Page 68 of Priestly Sins
“Clara” I call while Sirona and Hagrid get to know each other.
“Yes, Poppa?”
“We will need to train Hagrid. He knows some things like ‘sit’ and ‘down’ because his former family helped, but walking on a leash will be tough. I don’t want you trying until he’s really good at it. Okay?”
“But, why?”
“Because he could pull you right over and you would be like a sled behind a horse.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah. I’ll work with him and so will your mom. You will too. But promise me you’ll listen as we train him, okay?”
“Okay, Poppa.” But her back is to me and she hits her knees, slapping them with her little palms. “Come here, Hagrid.” And he does.
I hold out a hand to Sirona and help her up. She mumbles, “Damn Killian.”
My responding chuckle doesn’t make things better.
Thirty-Five
New Year’s always holds the promise of something new, a fresh start. It’s a holiday I like—a new calendar, the assurance of a clean slate. This year will be far more new and fresh than any for as long as I can remember. From my fifteenth to my thirty-fifth, I had one mission, one simple goal: to find a way to end Enzo Calabrese. If I had two, and those years were rare, it was to end Calabrese and to get away with it.
This year, it’s weird to consider, but I face a year ahead without a goal. Without an objective, without revenge, without my day-in, day-out job. Frankly, I’m also without a hobby.
I’m not, however, without estrogen. There are hair ties, pink dresses, dolls, baking shit, even tampons around this house. There are emotions and tears and drama.
Hagrid, thank God, is a trooper. He has taken to Clara like it’s his job. While I wish the testosterone holder would keep me company, I am thankful he is so enamored with her. Where she goes, he is her shadow. She loves him and he adores her.
Sirona is not over the moon yet about the dog. It could be because he’s hairy, wiggly, and drooly, and messes with her pristine kitchen just by his mere presence. It could be because he loves attention and when Clara is without him—a rare occasion— he spends the moments trying to woo Sirona into loving him or feeding him. She’ll fall for him. Of that I’m sure.
I cook us dinner. Nothing fancy. The priestly life doesn’t bring with it tons of skills but garlic mashed potatoes are a staple as are salad and steaks.
I asked Killian to add a small outdoor kitchen to the house when it was being built. His response was that I was quare and when I grumbled about not knowing Irish slang he mumbled several words—most I’m sure were unfavorable—and said I was crazy.
Outside the office off the back of the house is a courtyard made of the same stone as the house. There is an outdoor cooking area and in the center is a firepit.
After the steak and potato dinner, I grab the girls and tell them we need to make s’mores around the fire. It is aggressive for sure, since it’s cold and windy and the sun set hours ago. But we make our s’mores and discuss whether we will roast hotdogs in the spring.
We eat our dessert, the first I’ve made for them and so basic compared to Sirona’s skills. And when Clara starts to fade, I cover Sirona with a blanket, pick up my girl, and get her ready for bed. Hagrid follows closely behind us.
She needs two stories tonight, but only makes it through half of one. Hagrid bounds up onto her bed at her feet and, for all intents and purposes, indicates he has the watch.
I go back out to the courtyard and lift Sirona into my arms, sit back down with her on my lap, and reposition the blanket over us both. It’s too cold for this but I like the closeness and it’s the perfect excuse to have her in my lap.
She stares at the fire, deep in thought, and doesn’t speak for several minutes.
I don’t push. It’s been an emotional few days for her and she’s entitled to the time.
But I’m no saint and I move my lips to her neck and place a kiss there, with a small lick, and then glide toward her ear, nibbling at the lobe.
“Baby?”
“You love us.” It’s a statement, not a question.
She can feel my nod on her neck as I say, “I do.”
The shiver that runs through her tells me she’s turned on but she doesn’t turn toward me and continues staring at the flames.