The Angel
Page 55
Finally she seemed to get a reaction from him. He sighed heavily and turned to face her again. Once more she felt overpowered by his incredible handsomeness. Why would any man that attractive choose the celibate life of the priesthood when he could have any woman on the face of the earth?
“I am.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“Not since last Monday.”
Now it was Suzanne’s turn to sigh heavily.
“I can’t get a straight answer out of you to save my life. It’s not helping your case any.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her intently.
“If you asked me an actual question instead of simply making accusations, you might receive an actual answer. You’ve never met Eleanor Schreiber, the woman you know of as Nora Sutherlin, have you?”
“No.”
“Do you make it a common practice to pry into the personal lives of women you’ve never met before, women who’ve never done you any harm?”
Suzanne rolled her eyes.
“God, you Catholic priests. Masters of the guilt trip.”
“I’m very good at my job,” he said, mirth shining in his eyes. What kind of man could find a conversation like this funny? This priest had balls of steel to go along with his eyes. “I’m still waiting on a question, Ms. Kanter. If you can ask it without including an accusation, I might consider answering it.”
“Okay. Here’s one. Why are you a priest?”
“I’m glad you started with such a simple question.”
Suzanne couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“It was simple to ask.” She smiled despite herself.
He paused and seemed to mull his words over.
“I was not raised Catholic. I didn’t encounter Catholics until I was sent to a Jesuit school in Northern Maine at age eleven.”
Suzanne inwardly winced. She couldn’t imagine a child so young being sent away to a school in the middle of nowhere.
“The Jesuits priests, my teachers, were the best men I’ve ever known. Their erudition coupled with their kindness and dedication to their work humbled me. I felt called to join their ranks. I converted at age fourteen and at age nineteen I went to Rome and started my training.”
“That’s it?”
“I apologize for not having a Road to Damascus story to tell you.”
“You were only nineteen when you started seminary. You never wanted to get married? Date? Have kids? Have…” Her voice trailed off.
“Have sex?” he finished for her. “I’ll tell you something shocking if you promise not to share it with anyone.”
“Okay,” she answered nervously. “I can deal with ‘off the record’ unless you confess to a crime. What?”
He gave her a smile that if she saw it on the face of any man but a priest she would call it seductive.
“I’m not a virgin.”
His words and the gleam in his eyes left Suzanne’s hands trembling.
“You aren’t?” Now they were getting somewhere. Now maybe she could get something out of him.
“I wasn’t born a priest, Ms. Kanter. Any more than you were born an atheist war correspondent with a burning hatred of the Catholic Church.”
Suzanne’s spine stiffened.
“You’ve been investigating me, I see,” she said.
“Your opinions on the church and faith are matters of public record,” he said as he strolled toward her. “And I believe you may intrigue me nearly as much as I intrigue you. Since I answered your question, might I ask you one?”
“Ask.” She made no promise to answer it.
“You are an atheist. God is truth. Without God, all is chaos, all is relative and truth is meaningless. And yet you became a journalist who’s dedicated her life to seeking out the truth amidst the chaos, a truth you don’t believe exists. Why?”
“Diogenes traveled the world with a lantern by day looking for an honest man. I’m just Diogenes out with my lamp trying to shed a little light where I can.”
“Diogenes also slept in a barrel and masturbated in public. How deep does your metaphor run?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at her.
She opened her mouth and shut it again.
“You’re not a normal priest, are you?”
At that, Father Stearns laughed. A warm, open laugh, intoxicating and masculine. She wanted to hear it more, hear it again. It seemed so incongruous.
“What?” she asked.
“Eleanor asked me the very same question the day we met almost twenty years ago.”
“And what did you say to her when she asked that?”
“Exactly what I’ll say to you now—my God, I hope not.”
Now Suzanne laughed. Laughing with a Catholic priest…the last thing on earth she ever dreamed she’d do. Suzanne abruptly stopped laughing when she remembered her job, when she remembered Adam. Father Stearns seemed smart enough that he could manipulate anyone he wanted to. She couldn’t let herself get sucked in just because of his appearance and sense of humor.
“You speak of her very fondly. You two are close?”
His smiled disappeared and once again he gave her a steely glare.
“I could be a thief. Or the bastard son of the pope. Both would qualify as conflicts of interest. Why are you so certain the reason for my asterisk is sexual?”
Suzanne thought about lying then had the feeling he’d see right through it.
“I am.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“Not since last Monday.”
Now it was Suzanne’s turn to sigh heavily.
“I can’t get a straight answer out of you to save my life. It’s not helping your case any.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her intently.
“If you asked me an actual question instead of simply making accusations, you might receive an actual answer. You’ve never met Eleanor Schreiber, the woman you know of as Nora Sutherlin, have you?”
“No.”
“Do you make it a common practice to pry into the personal lives of women you’ve never met before, women who’ve never done you any harm?”
Suzanne rolled her eyes.
“God, you Catholic priests. Masters of the guilt trip.”
“I’m very good at my job,” he said, mirth shining in his eyes. What kind of man could find a conversation like this funny? This priest had balls of steel to go along with his eyes. “I’m still waiting on a question, Ms. Kanter. If you can ask it without including an accusation, I might consider answering it.”
“Okay. Here’s one. Why are you a priest?”
“I’m glad you started with such a simple question.”
Suzanne couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“It was simple to ask.” She smiled despite herself.
He paused and seemed to mull his words over.
“I was not raised Catholic. I didn’t encounter Catholics until I was sent to a Jesuit school in Northern Maine at age eleven.”
Suzanne inwardly winced. She couldn’t imagine a child so young being sent away to a school in the middle of nowhere.
“The Jesuits priests, my teachers, were the best men I’ve ever known. Their erudition coupled with their kindness and dedication to their work humbled me. I felt called to join their ranks. I converted at age fourteen and at age nineteen I went to Rome and started my training.”
“That’s it?”
“I apologize for not having a Road to Damascus story to tell you.”
“You were only nineteen when you started seminary. You never wanted to get married? Date? Have kids? Have…” Her voice trailed off.
“Have sex?” he finished for her. “I’ll tell you something shocking if you promise not to share it with anyone.”
“Okay,” she answered nervously. “I can deal with ‘off the record’ unless you confess to a crime. What?”
He gave her a smile that if she saw it on the face of any man but a priest she would call it seductive.
“I’m not a virgin.”
His words and the gleam in his eyes left Suzanne’s hands trembling.
“You aren’t?” Now they were getting somewhere. Now maybe she could get something out of him.
“I wasn’t born a priest, Ms. Kanter. Any more than you were born an atheist war correspondent with a burning hatred of the Catholic Church.”
Suzanne’s spine stiffened.
“You’ve been investigating me, I see,” she said.
“Your opinions on the church and faith are matters of public record,” he said as he strolled toward her. “And I believe you may intrigue me nearly as much as I intrigue you. Since I answered your question, might I ask you one?”
“Ask.” She made no promise to answer it.
“You are an atheist. God is truth. Without God, all is chaos, all is relative and truth is meaningless. And yet you became a journalist who’s dedicated her life to seeking out the truth amidst the chaos, a truth you don’t believe exists. Why?”
“Diogenes traveled the world with a lantern by day looking for an honest man. I’m just Diogenes out with my lamp trying to shed a little light where I can.”
“Diogenes also slept in a barrel and masturbated in public. How deep does your metaphor run?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at her.
She opened her mouth and shut it again.
“You’re not a normal priest, are you?”
At that, Father Stearns laughed. A warm, open laugh, intoxicating and masculine. She wanted to hear it more, hear it again. It seemed so incongruous.
“What?” she asked.
“Eleanor asked me the very same question the day we met almost twenty years ago.”
“And what did you say to her when she asked that?”
“Exactly what I’ll say to you now—my God, I hope not.”
Now Suzanne laughed. Laughing with a Catholic priest…the last thing on earth she ever dreamed she’d do. Suzanne abruptly stopped laughing when she remembered her job, when she remembered Adam. Father Stearns seemed smart enough that he could manipulate anyone he wanted to. She couldn’t let herself get sucked in just because of his appearance and sense of humor.
“You speak of her very fondly. You two are close?”
His smiled disappeared and once again he gave her a steely glare.
“I could be a thief. Or the bastard son of the pope. Both would qualify as conflicts of interest. Why are you so certain the reason for my asterisk is sexual?”
Suzanne thought about lying then had the feeling he’d see right through it.
