Devotion

I prayed for strength in this moment of doubt and transgression. Even on nights when I had awakened to find I had accidentally achieved orgasm in my sleep, I had sought and received immediate comfort in prayer. Tonight had been worse. I had known full well what I was doing, but had been helpless to stop. I felt ashamed and disgusted at my weakness, and, as I repeated my prayer for strength, I at last felt the blood leaving my penis and felt it slacken against my thigh.

Relieved, I climbed back into bed, focusing my thoughts instead on what I would need to do tomorrow. The studying I needed to do, the luncheon with the bishop and deacons, and a thank you note to Mrs. Hutchins for her contribution even after her injury.

Briefly I contemplated seeking counsel for this evening's embarrassing incident, but the very thought of explaining it to either my brothers or the priests who advised us made warmth spill into my cheeks. I would just be more determined than ever to think Godly thoughts when the beauty of female flesh tempted me. After all, God had created woman, and it was a perfect opportunity for me to praise His gift to mankind. The gift that brought children into the world. The gift that had led to the birth of Our Savior in a humble manger.

I began to drowse, happy that the red-haired girl had faded from my immediate thoughts. In her place, I thought of Mary's peaceful face and of how she had delivered Jesus Christ to the world with such grace and serenity in such humble surroundings while God and the angels looked on. She was perfect. Pure. I slept.

**

"It's so terrible," Margaret whispered to me as we hurriedly packed a large picnic basket in our cozy kitchen. Mother was on the phone with Mr. DiFranco in the living room while Patrick ran around the house with a toy airplane, making droning and buzzing noises as he mock dive-bombed the nearest object or person. "I mean it's awesome you're going to be ordained soon, but it just sucks that you had to come home to this, Frank. They said Mrs. DiFranco probably wouldn't last more than a couple days."

My head whirled. I was home for spring break during my final weeks of seminary, facing my upcoming priestly service in the Church with all the pride and determination fitting a man in my position. The icy early-March air howled around the trees as I had pulled into the driveway behind my mother's car.

I hurried inside, expecting to be greeted by my mother's open arms and a proud smile from my stoic father. Instead, I had been hugged briefly and distractedly by a newly bleach-blonde Maggie. My mother, clutching the phone to her ear, offered a quick kiss. My father sat in the living room, hiding his concerned emotions behind the evening paper. He waved to me as Maggie hustled me into the kitchen.

"How are Mr. DiFranco and the family holding up?" I asked, remembering the last time I had seen Delfina. It had been three months ago at midnight mass. She had been pale, even in the white flowing dress she wore, and her eyes looked haunted and exhausted. She had prayed almost continuously through the ceremony. Even the corona of soft candlelight could not hide the traces of tears around her eyes as she turned to her father and kissed his smoothly shaven cheek.

"They're a mess, dumbass!" Maggie gave me a look as if I had just wandered out of the local mental ward. "Christopher says he can't afford to come home, but we all know that's a load of shit. He just doesn't want to be there when his mother dies. And Lucia has lost a ton of weight. She just sits in the cafeteria at school and stares at the table. But Delfina is such an angel.

"She helps the nurses change her mother's IV tubes, and bathes her every morning. She pretty much runs the house for her father. He's just been working and going through the motions, you know?"

The thought of Delfina tending her still rather young and handsome mother made my heart ache. I wrapped sandwiches and dropped sliced apples and grapes into plastic containers to add to the basket Maggie was putting together.

In our family, when tragedy happens, we cook and bring food. It is the way Mother handles every difficult situation. When Joe was arrested for petty theft one evening in his early teens, Mother spent the next day cooking roasts, cabbage, potatoes, and cookies to keep her rage at bay. The roast had been tenderized almost well enough for the baby to eat, and the cookies were atypically fluffy due to the vigorous hand-beating she had given the eggs. Now Margaret was following suit.

"Yes, Marco. I'll send him right over. Shall I send Margaret to keep Delfina company?" My mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, brushing a coppery curl out of her eyes as she regarded me from a pale face. She had been crying. "All right. He'll be there soon. God bless you, Marco."

The phone was hastily put down, and my mother came to me then, embracing me as she looked up into my eyes.

"Mother, it's good to see you," I said solemnly. "It's Delfina's mother, isn't it?"

"Yes, Francis. The cancer has spread too much. They brought her home and brought the hospice in yesterday. She'll probably be gone by week's end."

"What can I do?" I asked as Maggie closed the basket and shoved it into my chest. I reached up to receive it.

"Go be with them, Francis. You will be a great comfort for Marco and Delfina when Gabriella goes. Father Flannery is on his way as well, but he was all the way across the city. Just do what you can."

"But I'm not ordained as a priest yet. What can I do? I'm just a deacon..."

"Go, Francis." My mother touched my cheek to silence me, then left the room followed by a concerned Patrick whose airplane hung forgotten at his side.

**

Gabriella DiFranco lay surrounded by tubes that dripped various colored liquids, cherished books of poetry, and immense bouquets of flowers. In fact, the once-gorgeous and glamorous Mrs. DiFranco, even at death's door, still commanded the eye's attention. She wore a wig, and her face had been carefully powdered and rouged, but I could still see the natural beauty she had always possessed. She was practically skeletal, yet her eyes still seemed very much alert and alive when I entered the room, trailed by a softly smiling Delfina. It was no doubt Delfina who had applied the careful cosmetics and styled the wig with all the tenderness a devoted daughter could muster. The house was unnaturally quiet, and Delfina said she would have to leave me for a moment to go and greet the next hospice nurse who was due to arrive any moment.

"Mama? You remember Francis? Colleen O'Reardon's son?"

"Francis," Gabriella offered a smile that clearly took a great deal of effort as she lifted a wasted arm to beckon me closer. Even in this state, I could see how this woman had hopelessly enchanted Delfina's father.

"Mrs. DiFranco," I greeted warmly, traversing the tables, IV poles and floral arrangements to kneel at her bedside, taking one bony hand in both of mine. "How are you feeling? Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?"

"Gabriella is fine. Not Mrs. DiFranco. And you could pray with me, Francis. Pray for my babies and my husband, because I will be leaving them soon." At this, I saw Delfina stiffen and turn pale as milk. She quickly crossed herself before leaving the room.

"Well, Gabriella, I'm not a priest yet, but I will do what I can for you."

"Thank you, Francis. Could you please hand me the rosary there on the table?"

"Of course," I nodded, retrieving a lovely crystal and pearl rosary that looked as if it had been an heirloom piece passed down through many generations. She took it from me with a surprising amount of grace and delicacy, clutching it to her gown-covered chest.

"Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee...." I began, trying to ignore the tightening of my chest and the tremor in my fingers as I prayed with this woman who would not live to see her children's weddings or her grandchildren.

**

"Delfina!" I called, bolting to my feet. I overturned a vase stuffed with ivory roses on a nearby night table. It knocked over a few vials as it went, spilling icy water and fluffy roses over my feet as I hurried to the bedroom door. "Your mother! She's..."

"Oh, God!" Delfina wailed, her footfalls hurrying down the hall. Mocha dashed out of her path from her previous station at the entryway to Gabriella's room. "Mama—her last rites! Francis—give her the last rites!"

"We did penance already, but I thought Father Flannery would come to perform the eucharist and viaticum..."

"Don't fucking argue with me, Francis! Please—just do what you can."

I was dumbstruck. Not only was I not prepared with any oil to anoint Mrs. DiFranco, but also Father Flannery wouldn't be here to help me through my first extreme unction. And sweet and devout Delfina DiFranco had just cursed in front of me.

"All I have is holy water," I mumbled as Delfina pulled me back into her mother's bedroom. Gabriella lay, apparently dozing. Her chest rose and fell irregularly. Her hands were still. Delfina began to sob. As I tried to do what I could for her mother, she kneeled by my side, praying aloud and occasionally gasping and shuddering uncontrollably. I anointed her mother with Holy Water, then reached into the bag I had brought from my car. If I administered the viaticum to Gabriella now, this would fall into the category of extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion rather than that given by a priest. I had to do what I could.

"Is that consecrated?" Delfina blinked over at me, her hands bone-white as they suddenly clutched my arm. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she watched me take out a bottle of wine.

"Yes," I whispered, pushing down my own fear and shock and I prepared to send this good and pious woman home to be with God and the angels.

I had uncorked the bottle of wine when the front door downstairs opened. I heard Lucia's voice accompanied by that of her father and Father Flannery. I heaved a sigh of relief, and called to Father to hurry as Gabriella's soul slipped away from us a second at a time.

**

"You did what you thought right, Francis," Father Flannery whispered to me as we huddled outside the now silent bedroom of Mrs. Gabriella DiFranco. "You allowed Gabriella to settle her soul with God, and I am very proud of you. Holy Orders or not, you did well, my son." One lone tear ran down his cheek and he hurriedly crossed himself before brushing it away. "Now we'll stay to aid her family and give them counsel. Why don't you go downstairs and prepare some coffee or tea? I'll help the family."

Downstairs, I began to tremble, recalling what I had just done and witnessed. I had never been present for a death before, though I my studies had prepared me. However, all the preparations could not have warned me of how painful it would be to minister to the mother of a girl I had played with as a child.

I automatically did as I had been told, finding everything to prepare both tea and coffee in the spacious and well-stocked kitchen. I heard footsteps on the tread of the stairs, and a wan and frail Lucia appeared. She was still clad in the burgundy sweater and raven jeans she had been wearing when her mother died.

"There's whiskey, brandy and some schnapps in the cabinet above the fridge. Help yourself," she murmured, walking over to me and unconsciously laying her head upon my shoulder as she sniffed. "Why did God do this to us, Francis? My mother was so cool... and not even old. You're the damned priest. Why did God do this to our family? I pray every day even for Chris, even though he's a shit of an older brother. Nothing ever happens to him no matter how much of an ass he is..."

All I could do was turn to embrace her waiflike form, closing my eyes and sinking my teeth into my lower lip to bite back my own sorrow. "Nothing I can say will comfort you, Lucia. But all I can tell you is there's a reason." She said nothing, only sobbed against my chest as the teakettle began to whistle.

**

Marco DiFranco had taken two Ambiens shortly after Gabriella left him, and was now dozing on the sofa in the guest room. Lucia sat in her bedroom, her ears covered by headphones that snaked out of the iPod she held in numb fingers. Delfina had argued and cursed at their older brother Christopher across the wires for half an hour before throwing the phone receiver at the wall and running into her room. Father Flannery had left moments earlier. I was preparing to offer Lucia and Delfina any last comfort I could before heading home when a door opened in the upstairs hall.

In the silent house, the squeal of slightly squeaky hinges was almost deafening. I nearly spilled the cup of tea I held as I sat at the kitchen table, trying to ignore the wedding picture of the DiFrancos on the mantle in the living room. In the kitchen hung a very large portrait of a young, radiant and beaming Gabriella holding a baby Lucia with a young Delfina and Christopher standing at her side. The more I looked at it, the less certain I became of anything. Notions and ideas that had seemed concrete began to crumble in my mind, and I felt the first tinge of doubt about my chosen career.

Delfina appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She was wearing a pale, shimmering lavender nightgown and holding an onyx and silver rosary. Her eyes looked distant, and I imagined she had helped herself to her father's prescription sleeping pills.

"I'm sorry I swore at you, Frank," she mumbled, lowering her eyes to reveal long lashes that glittered with crystalline tears. "Will you come pray with me for a minute before you leave? I... I just don't want to fall asleep alone."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew what she wanted, and barriers of steel determination began to slam up between that thought and the task asked of me as I recalled the vows of celibacy I had embraced not too long previously. People were often given to acts they did not mean while in the deepest stages of grief or shock, and I would do what I could to help Delfina while still keeping that in mind.

"Of course," I nodded, setting my cup on its saucer and getting to my feet to follow her upstairs.

The coroner had taken Gabriella to the funeral home two hours ago. I tried hard not to listen as Marco had whispered a few parting words to his beloved in Italian before she was wheeled out on the gurney Mercifully, her bedroom door was now closed. Lucia's door was also closed. , .

Delfina's bedroom was dim and quiet. Two candles burned on her neatly arranged desk, scenting the cool air with their subtle perfume. A silver crucifix hung on the wall above her bed. All was tidy and still. She seemed not to notice me as she walked across the pale-blue pile carpet and knelt beside her bed, clutching her rosary. She lowered her head, and her hair hung down on either side of her sorrow-stricken face.

"I'm so sorry, Delfina," I went to her side, to kneel beside her. Then I thought better of that, and moved around to kneel before her. She looked up at me, and the rosary slipped from her fingers as she leaned toward me to place her head on my chest.

"She was going to be fifty this year," she said in a monotone, one hand idly playing with the ebony cuff of my dress shirt. "She and Papa had been married for twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years, Francis. What the hell do you do after twenty-eight years and now you're alone? They were like newlyweds."

"I understand," I whispered. "We are all here for your family, Delfina."

"Are you?" she asked sarcastically, lifting her face to mine. Anger flared in her eyes as her cheeks grew rosy. "You have no idea how I'm feeling, or how my father feels. You'll never find out how he feels, so how can you offer him comfort or say you understand?"

"What do you mean?" I was surprised and bewildered at the turn this discussion had taken.

"Father Flannery told my father that he would move on in time, that time has a way of healing even the deepest wounds. But it's easy for him to say that, because he's never been in love like Papa. Or ever been married."

"What?" I floundered, staring wide-eyed at this woman whom I didn't truly know, but who had mesmerized me for most of my teens.

"You know what I really need right now, Father O'Reardon?" she whispered, reaching out and taking both my hands in hers. Her rosary lay on the floor nearby, completely forgotten. "I need to forget about my mother dying in our arms tonight. I need to have a few minutes of peace. And I need to fall asleep without feeling like I'm about to scream and cry until I lose my voice."

Here it was. The premonition I had sensed in the kitchen had been correct. She wanted the one thing I could not give to her. To any woman. I felt my heart sink and my knees grow weak. Surely this must be how the psychiatrist feels after doing their best to help the patient only to hear the patient announce that they are in love with their doctor?

"Delfina, you're tired. I'm tired, and it's been a very difficult night. Let me pray with you, and then I'll go."

Delfina struck me across my cheek. In the silence, the sound was loud and unexpected, and my cheek stung as I blinked in shock. Suddenly, she was sobbing and scrambling back away from me, up into her bed and back into a corner, as if it had been I who hit her, not the other way round.

"Fuck you, Frank! You're a fucking coward who can't deal with his feelings. How can you be so condescending? Fine! Just leave me with my whore's feelings, and go back to your fucking seminary! Just get out! Get the fuck out!"

"Delfina!" I cried, wounded and enraged all at once. "Quiet down! Your father's trying to sleep!"

"Get out!" she shrieked, and I was on the bed with her before I knew it.

I put my hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. She bit my palm, nearly drawing blood. What had I done to arouse such vitriol and rage? I wasn't sure, but I had to settle this before the entire house was roused.

"Listen to me," I said harshly, firmly grabbing her face by the chin and forcing her to look into my eyes. "I will forgive you for what you've said. I will not tell anyone about this, but you have to calm down. This won't be any easier if you don't get a hold of yourself right..."

She lunged at me like a rabid tiger, knocking me onto my back as her mouth pressed to mine, her tongue seizing the opportunity to plunge into my mouth thanks to my slack jaw. She kissed me as if it were her only way to draw breath, and something began to happen to me as I received her kiss.

I don't know whether it was my own acceptance of the anger concerning her mother's death, the injustice of the physical love I was forced to forsake in lieu of my vows, or just the part of myself I had spent years trying to repress. I don't know where it came from or why it happened.

I kissed her back.

At first, I was too shocked to realize that my own tongue was betraying me—the very tongue that had uttered prayers morning, noon and night, and that was planning on accepting all the vows and responsibilities of priesthood without hesitation in a mere few weeks. The tongue that had received the body of Christ with awe and humility since I was seven years old.

My body seemed to have a mind of its own. Or perhaps it was listening to a part of my mind I had long ignored, despite its attempts to seduce me long ago on a warm spring night by visions of that gorgeous, red-haired girl.

Delfina was slowing and settling now, pulling away to gaze at me with glazed eyes as she sat back, hiking up her nightgown. As she lifted it up past her hips to reveal the tiniest pair of ivory lace panties, her eyes asked me if this was what I wanted. I nodded, awestruck, not daring to speak.

Her hands went to my shirt, attempting to tear it open, but my hands shot up and stayed hers. My compliance was shocking, yet not too shocking to elicit a pause in my actions.