Her timing was perfect. Father Michael was holding a highball glass in his hand, saying something to Erica’s father-the three men were standing next to the bar-and his glass immediately stopped its motion toward his mouth when he saw her coming into the room. Erica met his eyes and swallowed, feeling his gaze sweeping her, drinking in her nearly perfected feminine beauty, far more heady than whatever was in his glass from the look on his face. She had elicited the reaction she wanted, and instead of buoying her up, it sank her like the Titanic, a slow, inevitable death. She saw the look in his eyes, the longing and pain in them, and felt instantly sorry for being the cause. What was she thinking?
“There’s my girl.” Erica’s father held out a hand and she went to him, glancing at Leah, who was sitting on the sofa with a highball glass of her own. She looked quiet and sad, her usual demeanor since she’d come home.
Erica said her hellos but was glad when her father asked her to go to the kitchen and inquire about Solie’s hors d'oeuvres. She found Solie standing over a roasted goose, using a baster to glaze its already golden skin before putting it back into the oven. It made the whole place smell darkly delicious.
“Daddy was wondering about the hors d'oeuvre?” Erica said, sneaking two olives from the relish tray and eating them before Solie could turn back around.
“Goodness, I’m busier than a one-armed paper-hanger!” Solie nodded toward a tray on the table. “Can you give me a hand and fill those tomatoes?”
Erica sat, beginning to fill the hollowed-out cherry tomatoes with a mixture of green onion, cream cheese and garlic. It smelled so good her stomach rumbled in protest.
“Is everyone here?” Solie asked, sitting beside Erica with another spoon, the job moving much faster with both of them working on it.
“Father Patrick and Father Michael are here.” Erica shrugged. “I don’t know who else Daddy invited. I have a friend coming.”
“Do you now?” Solie raised an eyebrow at her.
“Just a friend.” Erica popped one of the cherries into her mouth, avoiding the slap of Solie’s protesting hand with a deft grace acquired from years of practice. She’d been sneaking food off Solie’s trays since she could walk. “Can I take these out now?”
“You go ahead. Make sure Miss Leah gets some of those stuffed celeries. Those are her favorites.”
“Okay.” Erica balanced one tray on one hand before sliding the second off the table with her other.
“She’s doing better, Miss Leah is?” Solie inquired, a worried look in her eyes.
“Hard to say.” Erica sighed. “She doesn’t talk much.”
She took the hors d'oeuvres out and put them on the coffee table. Everyone was seated on the living room sofa and chairs, her father next to Leah on the sofa, arm around her shoulder. Father Patrick had taken the wing- back chair, which left the space next to Father Michael on the loveseat the only one available. Erica sat beside him, crossing her legs and watching them all eat stuffed cherry tomatoes and celery and make small talk, while her heart was beating so hard it threatened to burst out of her chest. It wasn’t fair that broken hearts were allowed to still beat for the things they so loved and wanted.
“You look lovely, Erica.”
She glanced up at Father Michael’s soft words, spoken just to her, for her ears only. Her father and Father Patrick were discussing Eisenhower quite loudly and Leah-she was still off in her own little world.
“Thank you.”
“I miss our Mayflower mornings.”
They had met for coffee every morning at the Mayflower cafe for months, but then, after Leah had come home, after things had progressed between Erica and Father Michael to the point where neither of them could deny how they felt anymore, he had just stopped coming. No warning, no nothing.
She couldn’t forget the tender press of his lips against hers, the way her heart leapt at his touch. The heart just didn’t lie, and her heart had beat for him since. The Mayflower had been their little refuge, and when he’d finally stopped coming, she had lost something much worse than her broken heart could bear. She’d lost the only man she had ever truly loved.
“Me too,” Erica admitted. “I wish…”
But of course he knew what she wished. She knew he wished it too.
“I have something for you.” He cleared his throat, taking a sip of his drink. “A small Christmas gift. I meant to give it to you last night, after midnight mass…”
Erica remembered the way he’d looked at her, how he’d frowned when he saw Clay bending down to whisper something into her ear to make her laugh, how her already broken heart seemed to shatter again to bits. Just when she thought it couldn’t break anymore, it happened again, as if her heart could continue to split into the tiniest pieces, the smallest atoms. He’d motioned for her, but she’d ignored him, turning to Clay instead, pretending not to see, not to notice. She was punishing him, punishing them both, but what else could she do? She wanted him, he wanted her, but they couldn’t be together. What more did he want from her?
“I thought maybe we might have coffee at the Mayflower on Monday. Just this once?”
Erica hesitated, biting her lip. She knew she shouldn’t.
He leaned in, whispering, “Besides, I have some information for you, Nancy Drew.”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. Whenever they had put their heads together to solve a mystery, whether it was finding missing Leah’s whereabouts or unraveling the secrets of the Mary Magdalenes, Father Michael had made jokes, calling her Nancy Drew and saying he was just one of the Hardy Boys.
“Okay.” She told herself she shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t give in, it was only prolonging the torture for both of them. But she couldn’t resist, she couldn’t say no, in spite of her better judgment. Besides, she never could resist a secret.
That’s when the doorbell rang and Erica’s stomach dropped, knowing it was Clay, and she didn’t think she could bear the hurt look in Father’s Michael’s eyes when he saw who Erica had invited to Christmas dinner. Solie came bustling out of the kitchen at the sound of the doorbell, a sound that echoed off the high ceiling in the warehouse, but Erica stood, shooing her back toward the kitchen.
“I’ll get it, Solie. You take care of the goose.”
Erica went reluctantly down the hall like a man taking the walk on death row toward his own demise. She took a deep breath and put on a smile as she opened the door, but that disappeared the instant she saw who it was.
“Hello Erica.” Leah’s mother stepped past her into the warehouse, already shrugging off her coat, shaking stray snowflakes onto the floor. It was still snowing outside. “How have you been?”
“Hi Mrs. Wendt.” Erica blinked at her, thinking maybe she was dreaming or delusional. She heard her father’s voice, his steps down the hallway, and turned to him for rescue as he approached.
“Hello Patty.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek she offered toward him. “Merry Christmas. So glad you could come.”
“You invited her?” Erica blurted before she could even think. They both gave her a look that made her feel like crawling into a hole. Instead, she shut the door against the cold, leaning back against it.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Erica,” Patty Wendt said sarcastically.
“Does Leah know?” Erica whispered, glancing down the hall toward the living room where her best friend sat, quiet, probably still mildly sedated-the doctor had sent her home with some heavy prescription medication-and likely unsuspecting. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
“She will in a minute. I’m sure Leah will be happy to see her mother. It is Christmas, after all.” Erica’s father put an arm around Patty’s shoulders, giving Erica her coat to hang up before guiding Leah’s mother toward the living room.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Erica whispered under her breath, watching them with a sinking feeling in her gut. She hung up Mrs. Wendt’s coat, anything to draw out her walk down the hallway to the living room where disaster was just waiting to happen.
But when she surreptitiously peeked around the corner, she found everyone sitting, Mrs. Wendt next to Father Michael, holding her own drink and chatting away. Erica practically tiptoed into the living room, edging around the furniture until she was standing next to Leah’s mother on the loveseat. Leah was still sitting quietly next to Erica’s dad, sipping her drink. There was no expression on her face-no anger, no surprise, no enthusiasm. Nothing. It was like she was there, but not.
