care of ourselves.”
“Sounds like Tom, all right,” Father Sebastian sighed. “He tries to run everyone’s life. In fact, that’s why I came over here tonight — it was easier to just do what he wanted me to do than try to argue with him. Although I’ve got to say, sometimes I’d rather just—” He cut off his words and jabbed the middle finger of his right hand high in the air. “You know what I mean?”
“Jesus,” Ryan blurted out without thinking. “What kind of priest are you?”
“Actually, I’m a counselor at St. Isaac’s,” Father Sebastian said. He grinned, and when he spoke again his voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Is it all getting clearer now?”
Ryan groaned. “Oh, great — so he sent you here to wake me up in the middle of the night just so you could talk me into going to St. Isaac’s? What’d he think — I’d be so drugged up I wouldn’t know what was going on?”
“Probably,” Father Sebastian agreed. “But in all fairness, you weren’t asleep, and if you had been I’d have gone away quietly. Granted, getting up this late and coming over here wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do tonight, but as I said, it beats arguing with Tom Kelly. So what do you think? Want to hear the pitch, or should I just go home and tell Tom you were asleep?”
“You’d really do that?” Ryan asked.
“Try me!” Father Sebastian rose to his feet. “It’s almost one in the morning and this past evening wasn’t really great. So just say the word, and I’m out of here and back in bed in half an hour.”
“What if I want to hear the pitch?” Ryan countered.
Father Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Then I give you the short version, hope you don’t have any questions, and I’m home and in bed in maybe forty minutes.”
Ryan started to laugh, felt a twinge of pain in his ribs, and cut the laugh short. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll listen.”
The priest smiled. “Beats lying here in the dark thinking about next week, doesn’t it?” he asked, voicing Ryan’s thoughts almost perfectly. He lowered himself back into the chair. “The main thing I’ve got to tell you is that things like what happened to you don’t happen at St. Isaac’s. We don’t let them happen. If anybody there is going to give you a hard time it’s going to be the nuns, not the other students. And while some of the sisters are tough as nails, I don’t think they’d actually kick you.” He winked at Ryan. “But don’t hold me to that. I’ve only been there since the fall, so what do I know?”
“Tom Kelly doesn’t really care that I got my butt kicked yesterday,” Ryan replied. “He just wants me out of the house so he can put the make on my mother.”
“From what I know of Tom, which I’ll grant you isn’t all that much, he’s probably going to do that whether you’re there or not,” Father Sebastian said. “But you know, it’s not such a terrible thing that he has feelings for your mother.”
“It still doesn’t make him my dad,” Ryan insisted, and hoped his words didn’t sound quite as sullen to the priest as they did to him.
“No one can replace your father,” Father Sebastian. “Tom and your mom are just trying to do what’s best for you. Like your dad would, if he were here. And right now, they think that the best thing is for you to get out of Dickinson High.”
Ryan stared at the ceiling.
Father Sebastian put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “It’s up to you, of course. We don’t tolerate the kind of stuff you’re going through at Dickinson, and I can tell you that a diploma from St. Isaac’s on your college applications doesn’t hurt.”
Ryan’s attention instantly shifted back to the priest. For as long as he could remember, he’d been determined to follow his father to Princeton, but Princeton could take their pick from literally thousands of kids with 4.0-plus GPAs and perfect SATs, and after what had happened yesterday he couldn’t risk blowing any more tests, let alone waste all his time watching his back.
“Any of your kids go to Princeton?” he asked, trying to sound a lot less interested than he suddenly was.
“A couple,” Father Sebastian replied. “And Harvard. And M.I.T. The best of our bunch go pretty much wherever they want to go.” Ryan made no reply, but Father Sebastian felt fairly sure that the message Tom wanted delivered had finally been received. “Just think about it, okay?” he said, standing up. “Now go back to sleep and get some rest.”
Ryan nodded. Then, just as Father Sebastian opened the door, he spoke. “Hey.”
Father Sebastian turned.
“Thanks for coming.”
The priest smiled, his eyes roving quickly over the hospital room. “You seem like a pretty good kid,” he said. “You deserve better than this. Think about it.”
The door swung shut, and Ryan switched off the light, gazing sightlessly up at the dark ceiling. But the last remnants of the nightmare were gone, and Ryan was sure they weren’t going to come back.
CHAPTER 10
ANNE ADAMSON’S EYES snapped open in the darkness of the bedroom. The first light of dawn silhouetted the big maple tree outside the window, and at first she thought the wind must have rattled its branches against the house. But there was no wind; indeed, the silence in the house seemed almost unnatural.
So what had wakened her?
She lay quietly, listening for the sound to repeat itself.
Hope surged through her, yet still she waited.
Then she heard it again.
The doorbell!
“Gordy!” she said, shaking her husband’s shoulder. “Gordy, there’s someone at the door.”
“Huh?” Gordy muttered, heaving himself up.
“The
“Kip,” Gordy groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Musta lost his damn key.”
Anne got out of bed and reached into the closet for their bathrobes while Gordy went to the window and peered out at the street below.
An almost unintelligible curse rumbled from his throat. “Cop car out front,” he said in response to Anne’s inquiring look.
Anne’s heart sank.
Gordy sighed. “What do you s’pose he’s done now?” He took the robe Anne was holding and shrugged into it as the doorbell rang yet another time, then led his wife down the stairs, flipped on the porch light, and opened the front door.
Two police officers stood on the front porch, their faces looking sickly in the yellowish light. “Mr. Adamson?” the older of the two asked.
“Yeah,” Gordy said, his eyes balefully fixing on the visitors. “Christ Almighty, if it ain’t priests, it’s cops.” He shoved the screen door open. “Might as well come in and tell us what he’s done.”
The officers glanced uneasily at each other, but let themselves be ushered into the living room. “I’m Sergeant Chapman,” the older police officer said. “This is Officer Haskins.”
Something in his voice sent a chill through Anne’s body. “What is it?” she asked. “Has something happened to Kip?”
Chapman shifted uneasily. “Perhaps you should have a seat, ma’am.”
Gordy Adamson reached out and took his wife’s hand. “He’s dead then, isn’t he?”
“Gordy!” Anne gasped, jerking her hand away. “How can you even say such a thing?” But even as she uttered the words the expression on Sergeant Chapman’s face revealed the truth of her husband’s words.
