“But tell me, how in the world did Elthram find me?” Jim asked. “I was in the middle of the woods outside Carmel Valley. I was in a little Buddhist retreat place that doesn’t even have a phone.”

“Well, someday I’ll fill you in on Elthram,” said Reuben. “Right now, I’m just so glad you’re back I can’t tell you. And if you think Mom was out of her mind, well, what do you think was going on in my head?”

“That’s what Elthram said. You were so worried. I should have figured. But Reuben, I needed that time to think.”

“I know you did, and I know you’re all right. The minute I sat down in the pew in there, I knew you were all right. That’s all anybody wanted to know, that you’re all right.”

“I’m all right, Reuben,” he said. “But I’m going to be leaving the priesthood.” He said it simply, without emotion or drama. “That is inevitable now.”

“No—.”

“Wait. Hear me out before you begin objecting. Nobody will ever know the full reason why, but you know why, and I want you to keep that secret for me as I’ve kept yours.”

“Jim—.”

“Reuben, a man cannot be a murderer and a priest,” he said. His tone was patient and resigned. “That is simply not possible. Now years ago, I was accepted in spite of what I did to Lorraine, as I told you. But I was a drunkard when I beat Lorraine. I had that excuse. Not a very good excuse, mind you, in fact, it was an appalling excuse, but still a form of excuse. It hadn’t been cold-blooded murder, what I did to that child. It was another kind of sin, but not cold-blooded killing, no.” He paused. He lowered his voice as he leaned closer to Reuben. “But this time I had no excuse, Reuben. I asked you to kill Fulton Blankenship and his cohorts; I told you where to find him; I provided you with a map.”

“Jim, you are not a killer, and these men—.”

“Stop. Now look. We have to go see Mom. And I have to somehow endure all her questions about where I’ve been. Now you must promise me: don’t say a word to her about this ever as long as you live. I keep your secret as I’m bound to do, sworn to do, and you must keep mine.”

“Of course,” Reuben said. “This goes without saying!”

“I’m going to see the archbishop this week and explain why I’m asking to leave. And when the time comes the official announcement will be made. I cannot tell him the full story of how Blankenship and company departed this world, but I don’t have to. I only have to tell him what I myself willed to happen and that I asked others to make it happen. And beyond that, I will say nothing more. I can tell him that I sent people to murder Fulton Blankenship and they weren’t officers of the law. And when I do, I’ll tell him this in Confession, binding him to keep the circumstances secret, but to act upon the information as he sees fit.”

Reuben sighed. “Jim, they had marked you for death. They might have killed your family!”

“I know that, Reuben,” he said. “I’m not as hard on myself as you might think. I saw that wounded priest being carried out of my apartment on a stretcher. And I’d just seen the corpse of the boy they’d killed. I’m no saint, Reuben, I told you that. But I’m not a liar either.”

“And what if the archbishop gets carried away, thinks you hired some mercenaries or something and he calls the police?”

“He won’t do that,” Jim said. “I’ll handle it. I’ll tell the truth. But never the whole truth. I know what I have to do.” He smiled. In fact, his entire manner was almost cheerful and certainly resigned. “But if by some miracle he allows me to stay, well, then, I’ll stay. That’s what I want, to stay, to work right here as I’ve been doing for years, to make amends here. But I don’t think that’s going to happen, Reuben. And I don’t think it should.”

Suddenly he stopped and reached beneath his chasuble for his phone. “That’s Mom calling. Listen, come into the sacristy with me while I change. We’ve got to get over there. And let me tell you what I plan to do.”

They hurried back into the church and up through the nave and into the back sacristy, where Jim quickly peeled off his vestments, and put on a fresh clean white shirt. Then came the Roman collar with the black clerical shirtfront and his always impeccably pressed black coat.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking, Reuben,” he was saying. “I’m thinking that perhaps I can somehow quietly run this rehab center here as a layman. I don’t know if you know about the rehab center.”

“Everybody knows about it, Jim,” said Reuben. “Two million dollars in donations so far, probably more.”

“Yes, well, if I can’t be the steward of this project, there are others. After all, I don’t deserve to be the steward of it and if the archbishop sends me away from this parish, well, that’s what I deserve. So what I’m thinking is, I’m thinking that maybe with some donations from you perhaps, little brother, and from Mom and Dad, who knows, and maybe from Felix too perhaps, maybe I can start a Delancey Street–type of operation of my own.”

“Absolutely,” said Reuben. “That’s entirely possible. Jim, that might be better than anything.”

Jim paused, looking into Reuben’s eyes. And only then did Reuben sense the pain there, just the faintest glimpse of the pain Jim was feeling at leaving the priesthood.

“I’m sorry,” Reuben whispered. “I didn’t mean to make it sound so simple.”

Jim swallowed, and forced a little accepting smile. He put his hand on Reuben’s hand as if to say, It is all right.

“I want to keep working with addicts and alcoholics, you know that,” Jim said.

As they walked back through the church, he went on talking about it, about the months he’d spent working at Delancey Street, studying their famous program, and about what he would do if he did get to be captain of his own little ship. They walked through the courtyard and out the gate.

“But you know, Mom and Dad are going to take it hard if you leave the priesthood,” said Reuben.

“You think so? When have Mom and Dad ever been proud of me for becoming a priest?”

“Maybe you’re right about that,” Reuben mumbled. “But I’ve always been proud of you and so was Grandfather Spangler. And I’ll be proud of you no matter what you do.”




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