HostileMakeover
Chapter 26
St. Mary’s Church, a few blocks from her apartment, was the only place Lacey knew she could get some peace and quiet Sunday morning. Lacey remained the only Catholic left in her immediate family. She knew that Cherise and Rose would prefer to let her go alone, and for that she gave thanks. “You could always go to some Protestant church,” she had pointed out. “Christ Church, for example, George Washington’s very own church, it’s very pretty—”
“I’m on vacation,” Cherise said sleepily, and hit the pillow again. In return for an extra hour of sleep in Lacey’s trundle beds, they promised to have breakfast made by the time she returned.
At St. Mary’s she slipped into the very back pew, knelt down, and closed her eyes. She heard the small, comforting noises of other worshipers filling up the pews. When she opened her eyes Victor Donovan was kneeling next to her.
She felt her eyes pop open. Vic generally looked like a wayward altar boy, the kind who might be caught fencing in the back of the church with the candlesticks and racing through the “Our Father” so he could go play baseball, or catch frogs, or tease girls, or whatever boys did after church. He grinned, knowing he had caught her off balance. With a name like Donovan, she had always assumed he was Catholic, but with his personal history, she also assumed he didn’t have much to do with the Church, at least not anymore. She raised her eyebrow at him.
“You can’t give me that look in church, Lacey; it’s some kind of sin. Mortal? Venial? Skeptical. That’s it; it’s a skeptical sin.” He sat right next to her, not as an answer to her prayers, because she wasn’t praying about him. At least, not exactly. However, his white smile and the twinkle in his eyes teased her. He took her hand and squeezed it.
“Why are you here?” she whispered.
“Praying for your safety. Move over.”
Notes from the organ signaled the beginning of the Mass, leaving her to wonder about him for the next hour. But she was bemused to notice that he knew all the words, and he knew when to rise and when to kneel. He’s done this before, she concluded. She assumed he wanted to lecture her about something, and when they emerged into the sunshine with the rest of the parishioners she asked him.
“What made you show up here?”
“I called and your mom said you’d gone to church. How come they’re not here?”
“They turned Protestant. It’s easier. Leaves more time for golf.”
He laughed out loud. “But easier has never been your way, has it?”
“I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens that way.” He gave her a look. “Don’t say anything. And why are you here, really?”
He squinted in the sun and reached for the sunglasses in his pocket. “I had it on the best authority, a responsible reporter I know, that you were going to be safe this weekend. And then I saw The Eye Street Observer. I shouldn’t read it, but I can’t help myself. It detailed your run-in with the Grim Reaper. Luckily, you escaped the scythe.”
“You can’t get mad at me; we’ve just been to church.”
“Like I said, I was praying for your safety. I lit a candle for you.” He put his arm around her shoulder, and they walked down South Royal Street back to her apartment. His arm around her shoulder felt very nice and, for once, uncomplicated.
“I ran into Montana,” Lacey said. “We had a sweet little chat. She warned me she’s getting you back.”
Vic sighed. “One thing you need to know. This is Montana’s last stand, and she knows it.”
“I think you’re wrong. She doesn’t know it.”
“Well, I know it, Lacey. And that’s the important part.”
“And is everyone still standing in Montana’s last stand, or has she laid you low?”
“Still standing.” He took a beat. “I was never married in the Church, Lacey.” She looked at him. “Just thought you’d like to know. For future reference.”
“And where were you married, if not in the Church? Aboard a tramp steamer?”
“Las Vegas, Nevada, a justice of the peace. So, from certain angles, it never even counted as official in the first place—although it sure as hell seemed official when we went to court to break it up.”
“Oh, Vic.” Las Vegas? Not Las Vegas. “Couldn’t you have just shacked up, as my mother would say?”
“Would have been easier, that’s for sure. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t forever.”
He walked her home, but couldn’t stay for brunch, much to her relief. She didn’t want to press the subject and ask for his intentions. She wasn’t even quite sure about her own intentions, and trying to spell them out would just ruin the mood. She just smiled. It simply meant that Vic could be married in the Church. If he chose to. Someday.
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