After a two-and-a-half-hour drive that seemed like ten, plus a stop in Eau Claire for directions, Jason turned into the parking lot of the Acoustic Café. It had taken him a half hour to decide what to wear, all the while with the realization that he had no idea what was in style. Not that it mattered. All of his clothing was nondescript and much of it threadbare. He always tried to dress presentably when he spoke to groups or approached businesses for donations, but a bit of clean shabbiness never harmed those activities at all.

He wore a pair of faded jeans, a beige button-down shirt, white sneakers and a lined, lightweight green jacket, the only one he owned suitable for this cool and wet last day of June. His clothing didn’t overly concern him, but what would they talk about after all these years? Once they brought each other up to date and complained about the rainy weather, what next? He clenched his tingling teeth.

Inside the restaurant, a trendy kind of place with high ceilings and exposed ductwork, the aromas of freshly ground coffee and baking bread triggered instant hunger. The owners knew how to spur appetites. He told the hostess he’d wait for his party at the entrance. He made a quick trip to the rest room, where he checked his teeth and combed his hair with shaky fingers. What did she look like after all this time?

Cari rushed through the door of the café just as he returned from the men’s room. She carried a large maroon tote bag and was as lovely as ever, but she had changed. She was more mature, naturally, but that wasn’t all of it. Her hair, not nearly as blond as before, was cut so short it looked mannish, and her gray jeans and blue blazer added to a certain masculine air.

Her breasts against his chest when they embraced made him gasp. Her scent, so new and fresh, revived exquisite memories.

“You look terrific, Cari.”

“You too.”

The young hostess, beaming her approval of what she probably thought was an assignation, led them to a booth. Cari’s tote bag landed with a thud when she plopped it onto the seat next to her.

“Cari, you really do look great.”

“Flattery, flattery! But it’s okay, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

Laughing, they were interrupted by a plump young waitress. It was only eleven, so they were ahead of the noon rush. “We’ll need a few minutes,” Jason said. “Could you bring us two waters to start?” The waitress left menus for them and turned away.

“Did you notice the art work?” Cari said. “All by local artists. Some quite good.”

He nodded his agreement. “The baking bread seduced me the second I stepped through the door. Nice place. Glad you picked it.”

“It’s the only restaurant I know here. I stopped once after a trip home. I’ve heard they have live music on weekends.” She leaned forward. “So tell me what you do. I’m so curious I could burst. Your emails didn’t help much.” She arched her eyebrows. “Witness protection program?”

He knew she was teasing, but her comment took him aback.

“Sorry, Jason. Bad question.”

He covered her hand with his. “We have no secrets, right?”

“Your emails haven’t shed much light.”

“For some reason, I’m wary of emails. They live forever, you know. Seems hackers or investigators or alienated lovers use them to incriminate people every day. Let me tell you what I’ve been doing for five years. I gave you only an inkling in my first email a while back.” He marveled at how comfortable he was talking with her after so many years, relieved that his earlier concerns were unwarranted.

She adjusted her tote bag and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m all ears.”

“Shortly before I visited you five years ago, my mentor called me to his apartment on a bitterly cold night. It was late, after ten, with a strong wind that knifed through every layer of clothing. My apartment was a quarter-mile walk across campus from his. Monsignor Korth was the school’s spiritual director, and not an unreasonable man. His summons baffled me.

“He had a PhD in psychology and a national reputation built on nine scholarly books and dozens of articles in first-rate journals. He was known at the college for his perceptivity; the man’s intuition defied all reason. Now, after being at the school for over fifty years, he was bedridden with a failing heart. He was dying and knew it. His late night call happened to be on the day I returned from my mother’s funeral.”

Cari touched Jason’s hand. “I have fond recollections of our meeting at the pizzeria after her funeral. The old high school hangout hadn’t changed much.”

“Gannova’s. The kids run it now.”

“That was our first real conversation as adults.”

“I remember almost every word. Some I’d rather forget.”

“Me, too.”

“What about the guy you were so into back then? Your email said he was no longer in the picture. What happened?”

Cari sat up straight. “Let’s not go there.”

“Hey, no secrets, remember?”

“Some secrets should remain secret.” She looked away and then returned her gaze to Jason. “Oh, hell, why not? By the time I found out he was married, I was hooked. He lived in Rochester and came to Minneapolis on business. After you and I talked, I confronted him. Things got ugly. End of story. Tell me more about your late night talk.” She folded her arms and pursed her lips.

“Monsignor Korth ostensibly wanted to extend his condolences, but his real purpose was to confirm his suspicions of me. He wanted to call me out before he died.”

Cari’s eyes never wavered.

“Korth was a good man, a holy man. We’d always enjoyed a solid relationship based on mutual respect. That night he reiterated some of the reasons he liked me, in spite of our numerous differences on church and social issues. He had always liked my healthy irreverence—his term—and thought I was genuine. Again, his term.

“I enjoyed certain popularity with students and faculty. They knew and supported the fact that I would succeed Korth as spiritual director. That night, however, he told me he believed I carried a secret that isolated me and kept me from a true fullness of my vocation. He didn’t need superhuman intuitiveness to ask me bluntly if it was a woman. I always had your picture on my apartment desk.”

Cari’s eyebrow shot up. “Wouldn’t that be awfully strange, a woman’s picture on a priest’s desk?”

“Totally. Not many people came to my apartment. Mostly other faculty, once in a while students. In the early years when some priests asked if it was my sister, I simply said no, it was a childhood friend. The questions stopped as time passed.

“I told Korth that, yes, a woman was part of my secret. He kept prodding until I relented. Maybe in the recesses of my soul I wanted to tell someone. In any event, I told him I would share my past with him in confidence without interruption, but not as a confession. Nor did I want a dialogue. He agreed to the conditions. During my narrative, we both enjoyed a Scotch, which he shouldn’t have had, given his heart.” Jason scrunched his chair back from the table. “Let’s order. I’m famished. Any suggestions?”

Cari reached for a menu. “Love their motto: ‘Let no one hunger for lack of a better sandwich.’ Their meatless pita is to die for.”

Jason motioned for the waitress. “We’ll both have your meatless pita sandwich. How large is your Greek salad?”

“Pretty big.”

“Let’s split one,” Cari said. “Could you bring an extra bowl?”

“Of course. Anything to drink?”

They both ordered more water.

“I told him about that summer. He was thunderstruck, but not for long. As soon as the shock wore off, he went on the attack. Told me I’d become a priest under false pretenses, had no right to be ordained, and was living a blasphemous lie. He could not accept that I’d never sought absolution, but how could I confess if I felt no sorrow, no contrition? I was sorry I had to do what I did, but not sorry I did it.”

“Why exactly did you feel you had to? You’re not the vengeful type.”

“Revenge may have played a small part, but I’d passed through that stage. I also told the monsignor about you and my feelings for you. He said he couldn’t allow me to become spiritual director of the college. We argued. The stress brought on a massive stroke that killed him a few days later. I’ve always felt I caused his death.”

“He insisted on hearing your backstory.”

“I should have refused.”

“Just what did you tell him?”

Jason glanced at her tote bag. “Everything.” She caught his glance.

“So when did you stop being a priest?”

“Within a few months of that cold night in his apartment. That dialogue with a man I so admired turned into an epiphany. I understood what I had always known: I was living a lie. I couldn’t recant. That would have been morally repugnant. The Church, on the other hand, had the right to formulate its own rules, which I had disobeyed. I was forced to face the truth of my situation.”

The arrival of the salad and extra bowl saved him from further explanation.

“It’s delicious,” Jason said after one forkful.

“So what kind of people do you teach?”

“Everything from bank robbers and drug dealers to rapists and murderers.”

Cari reached over and touched his hand. “I’ve often wondered about it and always come to the same conclusion: You had to. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have.” She glanced around and leaned forward. “I’ve always felt you didn’t tell me everything,” she whispered. “It’s bothersome.”

“Let’s not go there, okay?”

Disappointment flitted across her face. “What do you teach in prison?”

“Grade school stuff. So many of these guys don’t know the alphabet, let alone how to read or put letters and words together on paper. Math? Addition and subtraction. Once in a while how to multiply. Division, rarely. Sad. Many of them are really intelligent.”

Cari’s head cocked in puzzlement.

“Some are dyslexic. Many are mentally ill in one way or another. Others were lost in a shuffle of noncaring parents, drugs—you name it. Another common denominator, they were bumped up to the next grade year after year without learning anything. Most of them are frustrated and angry, some violently so. I have one kid, an Italian from Milwaukee, who’s a keeper, but I can’t get him to open up. Tough little guy. I’d like nothing more than to help him turn his life around.”

“You always wanted to help people. To a fault.”

Jason shrugged.

“Well, it’s true. Most people don’t want to be helped, even if they cry out for it. May I ask where this prison is located? Or would that violate the witness protection rules?”

She still had the ability to make him laugh.

“There’re only so many prisons, and you could find the Brothers on the computer, so there’s no reason not to confide in you. I live in Landover, about three hours from here. The Brothers of the Eleventh Hour, by the way, is a completely secular organization. Strange, I’ve been there five years, yet don’t really know any of the others, except Timothy, the head honcho. That is, I know them as they are now—their habits and idiosyncrasies and such—but nothing of their past lives. Nobody’s ever shared any of that.”

“Have you?”

Her question brought him up short; the gotcha look on her face made him smile.

“Touché. Not even Timothy knows what I did before joining him.”

“Are you happy?”

“Tough question. Why the faint sense of being ambushed? One that deserves a complicated answer; one I probably can’t provide off the top of my head. I’ve found a great deal of contentment.” He sipped his water. The waitress approached. “We’re fine, thanks,” he said to her. She smiled and left them alone. “In some ways, I find more satisfaction teaching the crooks of the world than I did teaching college students. These guys really need help.”

“Sometimes all the help in the world does no good. People are what they are and do what they do. What do you do besides teach felons?”

“Hey, enough about boring me. I want to hear about you.”

“You evade like a politician,” she said with a coy smile, “but okay. Playing in the symphony wore thin, but during that time I managed to get my master’s degree in music. When Rhonda told me about openings at St. Kate we both applied and were hired. It’s a neat place. I think it’ll give me a sense of community that’s been missing from my life. I live not far from the school in an area within walking distance of everything—restaurants, theater, shopping—everything. I have a nice circle of friends. Couldn’t ask for more.”

“Is there anyone special in your life?”

She shook her head. “That’s all on hold. Has been for some time. At forty-one, I sometimes worry about it.”

“You’re still exciting.”

“You’re biased.”

“And honest.”

Her demeanor revealed pleasure and perplexity.

“Oh, Jason, when I said back in Freepont we’d lead strange lives, I had no idea how true it would be.”

“Tell me more about you. You went back to your maiden name. Was it that bad?”

“Beyond bad.”

“The man you told me about after my mother’s funeral—what happened?”

“It all went to hell.”

“What did he do for a living?”

Cari frowned. “He was a district manager for a pharmaceutical company. Had sales reps in Minnesota and Wisconsin. Jason, get a clue. I don’t want to talk about him.”

People were beginning to arrive for lunch.

“Then tell me about your life present tense.”

“Rhonda and I hang a lot. We both love music and movies and theater. We can shop till we drop without buying anything. Finding little out of the way places with history is fun. Aren’t we a couple of live wires?”

“Sounds like high energy compared to my life.”

A touch of color tinged Cari’s face. “I do miss having someone special in my life.”

The commotion below his belt and the heat surging above his collar outstripped his ability to articulate any kind of intelligent response. Their sandwiches arrived. They looked delicious. One bite confirmed it.

“Cari, let’s talk about more pleasant things. I’m so happy to see you again.”

“You’re right. This should be a happy time. Tell me more about where you live.”

He told her about Brother Timothy, described in detail the obsolete brewery and how he raised money by speaking to groups and approaching business owners for donations. “Some of them are gracious, some curse me. Others practically shove me out the door. You never know the reception you’ll get.”

“I’d hate that part of it.”

They talked for an hour before Cari said she had to hurry back. She and Rhonda had tickets to Evita for the third time.

“I saw the film version years ago,” he said. “I’ve never been a Madonna fan, but her performance impressed me.” He folded his napkin and laid it on the table. “Let’s do this again.”

“I’d like that. Next Saturday, same time, same place?”

“Deal.”

They hugged before she got into her car, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her scent and the feel of her lips and warm breath stayed with him all the way home, as did the way her tote bag had thudded when she dropped it to the seat in the booth. He couldn’t dispel a nagging conviction that the bag contained a tape recorder.

Next Chapter: Chapter Six