Nell stands at the screen door. She knows that Polly needs her now, but staying in the room is as much as she can do.
She hears him push his chair back from the table and lower the coffee mug into the sink, and in another moment she feels him touch her on the shoulder. She touches his hand, just briefly, and then his hand is gone. She listens to his footsteps leave the room, and soon she hears the front door close, the car engine choke to life, then fade as it drives away.
Still, Nell doesn’t move from the doorway. She rests her head against the frame, exhausted yet unwilling to go to bed; she feels it her duty to wait until the thing, tonight, is done. She stands there, staring at the thin wires of the screen, so many tiny squares, and then adjusting her gaze to see through them, where outside leaves of butterfly ginger are wan in filtered streetlight, the broad fronds arcing beneath the delicate two-lobed blossoms. She can smell them, a rich, sweet scent. Coffee, too—she can smell that in the room behind her, where hangs still the lingering smell of grease.
Soon Nell hears footsteps somewhere outside; stiffening, she lifts her head from the door frame at the same time as she sees the priest emerge like a ghost from the shadows into which just hours ago he disappeared. He carries the basket that earlier had held Willie’s food, and he looks about as weary as Nell feels. Maybe more.
“Father,” Nell says, through the screen. She is both curious and at the same time unsurprised to see him here.
The man stands outside the door. He says nothing; though he is a grown man, he wears the hapless expression of a boy. “It’s late, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
Nell pushes the door open. “Come in,” she says.
The priest obeys, and climbs the single step through the kitchen door, where he stops just inside, the basket hanging from a hand. Nell takes it from him and brings it to the counter, where she sees the remainder of the pie she’d made for Willie atop a stack of dishes. She hesitates, then takes the pie from the basket and, for now, sets it on the counter. She next unpacks the dishes, one by one, and sets them on the shelf.
“You washed them. You didn’t need to do that.”
“You didn’t need to cook,” the priest replies, behind her.
She turns around and regards him with a level gaze. “Maybe I did,” she says. She takes a step toward him. “And aren’t you meant to be with him, as he dies?”
The father nods. “I am. I plan to be.”
“But here you are.”
“Yes.” She sees him swallow. “I needed to do something between now and then.”
Nell doesn’t pry. Instead she goes to the table and sits down at her drawing. “Sit,” she says.
The priest pulls out a chair—the one where Polly sat minutes ago.
“My husband has to be there, too,” Nell says, as Hannigan sits down. “He just left.”
The priest looks at her, curious.
“As prosecuting DA,” Nell goes on, “it’s his duty to bear witness.”
“I see.” Hannigan frowns. “Your husband—” he begins, but Nell cuts him off.
“My husband is a good man,” she says. “I want you to know that. I don’t like what’s happening tonight, and I know you don’t, but I still swear my Polly is a good man. I won’t get into things, but he was in a tough spot, a spot I wouldn’t want to be in. Oh, God, and now this boy’s going to die.” She brings a hand to her mouth.
The woman and priest contemplate each other. Finally, Hannigan nods. He is sweating, and loosens his collar.
Nell lowers her hand to the table. “Can’t imagine having to wear that garb in this heat,” she comments, breaking the silence.
“It is warm,” Hannigan agrees. “Though I sometimes feel, heat or no, I don’t belong in it.”
“It’s garb to bear, I’d wager,” Nell replies. “When in the end we’re humans all.”
Hannigan is quiet; he looks almost dumbfounded.
“I meant no disrespect—”
“No, no,” the priest cuts her off. “None taken.” His brow furrows. “You’re not from here,” he says. “The south.”
Nell shakes her head. “No, I’m not. And it’s been thirteen years but sometimes I still feel I don’t belong in this garb.” She gestures widely. “This place, this house, this town. For instance, tonight. Now.”
“Yet you stay.”
“Of course I stay. It’s my life. The one I chose.” She looks at him quizzically. “Why else do you stay?”
“Here?” Hannigan asks.
Nell shakes her head. “In the priesthood. If you feel like you don’t belong. Isn’t it because it’s the life you chose?”
Hannigan takes a breath. “I came to the priesthood late. At that point in my life, I didn’t know what else to choose.”
“What point was that?”
Hannigan hesitates before he answers. “A dark point. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I’m as lost a soul as any.”
“Maybe, but you’re still able to guide other souls well enough, is what I’ve heard.”
“Well I suppose that’s what I live for. I suppose that’s why I stay.” He laughs. “The blind leading the blind.” He looks at her. “What do you live for?”
Nell frowns. “I’m a mother,” she says, glancing upward, gesturing toward Gabe’s bedroom. “I suppose I care for many things, but what I live for is my boy.”