Page 103 of Saint
And then I see the abbot walking alone on the path along the base of the hill, his hands tucked under his scapular and his face serene.
“Tyler,” I say, “thank you for talking to me, but I think I have to go.”
“Already?” Tyler asks. “But—”
“You were great. A-plus pastoring,” I tell him. “Love you and tell Poppy hi for me and also goodbye!” I say as I stand up, and then I hear a small,okay goodbye I guess—as I hang up the phone and rush out of the office.
When I get to the abbot, I’m out of breath and already sweating a little under the hot sun. The breeze ruffles the abbot’s eyebrows as he looks at me. “Well, Brother Patrick?” he asks pleasantly.
“I was wondering if we could talk,” I manage to say between breaths. “I mean, if you have time.”
“I always have time for my Brother Lumberjack,” he says in a fond tone. “And I’ve been expecting this conversation. Come, let’s find some shade, shall we?”
And together we walk toward the woods.
54
Two Months Later
I wakeup to see the walls of my teenage bedroom, which my mom had turned into a craft room after I left for college and which my dad has only recently gotten around to boxing up, even though she died six years ago. The walls are bare, and the bed is a twin that’s a little too short, but I’ve opted to sleep in here instead of the guest room because this has a window that faces the slight hill at the end of our street. I like to look at it when I’m in here praying or doing lectio.
Also it’s not like I really have anywhere else to go.
As a plumber, Dad keeps early hours too, and so by the time I’m done praying vigils, he’s already stirring. When he comes into the kitchen, I’ve made coffee for us both, and we sit at the table in silence, watching dawn break over the backyard, a backyard lush with autumn reds and yellows.
“You know,” he says after a minute, “you are welcome to stay here. Like really stay. Pick a better room and all that.”
“I know,” I tell him. I think he’s a little lonely here sometimes, although he’s been slowly dating his way through the front-desk ladies at his plumbing company.
“Sean being a good boss?” he asks. “I’ll kick his ass for you if he’s not.”
When I left Mount Sergius, Sean offered me a part-time job managing the micro-lending arm of his nonprofit. I took it because it’s flexible enough to allow me to pray all the hours, go to Mass at Father Jordan’s church every day, and also it gets me health insurance while I figure out what to do next.
While I find my new way to the well.
It also means I get my old phone number back from Ryan. Back in the day, Bossy Sean had set up a family plan for us Bells in the area, and when I left for Mount Sergius, Ryan had inherited mine. But Bossy Sean is currently irritated with the high levels of wastrel-ness from the Baby Bell, so he’s cutting some purse strings. When means I’ve inherited the number back.
I’ve bought a new phone for myself, but since the number is the same one Ryan’s had through college, I keep getting random text messages asking if I know where to find weed.
Also I get lots of memes which I’ve spent too many years chopping wood to understand.
After coffee and a small breakfast, I take the bus downtown to Sean’s nonprofit office, where I do some work until he gets there with his polo team of babies, and then I play with the babies on the floor while he works at his desk. Currently Josie is crawling over my legs while Amani is jumping onto my stomach over and over again as Caro and Martina laugh and laugh.
“Is today the day?” Sean asks, using the break to quickly tap out some emails with both hands for a change.
“Friday—OOF—” Caro has just jumped onto my stomach too, knees first.
“What’s so special about Friday again?” Sean asks, still typing and seemingly unaware his children are trying to pop my internal organs like squishy balloons.
“Friday isyourgala, you muppet. And it’s at the same venue where Elijah and I first—”
“LA LA LA,” Sean says, eyes on his computer screen. “Can’t hear my little brother talk about banging my best friend at a gala right now!”
“We didn’t bang,” I tell him, moving to my knees so I could knee-walk over to the desk and whisper, “I blew him in the opera hall. Thenafterthe gala, we banged.”
Sean’s head drops back as he squeezes his eyes together. “I didn’t need to know that, I didn’t need to know that, I didn’t need to know that.”
I wait for him to finish his little tantrum, and then I say, with forced casualness. “How is he doing, by the way?”
