“I know you’ve been struggling at work lately,” she had told him over the phone, “and I’ve been wondering how to help. And then it hit me—of course! We could have your boss over for dinner!”
Trent had to hold back a groan. “Mom, you really don’t have to—”
“Oh, please, he told us himself on Christmas that he wanted to get together, remember? I’ve already called to invite him.”
As uncomfortable as the evening promised to be, Trent thought now that maybe his mother really would be helping. Spending an evening with Dopp outside of work would give him a chance to showcase his loyalty to the department and his solidarity with its mission. Be who I was, Trent told himself. Dutiful son, noble employee, and a guy who wondered why the hell any of it mattered.
His mother opened the door with a smile and greeted him warmly, telling him with one look that their guests were already seated inside.
“What’s wrong?” She pulled back and stared at him.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded breezily. Was his unease that obvious?
She put an arm around his waist and led him toward the dining room. “Greet them first, and then come help me serve.”
As they turned the corner, a long mahogany table came into view along with a man’s familiar profile, with its prominent nose and long chin—a man who turned to face Trent as soon as he stepped into the room. Next to him was his very pregnant wife, and across from them sat his father. All three smiled.
Trent forced a wide grin and gave a little wave. “Hey, Dad. Hi, boss. Funny seeing you here.”
Dopp smiled good-naturedly. “Who were you expecting?”
Trent shrugged, not feeling up to witty banter. “Glad you both could join us.”
“Our pleasure,” Dopp said, putting an arm around Joanie.
“We’ll be right back with dinner,” said his mother. She pinched Trent’s waist and they turned around, heading for the kitchen. “Isn’t this perfect,” she whispered. “Just what you need.”
“Yeah.”
In the kitchen, she handed him a platter with pot roast and a bowl of salad from the fridge.
“But, Mom,” he said, “don’t you think he realizes you’re just sucking up on my behalf?”
She cocked her head. “Honey, that’s how the world works. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“You don’t think it’s too phony?” Not that he cared, but he couldn’t help asking.
“You have to play the game to get ahead. Act like there’s nothing you care about more than your job.”
They walked back to the dining room single file, arms loaded with food.
“Trent,” his father said as soon as they entered, “I was just telling them about all the cover stories you did for Newsday on Saint Mary’s. How many was it again?”
Trent cringed at the name, once synonymous with disgust. Saint Mary’s was the church near their home they had often attended during his childhood that had later been revealed to harbor lecherous priests and financial fraud. Trent had covered every ugly ripple to come out of the church: a wonder for his journalistic visibility, but not so much for his psyche.
“Seventeen, Dad.”
His father’s eyes widened. “That’s right. Over just a few months, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Joanie looked impressed, while Dopp gazed thoughtfully at Trent. “I remember when all that happened. What a nightmare that was.”
Trent nodded. “It was a tough time.”
“But,” his mother pointed out, as she sat down next to him, “it did get you nominated for the Pulitzer.”
“One of the reasons I hired you,” Dopp said. “You can’t turn down that kind of talent.”
“Thanks,” Trent said, forcing a gracious smile as he smoothed his napkin over his lap.
His mother said a quick grace and announced, “Bon appétit.”
“Speaking of church,” his father said dryly, “how was everyone’s sermons this morning?”
Oh yeah, Trent thought. Sunday—and the rest of his world was the same.
Joanie nodded. “Fantastic. Our priest is really passionate about family values, so he’s been talking a lot lately about that.”
“Of course, we just eat it up,” Dopp said with a smile. He turned to Trent. “What did your priest talk about? I always wonder what goes on at city churches.”
The pasta in Trent’s mouth seemed to wrap around his tongue. He held up a finger as he chewed, then swallowed. “Faith, mainly. The importance of faith, no matter what.”
Trent heard the words and felt his lips moving as his face grew hot; the guilt was an equal and opposite reaction to his lie. But wait, he thought. What was there to feel guilty about? He had committed no sin; no angry God was going to strike him down. Yet his looking-over-one-shoulder reflex had not entirely ceased, as if he were a recovering addict grappling with relapses. With no drug to encourage his hopes and placate his fears, the world—however free of guilt—seemed much more dangerous, and more lonely.
He looked around the table at his mother and father, at Dopp and Joanie, the people who had not long ago constituted his network of ideals and support. Now what were they? His parents, talking so earnestly about the faith discussion he had begun—they were still good people, he reasoned. People who simply wanted the best for him, in their own misguided way. There was no evil in that.
And Dopp: he was stroking Joanie’s hair as he leaned over the table, speaking about the issues facing modern-day priests. How recently Trent had watched him the way his parents were now, with rapt respect. Dopp’s voice was mesmerizing—commanding in volume but subtle in inflection, the mark of a true ex-priest. As Trent studied the man he had once considered his mentor, he was surprised to feel the tiniest bit nostalgic. Dopp was a man of passion and conviction,
