“Yes,” he lied.
“Very.” He glanced at the vacuum in the corner of the hall. “Do you need a ride home later?” he asked.
“Oh, no, I’ll walk,” she said.
“I like to walk.”
“I’ll see you later at the cul-de-sac, then,” he said. He walked through the hallway to the open door, leaving Shelly alone with one of her many guardians.
Sean Macy’s office window looked out across the salt marsh toward the sound, and for a long time after Rory left, the priest simply sat and stared at an egret standing in the water and weeds. The brief encounter with Rory had exhausted him, but he knew that was only one facet of his misery. He had never before felt so low, and prayer no longer brought him comfort or answers.
“Father?”
He turned away from the window at the sound of Shelly’s voice. She stood in the doorway, the pretty, blond custodian of St. Esther’s, and he couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Can I come in to vacuum now?” she asked.
“Or will it disturb you?”
“You can come in,” he said. He studied her as she rolled the upright vacuum into his office. She turned on the machine and began vacuuming in the corner of the room. Her long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she looked much younger than her twenty-two years.
Shelly.
He knew so much about her. More than anyone else, perhaps. He turned back to the window. A sailboat was out in the sound, far beyond the marsh, leaning almost parallel to the water.
Suddenly, the noise from the vacuum stopped, and he turned to see Shelly staring at him. She looked worried.
“You seem unhappy again,” she said.
Sean looked down at the papers on his desk. He truly didn’t want to burden her with his problems. He never did. But right now he felt driven to tell her, his own personal confessor, what was troubling him.
1 he meeting with the priest certainly had not gone according to plan, Rory thought as he drove home from the church. He wouldn’t be able to get information on Shelly’s adoption from Father Macy, that much was certain. Sure, he could get the facts from public records, but he had wanted the priest’s angle on the emotions involved. Without either of the elder Catos still living, it was impossible to understand exactly why and how they had longed to adopt the foundling.
He was waiting at a stoplight when his eyes were drawn to the roof of a house across the street. Construction workers were on the roof, building a deck, and one of the workers was obviously a woman. Her back was to him, and she was leaning over, hammering, her khaki shorts defining her shape. Her narrow waist curved into trim, shapely hips, and he felt an instant, visceral attraction. Was this the sort of work Daria did, balancing on the side of a roof, wielding a hammer? His gaze drifted to one of the other workers, a man whose blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he realized the man was Andy Kramer, Daria’s coworker. Rory jerked his gaze back to the woman. She stood up from her task, and he saw the wild black hair. Daria. A grin broke out across his face. He was filled with warmth at seeing her up there on the roof, and he was surprised, and a little shaken, by his unexpected physical attraction to her. It was a bit like being attracted to your sister. Except that Daria was not his sister.
The driver behind him honked, and Rory quickly looked at the traffic light to discover it was green. He pressed on the gas, wondering how long he had been sitting there in a daze.
Later that evening, he and Zack were batting the volleyball across the net on the beach, when Kara showed up. She was dressed in a green halter top and short shorts cut low enough to display the gold hoop in her navel. Leaning against the post that supported the net, she watched the two of them, and Rory was aware of the vibrations passing between his son and the girl. No doubt, they wished he would disappear. He was superfluous now that Kara had arrived.
He happened to glance toward the Sea Shanty and spotted Daria standing on the widow’s walk, watching them.
“Hey, Daria.” He waved to her.
“Come join us so we can have two teams.”
He was pleased when Daria called back that she was coming down, and in a moment she was on the beach. She was still wearing the tank top and khaki shorts she’d had on when he spotted her on the roof.
“How do you want to divide up?” she asked.
“Kara and me against you guys,” Zack said quickly, and Kara walked onto his side of the net. “This is going to be too easy,” Zack said to Kara.
“I don’t know about Daria, but my dad’s an old guy with a screwed-up knee.”
Rory rolled his eyes at Daria. She was laughing.
The game began. Daria was one mean volleyball player. She could spike the ball over the net with unstoppable speed, and when she jumped for a shot, it was as though she had springs on her feet.
Rory touched her to position her on the court. He knew that at least half his touches were unnecessary, yet his hand seemed drawn to her. This was crazy. A few hours ago, he’d thought of her as his little playmate. Grownup now, yes, but still essentially that spirited, sexless child. One glimpse of her up on that roof and suddenly, her body beneath his hand was the body of a woman.
He and Daria won the game. They were both sweaty and winded, and his knee throbbed, but they savored the victory, celebrating with a hug.
Zack muttered something about having let the old folks win and refused to play again, which was a secret relief to Rory, who doubted his knee could handle a second game.
