The place Matt had in mind turned out to be a lounge where people waited for friends or family members undergoing heart surgery. It was a huge area, some corners of it quite private, with better furniture than any of the other lounges had, and a nice view of the city. Matt headed for a recliner by the far window and settled in, and I handed him his coffee.
“Thanks, Sarah. Ah, it’s good to be off my feet!” He leaned back and took a sip. “So. I imagine you must have as many questions for me as I have for you. Where do we start?”
I moved my chair a bit closer and sipped my coffee. “Sean?” I ventured.
“That’s as good a place as any, I suppose. Did you have a chance to talk with him? Is he all right?”
“We talked, yes, but I’m a little worried because he strained his throat. When he came in to see Ronan, he—”
“Hold that thought,” Matt interjected sharply.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Sarah, you just called your partner Ronan. I thought his name was Liam. Liam O’Malley. And I’ll tell you, it blew my mind when he kept correcting me, and insisting he’s Ronan O’Farrell. Is he—er—” Matt traced a circle in the air beside his temple.
“No, he’s not crazy.”
“Delusional, maybe?”
“No, not that either. Matt, were you really a priest?”
He flinched, but didn’t answer.
No response, to my mind, seemed just as good as an affirmative answer, and the way he flinched confirmed it. “So, you understand the seal of confessional.”
He frowned. “Yeah, I do, and for the record, since Sean doesn’t know and therefore couldn’t tell you, I’m still a priest. Disenfranchised, but according to Rome, still bound by all my vows until such time as they choose to release me from them. I’m forbidden to work as a priest, and forbidden to live like a normal man—stuck in limbo. So, now you know something about me that no one outside the church but Jem knows, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Jem?”
“My partner. I love him, and no bunch of withered, spiteful old men will ever change that, or keep us apart. You can take that information and hang me with it if you like, but you did mention the seal of confessional, so I doubt you’re the sort of person who’d do such a thing. Now, what’s your secret? Seal of confessional, of course. I’m still bound by that law, even if I have no power to grant absolution.”
I thought I had never heard anyone sound so bitter in my life. “Matt, I—”
“It’s not you,” he apologized. “It’s just that I’m still angry about such an intolerant, outmoded system having the power to screw up the lives of so many people. Not just mine and Jem’s. But I digress. What’s on my mind is this man I’m treating. Who is he, really, and why does he insist he’s Ronan O’Farrell when it’s common knowledge that Ronan O’Farrell died five years ago?”
“It’s six years now,” I corrected him, “and you’d be surprised how many people don’t even remember who he is, much less know that he died. I met a fan of his two weeks ago who thought he’d just gotten lazy about releasing new material.”
“But he is dead, yes?” Matt prompted.
I shook my head. “He was very, very ill, but he didn’t die. His family staged a funeral, and Ronan emigrated to New Zealand, with a new identity.”
“Liam O’Malley.”
“Yes.”
Matt whistled through his teeth. “That’s a shocking bit of news! And y’know, though it might seem hard to believe, there are still plenty of people who’d be thrilled to see him make a comeback, myself included.”
I shook my head. “No, Matt, that’s out of the question. He may well be healthier now than he’s been in years, but he’ll never be strong enough to go back to that life. He walked away from his past and started over again, allowing himself to make a little music here and there, but nothing terribly strenuous. Unfortunately, that all ended when he broke his arms.”
“That really is a tragedy.” Matt sighed and shook his head. “Tell me something, though.”
“What?”
“Does Sean know any of this?”
“Yes, and so does Mary.”
“Was he working with Sean?”
“A bit, in Sean’s seisiúns, but that wasn’t all. Sean wanted to do an album, and Ronan promised to help, if Sean would credit him as Liam O’Malley. Sean agreed, and they spent quite some weeks working on it. The night they finished the last of the instrumental work, Ronan got mugged on his way home. Whoever did it stole his guitar and beat the living daylights out of him.”
“That’s how he injured his arms?”
“Yes. He’s lucky to be alive.”
“I have to agree with you there,” Matt said. “Last month I worked the night shift in the E.R. I’m still having nightmares about some of the cases I saw, and I doubt I’ll ever forget the faces of the patients I lost.”
“Lost?” I echoed.
“Yes,” he answered softly. “Too many people aren’t as fortunate as Ronan was.” He paused for moment, then continued. “Was the guitar ever found?”
I nodded. “Believe it or not, Sean managed to track it down in some pawn shop in Southie.”
Matt smiled. “Yeah, he always knew how to work with those guys. Wraps ’em right around his finger, he does, and they’re all extremely loyal to him. I’m not sure exactly why, and maybe it’s best not to know, but in that sector, Sean Phelan has always been able to count on getting whatever he asks for.”
“Well, he got the guitar back, anyway, even though we don’t know if Ronan’s arm will heal well enough for him to play it again. What do you think the odds are?”
“Well, I don’t like to say, being as I’m no orthopedist or neurologist, but— based on what I’ve seen so far in my residency—” He shook his head.
“What, Matt? Tell me.”
“I think,” he began gently, “that his arm will heal in time, cosmetically speaking.”
“Cosmetically?”
“Yes, in that it will still be attached to him, and may even be functional to some degree, with therapy. However, I doubt it’ll ever be of much real use to him again. I could be wrong, and in fact, I hope I am wrong, but—”
I stared at him, stunned into silence, tears flooding my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut, but—I’m a bad liar. I couldn’t just paint a rosy picture, and you did ask what I thought.”
“Yes. I appreciate your honesty,” I told him, somehow managing to speak around the lump in my throat.
“Time and therapy will tell. If he’s determined enough, he may surprise us.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, doing my best to keep my sorrow from overwhelming me.
“And don’t worry about the other stuff. I won’t breathe a word of anything you told me, though I do plan on telling Ronan that I know his true identity, and that he’s the one who told me. You confirmed it, but he doesn’t have to know that. I’ll make sure he knows his secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
We fell silent for a time, and Matt leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “It really is a blessing, now,” he reflected, “that Ronan’s was never a household name here in the States. He was known and loved by a discerning few, but largely ignored by the madding crowd.”
“Yes.”
Matt picked up his coffee and swallowed the last of it. “I suppose we should get back to where we left off. Or would you rather not?”
“No, I don’t mind. We can talk some more if you want to.”
“You started to say something about Sean’s throat.”
“Yes. He strained it. He couldn’t speak above a whisper when he came up to see us. I made him write down what he wanted to say, so he wouldn’t make it worse. But before his voice gave out, we talked about a lot of things.”
“And was I part of that conversation?”
“You were.”
“So, he’s told you his side of the story. What you must think of me!”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” I began, and when I saw him cringe in response, I reassured him. “You’re expecting me to say something bad, but I’m not going to. Matt, there’s so much more to you than meets the eye, and I mean that in the best possible way.”
“You do?” he asked warily.
I nodded. “Tell me something. When you were touching Ronan’s head, he wasn’t able to speak to you. How could you possibly tell he had a headache?”
“I—I don’t know. Sometimes that happens to me. I touch a person, and I can tell what’s wrong, just by the way my fingers feel. In Ronan’s case—or Liam’s, I should say—my fingertips started to tingle, and then there was an intense heat that spread through my hand and up my arm. It wasn’t a nice heat, either. More like a fast-moving flame. It burned.”
“What was it like,” I asked gently, “when you brought Sean back?”
“My God,” he breathed. “Sean told you about that?”
“I think he told me just about everything there is to know.”
“Including how I felt about him all those years?”
“Yes, Matt.”
“Jesus!” he said, in a choked voice, and he bowed his head and covered his face with his hand. “I suppose it was inevitable, but I hoped that maybe—”
“I can’t begin to imagine how difficult those years must have been for you. I’m sorry.”
“What?” he asked, his voice rising in astonishment.
“Really, Matt. All this fuss that’s made about who we love, and why we love! As long as it’s between consenting adults who care for one another, why does it matter?”
“Sean and I were not consenting adults when this all began. I loved him, and I wanted him, and I didn’t stop pursuing him until he left me no other choice. But I never did stop loving him, though it’s a different sort of feeling now, and nothing to do with youthful lust.”
“What is it, then?” I asked gently.
Matt’s brow furrowed. “Dunno. Solidarity, maybe? We’ve been through so much together over the years. It forges a bond. Maybe some people could break a bond like that, but I’m not built that way, myself. I still feel as if I would willingly put myself between Sean and the legions of hell, if it ever came to that.”
“It already came to that once, didn’t it? And you brought him back.”
“I did contend with something that night,” Matt reflected. “I had forgotten about that part of it. I wanted to forget! It was—” He shuddered. “Let me just say that it still defies description, and I fervently hope I’ll never be called upon to repeat the experience.”
“Not even for Jem?”
“Jem? Oh, God, of course I would! But I have a selfish wish that it would never become necessary, even though he’s the world to me.” He sighed. “I’ve just spent a great deal of time contradicting myself, haven’t I? Saying I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but hoping I’ll never have to?”
“Not really. If it was that awful—”
“I don’t know about awful, but it was—” He closed his eyes. “I’ve never been so terrfied in my life as I was that night. There was the possibility of losing the battle, of course, and thus losing Sean. But death is predictable. A man dies, you say a Mass over him and bury him, and all’s said and done. Anything that happens to him in the afterlife has no real impact on the living. One believes what one believes—Heaven, angels and harps, a celestial choir—and it comforts the man’s family, to have that vision to hold on to. But to save a man in Sean’s condition, to bring him back from death—why? There were so many unknowns. Even though there was no question I was being directed to act as I did, it was still in my conscious thought that if I succeeded, I might not be doing Sean any favors. And seeing him now, I believe I didn’t. There’s some greater plan, obviously, but I’m not privy to the information. God doesn’t see fit to make that part of it known.”
“You’re still religious, in spite of the way the church has treated you?”
“Let’s say spiritual, shall we? I despise the organization and I don’t attend Mass, but I do pray, and I’m very much aware of God’s presence in my life. Aware of it, and grateful for it. Without God—or my Higher Power, if you prefer that terminology— I wouldn’t be much of a healer.”
I nodded. “And there’s no question you are a healer, and a good one at that.”
His eyes met mine. “Really? You think so?”
“You’re very good with Ronan.”
“Perhaps, but I have a hard time staying focused on that, or on what I manage to do for anyone else. All I see is the physical ruin Sean Phelan came back to, at the touch of my hands. I will never understand why God chose to use me that way. Sean was dead. He should have stayed dead.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Well—yes and no. I brought him back from death, and he continued to suffer. Now he’s had two more bouts with cancer and ended up a cripple. What kind of blessing is that?”
“I don’t know, Matt. He seems happy enough.”
“Happy. Right. With his back and leg in braces, and stuck in a wheelchair or on crutches for the rest of his life. Oh, yeah, that’s bliss, all right.”
“He’s with the woman he loves, and has a beautiful son, and a career he enjoys,” I reminded him. “He might have a bitter moment about his disability now and then, but for the most part—”
“He’s a shadow of himself,” Matt said in a pained voice. “What sort of God does that to a man? And why?”
“Why don’t you stop trying to find someone or something to blame, and just accept the fact that it’s not a perfect world, and sometimes bad shit happens to good people?”
“I—”
“And maybe you were able to bring Sean back because he wasn’t meant to go yet, no matter how firmly he might’ve believed his number was up. Maybe it wasn’t about some Entity using Sean as an instrument to punish you. Maybe the sins you imagine you’ve committed aren’t as significant to anyone else as they are to you.”
Matt gasped. “You mean—”
“You’re torturing yourself, Matt. And for what? What good does it do anyone, especially you?”
Angered, he sat up abruptly and closed the recliner with a brisk thump. “I don’t know how you dare presume—”
I didn’t want to alienate him or hurt him, but I realized that what I had to say now might well do both. “Sean told me you had a penchant for martyrdom. Now I see it, and I understand.”
He rose painfully, his eyes flashing, and was on the point of leaving the room when he suddenly just stopped in his tracks. He stood there silently for a few moments, then came back and sat down again, and doubled over with his head in his hand, and crumbled.
I let him grieve for a bit, keeping my distance. Then I reached over and touched his hand gently. “Oh, Matt!”
“Leave me alone,” he retorted.
“No.”
“Then I’ll leave.” He raised his head, his body tensed like a spring.
“Please don’t,” I said. “Come on, Matt. You know I mean well, don’t you? But sometimes the truth hurts, and that can’t be helped.”
“It’s humiliating to be told such truths by someone I just met a few hours ago.”
“We have friends in common, Matt, and each has a story to tell. I’ve heard one side of it from Sean, and part of it from you, so doesn’t it stand to reason that I might feel as if know you very well indeed at this point?”
“I suppose. I wish Sean hadn’t reacted the way he did.”
“You don’t either of you seem to be very good at keeping your emotions under wraps.”
“Depends on the situation. The last person I expected to see when I walked into that room was Sean Phelan. I hadn’t seen him since the day I resigned from my parish. I’ve avoided him, quite frankly. I knew he’d be angry with me for what I did, and yet—there’s no question that I had to do it exactly the way I did. Anything less would have been a betrayal of everyone involved: myself, Sean and Mary, Jem, my congregation—Sarah, if I can’t commit myself to something or someone wholly, then I don’t attempt to make that commitment. I’m an all or nothing kind of guy. Even what I’m doing now—finishing my medical training—is a compromise. I don’t really want to be here, but I have to be, if I intend to practice medicine. And I do intend to do that, back on the Island, and spend the rest of my life fulfilling my need to care for others. Yeah, even tourists who get racked up doing stupid shit on their mopeds. I’ll end up working really long hours in the high season, and Jem might get pissed off about it, but he knows what I need to do, and he knows he’s the man I’ll come home to, every night, no matter what the hour. I’ll always be forced to divide myself between Jem and my vocation, and that’s as much division as I can stand without losing my mind. We’ve talked about it over and over again, wondering if I could pull off staying in the priesthood, running my parish, and going to stay with Jem on my days off. But that would have been living a lie and leading a double life. I couldn’t do that, and he didn’t really want me to. He just threw that out for consideration, without knowing what an awesome responsibilty it is to run a parish.”
“Sean says you were an excellent priest.”
“I don’t know about that, but I certainly put enough of myself into it over the years. Four hours of sleep a night and a fifteen minute cat-nap late in the afternoon, provided I wasn’t called away on some emergency. Working with the school that was part of my parish. Running an active youth group with the help of a few volunteers. Keeping a careful eye on the budget, and managing the parish funds wisely, again, with a little help from volunteers. Saying Mass and delivering homilies were the easy parts of the job. But I never resented it, or begrudged anyone for the headaches it sometimes caused me. All of it kept me too busy to think about much else, and I was grateful for that. I hit the ground running after my ordination, and I never stopped until I had no choice.”
“Your sabbatical?”
“Yes. My sabbatical. Father Matt stuck in a seaside cottage on a remote island in the off season, with nothing but his big head full of brains and years of repressed thoughts for company. It wasn’t pretty, and because I was incognito, not supposed to let anyone know I was a priest, there was the occasional entertainment of being hit on by an attractive widow a year or so younger than myself.” He gave a short, brittle laugh. “Y’know, she hasn’t given up on me yet, even though she knows Jem and I are together. She’s waiting with bated breath for us to get tired of each other, so she can move in for the kill.”
“You’re a handsome man, and a kind one. I can see why she might be attracted to you.”
“Handsome, eh? That’s what everyone’s always said, but I don’t see it, myself. Perhaps because I know what poison lies beneath the surface.”
“You don’t like yourself much, do you?”
He sighed. “Well, you’ve hit that nail on the head. Again, I’m embarrassed to have you figure that out in such a short time.”
“How could I not figure it out, when I’ve been listening to you beat yourself up since we started talking?”
“Oh, come on! I haven’t been doing that the whole time!”
“Pretty close to it. I don’t think you know how not to beat yourself up.”
“That’s another thing people have always said, but how do I change it?” he asked, his blue eyes full of pain as he searched mine for an answer.
I didn’t know what to say, but I heard my voice supplying an answer, though it was not in my own thoughts at the time. It felt as if some powerful force had stepped into my body and was using my voice as its instrument.
“Physician,” it commanded, “heal thyself.”
Matt stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”
Whatever it was had gone as quickly as it had come. “Matt, I—”
He sat up very straight and pounded the arm of his chair with a tight-clenched fist. “Damn it, Sarah! Why did you say that?”
“I wish I knew. It wasn’t even my thought. Matt, that was the strangest thing I’ve ever had happen to me. Maybe you heard my voice, but it wasn’t me who spoke.”
“Really? Well, what do you make of the message?”
“I think—well, I was thinking along these lines when I was talking with Sean earlier. For him, he needs to let go of stuff he’s held on to for too long, and forgive himself for whatever mistakes he’s made. He wants absolution, but the only person who can grant it is himself. It has to come from within. And you—”
“Yes?” he prompted, sounding a bit less angry.
“Acceptance. You need to be who you are, and stop beating yourself up for not being who you think you should be. Acknowledge and accept what’s good about yourself, and believe it when people praise you for your attributes. No one else can fix that for you. You have to make yourself do it. It has to come from within.”
“You’re not a psychologist, are you?”
“No. Far from it. I’m buried in paperwork every day, up to my eyeballs in stuff that won’t mean a thing to anyone a hundred years from now. I can’t say that psychology is a even vague interest of mine on a conscious level. I enjoy listening to music, and I knit, and I spin, and sometimes I write, but since Ronan came into my life, I’ve mainly been occupied with building a lasting relationship with him. I’m not what anyone would call extraordinary. I just do what I do, and live as I live.”
“And yet what you’ve told me is profound,” he marveled. “It’s something I’ve known for a long time, but couldn’t get my mind around, or put into words, let alone put into practice. Good God, I’ve offered that particular counsel to people over the years, when they came to me for help, in almost exactly the same words! The answer has been right in front of me all these years, but I couldn’t see it.”
“Or maybe you thought you didn’t deserve to see it, and you deliberately made yourself blind to it.”
“You may have something there,” he agreed, “and you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.”
I remembered what Sean said earlier, about my having given him food for thought. “It seems to be my role today, giving people a lot to think about.”
“Thank God you were open to taking on that job!” Matt didn’t sound angry anymore, but he did seem subdued, and I sensed a great deal of turmoil bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He rose from his chair with difficulty. “I’m sorry to run off on you, but I’m late for my rounds. I’m sure we’ll meet again in the next few days, though. Perhaps we might have coffee together again.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” I stood up and our eyes met. Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked him, laying a hand on his arm.
“I—I will be,” he said softly. “I just need time to mull everything over. Now is not the best time, but later, when I have time to lie down and rest. And I’m off to do just that after these last rounds. How are you getting home? It’s late, and I want to be sure you’re safe.”
“I’ll take a cab.”
“That’s wise at this hour.” He dug into is pocket and took out some money. “Here, let me—”
“No, Matt. I have enough for the fare.”
“But it’s my fault you have to take a cab. I kept you too late.”
“It was my decision to stay. You’re worth my time. I don’t expect to be paid for it. Well, not in dollars, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.
“Do your homework,” I said. “Let me see some progress the next time we meet.”
“You drive a hard bargain. I’d rather pay your cab fare.”
“I know, but that’s not an option.” I embraced him gently and pecked his cheek. “Take care of yourself, and thank you for all you’re doing for Ronan.”
He returned my embrace with his good arm, resting his head alongside mine for a moment. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. Bless you, Sarah. Be safe going home.”
“I will. Good night, Matt.”
He smiled as he turned to leave. “Good night, a cara.”
