“Shit!” Her father pounded the steering wheel as they neared the church. “We have to park a field away—and in this heat. That’s what we get for being late. Who the hell holds a reception in July?”
Teagan protected her hair with her hands and peered out the window. A row of vehicles, shimmering in the sun, lined the road. The church’s car park was already filled.
“Watch your language, Cormac,” Shavon said as they pulled curbside, a few blocks from the church. “Teagan, take your jumper.”
She scowled at her sweater. “It’s so hot. I’ll look like a dunce.”
“Hang it over your arm. A lady should carry it just in case. Manners, you know.”
Cormac snickered. “Oh, let it stay in the car. Manners won’t get you into heaven.”
Her father rarely took her side, but in deference to her mother she would carry the sweater; after all, they had an understanding. It wasn’t that she hated her father, but for as long as she could remember, she and her mother had forged a bond. They kept each other afloat when her father was drunk, or when he made strict demands that strained the household. She picked up the sweater and placed it over her arm.
Her stomach knotted as she stepped out of the car. She didn’t want to be here—few social situations with her parents were pleasant. She already knew how the afternoon would go. Her father would drink too much; her mother would criticize his drinking and throw disapproving looks his way. Teagan would have to make small talk with lots of people she hardly knew and really didn’t care about.
Too bad Cullen wasn’t Catholic. As a Protestant, he wouldn’t be at this reception. Her parents didn’t approve of her boyfriend, but Teagan didn’t care. She saw him when she could, mostly on the sly. Cullen was her business and not her mother’s. If she could get through this excruciating gathering, maybe she could call him. They might be able to go for that walk after all.
Two times at St. Eusebius in one day was enough—Mass and now this. The parish church loomed in the distance like a granite prison. Teagan had always thought it didn’t have much going for it, except for the tall belfry. In the afternoon sun, the church seemed forbidding and hot.
Her father walked ahead of them, eager to get to the punch bowl. Teagan and her mother followed, fanning the heat away. He led them down a path on the north side of the church, through a garden sheltered by tall trees. Laughter spilled out of the open parish house door. Teagan took a deep breath before diving into the crowd. The room was so tightly packed she could barely move. Body heat washed over her like warm bathwater. Cormac waved to a group of men standing across the room and pushed his way to the drinks table. Her mother joined a group of ladies standing near the door.
Teagan spotted Father Matthew, the parish priest, standing near a table holding the punch bowl and several open wine bottles. A framed photograph of Pope John XXIII hung above it. The Pope, attired in a white skullcap and crimson robes, smiled upon the festivities. Father Matthew’s face reddened as he joked with the parish men who lined up for drinks. Teagan heard her father ask for punch. After getting a glass, he shuffled off, keeping his back to the crowd. Teagan knew what he was doing. She saw his elbow bend after he reached into his pocket.
Cathy, a girl she knew from school, shouted from across the room. Teagan thought of her satin dress and blushed, but waved back and took a glass of punch for herself. She had started to make her way through the throng when a man in the center of the room caught her attention. He had to be the new priest. He was dressed like one, wearing the clerical collar, dark shirt, and pants, but unlike Father Matthew, he was handsome and young, with solid arms and shoulders like some of the athletic boys at school. The parish women, young and old alike, circled around him like birds pecking at feed.
The women hung on his every word. When he smiled, his cheeks folded into dimples. He laughed and swept back his wavy black hair with his fingers. His sky-blue eyes stopped Teagan in her tracks. Had she imagined it, or had he looked at her with more than an expression of interest? A few women eyed her. One in particular, Mrs. O’Brian, seemed to be taking notes on the new priest.
But he was watching her walk toward him. She hadn’t imagined it.
Mrs. O’Brian studied them both, her hawk-like eyes beaded into dots.
Teagan pushed into the inner circle, ignoring Cathy for the moment. The priest grinned as she snaked her way through the crowd. Was he smiling at her? A tingle washed over her body. She liked the feeling, particularly coming from so handsome a man. Something about him—she couldn’t put her finger on it— excited her. Was it the thrill of meeting someone important and new? Or was it his good looks? She stopped short of introducing herself, but stood close enough to hear him answer questions about his new duties. Someone accidentally nudged her from behind. Her arms broke out in gooseflesh as she brushed against the priest.
“Excuse me,” she said, without looking directly at him. “Someone pushed me.”
The priest’s eyes twinkled. Apparently, he was no stranger to adoring crowds. “No apology necessary,” he said, and resumed his conversation with the others.
She broke free of the circle as embarrassment rose in her chest. Cathy grabbed her by the arm when she came within reach. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” she gushed. “You got close to him! What did he say to you?” Cathy pushed back her glasses so she could focus on the priest. “Father Mark,” she said languorously. “I’d love to share my confessions with him.”
Teagan scoffed. “You can hardly get to him for all the swooning women. All we need are the other Apostles—Father Luke and Father John—to complete the set.”
Laughter erupted from the corner where her father had joined his pals. He was probably on his second whiskey by now.
“I think Father Mark fancies you,” Cathy said. “I saw the way he was looking at you.” Her friend stared at her. “My, you look dolled up today.”
“My mother made me wear this dress—and carry my jumper.” Teagan sighed. “I told her it was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t listen. And you’re daft. Father Mark is old enough to be my da—at least thirty.” Her shoulders drooped at the thought. “And even if he did fancy me, what future is there with a priest? None.” She was happy Cathy thought she was attractive enough to capture a look from Father Mark.
Cathy squinted at the young priest. “Maybe you could convince him to give up his vows of celibacy.”
“Don’t be silly.” Teagan fanned her face with her hand. “My God, it’s hot. I wish we could get air-conditioning here like my aunt Florence has in America. She tells my mother about all the luxuries they have in New York City.”
“Let’s go to the table and stand by the stairs,” Cathy said.
“Stairs?”
“Father Matthew has a wine cellar. I helped him and Father Mark bring up some bottles. It’s cooler by the steps.” They made their way to the table and the stairs that led below.
Her mother walked to the group of ladies gathered around Father Mark. In the corner, her father leaned on one of his friends, sharing the contents of the flask.
They had only been at the stairs a few minutes when Father Mark broke through the crowd and started toward them. Cathy nudged Teagan in the ribs. “Get ready. Here he comes.”
Teagan slapped her friend’s hand. “Quit it! I don’t want him to look at me.”
He stopped in front of them and extended his hand to her. “I’ve met Cathy, but we haven’t had the pleasure.” He had no Irish accent and Teagan wondered where he was from. She took his hand, warm to the touch, and shook it. A thrill shot through her, and she pulled her fingers away. She stared at the priest. He filled out his clothes like no other priest she had met. A question popped into her head: Why would such a good-looking man become a priest?