My intention was honorable, but the reality is that I’ve done next to nothing. If you don’t count e-mailing my accountant and telling him that I’m too swamped to do payroll, so if I pay him extra this month, can he please do it for me?
He, of course, agreed. And I ate a cupcake in celebration of my ability to delegate tasks to others.
I’m sure that’s something worthy of celebration. It’s kind of like how, next week, I’ll delegate the bathroom deep-clean to one of the guys. I conveniently have a nail appointment right before the day I scheduled it.
But that’s the fun of being the boss. You can make everyone else do the shitty things you don’t want to do.
I wish I could delegate this case though. I wish I could grab one of them and say, “Hey, you’re doing this full time and I’m taking your cases.” After all, I did allow them to open business back as usual when it became clear we’ve done nothing but run around in circles since this whole thing started.
No point having four of us on the case when there’s barely enough work for one. And it’s a good thing, too. Now, without the collaboration with the local police department, I’m back being plunged into the dark.
All I have are the basic facts.
I hope that’ll be enough.
I take a deep breath and decide I am most definitely in the middle of a tragedy and desperately need some clarity. Everyone I know is plunged deep into this case. I can’t discuss anything with anyone who can bring a completely unbiased opinion to this.
I snatch up my phone and my keys and call my parents’ landline, knowing Nonna will answer.
“Pronto?” she answers.
“Nonna,” I say, pulling away from my house. “I won’t be able to make dinner.”
“Noella!” she gasps, and I can imagine her clutching her pearls in horror. “Why-a not?”
“I’m going to church.”
There’s nothing except the sound of her breathing filling my car for a long moment. Then, “Scusami?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m going to church, Nonna. I need some peace.”
“You want-a me to come?”
“That doesn’t exactly fit in with my plan of peace,” I respond dryly. “No, thank you. I will be just fine.”
“Si, si. You find-a clarity on-a your love life, si?”
“Yes. That’s exactly it. I’m going to have a gossip session with God.”
“Ah! He will-a help you! You no like-a Gio?”
“No, Gio was just fine, Nonna. I just want to make sure a second date is the right thing to do right now.”
“Ah! I will let-a you go! Go!” She hangs up.
The woman just does not understand sarcasm.
I shake my head and park in the small lot next to the church. Holly Woods Chapel is just about the prettiest building in town. The classic Gothic style is reminiscent of the time period in which it was built, and careful restoration efforts over the last few decades means that the tall spires, traditional glass windows, and intricate detail on the main body of the church are as beautiful and preserved as they are in the very first pictures of the church.
Leaving my phone locked in the car, I pocket my keys and walk toward the small but imposing building. I’ve always had a strange relationship with my religion. I’m Catholic by necessity—Nonna would drop dead if we’d been baptized as anything else, and it’s the one thing Mom has never fought her on—but I’ve never truly…grasped it.
Maybe I’m too much of a realistic person. My logical mind and inquisitive nature require steadfast proof, real evidence, and definitive answer. Since religion can’t provide any of those, I’ve always hung in the balance of a believer and a nonbeliever.
I believe in something. I believe that somewhere out there—in the sky, deep in the oceans, in the heart of the forest, buried under the desert—there’s something bigger than all of us. I truly believe that, one day, we’ll face the consequences of our actions, whether that thing is God, karma, or plain old justice.
Sure. I don’t have the proof that there is something there. But I don’t have the proof that those things don’t exist, either, do I?
I open the heavy wooden door and walk into the church. As I knew it would be midweek, it’s empty until Father Luiz holds his midweek session tonight. I like it this way. Silence. Peace.
This is probably the only place I have left to get that.
I walk slowly through the church, my eyes focusing on the large stained-glass window that fills the back wall. The sunlight hits it full on in the late afternoon, and spots of color are dancing around the room, the brightness of the depiction of Mother Mary almost too bright to look at.
It’s the only one the church has, but it’s the only one it needs.
I take a seat on the third pew from the front and exhale gently. The table set up to the side in Lena and Daniel’s memory is reminiscent of a shrine, and I know that Father Luiz will leave it there until their killer is found. He’ll believe that, as long as we can see their faces, their spirits will stay with us and justice will be served.
I hope he’s right.
Closing my eyes, I tuck my feet beneath the pew and breathe. The calmness of the building seeps into my skin, and with every exhale, I feel a little of the tension leave my body. If even an ounce of it leaves, then I know I’m much lighter. I wish it would take the confusion and stress and questions with it.
If only I could exhale the questions and inhale the answers.
If only I had the strength to walk away from this investigation.
“Hey, God, Jesus, Karma, whoever you are up there. I know I don’t come here as much as I should, but could you help me out a little here? People keep getting poisoned, and it would be really great if you could tell me how to fix this mess, you know? And if you’re not gonna do that, could you make my next ten cupcakes calorie-free? It’s the least you could do if I have to continue onward in this crazy maze of a case. Also, calorie-free wine and margaritas would be great. I’m just sayin’.”
A low chuckle makes me open my eyes, and I see Father Luiz standing at the front of the church. His hands are clasped to his front, and his light-brown eyes are alight with the smile on his tan face.
“Hello, Noelle.”
“Father,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, girl. Your request was very reasonable, and I’m sure you’d get a lot of backing from the other women in town.” He winks. “Your grandmother called and said you were coming. I was, naturally, intrigued.”
Guilt riddles me. “I don’t come as often as she thinks I should, I know.”
“Ah, but you come when you need to. And isn’t that the beauty of belief? You don’t have to be connected all the time to feel the benefits of it. Just because your faith isn’t as strong as Liliana’s doesn’t mean you can’t come whenever you must.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? That people…like me—people who don’t feel the same as you do—still find comfort in your church?”
He smiles and takes the seat on the pew next to me. His eyes are fixed on the cross depicting the crucifixion hanging above his pulpit. “Quite the contrary, my dear. I don’t judge others for their beliefs—that is not my job. And this church? It is not mine. Rather, I belong to it. It’s been standing for years before I was born, and it will stand for many after my death.”
“That’s a very realistic view.”
“Because I am a priest, I cannot be realistic?” His eyebrow quirks despite the fact that he never looks at me.
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“Fret not, child. This world… It is a peculiar one, no?” He clasps his hands on his lap. “Belief is relative. Religion is optional. Here is the thing, Noelle—no one can make you believe anything your heart isn’t fully into. No one can dictate to you your feelings or dreams. And that means no one can offer you any more or less than your heart declares, as long as your heart is strong.”
“What if it isn’t though?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “What if the person you think you’ve been is someone other than who you are? What if you don’t actually know what your dreams are?”