“Look, I’m thinking I can volunteer for a while at Delancey Street again, or somewhere. There is so much opportunity, and this is all going to take time—.”
They were almost to Reuben’s car, when Reuben put his hands up and demanded to be heard.
“Now just wait a minute!” he said. “You’re telling me that after all these years, you’re just going to be shoveled out of the priesthood because you told me about that scum, that unspeakable scum, that scum that murdered that young priest, that scum that murdered the kid at the Hilton, that scum that targeted you for death …”
“Oh, come on, Reuben,” he said. “You know what I did. I’m not you. I don’t have some secret biological metamorphosis to blame for what I am! I suborned murder as the man that I am.”
Reuben went silent. Frustrated. Angry.
“And what if I do it again?” Jim whispered.
Reuben shook his head.
“What about the next time that some unspeakable scum stalks these streets killing kids and threatening me for interfering?”
“Well, what was all that in there about repentance, renewal, the miracle of time?”
“Reuben, repentance begins with acceptance of what one has done. And for a priest it begins with Confession. I have already done that part with my confessor, but now the archbishop must know what I have done.”
“Yes, but what if nobody … oh, hell, I don’t know what I’m saying, for God’s sake. Jim, did you talk to Mom this morning?”
“No, and I’m not looking forward to it now. She’s furious with me for disappearing. That’s why I’m counting on you to come with me and somehow steer the conversation to Celeste and the baby and anything else you can think of, please.”
Reuben was silent for a moment. Then he unlocked the Porsche and walked around to the driver’s side.
Jim piled in beside him. He went on again with that same easy energy talking about how he was resigned. “It’s like any failure, Reuben. It’s an opportunity—all failures are opportunities—and I have to see it that way.”
“Well, you are going to be facing a slightly more complex and interesting future than you realize,” said Reuben.
“And why is that?” he asked. “Hey, slow down, will you? You drive this thing like a race car driver.”
Reuben let up on the gas, but it was Sunday morning, and the usually crowded streets were relatively clear.
“Well, what do you mean?” asked Jim. “Mom and Dad aren’t getting a divorce, are they? Speak!”
Reuben was thinking, thinking just how to play it, just which way he should go. He could feel his iPhone throbbing in his coat pocket, but he ignored it. He was thinking about Christine, about those precious moments to come when she would lay eyes on Jim and Jim would lay eyes on her. She would be so vulnerable in those moments, but this man was not going to let her down. And Jamie, Jamie would walk up to his father just as he walked up to Reuben and extend his hand. Reuben sighed.
“Are we speaking to each other?” asked Jim. “What are you not telling me!”
The car was now speeding up Russian Hill.
“You didn’t kill Lorraine’s pregnancy,” Reuben said.
“What are you talking about?” And then, “How do you know!”
“She was at the Christmas gala,” said Reuben.
“Damn it, I thought I saw her!” Jim said. “I thought I did, and I looked everywhere for her and I couldn’t find her again. You mean you’ve spoken to her? How long have you known she was here?”
“She’s at Mom’s waiting for you now.”
Reuben resolved not to say another word.
“Are you telling me that she’s there and that I have a child?” Jim demanded. He flushed red. “Is that what you’re saying? Reuben, talk to me. You mean I didn’t kill the baby! Are you saying I have a child?”
He hit Reuben with another twenty questions, but Reuben said not a word. At last he slid into the narrow driveway of the Russian Hill house and cut the ignition.
He looked at Jim.
“I’m not going in with you,” he said. “This is your moment. And I don’t have to tell you that there are people depending on you in there, people eagerly waiting for you—and that they’ll be watching you, observing your most subtle facial expressions, your voice, whether you put your arms out—or not.”
Jim was speechless.
“I know you can handle it,” said Reuben. “And I know this too. This is the best gift Christmas could have given you. And all the rest can be worked out, somehow—all worked out … in ‘Ordinary Time.’ ”
Jim was in shock.
“Go on,” said Reuben. “Get out and go in.”
Jim didn’t move.
“And let me tell you one last thing,” said Reuben. “You’re no killer, Jim. You’re no murderer. Blankenship was a killer, and so were his lackeys. You know they were. I’m a killer, Jim. You know that. And you know those bloody bastards were after you. And who knows better than you the full extent of what they did and what they intended to do? And you made the best choice that you could. But go on now. You’ve given hostages to fortune, and they will definitely be part of however you work this out.”
Reuben reached over and unlatched the door for him.
“Get out and go in,” he said.
Grace appeared at the top of the front steps. She was in her green scrubs, and her red hair was loose over her shoulders, and her face was shining with irrepressible happiness. She waved enthusiastically as if she were welcoming a homecoming ship.
Jim finally climbed out of the car. He stared at Reuben and then at his mother.
Reuben sat there for a moment watching Jim slowly climb the steps towards Grace. How straight and poised he looked, his short brown hair as always perfectly combed, his black clerical attire so sober and formal.
Reuben wanted with all his heart to go up there with him, to be with Jim when he laid eyes on Lorraine and Jamie and Christine, but he couldn’t. This was truly Jim’s moment, as he had said. It would do no good for Reuben to be standing there, a dark inescapable reminder to Jim of all that they shared that no one else could ever share.
He fired up the Porsche and drove away, heading home to Nideck Point.
33
ELEVEN P.M. at Nideck Point. The house was quiet, the fires out. Laura had long ago gone into the forest with Berenice. Felix and Phil had come back from the forest early and Felix had gone up to bed.