Page 75 of Priestly Sins
“Her biological father signed away his rights.”
“So, can I?”
“Do you want to?”
“Woman!” I grumble.
She laughs the easy laugh of someone not weighed down.
Then I take her again—less rough this time, but still fast and hard—needing her, giving myself to her, taking from her.
When we’re done, I tell her I’ll make the call first thing.
When I get Bobby on the phone, I can just picture him shaking his head.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon and certainly not with this kind of news, but I’m happy for you, Sean. Truly happy.” He surprises me by barking out a laugh.
“You know that she and Trey are the same age?”
We chat for several minutes about life and family, never mentioning yesterday’s conversation. He promises to take care of Clara’s adoption. I ask him to keep it quiet if he can. No need to draw attention to our little family.
Thirty-Seven
It isn’t in Sirona’s nature to not celebrate a holiday. She’s not the in-your-face streamers-and-balloons type, but she is the celebratory meal with a mention of why she, or in this case, we, are celebrating.
Ireland is celebrating Skelliking Day, its version of Mardi Gras. Obviously, we are missing the sheer decadent, over-the-top party that only New Orleans, and maybe, Rio know how to the throw. We’ve had King Cake in our house since the Twelfth Night anyway, but today she went all out.
Not traditionally Irish, certainly, but our Cajun feast is laid out before us. Seafood gumbo, potato salad, and homemade, crusty French bread sit alongside a green salad and meat pies. Our spread is overzealous, but it is Sirona and Clara’s first Mardi Gras away from home. We’ve built a beautiful life here in Ireland, and it has quickly become home to our family.
The warm richness of the gumbo hits my tongue and I’m transported to New Orleans, to its second lines, to its ‘Throw me something, Mister!,’ to its jazz. I miss the music, but a little Louis Armstrong can get me there quickly. So on goes Satchmo, peppered with traditional Mardi Gras music available on YouTube and sent throughout the house by the sound system.
Killian has taken his sweet time acclimating to family dinners and a four-going-on-sixteen-year-old girl. After losing his wife almost fifteen years ago, he’s embraced the life of an old curmudgeon. Since everything about Clara is sunshine and unicorns, she repels his grumpiness. He loves it and loathes it at the same time.
He and his wife weren’t able to have children, so having a ready-made family dropped into his peaceful country home shook up what vestige of peace he had in life. But I think he’s coming around. His smiles are more frequent and his growls no longer have sharp edges. I’d love to say it’s my presence, but we’d both agree it’s Sirona’s sweet nature, Clara’s exuberance, and the daily cupcakes. I’m lagniappe.
I also discovered that Sirona puts leftover meals together for him and walks them up the hill a couple of times a week. She does full spreads. Seriously. The man hasn’t grocery shopped or cooked since we got here. His little winks in her direction tell me he’s smitten by her kindness and generosity. She loves family and finally has some back. He does too.
Hagrid gets treats under the table from Killian. None from the rest of us, so my uncle has a willing partner in crime sitting at his feet, dusting the floor with his tail, waiting patiently for a scrap of something or other to fall into his eager mouth.
My text tone chimes when we’re finishing up dessert of homemade cannoli, but I don’t grab it right away. We clear the table and begin the dishes. Lather, rinse, repeat. Seems like we do a lot of dishes. I won’t complain about that seeing as I had years of meals alone, dishwashers that rarely saw any action, and lots of frozen meals. Getting real meals with real people and enjoying the conversation the whole time is something I hope I never come to complain about.
When my phone dings a second time I excuse myself and slide to unlock it and see two messages from Bobby.
Bobby:Got a second?
Bobby:Need to talk with you. It’s important.
Me:Give me five?
Bobby:Done.
I mention to Sirona that Bobby needs to chat and tell her I’ll be right back, kissing her briefly, and head to the study to give him a call.
“Hey, man. What’s up?
“Dude, no clue how to tell you this, but I got a call from the fire department in Charleston. Your house? It burned to the ground last night. They suspect arson. I’m sorry.”
“Arson? Why do they suspect that? And that sucks, but I never stepped foot in it. Any idea why someone would burn it?”