart skip a beat. Triumphant in her knowledge that Patti would soon have no choice but to capitulate and James would be gone, that day had been one of the happiest in Miss Joan Coates’ life.

Bustling in at the end of last Tuesday’s lunch shift on the pretense of “checking in” on the new help, one of Fairhaven’s most recent arrivals, Miss Coates caught sight of Patti as the younger woman segued through the double doors from the dining area and into the kitchen. Patti had her hands full with dirty plates and silverware and did not see the director follow her.

“Miss Connor,” Joan nodded curtly as Patti dropped her load into the sink and turned around to gather more dirty dishes.

Startled by the director’s sudden appearance, Patti stopped short and drew in a little gasp of surprise. Quickly recovering, she answered, “Oh, hi, Miss Coates,” as a sudden surge of adrenaline coursed through her body, causing her heart to leap halfway out of her chest. As she moved past the director to exit through the double doors from which Joan had appeared just a moment ago, the director made to block her path. “Um, excuse me, Miss Coates. I need to get the rest of the dishes and clean up. My shift is almost done and—”

“Never mind the dishes, Celeste has them,” Miss Coates half-smiled, halfsneered in her eagerness to confront the mother-to-be.

ing the look on the older woman’s face, Patti’s heart leapt once again from its confines in a desperate attempt to escape her body, eying the errant tooth as it manifested in that rapidly spreading grin. “Um, ok.” She looked briefly at her feet, then smiled up at Joan as she made a second attempt at moving around the director and into the relative safety of the open space of the dining area.

Joan once again side-stepped and blocked Patti’s way, a self-satisfied grin breaking upon her face. Its coldness was emphasized by the way that the smile never quite reached her eyes, which were holding Patti in what seemed to be a very triumphant embrace. “Come with me to my office, we need to talk,” Joan practically purred as she observed the reaction of her would-be victim.

Something in the way Joan had spoken those last words made the little hairs on the back of Patti’s neck stand up as she recalled Cindy’s story of all the abuse the director had heaped upon her. The director’s plan had dawned upon Patti’s consciousness, and she took a reflexive step backwards, bumping into the enamel sink. Primal fear creeping up into her belly, Patti’s response was quite simple, yet unmistakably clear. Looking her would-be ab straight in the eye, she responded in a quiet, yet unmistakable “No.”

At the younger woman’s resolutely resistive response, Joan’s smile turned into a true snarl of affronted anger. “No? Ok. Fine. We will have this conversation right here and now, confidentiality be damned!” Her eyes flashed with barely controlled rage at once again being rejected, tinged with imminent triumph as she took a breath and said in a low and dangerous voice what she’d wanted to say for weeks now. “I know. About you and the deacon.” You fucking whore.

At the look of hate-filled triumph in Joan’s eyes, Patti took an involuntary step backward, her mind reeling. “Oh yes, little girl. I know what you two have been doing. And guess what? He won’t be coming back here. Ever.” Sinful, sinful,

sinful. The look of triumph on the director’s face had bloomed in full by now, although her voice remained dangerously low, filled with a hatred that seemed to permeate the entire kitchen. At the look of utter shock mixed with more than a little despair that immediately appeared on Patti’s face, the director knew she had the younger woman exactly where she wanted her: alone, vulnerable, and without a champion to rescue her. Utterly exposed. Whores are whores and need to pay for their sins, after all. So do their pimps ….

Joan went in for the kill. “I called the bishop. Your little friend probably won’t even make it to his ordination.” Watching as Patti’s eyes welled up with tears, the director shot her final poisoned arrow. “And his downfall is all your fault.” Sinful, sinful, sinful. As her words had the desired effect on her latest victim, Miss Joan Coates felt a surge of triumph emerge from the depths of her belly, filling her with an air of self-righteousness that to her was a long time coming.

Patti stared at the director for a moment as her body adjusted to the sudden shock of the older woman’s words, absorbing their blows and feeling their effects as if they were physical punches to her gut. Swiping away errant tears, Patti took a deep breath. Then with a supreme effort, she made herself stand perfectly still. She straightened her spine and put her chin out defiantly, willing herself to remain still-water calm. No. You don’t get to win, was the thought that held Patti as she confronted Joan in that kitchen.

As she watched Joan’s face bloom into what looked like triumph that was a long time coming, Patti saw another emotion flit momentarily across the director’s face. It was … fear? Allowing herself a tiny smile of confidence, Patti responded in a slow, low voice. “I know about Cindy.” That was all she needed to say to have the desired effect on the woman standing in front of her.

Joan’s triumphant air vanished into a shocked crocodilian grin as she attempted to hide the growing fear behind her quickly crumbling demeanor of confidence. “Listen to me, you little whore—”

Before the director could finish her retort, the swinging doors moved inward to it the small frame of Patti’s replacement, the new girl, Celeste. As Miss Coates moved to it the newcomer, Patti used the moment to push past the director and out into the relative safety of the open dining room. Making a beeline to her room and not looking back to see if she was being followed, she nearly crashed into Sister Mary Carla as the older woman was winding through the hallway on her way from the front lobby to check in on one of her girls. “Hi Pat—” the nun stopped short, noting her niece by default’s shaken appearance.

Sister Mary Carla put out her arm reflexively to stop Patti as her hand gently grasped her charge’s shoulder, instinctively searching the young woman’s eyes for some clue as to what was bothering her. As Patti’s shoulders started to quiver, the tears spilled out. In as low a voice as she could, the only words she could choke out were, “It’s Miss Fang.”

After a sleepless night filled with bizarre images that still haunted him, Deacon James Salvatore knew that a visit to his friend and mentor, Father Frank was the first item of business. He trusted the man implicitly and knew that the older priest would know what to do about this … mess. As he knocked on the older man’s office door, Father Frank greeted him with warm surprise. “Ah, James! Come in, come in,” the priest beckoned, clapping the younger man’s shoulder genially with a large, square hand. “I thought you would be at Fairhaven, isn’t today one of your days?”

James closed his eyes as he steeled himself for what he was about to do. “Er, that’s what I need to talk to you about.” The older priest’s eyes became hooded with concern as they absorbed the gravity of the deacon’s demeanor and James pushed on. “I need to go to confession.”

The simple tone of James’ statement brought with it a gravity that made Frank’s heart sink. He nodded silently and beckoned James to sit on the couch against one side of the room. The older priest sat in his ancient easy chair, leaned back, and waited, fingers steepled under his chin, the classic stance of a man who was well-familiarized with the role of face-to-face confessor.

James sat down and sighed heavily. “I didn’t sleep for shit last night.” At the deacon’s unusual use of foul language, Frank’s eyes flew to the younger man’s face, where he took in the sheer misery of James’ situation. Still not uttering a word, the priest nodded in his best “go ahead, I’m listening” demeanor and James went ahead. His story came low and slow, steady in its urgency to be told. He held nothing back, not even the situation with Joan Coates and Cindy. When he got to the part where he felt Patti’s baby move against his hand, he halted momentarily, and drew in a breath meant to bolster his resolve, but only served to produce an agonizing, searing, shudder that even Frank felt as James drew it, the older priest for an instant being transported back in time. Oh, Marianne, was what flitted across his mind’s eye before he managed to capture the memory and banish it to the back of his conscious.

Stopping for a moment to collect himself, James was shocked to find his vison blurring with unexpected tears. The last time he’d cried was when he was seven years old, when his father had died. Nonetheless, he went ahead. He went ahead and described the utter sense of awe he felt at that life pushing back against his hand. He went ahead and described his dreams that so paralleled St. Teresa’s ecstasy. He went ahead and spilled his heart out into the little room and in so doing, found that he had more capacity to love another human being than he’d ever imagined. And this last realization both thrilled and terrified him.

When he’d finished, James felt as if someone had turned him upside down and had shaken everything out of him. He was completely hollowed out. As Father Frank took in the visage of the young man struggling so in front of him, the priest knew what needed to be done.

“James.” Frank’s quiet voice was kind and knowing. At the sound of his name, the young deacon looked up at his mentor with expectant hope and not just a little desperation. Father Frank cleared his throat and started again. “James, thank you for coming here. You did the right thing.” And with that, the older man laid out a two-pronged plan of action, mind racing with the import of all that the younger man had confessed to him.

“There’s a small retreat space located in Placer County,” Father Frank began. “Of course, there are several, but this one is one I know well.” James nodded, and the priest continued. “We will need to talk to the bishop, of course.” At these words, James’ eyes sought those of his mentor’s with a twinge of panic that quickly turned to resigned understanding. “You understand the way things go, right?” Father Frank smiled paternally as James nodded. “You should be able to stay there for a few weeks for a chance to breathe. Breathe and contemplate.” Then, as if adding an afterthought, “And last time I checked, there was a neat little row of apple farms just five minutes’ walking distance from the retreat house, the best one being High Hill Ranch.” Father Frank had been there many times and knew the place well. “There’s this wonderful apple cider they mill on the spot. Best cider I’ve tasted in my life.” His eyes took on a dreamy quality as he reminisced, “Matter of fact, I need to get up there soon. It’s October, and the mill will be in full production.”

“Thank you, Frank,” was James’ heartfelt reply. “But what about Joan—”

“She’s being … handled,” Father Frank’s voice was resolute, and it was plain that further conversation on the matter would not be necessary. Father Frank had heard rumors of her outrageous behavior for years now, in snippets and whispers, but there had never been enough evidence to actually do anything about the allegations. Until now. He’d been made privy to the director’s phone call to the bishop the day before and had been told that the … situation … would be … dealt … with.

The bishop had returned the director’s call, and after listening to her story coming breathlessly and in a flurry of urgency, thanked her for the information and had immediately scheduled a meeting with Sister Mary Carla for later that day to discuss his concerns regarding Joan, due to the nun’s longtime relationship with the director. Something in Joan’s voice, coupled with the rumors he himself had heard of her inappropriate behavior, had put the bishop on high alert, and he knew the time had come to do something about what he’d been hearing about for years. James’ confession, however, could not have been more perfectly timed, for now something must be done, and done immediately.

As he took in his mentor’s words, James absorbed them all as the misty robes of fate slowly descended upon his shoulders.

After his talk with his mentor, James went back to his own room and picked up the phone. He dialed the number he knew by heart and prayed that a friendly voice would pick up on the other end. “Fairhaven Home,” came through the wire to him in a very familiar voice.

“Oh, er, hi. Sister?” James’ voice tentatively made its way into Sister Mary Carla’s ear.

“Yes, hi, James!” came the cheerful reder at the other end as the nun smiled her greeting through the line to her favorite deacon.

“How’d ya know it was me?” James smiled, trying for a casual tone as his mind put together what he’d say next.

“I’d know your voice anywhere, my dear,” came the maternal response.

“Oh.” James took a deep breath. “Hey, Sister, um, do you have time for a quick lunch?”

Mary Carla checked her watch. Half past 11 and she could use some sustenance. “Well, sure! You want to meet somewhere around noonish?”

At her affirmative response, James closed his eyes for a moment and took another deep breath. “Uh, yeah. That would be fine. The diner on Alhambra and 56th?”

“Sounds great,” the nun confirmed. Then adding, “Hey, you ok, kiddo? You didn’t make your shift this morning.” The concern was obvious in her voice by this time.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I need to talk to you about,” James responded, exhaling his response into the phone receiver.

Heart dropping to her stomach, Sister Mary Carla closed her eyes momentarily and swallowed a sudden sense of foreboding. “Oh. Ok. Well, I’ll see you soon then.”

“Yeah, on my way,” James confirmed and hung up the phone.

As Sister Mary Carla slowly put the phone’s receiver into its cradle, cold fear marched down her spine, putting her on high alert. Oh no. No. Please don’t tell me ….

Her thoughts were interrupted with the appearance of Claire Howard, who nodded and smiled her thanks for the nun’s holding down the fort as she used the restroom. As Sister Mary Carla gave a cheerful reder, she excused herself and hurriedly made for the door and into her car, making her way to James and what she hoped wasn’t what she thought it was. But somehow, she already knew what he would say. Moms always know, don’t they? Yeah, he’s not my kid, but still … she mused half-jokingly, half-mournfully as the diner came into view.

Parking her car, Sister Mary Carla opened her door and stepped out. Should’ve worn socks,” she chuckled to herself, feeling the nip in the early October air hit her bare sandaled feet as she stepped onto the cold asphalt. Shutting her door, she looked up and smiled as a shadow suddenly hid the sun from her. “Oh good, you’re here,” she smiled up at James as he stepped forward to greet her. Searching his face as he smiled his greeting, Sister Mary Carla saw in his eyes all that she needed to know. Taking his hand firmly in hers, she squeezed it ively and let it drop to the deacon’s side. She could feel James’ sigh as he shook his head slightly, automatically offering his arm in as they stepped up onto the curb and onto the sidewalk leading into the little diner.

As they ate their lunch, Sister Mary Carla learned that it was what she’d hoped it was not. She remained silent, nodding as James gave his confession for the second time that day. Between bites of his sandwich, James told his story. At one point he put his sandwich down and wiped his hands on his napkin. His eyes sought his lunch companion’s attention. When he was sure he had it, he said out loud what he’d just decided. “I love her, Sister. I really do. But I love God more. I have to love Him more.” He sought the nun’s eyes for assurance, but he found none in the steady gaze that met his request, eyes instead full of inquiry tinged with the smallest bit of doubt. He did think for a moment, however, that he glimpsed traces of a white marble face, looking heavenward in erotic ecstasy,

mirrored in her eyes. He blinked and then the image was gone, leaving him with the growing conviction that he was indeed making the right choice.

When he shared that he’d told Father Frank about Joan, Sister Mary Carla’s eyes grew wide as she nearly choked on the bite she’d finally taken of her own sandwich. “God, James, I had hoped that it wouldn’t ever come to this,” the fear and sadness was apparent in her response.

“You mean, you knew?” James replied, eyes wide with shock at the news that this activity had apparently been going on for some time.

“I’ve had suspicions, but never anything so concrete to lay them on,” the nun replied, closing her eyes as she sighed heavily, recalling the conversations she’d had with the bishop over the years that had hinted at Joan’s behavior but had never come to anything substantial. Oh no, Joan, what have you done? she lamented.

The two finished their lunch in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. When they were finished, Sister Mary Carla stood up with a purpose. “Ok, James, it seems as if we both have our work cut out for us. You go do what you need to do. As for me, I have a certain wayward charge to take care of.” And as James’ nod of comprehension, she moved purposefully out of the booth, James close behind her, and towards her car. Yes, I have my work cut out for me, she thought grimly as she started the short drive toward Fairhaven Home.

Alarm bells ringing in her head, all that had transpired during lunch that day was still fresh in her mind as Sister Mary Carla breathed in slowly and reached for her charge’s hand.

As her ears ed Patti’s words, the nun closed her eyes and breathed another heavy sigh of resignation. Oh Joan, you just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? she lamented. Then she started, ing the meeting she had scheduled later on with the bishop. Sensing already what the conversation would be about, she pushed that concern from her mind for the time being, refocusing on the woman standing next to her. She took the younger woman’s shaking hand firmly. “Come with me.” It was a command, not a request, and Patti knew she had to obey. Thankfully, they made it to Patti’s room without further incident, wherein they both sat, Patti on her little bed and the nun on the solitary chair which seemed squeezed into the cramped space. Between wracking sobs, Patti relayed the incident that had just taken place in the kitchen. And once started, her story just spilled from her lips as she unburdened her soul to the only woman on earth who she knew would understand.

As Patti’s sobs quieted into soft hiccups, Sister Mary Carla’s mind was racing. She’d already long suspected Joan’s errant behavior, but she’d put her misgivings aside so many times in hopes that the girl would eventually come to understand the ways of comion and empathy. Oh my God, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I thought, no, I KNEW that she’d come around eventually, if only given the chance, but I see now how horribly misguided I’ve been. I’m such a fool! Realizing at last her huge error in judgement when dealing with Joan, Sister Mary Carla felt the enormity of the situation hit her squarely in her gut. As tears threatened to spill from her own eyes, she moved from her chair to sit next to Patti on the bed, enveloping the younger woman in a fierce, protective embrace. “I promise I won’t let that woman hurt you,” the older woman whispered resolutely into Patti’s hair as she rocked her gently back and forth, tears now falling freely from her eyes. “Or Cindy. Or James, for that matter.”

At the mention of James’ name, Patti suddenly stopped rocking and swiveled to meet her aunt’s tear-stained face with a look of gratitude mixed with more than a bit of shock. “What do you mean?” she looked up at her aunt as the older woman drew a tissue out of her robe and dabbed at the tears on her face.

Sister Mary Carla took in a huge breath, making her mind up then and there to rectify a situation for which she now took sole responsibility. “Listen to me, Patricia Eleanor Connor.” Patti snapped to attention at the nun’s unusual use of her full name. “I will handle Miss Coates. As for James,” the nun’s voice broke as she said the deacon’s name, “I should have seen this coming.” At Patti’s look of confused wonderment, she continued. “I saw how he looked at you that first day at church. And I saw how you looked at him.” Oh, be careful, Carla. You’re treading dangerous waters, she thought to herself as images of the Bettancourts flitted through her mind. “If it makes you feel any better, James is going to do penance of his own accord.” Watching her niece’s face carefully, she added, “yes, by the time the bishop had returned Miss Coates’ call, James had gone to him himself.”

“And how do you know all of this?” Patti’s question came guardedly, slowly.

“Oh, Honey, James is a very special man,” the nun sighed, their lunch conversation not two hours earlier still searingly fresh in her mind. “He’s the closest thing to a son I’m ever going to have. And you’re the closest thing to a daughter I’ll ever have.” At the nun’s confession, fresh tears sprang to Patti’s eyes. She swiped them away hurriedly as the older woman continued. “James told me what happened.” As she continued to watch Patti’s face twist in raw agony at her revelation, it was the nun’s turn to tear up once again. “He loves you, but he says he loves God more.”

“He says?” Patti choked out the words as her aunt nodded in assent.

“Yes. He says.” She emphasized this last word as her eyes sought Patti’s, nodding at the unspoken import of those two simple words.

Her mind spinning from all the news of the morning, Patti remained silent, taking in the enormity of her aunt’s words. As Sister Mary Carla rose to make her exit, Patti asked, “But Miss Fang, how will—”

“Don’t you worry about Miss Joan Coates.” There was a certain air of confidence in the older woman’s voice as she nodded her head in an affirmation that brought instant comfort to Patti’s troubled soul. “I’ll handle her.” Letting finality of this last comment hang in the air, the nun straightened to her entire five-foot, three-inch height and turned around to glide majestically out of the room and straight to the director’s small office, where she found a rather agitated woman with a disheveled beehive hairdo sitting with her head in her hands, moaning softly.

Joan had just been on a call with the bishop, and it had not gone well. Hinting at her needing a well-deserved rest, he had insisted that she take some time off effective the next day. No amount of insistence to the contrary would change his mind. He was adamant that Joan go somewhere to “rest” and “take a welldeserved break.” Alarm bells ringing in her ears, she’d thanked him curtly and had just hung up the phone minutes before Sister Mary Carla entered her office.

“Joan.” Sister Mary Carla’s voice came strong and commanding.

At the sound of her name coming from her erstwhile mentor’s mouth, Joan jumped in her seat and swiveled her head to meet her nemesis head on. “What the hell are you doing here?” She managed to spit out, despite the ice pick that was stabbing away behind her left eye.

“I’ve come to give you a chance to bow out gracefully,” Sister Mary Carla continued, standing calmly in front of her former charge, hands folded within her robes, a placid yet formidable sight to behold.

“What are you talking about?” Joan met the nun’s eyes with a pained expression that betrayed the agony she was in yet gave no indication of knowledge of what was about to transpire.

“You need to pack up your things and go. Now.” Sister Mary Carla’s voice came low and insistent, and it was evident by the set of her face that she would not be trifled with on this point.

Joan continued to stare painfully up at the woman standing in front of her, reading what the nun’s eyes were plainly saying. The bishop’s poorly hidden intent at last coming into plain view, Joan exhaled as she shook her head in shock and disbelief, self-righteous anger growing by the second. Gearing up to tear into the woman standing over her, she began her venomous diatribe. “Who the hell—”

Her words were cut off as Sister Mary Carla took a step forward and leaned toward Joan, who was still sitting in her chair. Inches from her face, now twisted with affronted bravado, the nun spoke, her eyes remaining locked with Joan’s the entire time. “I know about Cindy. I know about James. And I know about my niece.” She remained crouched low, her eyes firmly locked with Joan’s, until the director’s eyes rolled upward as she closed them against the pain in her head. At last, she succumbed to the migraine’s devastating effect as she slipped into blissful darkness.

It took her only minutes to recover, but she knew without saying another word that she had no case to make for herself. She looked up into the determined grey eyes of her former mentor as the nun held her in her arms. She’d caught Joan moments ago as she ed out from her migraine’s unbearable pain and had managed to prevent her head from slamming into the corner of her desk. Joan’s lip curled up into a defiant sneer as she pushed her way out of the older woman’s

embrace, breathing in deeply as she staggered out of her office and through the glass doors of Fairhaven Home for the last time.

Sister Mary Carla watched her former charge go, straightening once again to her full height, and walked out the same doors in the opposite direction. She had an appointment with the bishop, and she was pretty sure what the conversation would be. Saying a silent prayer for all involved, she made her way to her intended destination, the epitome of calm serenity and brewing storm all rolled together into a great force to be reckoned with.

That had all happened on Tuesday. Today was the day that Patti had been truly looking forward to. She, Cindy, and Sister Mary Carla were going to take a day trip to Apple Hill and hopefully get some of the famous caramel apples that its largest apple farm—High Hill Ranch—was so well known for. Located in the heart of Placer County, this tiny amalgamation of apple stands would someday blossom into quite a touristy operation. High Hill’s apple cider making demonstrations, caramel apple stand, even the little fishpond regularly stocked with rainbow trout would become a traditional Fall destination for many people from across the country and even around the globe. That, and less than an hour away was Georgetown, where Sister Mary Carla’s convent would re-locate not two decades later.

As she stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air, Patti noticed with a mixture of sadness and anticipation that the first frost had settled upon the courtyard roses. Fall had certainly come, and this was her favorite time of year. She adored the colors that the leaves were turning on the trees that she ed under on her daily walks, which she often shared with Cindy. James’ absence over the past few days had been taking its toll on Patti, but she was grateful now that she understood even more implicitly the reasons for the deacon’s behavior. And with Miss Coates gone, Fairhaven was almost paradise to live in. Almost, but not quite.

Patti’s musings were interrupted as the figure of Sister Mary Carla glided up the walkway towards her. The distant look of distracted contemplation melted from the nun’s countenance as she caught sight of her beloved charge, and the gentle smile of recognition ignited and transformed her grim countenance. “Are you ready?” she queried as she came to stand at the point where Patti had been standing, lost in her own contemplation.

“I am, but Cindy is finishing up breakfast, and should be out any minute,” Patti responded, recalling the plans she and her friend had made the morning before to meet at this spot for their outing. Just as she was saying these words, Cindy emerged from the swinging glass door, grey storm clouds clouding her normally quiet countenance.

Noticing the look on her friend’s face, Patti’s eyes sought Cindy’s as her mouth quirked up in unspoken question, which the latter chose not to respond to. Instead, Cindy smiled a bit too brightly and rubbed her eyes, on the pretense of “those damned allergies,” glancing sheepishly over at Sister Mary Carla for her inappropriate language. The nun merely smiled at Cindy and nodded her head sympathetically. The young woman’s attempt at dissemblance, however, was not lost on her companions, and as Sister Mary Carla smiled, she put her hand on Cindy’s shoulder in a small attempt at comfort. The instant the nun’s hand made with its intended target, Cindy jumped involuntarily and sucked in her breath, tears brimming her eyes despite her best efforts at holding them in. Putting her hand to the small of her back, Cindy smiled wanly in an attempt to cover up her knee-jerk reaction to the nun’s innocent gesture of comfort.

Patti could not hold back any longer. “Let’s go,” she grimly commanded, and both of her companions glanced up at her determined stance, wordlessly following her to the nun’s waiting car.

Once safely ensconced within the confines of Sister Mary Carla’s vehicle, Patti spoke. “Cindy.” Her voice was quiet strength as she took a breath and continued,

all the while her friend’s eyes riveted to her lap, shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her face and splashed onto her hands, which were protectively clasped around her midsection.

Cindy would not meet Patti’s eyes, and Patti continued. “I think it’s time you finally told someone.” At her friend’s continued tearful silence, Patti moved forward, after taking a calming breath. “Cindy, she knows I know.” At her friend’s sudden look of confusion, Patti quickly clarified, “Miss Fang. She knows I know. About what she’s been doing to you.” It was that moment when Patti became resolute that she too had a secret of her own that she needed to release from its shadowy hiding place in her heart. “And I have a confession of my own to make.” Despite her aunt’s look of consternation, Patti continued. As she relayed the other day’s encounter with Joan, she left nothing out. Cindy’s body slumped a bit, and her tears subsided into measured breathing, interrupted only by the occasional shudder as her body sought to adjust to the traumatic state it had been put into yet again just a few moments before, albeit this time, quite inadvertently as the pain in her back had once again made itself known.

As her friend told her story in such an amazingly calm and matter-of-fact manner, Cindy knew at last that she had to speak up. And once Patti finished her own quiet confession, speak up she did. She spoke up about Joan. She spoke up about the abuse that was forced upon her body, even as early as that past Tuesday morning. She spoke up about her utter terror at being sent back home. She spoke up about the boy she loved who abandoned her when she needed him the most. She spoke up about the horrors she endured at the hands of her parents. Oh yes, once she opened her mouth, Cindy spoke up.

After she finished her story, Cindy looked completely hollowed out. However, her eyes were dry, and a sort of beatific calm had descended upon her, enveloping her in a protective shield of … truth? Yes. It was truth. The truth that had been held back for so long that now unleashed would not be denied. And it was a profound moment not only for Cindy, but for all of the women in the car that morning, Sister Mary Carla included, as images of her beloved Brigitte

flitted across her mind. Brigitte. I miss you so, she lamented, inwardly mourning her lost love afresh amongst the confessions being had in the car that October morning. As she renewed her focus on driving, she redoubled her determination to ensure the safety of her now two most precious charges. Oh, Joan, she lamented. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry for you, was what now looped through her mind as she made her way onto the 50 and up towards Placer County.

“I don’t think you’ll have any more problems with Miss Coates,” is what quietly came out of the nun’s mouth. “She turned in her official resignation yesterday.”

At the sound of her words coming so matter-of-factly, both girls looked up, necks snapping in unison as they sought each other’s eyes, then Sister Mary Carla’s glance in the rearview mirror. The nun’s brief nod and half-smile of affirmation was all it took for the two mothers-to-be to smile wide-eyed at each other. No further questions needed to be asked. Miss Joan Coates would never again torture another Fairhaven resident, for she was gone. GONE!

Placer County was aptly named. Established around the time of California’s 1849 gold rush, the Spanish word “Placer” loosely translated to golden rocks, or so the story went. And golden was the perfect word to describe the place, especially during this time. Fall in the mountains brought with it incredible colors of gold, red, and fire-orange as the leaves from the ancient maple trees began their colorful transformation in earnest. The winding road up to High Hill Ranch was inundated with bursts of these colors interspersed with the evergreen of pine trees that hugged the road leading up to this largest of all the farms in existence at that time.

After their conversation had come to its natural end, each woman in the car fell to their own devices. Cindy closed her eyes and dozed lightly, and Patti endeavored to do the same, although she did not sleep; she only saw images of beautiful brown eyes dance across her mind’s eye. Mary Carla’s mind, however, was far from calm. During the hour plus time it took to get to their destination,

she hardly noticed Nature’s showy display, for she was formulating a plan as to what she would—must—do next. So many moving parts, and so many lives at stake here, she mused as she slowly shook her head in weary realization at the task that lay in front of her. As she contemplated what she must do, Brigitte’s face replaced those of Hugh, Caroline, Claire, and Thomas, and Sister Mary Carla sighed heavily as the enormity and implications of what the next few months would certainly bring settled upon her already weary shoulders.

As High Hill Farms came into view, Sister Mary Carla slowed down so that she wouldn’t miss the turnoff, which was hidden behind a brilliant red maple tree, its fall colors on full display. As she turned into the entryway, she was relieved that there weren’t a lot of people yet, because parking could get a bit tricky and was at a at this small apple farm that had simply grown in popularity way too quickly to accommodate the increasingly large crowds that had inundated it as of late.

As she found a space and turned into it, the two younger women opened their eyes, Cindy yawning and Patti stretching her arms out with a great sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God! I don’t know about you guys, but my bladder is about to burst!” Patti’s voice was urgent as she realized that her statement was not that far from the actual truth.

At Cindy’s eager nod of agreement, Sister Mary Carla chuckled and opened her door. “Ok, ladies, I believe there is a restroom right …” she raised her head in search of the much-needed facility, “ah yes, here we are!” Her eyes caught sight of the “Restroom” sign a short distance up the path, aded to the little sandwich shop across from the caramel apple stand.

As the two younger women made a beeline to their much-needed pit stop, the nun began to follow them then stopped short. Emerging from the men’s room adjacent from the ladies’ was a familiar figure. Her heart stopped in her throat as she thought no, that’s not possible. But sure enough, there was the visage of a

brown-haired, brown-eyed Deacon James coming out of the door marked “Men’s” and walking the opposite direction of the preoccupied mothers-to-be. The girls were oblivious of her consternation in their mission to get to the restroom, and when the nun looked across again, James had disappeared. As quickly as she could gather her skirts, she moved to the space where he’d turned off, only to find nobody around. Looking all directions before turning back towards where Patti and Cindy were now emerging from across the way, she shook her head in mild exasperation. Well, looks like I need a vacation. It’s pretty bad when you start seeing people that aren’t there, ran through Mary Carla’s mind as she shook off her uneasiness and greeted her charges.

At the look of confused consternation on her face, Patti and Cindy stopped midstride. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Patti smiled at her aunt and put her hand on the nun’s shoulder.

“What? Oh, no. I think it just might be my turn to utilize the facilities.” And with that, Sister Mary Carla stepped into the restroom, leaving the two others just outside to wait. As they stood silently, Patti suddenly felt like the center of her upper spine was on fire, as if someone were staring intensely at her. She turned around slowly, only to see nobody in her direct line of sight. Shrugging off the feeling, she continued to wait in silence with Cindy for her aunt to emerge. Her stomach growled as the scent of caramel apples wafted up and into her nostrils. She knew where their next stop would be for sure.

True to his word, the Bishop, with Father Frank’s enthusiastic , made plans for James to go immediately to his much-needed retreat. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and he’d been at his lodgings for the past three days. He’d spent his time in quiet contemplation and prayer, hoping for a reprieve from the trouble that had taken up residence in his soul. The weather had been very cooperative, albeit decidedly cooler than down in the valley below. The sky had remained an almost impossible blue, which showed in stunning contrast to the rich fall colors on display from the many trees surrounding the retreat center.

Saturday morning, and James was able to eat a decent breakfast for the first time in over a week. As he’d been mostly indoors and in intense prayer and meditation, he was feeling a bit stir-crazy, so he figured that this would be the perfect day to go out and explore his surroundings. At the thought of Father Frank’s High Hill recommendation, James’ heart beat a bit faster, and a smile came to his face. He could go for a caramel apple right about now, and he’d noticed that in addition to his friend and mentor’s mention of apple cider, there were a few quaint home-made signs posted along the road advertising those tasty treats on a stick. In fact, he couldn’t when he’d last had one. Must have been when he was a kid. Yeah, what the hell, he thought to himself as he walked down the retreat steps and into the cool mountain air.

Turning on to the road to make the short trek up to the apple stands just up the way, James already felt a bit … lighter. Amazing what a little mountain air will do for a guy’s soul, he thought as he took in his surroundings. It was still too early for snow, but the trees sure seemed to know what time of year it was. Brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows greeted him in bursts of Autumnal glory as he ed under their glorious branches. Breathing in deeply, James started to whistle a nameless tune and a slight spring came to his step as his feet made their way to their destination.

As High Hill Ranch came into view, James smiled. Such a beautiful day. Glad I decided to do this. The short time spent outdoors was already starting to have a positive effect on his mood. It was true that his questions had not yet been answered, but his conviction that staying his course was the right thing to do had yet to waver. James pushed all burdensome thoughts to the back of his mind as he turned into the gravel walkway and walked up to his destination. Realizing that his morning coffee had made its own journey to his bladder, he looked for a restroom. Finding it, he went in to relieve himself. Coming out, he looked up and stopped short as he patted his back pocket. Oh damn. My wallet. Must’ve fallen out in the restroom, he thought as he turned back into the stall to find it. Wallet retrieved and rounding the corner of the front of the restroom, he raised his head and looked directly in front of him, now on a mission to find that apple stand. He

could smell the caramel wafting from somewhere to his right, so he turned to make his way in that general direction.

Then he saw her. He knew it was her from her signature auburn ponytail and the way her profile presented itself, even at a bit of a distance. No. She can’t be here, that’s not possible! Stopping in his tracks and hiding behind the half-wall of the restroom building, he peeked around the corner. It was her, sure enough. But by now, she’d moved to where her back was to him. Seeing her frame stiffen as she stood to attention, he ducked behind the wall as she slowly turned around to peer in his direction.

He stayed hidden there in a crouching position for some minutes until he heard the unmistakable voice of Sister Mary Carla, as she emerged from the Ladies restroom, saying, “There, that’s much better.”

“Good, Auntie Carla. Because for a minute there, you did look like you’d seen a ghost,” came Patti’s equally unmistakable voice.

“Well, ladies, let’s go get some caramel apples, shall we?” And with that, the little band of three were off in the direction of High Hill’s famous caramel apple stand.

When he was sure they’d gone, James straightened himself up, and on shaky legs, moved from his hiding place. Well, Lord, that wasn’t the answer I was looking for, he mused as he made off in the opposite direction of the three women with whom he’d nearly collided. And with that, he once again put himself on the road in the general direction of the retreat center, this time going past it in the other direction in the hopes of regaining some of the peace he’d felt earlier that morning. Unfortunately, the only thing James found that day were more questions and a deepening hole in his heart that no amount of praying or

meditation would assuage.

Shaking off the insistent prickle in the center of her spine once again, Patti breathed the scent of caramel apples deep into her lungs. “Ohmygod! They smell sooo good!” She exhaled, a smile of pure bliss appearing on her face. “Hey, Cindy. I think we should eat our dessert before we have lu—”

Patti’s suggestion was interrupted in mid-sentence as she looked over at her friend. Cindy’s face had turned white, and her hand had gone to her side. She’d stopped mid-stride and had doubled over in a paroxysm of pain, squeezing her eyes shut as the sudden contraction wracked her body.

“Auntie Carla!” Patti’s voice came sharply, her worry apparent in the sudden way in which she turned to hold her friend up.

Sister Mary Carla turned around in time to see Cindy doubled over in obvious pain, fear plainly playing out on the girl’s parchment-white face. “Ok. We need to sit down. NOW!” the nun barked, searching for a nearby spot to do just that.

Recovering from the initial shock of the contraction, that was a big one, she thought worriedly to herself, Cindy attempted to straighten to her full height. She succeeded in only lifting her head as she said, “I think I’ll be ok—”

Her words were cut off by a sudden splash and all three women looked at the ground beneath Cindy’s feet as it turned dark with the amniotic fluid that had come rushing down her legs. Looking at Patti with abject terror in her eyes, it was all Cindy could do not to out cold.

Sister Mary Carla had worked long enough with pregnant women to know that she needed to get Cindy to the hospital. Now. Terror was running with its cold little feet in her own belly as she quickly did the math. She has too much time left to go. Oh God help us all! was what flitted across her mind as she took Cindy’s arm and put it on her shoulder, Patti doing the same on her friend’s other side.

Never in her life had she driven so quickly or taken her life, not to mention her two engers’ lives, into her hands as she sped to Marshall Hospital. It was a relatively new facility, and Sister Mary Carla thanked God that it had been built so close, because she did not relish having to go all the way to Mercy in Sacramento with Cindy being in so grave a condition.

Cindy, meanwhile, held on to Patti’s hand for all she was worth, her terror melting into searing pain as the contractions came on faster and faster. Patti never let go of her friend’s hand, and marveled at how strong she was, considering how tiny Cindy appeared to be, even at her advanced stage of pregnancy. All the while, Patti was also holding a frantic conversation with God. Ok. I know I don’t talk to you much, but God, if you’re there, we really need your help. Please don’t let this baby die. Please be with us now.

Sister Mary Carla pulled up to the front entrance just as an orderly was exiting the door. As she motioned for him to come to her, he needed no explanation as he peered into the back seat, hearing a strangled cry of agony as another huge contraction ripped through Cindy’s body. He had a wheelchair down in a flash, and Cindy was taken immediately to labor and delivery, leaving Sister Mary Carla and Patti to wait for the outcome.

They didn’t have to wait for long. It was only a matter of two hours, and the doctor came into the waiting room. Motioning for Sister Mary Carla to come to

him, he nodded curtly to Patti. Despite her fervent prayers, she knew from the look in his eye what the outcome was without being told.

When her aunt came out into the waiting room to tell her, Patti shook her head. “I already know. The baby, it didn’t make it, did it?”

Shaking her head, Sister Mary Carla responded, “No. But Cindy will be ok.” Taking a breath to steady herself, for no matter how many times the babes died, it never got easier to deal with, she added, “It was a little girl.”

Patti’s eyes filled with tears. “Can I go see her? I mean, Cindy?”

“I don’t see why not,” the nun replied.

Going up to the second floor together, Sister Mary Carla stopped at the door. “You go in. I’ll you in a minute.” She didn’t say it, but she needed a moment to catch her breath and regain her composure after the nonstop and exhausting happenings of that afternoon. It didn’t help matters that she’d had to deal with the doctor and the delivery nurse once they’d discovered where Cindy had been staying. It took all of the nun’s strength not to reach out and strangle those two, especially after Cindy, with no medication for the pain, had delivered her lifeless baby, and the doctor had just raised his head and spoke in Cindy’s general direction without meeting her eyes. “Your baby is stillborn.” And with that, he’d cleared his throat, nodded to his nurse, and exited the room, leaving the nurse to sigh in mild irritation as she made to leave with the small bundle.

“Wait,” Sister Mary Carla stopped the nurse as she made her way to the door. “Aren’t you even going to clean her up?” The nun had hold of the nurse’s arm,

looking at her with incredulity.

Looking down at the nun’s hand clasped on her arm, the nurse made to shrug the hand away. Sighing again and meeting the nun’s outraged glare with a hooded one of her own, she said, “Can’t you see, Sister, I have my hands full. Just a minute.” And with that, she frowned her impatience with the whole situation and walked out of the room, holding the lifeless form of Cindy’s baby in one hand as she pushed the door open with the other. The nurse never returned, leaving Cindy to fend for herself and Sister Mary Carla in outrage as she sponged her charge off with a napkin she soaked in the drinking water on the table next to the bed, cleaning up what she could and praying to God He would heal what she couldn’t.

She nodded as she went through the door. Patti stopped at her friend’s bedside. Cindy had closed her eyes for a moment, and sensing that someone else was in the room, opened them to find Patti standing above her, smiling gently, and reaching out to grasp her hand.

Clamping on to the proffered hand in earnest, Cindy stared blankly up at her friend, wincing at the pain she felt as she tried to sit up. “I tried to hold her in, but I couldn’t,” she said, her voice shaky with exhaustion and emotion. “It all happened so fast!” Tears spilled out as her body shuddered with grief at the full realization of her loss. “Oh, Patti, what am I gonna do?” Cindy sobbed, her eyes upturned in a plea for guidance.

“Oh Honey,” Patti’s own eyes welled up as she grasped Cindy’s hand firmly. “It’s not your fault! It’s nobody’s fault!” Her voice came low and shaky, ladened with emotion that was competing with the strength she wished to convey to her friend who so desperately needed her . It was fortunate for Patti that she was unaware of the exchange her aunt had had with the doctor and nurse earlier, because in her raw emotional state, there was no telling how she’d have reacted at this moment had she known.

“I shouldn’t have come on this trip! I knew better but I went anyway! It’s all my fault!” Cindy sobbed ever harder, struggling to get herself under control before the nurse came in and made Patti leave her side.

“No, no, don’t think like that,” Patti gently remonstrated her friend. “Look at me. Let’s calm down before they make me leave,” she smiled gently. “You did everything right. You’d been off bedrest for a month. It’s not your fault.”

Cindy took in a deep and shuddering breath. Then another one. Tears subsiding, she nodded her head slightly, but Patti wasn’t at all sure her friend believed it truly wasn’t her fault. After about twenty minutes, Cindy had stopped crying and was beginning to doze off, but her hand was still firmly latched onto Patti’s. Patti marveled once again at the strength of this little woman’s grasp and squeezed it to get its owner’s attention. “Hey, let me get a chair. I’ll be right back.” Cindy let go of her hand, and Patti moved to bring the chair against the wall closer to the bedside.

By this time, Sister Mary Carla had come in behind her niece, putting her hand on Patti’s shoulder. “You ok?” She pantomimed as she searched Patti’s face.

“Yes,” Patti nodded back, putting her hand to her lower back, and grimacing slightly. It had started to hurt, and she knew it was because of all the walking and standing she’d done that day. At her aunt’s look of concern, Patti shook her head and smiled, whispering, “Too much walking. I’m fine.”

As she moved to get the chair, Cindy spoke up. “Patti,” she called sleepily. When her friend came back to her side, she said, “You know, I named her.” Looking up

at Patti’s face, she continued. “I named my daughter. I named her Patti, after you. Not Patricia. Just Patti.”

Suddenly grateful for the chair she’d just pulled up to the bedside, Patti fell into it as she felt fresh tears prick at the edges of her eyes. “Oh, Cindy! I don’t know what to say,” she breathed, her aunt moving in to put her hand back on her shoulder.

“Do you think there would be any other person I’d name her after?” Cindy replied, a soft smile appearing on her haggard countenance. “You saved me, Patti. You saved my life,” she gravely replied. Cindy spoke with a quiet conviction and her eyes glowed in an almost unearthly way that sent shivers down both Patti’s and Sister Mary Carla’s spine. “I wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t rescued me,” she said, looking at both of the women standing by her bedside.

Patti continued to hold Cindy’s hand, but this time it was she who hung on madly, the import of her friend’s words settling onto her shoulders, like a heavy mantle that she would wear for the rest of her days. For the second time in less than six months, Patti realized what it felt like to live for another person. And she clung to her friend in that realization, her mind and heart a whir as she processed the enormity of what she’d just heard.

Chapter 15: Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

The next few months went by relatively smoothly in comparison to the first few that Patti had spent at Fairhaven Home. She continued her afternoon shift in the cafeteria, and she grew to appreciate the quiet solitude that descended upon her as time went by. Although she thought often of Cindy and how her friend was faring, she never heard a word from her. However, Sister Mary Carla kept her abreast of her friend’s progress.

Cindy had been released from the hospital in Placerville two days after she’d delivered her stillborn daughter. Sister Mary Carla, always the mother hen, insisted on going to pick her up and bring her back to Fairhaven to pack up her things and move on to the next phase of her life. Cindy had voiced her concern about where she’d go next, as she didn’t have any money saved to move into her own place and moving back home was simply out of the question.

“Ah, not to worry, dear,” Sister Mary Carla had smiled. “I’ve read your files.” At the perplexed look on Cindy’s face, the nun continued. “Yes, it seems as if you’ve had a bit of office experience, and it just so happens that there is a doctor’s office here in town that is connected to our little “network,” and they’re looking for a front office receptionist.”

Cindy had scrunched her nose and frowned in concentration. “Oh, you must be mistaken, Sister,” she’d chuckled, shaking her head. “I worked as a cashier at a gas station back home before … well before all of this happened,” she explained,

waving her arm in a circle to emphasize her current state of affairs. “But—”

“So, you’ve had experience working with the public, among other things, yes?” Sister Mary Carla’s voice had risen slightly as she cocked her head to the side, a half-smile of knowing quirking up on the left side of her face.

“Yes, but—”

“Ok, good. Then it’s all settled. You will start next week,” the nun had stated emphatically, the subject evidently closed.

“Okaaaaayyyyy, but … where will I live?”

“Yes, that’s the other thing. We have a small fund available that will help you get on your feet and into an apartment of your own. It’ll pay your way until you get your first paycheck.” Sister Mary Carla had nodded again, and Cindy knew that she couldn’t argue.

“I don’t know what to say, except thank you,” Cindy’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude as she reached over and hugged her benefactor. She had heard so many stories about how when mothers such as herself had given birth they were told to go home and “move on with things.” The problem was, however, that so many of these women had no help to “move on,” and often found themselves in dire situations, often worse than the ones they were in before they’d become pregnant. Cindy shuddered at this thought and realized right then and there just how lucky she was to have been offered what she’d been offered. Truly, it was a miracle, and Cindy knew it.

“Oh, you’re very welcome, my dear,” said the nun, smiling and patting the young woman on the back. Drawing away and looking into her eyes, she continued. “You’ve been through more than a body has a right to be put through for a lifetime. Ten lifetimes,” she said, her voice even and low, serious yet somehow soothing. “It’s time you move forward and live for you,” she finished, squeezing Cindy’s shoulders for emphasis. And this time, instead of shrinking from the touch, Cindy responded in kind to the nun facing her, once again enveloping her in an embrace of sheer gratitude mixed with incredulity at her unheard of fortune.

Saying her goodbyes to Patti were no less difficult. Between emotional tears and heartfelt hugs, the young women promised to stay in touch. Promise as they would, however, they would never see each other again, both women eventually going about the business of rebuilding their respective lives.

Even though things had quieted down, it was all Patti could do to stave off the depression that hovered just over her head like a cloud ready to release its dark droplets at any moment. She missed James terribly, and try as she might to convince herself that all was for the best, there was still a small, quiet voice in the back of her brain that told her otherwise. The only thing that kept her from spiraling down into that black, anxious space that would just as soon swallow her whole was the little person she was carrying in her womb. The baby had become very active as of late, and Patti had to smile and roll her eyes when for the past week every night at 11:30 sharp her belly jumped rhythmically as her child suffered from a bout of hiccups. It was moments like these, and the many other moments throughout the day when she would feel her baby move, that she’d remind herself that she was no longer living for herself. She clung to her sanity for the sole purpose of being present for her baby, because, well, that’s what moms do, right? She reminded herself for the dozenth time the day she felt it happen.

It was mid-January, and she had just finished her lunch shift. Rounding the corner and walking toward the dorm area to change, she stopped short as her stomach lurched suddenly downward. Wide-eyed, she put her hand to her side, feeling like she’d felt that time she’d ridden on a roller-coaster as it made its plunge back to earth from its highest apex. One moment her stomach was intact, in the center of her body as it should be. Then, BAM! Down they went and her stomach seemed to stay back for a moment, taking a split second to catch up with her descending body.

Gasping her surprise, she waited for what might come next, only to be met with the sudden relief of being able to breathe again. She inhaled deeply, marveling at the sensation of being able to fill her lungs to full capacity for the first time in months. Exhaling, she continued on her way back to her room. Reaching her destination, she let herself into her little space and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Sure enough, her belly was positioned noticeably lower now, and she smiled. She ed in her mandatory health classes she’d taken at the Home that this was what it meant when the baby “dropped,” and her heart beat a bit faster, because now she knew the time was quite near. Frowning at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled as her stomach growled loudly and she was actually hungry for the first time in weeks. Oh my God, I’m literally gonna eat for TWO tonight,” she chuckled, turning away from her reflection and to the business of getting out of her work clothes.

James had come back from his retreat determined more than ever to become ordained. Despite his near run-in with Patti, the rest of his stay in the mountains had gone by without any more drama. But for the most part, despite his grit and determination to make things work the way he’d planned, life was sheer hell. No matter how hard he focused on what lay ahead of him, James had yet to have a peaceful night’s sleep. Hazy images would morph into the statue of Saint Teresa, but the statue now looked somehow … different. It still held every bit of ecstatic energy, but instead of the familiar visage that had been a source of comfort for him for most of his life, he could only Patti’s face, her hazel eyes looking sadly up at him, begging for … what do you want?! He would scream at the statue. No matter how many times he asked, it would remain mute, Patti’s eyes boring into his soul with an intense sadness, leaving him feeling nothing but

interminable unease during his waking hours.

Perhaps the most noted tragedy was that James’ connection to Saint Teresa had somehow been broken. She’d been his one constant through a lifetime of change, and now it was as if somehow, she’d let him down in his time of need. His desire for Patti had never quite been as thoroughly reconciled as he’d hoped it would be. The strange Teresa/Patti dreams didn’t help matters, either. Nonetheless, a new year had dawned, and he was determined to accomplish his goals, come hell or high water, saints, statues and haunting hazel eyes be damned.

After his month-long penance spent in solitude and prayer, he had resumed his work at Holy Spirit Parish, and although she was glad to see him, Sister Mary Carla was herself quite troubled. She noticed the exhaustion in the young deacon’s eyes, and she also caught the sadness in her niece’s face whenever she saw her at Fairhaven, despite the young woman’s greatest efforts to hide her emotions. She knew the two missed each other terribly, but she was stuck between a rock and a hard place with this one, at once loath to interfere and at the same time eager to sit them both down and have it out once and for all. Once and for all? Isn’t it done? she mused during Mass the last Sunday in January. He says it is, but I just can’t shake this feeling ... Shaking her head and smiling softly to herself, she banished the thought to the back of her mind and resumed her focus on the rest of the service.

In a last-ditch effort to be free from his nightmares, James had even gone so far as to make another confession to Father Frank. The older priest listened patiently to his young protégé with a growing sense of empathy and understanding. This was not his first time around the block. He ed well what he’d experienced when he was younger. He had managed to remain true to his own vows, but only by the grace of God. Despite his long and wonderful career as a parish priest, however, Frank did have one regret, and her name was Marianne.

Marianne. She was the only woman who would turn his head from his God-given

work, and despite the love they’d had for each other, and he rationalized because of that love, he’d performed her marriage to a young man in their parish, baptized their children, and had buried her not five years past. Indeed, his only regret had been not loving this one woman as he should have, and he now realized that such regrets were not worth the price he’d paid or the pain both would-be lovers would suffer throughout their lives in denying each other all for the sake of ... What? What could ever be more important than love? The small voice in the back of Frank’s mind shouted this out of its own accord, and he knew it was right. Yes, he loved God and doing His work, but what sin would it be to so completely love another human being and thus experience so completely the human condition? Would not the denial of such a beautiful love, a gift from the same God I serve now, he mused, be far a greater sin? Well, it’s too late for me to find out, he decided, but it’s not too late for James.

And with a determined nod of his head, Frank came back to the present moment and listened as James finished pouring out his heart. When he was done confessing his misery, James looked at his mentor, his eyes filled with agony and hopeful expectation. The older priest didn’t make matters any easier when, with a gentle smile he stared directly into James’ eyes and merely replied, “Follow your heart, son, follow your heart.”

Walking out of his mentor’s room and out onto the front sidewalk, James couldn’t fathom what the priest had just told him. What the hell does he mean, ‘follow my heart’? The question wound its way through James’ mind as his feet trod the cement in front of him. But once again, no matter how many times he asked, he was only met with silence. Breathing in deeply, he closed his eyes and renewed his promise to himself. He would continue on to his ordination and be that canon law expert he’d always wanted to become. In fact, he’d just been invited to do his advanced studies in that very subject in the fall, and he’d accepted that invitation, so there was no backing out now. This was how Deacon James Salvatore justified his decision to forge ahead.

At the same time, the Howards had become very busy indeed. Claire had taken

over Joan Coates’ position until another full-time director could be found, so she saw Patti daily, and was pleased when the day after Patti had experienced her “roller coaster” moment she saw the young woman was carrying the babe … differently. Sensing that the time was imminent, she made sure to encourage George and Caroline to dot the i’s and cross the t’s in the adoption process and listened to the nightmare stories they sometimes told about being caught up in the County Adoption Agency’s bureaucratic system. But the time was near, and Claire could hardly contain herself as the excitement of having a grandchild took hold.

Then, it happened. Patti woke up at 2:34 am from a rather disturbing dream involving once again brown eyes and dark tentacles that were squeezing the breath right out of her lungs. Eyes popping wide open, she grimaced as the contraction continued its warning ripple across her belly. Groping for the buzzer that was attached to an electric cord beside her bed, she pushed the button to summon some help. The time had come, and Patti’s daughter was getting ready for her worldly debut.

Chapter 16: Absolution

The labor was long and difficult. Patti had gone into the hospital early the morning of February third and had finally delivered a healthy baby girl on the fifth. Sister Mary Carla had been summoned the moment Patti had been itted to the hospital, and aside from grabbing a few hours’ sleep, hadn’t left her niece’s side up until the time the baby had been delivered. The entire time she was in labor, Sister Mary Carla’s mind was in turmoil. Images of the Howards floated in and out of her mind, taking turns with those of James and the lost look that seemed as of late to be perpetually present on his face.

When the baby finally came, relief flooded her being, and now it was time to come welcome her grandniece properly. But she also knew she had to do something before she checked in on Patti. Against her better judgement, she knew who she had to tell. So, tell him she did. And came to Patti he did. Despite what his brain had told him, despite his renewed vow to move toward his ordination just a few months away, James Salvatore took the advice of his dear mentor and followed his heart without a second thought, straight to the bed of his recovering paramour.

Patti opened her eyes to a dimly lit room. She had been floating on a gentle sea of warm darkness, the pain and trauma of childbirth temporarily forgotten as the mild sedative took its blissful effect. Sister Mary Carla had made sure that Patti received the best care possible, having been at this hospital many times before, for she knew just who to talk to in order to get the job done properly. The last thing Patti had ed was hearing her daughter cry as she was pulled out of the warmth of the only home she’d known until now and into the harsh lights of a cold room, so cold that she’d drawn her first breath and screamed her indignation loudly and plainly for all in the room to hear. Opening her eyes and

smiling through her exhaustion, Patti had reached out to hold her child as the doctor said, “It’s baby girl.”

“Let me hold her,” Patti breathed. As the nurses gave the baby a quick clean-up and swaddled her right away into a little blanket, Patti got her wish. The first thing she did was count. Ten fingers, ten toes, and is that … oh my goodness, she has RED HAIR!” Patti smiled as tears came to her eyes. Thinking hazily back to her father’s side of the family, she ed the stories of her grandfather Rory, who came to Missouri from Nova Scotia after a short stay at Harvard University, where he had taught math after earning his PhD in the subject a few years back from Cambridge. The big joke was that evidently the brainy gene had skipped a couple of generations, but now as she held her daughter in her arms for the first time, Patti just knew she’d take after her great-grandfather.

Giving the baby back to the nurse for further cleanup and the usual check-ups and tests, Patti had fallen asleep and now had become fully awake, a sudden jolt of fear running through her body. They couldn’t have taken her so early, could they? The thought that came to her, a growing sense of panic overtaking her clearing mind. Buzzing the nurse, she asked, “Can I see my daughter, or is she already--” Sudden tears choked off the rest of her question, but the voice on the other end was kind and maternal. Its owner had been at this hospital for a long time, and despite the common practice of encouraging distance immediately between bio mothers and the children they were giving up for adoption, the nurse also believed in comion and basic human decency. “Of course you can, Honey. We were just letting your get some rest.”

As the nurse brought the baby in to Patti, she reached out her arms eagerly to hold her daughter. It was now that she marveled at how perfect, how beautiful, this child was. The red fuzz on the top of the perfect little head made her chuckle slightly, and she shook her own head in wonder as the child groped for her finger. Finding it, she grasped it firmly, and it was then that Patti ed that she would be placing this beautiful baby, her baby, into adoption in just a few short days.

She knew that she was one of the lucky ones. She had been allowed a week to change her mind about giving her baby up for good before she signed the papers. Most young mothers in her position were forced to sign their rights away as soon as they set foot into the birthing homes. Most mothers in her position were not allowed to hold their babies or even say goodbye, and their babies were often whisked away from them immediately after birth. It was an unspeakably brutal process that left lifelong scars on the mother’s soul, and she was expected to bear those scars with grace and gratitude, and God forbid she ever speak of the incident again.

Even so, the prospects of being separated from her daughter were almost more than Patti could bear. Every maternal instinct was telling her to put this baby to her breast, but she knew she mustn’t. She knew that she couldn’t give this baby the life she deserved, that society would not let her raise her daughter in peace, and as heart-rending as the thought was, she knew she had to go through with her decision. If this is what true love is, God, I wonder why anyone would ever want it, she thought, even though in her heart she knew her thoughts were born of pain and fatigue. Yes, this is what true love looks like, she mused, bringing her daughter’s fist, which was still grasping her finger tightly, to her lips as her tears silently fell.

Moments that each seemed like an eternity ed. Finally, she took in a long and shuddering breath as she swiped at her tears with her free hand, closing her eyes for a moment as she gathered herself. When she opened them, there in the doorway was her aunt. Smiling at the sight of Sister Mary Carla, Patti’s heart immediately went to her feet when she saw who was standing just behind the nun. Her smile vanished as her mouth dropped open, and she could only stare wordlessly as her aunt moved out of the way to it her companion.

James smiled tentatively as he came to Patti’s bedside. Taking in the sight of mother and child in front of him, he managed a strangled and heartfelt “hi.”

“Hi,” Patti managed to respond. Recovering slightly from the initial shock of seeing the one person she never expected to see again, she craned her neck to the doorway. Catching no sight of her aunt, her focus came back to the man standing in front of her. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” was what came next out of her mouth.

“I know, and I am so sorry to disturb you. I’ll go if you want—”

“No.” Patti responded quickly, her hand shooting out to grab James’ arm as he turned to leave, momentarily disturbing the little bundle tucked in the crook of her arm. As her daughter let out an indignant squeak, she hastily added, “Ooh, sorry, little one,” and repositioning herself to the satisfaction of her daughter, beckoned James over. “I’m glad you’re here.”

James responded, “I’m glad I’m here, too.” His feelings were ill-hidden as he sighed his relief at Patti’s kind reception of his presence. “My God, she’s beautiful. Just like her mother,” he breathed as he bent down to take a closer look at Patti’s daughter.

Blushing slightly at the heartfelt compliment, Patti responded. “Thank you, Padre. But did you see that red hair? I have to smile, because we haven’t had a redhead in the family since my grandfather Rory.” She smiled as James exhaled another long breath of relief. His heart seemed to lighten by the second as Patti recounted the story of her red-headed grandfather, noting once again how her nose wrinkled up as she became animated, smiling and shaking his head as he felt again the hold this woman still seemed to have upon him. “Do you want to hold her?” When he heard her question, he nodded wordlessly, and took the baby up in his arms.

“You’re a natural, you know,” Patti smiled. “You sure you’re making the right career choice?” She chuckled softly at her attempt at humor as the image of James holding her baby squeezed her heart.

Instead of smiling back or making some sort of witty comeback, James merely responded with “I thought so before I came into this room, but now I really wonder.” He’d held a lot of babies in his lifetime, but somehow this time it was different. He marveled at how naturally the child nestled into the crook of his arm, and at how natural it felt to hold her. If he didn’t know better, he could swear she was his very own at that moment.

Patti’s face fell, and tears once again pricked the corners of her eyes. “Oh. Well, that’s not the answer I was expecting,” she responded, smiling in a last-ditch attempt to lighten the mood and keep the flood of emotions threatening to spill out of her heart in check.

James glanced at Patti, who by now had propped herself into a sitting position. Without thinking of what he would say next, he said what came from his heart to say. “Frankly, I wasn’t expecting to say it,” he said, shaking his head and smiling a half-smile of helpless perplexity as he moved to give Patti back her daughter. “I just knew I needed to come and see you when Sister Mary Carla told me you’d had your baby.”

“Oh, so that’s how you knew,” Patti looked sideways and up at James in the way that made his heart break just a little more. “I need to have a little talk with my, er, Aunt, about who she shares these things with.” Reading the look on James’ face, she added hastily, “No, Padre, I’m glad you’re here. Really. Things ended so … suddenly … and we never got a chance to talk—” As if on cue, Sister Mary Carla entered the room, cutting off any further opportunity for closure. “Heya kiddo, you guys ok in here?” she smiled tentatively.

“Yeah, Auntie, we’re just … fine,” Patti smiled up at the nun, catching James’ eye in the process. Although she couldn’t swear to it, she thought she saw a tear in the corner of one of them. “Um, before you go, Padre, I want you to hear what I have to say.”

James and Sister Mary Carla lifted their heads at Patti’s request. “I know that I can’t keep her, and I know whoever adopts her might change her name, but I have decided to name my daughter, and I want both of you to be here to hear what I’ve decided. As the nun and the deacon exchanged tentative glances, both nodded and waited expectantly. “I want to name my daughter Carla Lea, after my aunt and my mother. I can’t think of anyone else I would want to name her after.”

As she finished her announcement, it was Sister Mary Carla’s time to tear up. “Oh, Honey, I don’t know what to say,” she managed to choke out as James came to put an arm of comfort around his surrogate mother.

“It’s ok,” Patti replied, lifting her head to meet the eyes of two of the most precious people in her life. “Sometimes words just don’t do the situation justice.” And with that, the four huddled together wordlessly, time seeming to stop for just a little while as the moment extended on through what felt like an eternity.

Chapter 17: Expecting (Once Again) the Unexpected

On the third day of her hospital stay, Patti was discharged. Although she knew she was doing the right thing, she felt numb with the shock of leaving without Carla. Her brain rationalized that she was being a better mom giving her daughter the best chance at a good life, but her heart cried out at the injustice of the whole situation. No amount of preparation had been enough to steel Patti for the next step, and she felt completely hollowed out and empty inside.

Instead of going back to the Home to gather her things and say her goodbyes, she’d begged her mother to come pick her up directly from the hospital and just take her home. Home, Patti mused as Eleanor’s car came up to the entryway and stopped in front of the wheelchair she’d been placed in as a matter of hospital protocol. Home. She knew she should feel a comfort at going back to resume her life, but she didn’t feel anything close to comfort at that moment. In fact, she didn’t feel anything as she stood up to move into the front enger side of the car, greeting her mother with a forced half-smile that didn’t hide the blankness living in her eyes.

Eleanor reached over and put her hand on her daughter’s arm, her own smile a poor cover-up for all that her eyes plainly told. Her heart was breaking for her daughter, a silent and pale shell of the woman she’d come to know these past few months. And there was one other huge reason why her heart was broken, she’d never had the opportunity to meet her granddaughter. When Patti had called her mother the night after her daughter had been born, she’d told her about her choice to name her, and Eleanor had melted into a puddle of sheer emotion as Patti told her how much she wished she could meet Carla, and how sad she was that the meeting could never take place. Windell had suffered another heart-attack, her daughter had just given birth to her first grandchild, and

now she was at risk of losing the man she loved as well as mourning for the granddaughter she’d never know.

The drive home was an uneventful blur broken only by two pitstops for gas and restroom breaks, food bought by Eleanor and politely refused by a rather listless Patti. When they drove up to the only home Patti had ever really known, the curtains moved across the street to reveal a beehive-wearing female form peering through the window.

As Patti walked up the steps she knew so well, she expected to feel something as she walked into the house. But try as she might, she felt nothing but an overwhelming numbness as she mechanically went to her father, who was sitting at the kitchen table, and kissed him in dutiful greeting. Slowly standing up to meet his daughter, Windell wordlessly scooped her up in his arms, managing through the tears of many emotions to choke out a simple, “Welcome home, Honey. I missed you.”

During the month or so it took to finalize the adoption, Carla was placed into foster care, as that was the protocol of the time. Her foster parents were a very loving couple who kept a very detailed diary on her, noting her sleeping habits, eating habits, and overall impressions of her personality. One thing in particular they noted was how the child woke up oftentimes smacking her lips, confessing that they’d had to add rice cereal to her formula after two weeks to keep her sated. Hugh and Caroline Howard would later read these notes and laugh, exchanging knowing glances with one another as they witnessed their daughter’s ravenous appetite and vibrant personality. Although Carla was born a redhead, in time her hair would come in the same auburn color as her mother’s, and her eyes would be mirror reflections of Patti’s. In fact, she would be a dead ringer for her mother as she got older, right down to the rebellious streak and Cheshire Cat grin.

After he’d visited Patti in the hospital for the last time, James had gone about his

business, prepping for final exams and the next leg of his own life journey. But things just weren’t … clicking for the deacon as well as they used to. Yes, he’d resumed his duties at Holy Spirit, but his homilies seemed so … unsubstantial, so … empty as of late and for the life of him he couldn’t move out of the mire his soul seemed to be stuck in.

It was the first Sunday of March. The Howards were to finalize their adoption of Carla the following Wednesday, and James frankly didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation. Bound to secrecy, he couldn’t tell them who the mother was. Bound to Patti, yes, God help me, I love her, he couldn’t fathom seeing the happy family come to church every week with Carla in tow. Then, the unthinkable happened.

He’d just gotten up to say the homily as was his usual habit. The theme of the day was God’s unconditional love, and he frankly had nothing prepared because try as he might, his mind simply could not come up with any kind words of encouragement for his flock. He’d tried all week to write the damned thing, all to no avail. As he rose to give the homily, he faced his flock. Looking around at all the faces that had become so familiar to him, he smiled and nodded, his mind still blank. Catching Sister Mary Carla’s eye and her nod of encouragement, he just…froze. As his flock waited in patient expectation, it all suddenly became crystal clear.

“Excuse me, folks, but Father Frank will need to take over from here.” And with that, Deacon James Salvatore walked from the pulpit and down the aisle, grabbing out to squeeze Sister Mary Carla’s shoulder, the nun smiling up at him, nodding her encouragement once again, for she knew he’d made his decision, and she was pleased. As Father Frank rose from his chair at the altar, he calmly made his way to the podium amidst the whispers of his flock, a smile appearing on his face as he at once understood what had just transpired. Well, Marianne, perhaps it wasn’t all in vain after all, he thought to himself as he opened his mouth to deliver James’ would-be homily.

The very next day, Patti woke to the smell of coffee and pancakes. Stretching in her back-arching manner, she sighed as she swung her legs over her bed and planted her feet firmly on the floorboards beneath her. She’d been slowly coming back to herself, whoever that was now, and today was the last day of freedom she’d have until classes started. She’d decided to honor her father and sign up at the local community college and take a few business classes. The knitting she’d taken up when she was pregnant had become a full-time obsession for her, and she was seriously contemplating opening a yarn shop, but she knew she needed some business classes under her belt to make it work. So, back to school she’d go, and this time, she would finish what she’d started.

Windell and Eleanor had marveled at how quickly their daughter had bounced back after all she’d been through. It was true that she wasn’t quite her normal self, but they were sure that with time, she’d be better than ever. What they didn’t realize, however, is that Patti, like most of the women who experienced the trauma of placing their children up for adoption, would never be the same. The gaping wound that was left when Carla was taken from her would never close, and she would build her life around that hole as best she could. And going back to school, at least in Patti’s mind, was the first step to moving forward.

Dressed in an old pair of jeans that just started fitting once again last week, Patti had put on a new tee shirt Fred had dropped off the other day on one of her frequent visits, and she put her hair up in her signature messy ponytail as she made her way downstairs. She was actually hungry this morning and took this as a good sign towards recovery. Smiling to herself, she started down the stairs and she thought she heard a knock at the door. Hm. A little early for Fred to be here, but ok, was the first thing that came to her mind as her forehead wrinkled in curiosity.

As she rounded the corner and made her way towards the kitchen, her mother met her at the foot of the stairs, the most peculiar look on her face. “Fred’s here

early today,” Patti smiled as she continued her walk to her waiting breakfast.

“Um, well, Honey, it’s not Fred,” Eleanor’s face never lost its curious countenance.

Patti smiled as she turned to greet her unexpected guest. “Then, it must be Bruno.” Her smile froze on her face and her heart fell to her feet as she beheld the figure in the doorway. Instead of the handsome dark-skinned man she’d expected to see, she beheld instead a tall, brown haired man with the most beautiful brown eyes she’d ever known.

“Hello, Patti,” James smiled, “Can I come in?”

Nodding silently, Patti felt her world tip upwards for a moment, then succumbed to blissful darkness as she fainted, the love of her life there in an instant to catch her up in his arms.

A Note from the Author

Before I introduce myself, I would like to begin with full disclosure. This is a fictional of a very real event. Names of characters have been changed in some cases, left intact in others, and completely made up in still other instances. Events and places are a mixture of real and fantasy, and I have done my best to depict characters and what they experience in the most realistic light possible. However, this is ultimately a work of fiction, and I invite readers to experience this work keeping this important idea in mind.

I was born Carla Lea Reilly on February 5, 1969 in Sacramento, California at a little place called Fairhaven Home for Unwed Mothers. The building has long since been demolished, but the stories still remain. My story still remains, or at least my birth name does. Even though my name was changed at the time I was adopted, my original, heavily redacted birth certificate still remains in the electronic archives of Sacramento County’s birth records. This story I share is also one of Fairhaven’s stories, told in the spirit of fiction and loosely based upon the experience my birth mother might have had while in residence there. Actually, this story is a very loosely based inspired by real life, as I have had but a few bits and pieces of my story handed to me as they have come available over the span of five decades, and as of yet I have never been able to with my birth mother any of the narrative I have been given. In fact, much of what I had been told she’d relayed to the authorities at Fairhaven Home about herself, her profession at the time I was conceived, and my biological father turned out to be patently false. I discovered these falsehoods through the miracle of DNA testing and the subsequent opportunity I had to connect with first and second cousins on both sides of my biological family. I can laugh a little about it now, but it has taken me awhile to find my humor as I discover that the narrative that I was told all of my life turned out to be so very inaccurate. You can only imagine my shock when my cousin on my father’s side told me that nobody on their side was Mexican, when my birth mother had told Fairhaven authorities that my father was indeed Mexican, and a retired pilot from the Air Force, which was another lie; he was not even close to being that kind of a hero and had died

from liver failure due to alcoholism when I was eight years old.

Patti is a character based on what I would like to imagine my biological mother would have been like. She is beautiful and stronger than she ever imagined she could be. There are bits and pieces of my best friend, Dr. Wanda Patrick, in the character of Fred, who is Patti’s best friend and confidant. Sister Mary Carla is a collage of several strong maternal figures I’ve known throughout my life, and Claire is my tribute to my adoptive grandmother on my father’s side who died a year before I was born and actually became a Carmelite nun on her death bed. And it was she as well who helped to found the Order of the Holy Innocents, inspired by her own son who had Down Syndrome and who serves at my model for Thomas. I do not know if the order still exists, but I would like to think it does. And yes, she did have a beautiful Scottish burr, from what I have been told!

Windell and Eleanor Connor are based upon my biological maternal grandparents, and I have decided to call them by their actual first names because I feel it is important to acknowledge their story and their importance in this journey. They are real people, and their story matters, too.

Now, about Bruno and Manny. Bruno is someone I completely made up, but he serves as an indispensable cog in the wheel Patti’s growth process (and Frieda’s too). Manny was originally based on what I knew of my biological father: that he was Mexican, and he was the owner of a night club in which my biological mother had hinted at dancing in at one point, which of course was another complete piece of fiction. I am chuckling to myself as I write these words, because now I see where I get my love of writing fiction from. At least this part of the story is true. In all fairness, however, I will not judge my birth mother for telling her version of the story the way she did, because I honestly do not know her motivations for doing so, and so I will honor her narrative as I would hope she would honor mine.

Father Frank is a character who is based upon a very real man who played an integral role in my life as a teenager. He is based upon a priest of whom I will always think fondly, because he was the first adult who ever treated me like and equal, and he had a way of explaining all things Catholic in such a way that didn’t terrify or confuse me. He was an incredible mentor, and to him I will always be grateful.

This brings me to James. James Salvatore’s character is based upon a young deacon who came to our school (I went to Catholic school for sixth through eighth grades in the early 1980s) and was the embodiment of the phrase Absolute Best Love: He would play football with the guys and made every girl feel like she mattered; to us he was truly Christ incarnate. He did end up becoming a priest, but he committed the unforgivable sin of falling in love. The last I heard he had married a wonderful woman and they had some beautiful children. The Catholic church even blessed his marriage, although it took Her the better part of a decade to do so. His absence is still sorely felt in the diocese he served, and he will never be forgotten. I chose to leave James at the end of this book as a deacon, not yet having taken his final vows, because the illicit love story of priest and parishioner is, in my opinion, quite cliché, and I do not want this story to be yet another cliché.

One final word regarding Patti Connor’s story: The experience Patti has at Fairhaven is not a typical one. Not by a long shot. Most unwed mothers during the time this story takes place suffered unimaginable horrors at the very hands of those who should have been their protectors. Miss Joan Coates is a composite of those authoritative figures who so often mistreated these fragile young mothersto-be, further shattering these women into a million little splinters and leaving them to pick up the pieces of their own lives and “just move on.”

May this story be one that inspires healing through a tale of unconditional love and redemption. May we further subvert the mythical narrative that still surrounds adoption and move forward armed with the knowledge that we are not alone, and our stories, our real stories, matter.