edge of the pew counting the moments until the boy soprano who sang the opening verse a cappella was finished so she could raise her strong clear voice in song. She was an artist who saw the world in terms of colour and composition. She loved the perfect rosy Renaissance feet on the doll that lay in the fresh hay of the creche on the altar, and the juxtaposition of the tiny haloed baby with the soaring black cross that hung above it. And she loved the candles that flickered dangerously in our hands and the way the incense mixed with the scents of pine and perfume. Most of all, Taylor loved communion. She gave me the blankest of gazes when I mentioned transubstantiation, but at some deep level, she understood the thrill of a world in which wafer became flesh and wine, blood. That Christmas Eve as Father Gary ruminated on Plato’s observation that we live in a time when it often seems the sheepdogs have become the wolves, Taylor fidgeted, but when he called us to the communion rail, she grabbed my hand.
The whole process intrigued her: Father Gary’s explanation that our church has open communion, and that visitors of other faiths were welcome to take part; the promise that those who needed healing could come to the communion rail at the last for special prayers and blessing; the choir’s chant asking the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world to grant us peace.
Bryn was rapt too. As Father Gary talked about the sacrament of communion, she listened, lips slightly parted, her hand on the pew, fingers touching my son’s. But when our turn to go forward came, Bryn stayed in her place. When Jill whispered to her, she didn’t move.
The sacrament of communion has always brought me the kind of comfort suggested by its Latin root comfortare, “to strengthen.” That night despite the familiar words, the taste of wine, and the stillness of the scented air as we knelt at the altar, the usual sense of slow-blooming peace eluded me. As we walked back to our seats, the knife-edge of panic was sawing away, sharper than ever.
I couldn’t shake the memory of Dan Kasperski’s words. My mind was racing. I was so immersed in the problem of how Jill could deal with the daughter she adored that I didn’t notice that Bryn herself had slipped away. She was already at the altar when I spotted her. Communion was over. She was alone. She moved with fluid grace past the communion rail, knelt under the cross suspended above the altar, then prostrated herself beneath it. Father Gary was a gentle and sensible man. He knelt beside her, prayed with her, then put his arms around her and helped her to her feet. Bryn walked back down the aisle with her head high. As she slipped back into her place in the pew, the slightest glimmer of a smile passed her lips. “I’m forgiven,” she said. “It’s all right. I’m forgiven.”
CHAPTER
9
Bryn’s convenient conversion might have brought her peace, but it did not usher in a period of amazing grace for the rest of us. From the moment we came back from church, the evening grew steadily worse.
I hadn’t even taken my coat off before Angus grabbed my arm, pulled me aside, and whispered, “I need to talk to you, Mum.”
“Go for it,” I said.
“In private.”
“Come upstairs, then,” I said.
My son didn’t beat around the bush. After we walked into my room, he closed the door, threw himself on the bed, and started talking. “We didn’t do that much, Mum. It was just – you know – the usual.”
“You’ve lost me already,” I said.
He kept his eyes resolutely on the ceiling. “Bryn and I didn’t do anything that should have made her flip out like that during communion.”
I sat down on the bed. “You think what happened with Bryn tonight was your fault?”
“You’re the one who told me there was more to sex than mechanics,” he said. “Remember ‘always treat the other person responsibly and respectfully.’ ”
“I remember,” I said. “But don’t be too quick to don the hair shirt about this one, Angus. Bryn’s had a lot to deal with lately. I think everything just caught up with her tonight.”
Relief washed over my son’s face. “So it wasn’t what we did?”
“You’re not off the hook,” I said. “You’re eighteen years old. You know how powerful sexual feelings are.”
“That’s why I thought it was my fault,” he said. “Bryn told me…” He flung his arm across his forehead. “I can’t talk to you about this.”
“Okay,” I said. “But, Angus, we’re dealing with major problems here. If you know anything that can help, maybe you should reconsider.”
“Can you promise to keep this between us unless it’s absolutely necessary to tell somebody else?”
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Angus took a deep breath. “This afternoon Bryn told me she was still a virgin, but she didn’t want to stay that way.”
“So you were about to grant her wish when we came in,” I said.
“No.” He slammed his fist into his hand. “I wasn’t about to do anything. Look, Mum, I’m not going to bullshit you. Bryn is really hot. But she’s a sketch…” He picked up on my blank look. “You know, off centre. But the big problem is she’s just not Leah.”
“I thought Leah was over,” I said.
“So did I,” he said. “But this afternoon… fuck, Mum, it’s so weird talking to you about this. But with Leah, everything, not just – you know – intimacy, everything felt right. This didn’t.”
“Trust your instincts,” I said.
“Back off with Bryn?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Be her friend, but don’t be alone with her.”
Angus gave me a lopsided grin. “Of course, I would have figured this out myself sooner or later.”
“Probably later rather than sooner,” I said, then I gave him a quick hug.
When Angus pushed open the door to leave, Bryn was standing so close he almost hit her.
I walked over to her. “Are you all right?”
“I was just going to get ready for bed,” she said.
Jill came up the stairs, took in the situation, and dropped a protective arm around her stepdaughter. “Wrong door, sweetie. Our room’s next door.”
Like a weary child, Bryn lay her head against Jill. “I’m tired,” she said. “I guess I just got confused.”
Five minutes later, Jill was back in my room. “Bryn’s asleep. She was so exhausted I had to help her get into her pyjamas.”
“It’s been a long day,” I said.
“They’re all long days for Bryn,” Jill said. “Jo, what am I going to do?”
It was an opening, and I took it. “You’re going to get her some help.” Jill’s gaze never wavered as I told her about Dan’s call. When I finished, she said, “Bryn’s run out of options, hasn’t she?”
“Dan seems to think so.”
“She doesn’t trust anybody,” Jill said. “How can I get her to talk to Dan?”
“I’d start by telling her that Dan has seen the footage Evan shot and that he believes what her father did to her was heinous. I’m not an expert, but I think Bryn might open up to someone who knows the worst and is still on her side.”
Jill leaned towards me. “You’re right,” she said. “But the person Bryn opens up to should be me. I’m the one who should tell her that I know everything and I still love her. I’m going to call Dan and ask him if I can come over and look at the films tonight.”
“Not tonight,” I said. “You’ve had enough. We can slip over there tomorrow afternoon. Barry and Ed have invited the kids and me to their brunch, but Angus and Taylor will have a great time on their own – so will Bryn.”
