Page 101 of Priestly Sins
“I’m in love with you, baby, and I don’t want to lose you. I won’t lose you. I want you in my life, want Clara in my life. But you’re safe now. No threats. You can have whatever money you need to make a good life for yourself and our girl. You can have your freedom—you always did. I don’t want to let you go—won’t let you go. But you’re finally free, and I can’t cage you knowing that.”
Her eyes well with tears. “I don’t want to go. I love you.”
Holding her eyes, I take her mouth, plunging my tongue in deep, tasting medicine and metal.
“Love you too, baby.”
I drop my forehead to hers and relief courses through my veins.
Forty-Six
Hours pass as we wait for Sirona to be discharged. Nurses, doctors, administrators; and paperwork, prescriptions, instructions, and scheduled follow-ups and consults last longer than I have patience for.
I slept sitting in a too-small chair. We were awakened every sixty minutes to be checked on by someone who meant well, but for whom subtlety had missed its mark. Clara, as active in sleep as she is awake, twisted and turned and kicked and woke Sirona.
Sirona took this better than I did and slept only after staring at Clara, rubbing her face or cheek or studying her eyelashes. It was like she was seeing her almost-five-year-old for the first time again. I wish that didn’t make my gut churn. She knows just how damn close she came to either losing Clara or losing her own life.
The clarity it took to send Clara to Killian’s only to face down a brutal maniac capable of killing—of traveling across the globe to do so—must be borne in a mother’s veins.
“He mumbled something about losing everything, about disbarment, or forfeiting enterprises. He was babbling believing I’d never live to repeat it,” she tells me at three in the morning.
“I finagled that.”
Her eyes fly to mine. “Why?”
“Because the alternative was to order a hit on him. I’ve spent decades trying not be Patrick O’Shaughnessy only to become him anyway. And I didn’t want to be that guy. In retrospect, I should’ve been that guy.”
“That’s not who you are, though.”
I shake my head. “Knowing what I know now…” Life would’ve been so much easier had I just taken the path my father would’ve taken. But then I’d be just like him. Both options were untenable.
But, now, we wait. We’ve been promised that it’s just ‘a few more minutes,’ but we’ve been promised that for more than an hour now.
“Well, we have another problem.” I say, nonchalantly.
“What’s that?” She’s dressed in scrubs and sitting in a wheelchair. Yesterday’s clothes are in a bag at her feet.
“See, I have a ring I want to give you. It’s been in my pocket for a while. And that hand needs to heal so you can wear it.”
Her gasp snags Clara’s attention.
“What is it, Mommy? You okay?”
“Better than okay, baby girl.” She lifts her head from Clara to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “What?”
“You already know I’m in love with you and this beautiful girl. You’re my family and I want to make it official. What do you say? Be my wife?”
A vivacious smile bursts through her face. “Yes. Of course.”
I reach into my pocket, but pause, and look to Clara, “Beautiful girl, I want to marry your mommy and be your daddy. Would that be okay with you?”
I assume it’s a yes when she flings herself at me. But ever-verbose Clara makes sure I understand. “I’ve never had a daddy and I really wanted one and I want you to be him, Poppa. Do I call you Poppa or do I call you Daddy and when can I do that? I’m so excited!” She whips around to Sirona, her ponytail raking my ear in the process. “Mommy, Poppa is going to be my daddy and we get to be a real family! Isn’t that fantastic?”
Sirona is crying and laughing, all the while nodding her head, waving her good hand up and down. Legally, this has already all been signed, sealed, and delivered, but having Clara’s agreement is important.
“Yes, baby! I’m so happy for you and for us! What do you think?”
“I love it! I really, really love it!”