Emily and the Priest (3 page)

“But it’s for charity!”
Jenny
squealed laughter at the way Father Mark’s cheeks reddened, even as he laughed along good naturedly. He said something to both Eve and
Jenny
and both girls looked at each other, a little shame-faced. Good for him, Emily thought, watching
Alexis
painting a crooked batman symbol on the little freckled boy’s face.

Emily couldn’t take her eyes off Father Mark,
couldn’t forget the feeling of his mouth on hers
just a few days before
. She flushed as he turned toward their booth, lifting his hand in a wave. Sure he was just going to keep
walkin
g, Emily ducked her head, pretending to bend down to tie her shoe. She wanted to see him, desperately, wanted him to come over and talk to her, even if they never
mentioned or acknowledged
the kiss.

But that wasn’t quite true. She did want to talk about the kiss. She wanted to do more than talk about it. Her whole body buzzed with the knowledge of his presence and she willed herself not to look up, to let him pass without a word, let him go.

Let him go.

“Hey Emily.” His voice
lifted her head and her heart.

“Hi.” She smiled up at him, standing there in his blue jeans. He was even wearing tennis shoes.
Let him go? How could she let him go?

“Hey Father Mark.”
Alexis
waved her paint brush at him
.

Father Mark smiled at them both.
“How’s it going, girls?
Enjoying the new roommate situation?
”

“She’s my new best friend!”
Alexis
winked at him, glancing over at Eve and
Jenny
and sticking her tongue out in their direction.

“It’s like a whole new world,” Emily told him, trying to keep her heart from beating out of her chest, standing so close to him.

“I’m glad.” His smile reached right down to her toes. She couldn’t help but remember how he’d kissed her, how he’d bridged the gap between them. Was he thinking about it too?

“Hi Father Mark.” A little voice interrupted and both of them startled. A little blonde girl, about the age of five, stood peeking out from behind him.

He glanced around, smiling down at her. “Hi there Samantha! Are you having fun?”

She nodded shyly, holding up a clear bag with a small wide-eyed goldfish swimming around in it. “My brother won this for me.”

“Awesome! And where’s he?” Father Mark asked, glancing around the crowd.

“Over there.” Samantha pointed to the booth next to
Jenny
and Eve’s, where kids were lined up to throw very dull darts at underinflated balloons.
They both saw the teenager standing at the front of the line, his head shaved, a tattoo scrolling around his neck, who
occasionally glanced
back to make sure Sam was where he had sent her.
“He’s going to win me that big stuffed
moose! He told me to come
get my face painted.”

“Well hop on up.” Emily patted the stool, reachi
ng for her white board. She’d spent most of the night pa
i
nting
all the possible designs for the kids to choose from.
“Which do you want?”

Samantha hesitated,
kicking her feet in
the grass, not getting up on the stool.

“Can’t decide?”
Father Mark prompted, smiling at Emily, the heat in his look warming her
belly
.

“I’m afraid
,” Samantha admitted, tracing her little finger over each design. “Does it hurt? My sister got a tattoo on her ankle and she said it hurt like a bitch.”

Emily’s eyes widened and she covered her laugh with her hand. She saw Father Mark’s lips twitch at the little girl’s phrasing, but he didn’t miss a beat.

“It doesn’t hurt, Sam, I promise.” Father Mark patted the stool. “Emily will be very gentle.”

“Does it wash off?” The little girl’s eyes widened as she looked between the two of them. “My sister’s tattoo doesn’t wash off, even in the shower!”

Emily smiled.
“It’s not permanent.”

“Not like a permanent marker? That doesn’t wash off very good. I colored with permanent marker on my sister’s iPhone and she was real mad at me.” Samantha cocked her head at them, clearly aware that they were bo
th trying not to laugh out loud and seemed confused by their mirth.
“Are you going to get one, Father Mark? Is that why you’re at the face painting booth?”

“Me?” Father Mark blinked, meeting Emily’
s smiling eyes. What other possible explanation was there? “Ummm…”

Samantha slipped her little hand into his.
“
If you get one, I won’t be so scared to get one…”

He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but he clearly relented the moment his eyes met Samantha’s. “Sure I am. Which one are you getting, Sam?”

She turned back to the chart, contemplating. “The hearts.
”

“I can do hearts!”
Alexis
called over as the little boy with the
deformed
Batman symbol on his cheek hopped off her stool. “Come on over, Samantha. I’ll do you and Emily can do Father Mark.”

Her phrasing made Emily blush and she glanced up at Father Mark to see hi
s cheeks were
red
too, but
Alexis
didn’t notice. She was too busy washing her brush.

“So…” Emily picked up her own brush, watching
him
slide
up onto her stool
, making him almost too tall for her to comfortably reach his cheek.
“Do you want hearts, Father Mark?”

“How about… the cross?”
He cleared his throat, looking at her design board.
“That seems more appropriate.”

“Sure you don’t want the B
atman symbol?”
She smirked, picking up her gold paint. Father Mark’s cheek was warm to the touch and tinged slightly pink as she began to slowly stroke her brush against it. She thought she felt him shiver when she leaned in, her mouth close to his ear
, her voice low.
“I think you may secretly be Batman.”

“I wish.”
He laughed, soft and low, teasing her. “You could be Wonder Woman and we could fight crime together.”

“I’d like that.” Emily continued to paint his cheek, as slowly as she could, making it last. She loved
being so close to him, feeling
the press of his leg against her hip
. The tip of her brush kept trembling, forcing her to go even more slowly. 

“What would your superpower be?”
he asked.

“I already have it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows went up.
“What?”

“Invisibility.”

“You’re not invisible, Emily.”
He turned to face her, meeting her eyes.
“I see you.”

“There. Done.”
Emily tried to hide her blush as she lifted the hand mirror so he could see what she’d painted.

He smiled.
“You’re quite artistic.”

“Thanks.”

“Father Mark! Look at my hearts!” Samantha jumped down from her stool,
skipp
ing over to them and turning her cheek proudly so he could see.
She was still fisting the bag with her goldfish in it.

“Beautiful, Sam!” He smiled, turning his cheek too. “Do you like mine?”

“Well, I like it okay.”
Samantha cocked her head, frowning.
“
But maybe next time you should get Batman.”

Emily met his eyes and they both broke out laughing.

“Brandon! You won!” Samantha exclaimed, her attention distracted by her tattooed brother carrying a huge stuffed
moose in their direction. She ran at him, squealing, throwing herself into his arms and he caught her without missing a bea
t, swinging her up onto his hip, the goldfish in her hand sloshing in its bag.

“Look at you, wearing your heart right there on your cheek.” He kissed her other cheek and she giggled, putting her arms around his neck.

“Bye Sam!” Emily called and the little girl turned to look over her brother’s shoulder and wave as they made their way through the crowd. She looked over at Father Mark, smiling. “What a sweetie.”

“Her mother committed suicide two years ago.” Father Mark waved back at the little girl. “Her br
other has custody. He works three jobs.”

Emily blinked at him.
“How awful.”

“Priests and doctors.
” He shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets, still looking after them.
“I guess w
e
kind of
know everything
about everyone in a little town like this
.”

“Have you ever regretted becoming a priest?” She asked the question without thinking, and wished she could take it back almost immediately, but when she looked up and met his eyes, she saw something there that made her knees weak.

“Not until recently.” His voice trembled. Then he cleared his throat, looking over at
Alexis
, who was washing red paint out her brush, and said more loudly,
“Hey, I want to show you something. Do you get a break?”

“Ummmm.” Emi
ly looked over at her roommate.

“Go ahead!”
Alexis
called, waving them away with her pink-tipped brush. “It’s almost closing time anyway.
I’m fine here by myself.”

Emily looked at her watch, seeing that
Alexis
was right. It was almost five.
Their line had dwindled as most of the kids crowded the booths where they could take one last shot at winning something before they went home, dazed with sugar, to pass out for the night.

“Where are we going?”
Emily asked as they began to walk down the cement path. There was a park right next to the school owned by the church—named, not very originally, St. Mary’s Park—where they held all their larger events. There was even a bandstand where Christian music groups played in the summer.

“Do you like surprises?” he asked as they turned the corner into a more wooded area of the park. The cement path faded off into more of a trail here, but someone had obviously cleared it and put down mulch. The leaves crunched under their feet, creating a multicolored carpet.

“Depends on the surprise I guess.” She followed him as he made a sharp left turn, off the beaten path now. The woods were deeper here, and while she could still hear the throng of people behind them somewhere, the sound was faded, muffled. Father Mark caught her hand as she stepped over a fallen log. There was a path here, too, of sorts, but it hadn’t been used regularly in a long time, she gathered.

“Watch your step.” He helped her over the log and they went on, Father Mark still holding her hand. He didn’t let go as they made their w
ay through the underbrush and h
e
gallantly
held branches out of her way as they walked

“It’s
so
beaut
iful.” Emily felt him squeeze her hand, as if reminding her he hadn’t forgotten he was holding it.

“I love autumn.
” He smiled back at her, still leading the way. “Did you know that the leaves of deciduous trees aren’t really green? That’s just the color of
the
chlorophyll. As the weather gets cooler, the green fades, and the true colors of the leaves come out.”

“
I suppose everyone’s true colors reveal themselves eventually, huh?
”
Emily looked around in wonder as he stopped walking, the path opening into a sudden clearing.
“O
h
!
Look!
”

But of course he already knew. This is what he had brought her here to see.
The old stone chapel stood in the center of the clearing,
its multi-colored stones giving it a cobbled look. The roof was dark, the steeple too, rising upward and ending at an iron cross.
The pathway to it was worn and
the grass mowe
d. Clearly it was taken care of. There were benches nearby, and in the distance, she could see
the blue haze of
Lake Michigan.

“It was built in 1866. They held church here on Sundays, and children attended school during the week.” Father Mark reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out a very old looking key. “The church keeps it locked to keep out vandals.”

“I didn’t know this was back here.”

“Most people don’t.” He led her around to the side of the chapel. “It’s tradition that you should only enter a chapel from the side door.”

She followed him inside, expecting it to be musty and dank, but instead the mahogany pews gleamed and the stained glass windows near the ceiling
reflect
ed multi-colored patterns on the wood floor.