“Water would be great. Thank you.”

  The Cardinal nodded and pivoted on his heel, leaving the room briskly, his long black robe swaying just above the ground, his garment and buttons were decorated with red piping, and he wore a red skull cap called a zucchetto. Emerson couldn’t help but think that if he were to stay here, he and Cardinal Rossi would be fast and good friends.

  Pulling in a shaky breath, he did his best to calm the butterflies and shaking in his hands. He was cold, but his hands were sweating. The rituals with their pomp and circumstance succeeding at keeping people at a distance meant Emerson had never felt so far removed as he did today.

  Focus!

  Closing his eyes, he said some prayers and then ran over the main points he wished to make today.

  “Father Riley?”

  He opened his eyes to see a nun standing in the arched doorway, middle aged, her black and white habit hiding her figure as well as most of her hair, just a shock of white hair was neatly combed in straight bangs on her forehead. “Yes, Sister?”

  “The Cardinals are here to meet you.”

  He immediately stood, clasping his hands in front of him, eyes downcast as black and red robes swished by him, only the tips of their red shoes could be seen.

  “I present to you, Your Eminences, Father Emerson Riley.”

  Lifting his gaze, Emerson respectfully walked up to the first Cardinal, bowing and grasping his hand to kiss the ring, staying bent over while the nun spoke.

  “Cardinal Antonio Rossi.” Emerson picked up his gaze, standing straight, smiling at his new friend, and with a slight bow, he moved to his right, bowing further to kiss the Cardinal’s ring.

  “Cardinal Roberto Musso.” Lifting his gaze, he nodded his head at the Cardinal.

  Emerson made his way down the line in this manner until he had greeted the last of the seven Cardinals. Cardinal Rossi immediately motioned toward the chairs. “Please, sit, Father Riley.”

  During the process, someone had brought him a crystal glass filled with orange juice and one filled with iced water, as well as a china plate with squares of cheese, thinly sliced bread, and a small hors d’oeuvre fork. He drank the cold juice, wetting his palate before his meeting.

  Cardinal Musso addressed him first. “I see you’re wearing your collar and black clothing. Do you dress this way every day?”

  “No, Your Eminence. As a layperson, I take advantage of my shorts and regular clothing, but on many occasions, I don my collar and regular clothes; they became part of me and I’m comfortable as a priest. Cannon Law says I’m still a priest—a laicized priest—but a priest nonetheless. I cannot perform clerical duties such as Eucharist, mass, and hearing confessions, but I can do those on the mission field or in a critical situation such as someone dying.”

  “I see you’ve studied up on your Canon Law, Father Emerson.”

  “Yes, I have, Cardinal.”

  Cardinal Oterro interrupted. “It says in your papal letter that you are asking to be given the special dispensation that Episcopalian priests have been given. Explain.”

  “Your Eminence, with the dwindling numbers both in Europe and in America, as well as other nations, it has become necessary to fill positions previously held by priests with either laypeople or priests outside of the Catholic Church. More and more Episcopalian priests are filling those roles, and most of these men are married, as you well know.”

  “Yes, you’re correct on that matter. But you do realize that when given a chance, we fill them with priests—celibate, unmarried priests from the Roman Catholic Church?”

  “Yes, in an ideal world and in ideal situations, that is best. But in the case of my home parish, St. Theodore’s in South Philadelphia, there is such a huge shortage of priests that Bishop Kearney hasn’t filled my role yet. Father McKenna is old and taking on this responsibility has worn him down in just a short time. Many priests don’t wish to break their vow of celibacy and only choose to leave for a woman. But in reality, they miss their roles and jobs and many would gladly stay at their home parish if they were able to marry. If I may be so bold, Your Eminence, I’d like to ask a question of you all.”

  “You may ask.”

  “When given a choice, would you choose a married Roman Catholic laicized priest or a married, laicized Episcopalian priest?”

  Cardinal Rossi laughed out loud, covering his mouth trying to conceal it—too late. “And this is why we invited you here today. Come, everyone; let us reason together.”

  Chapter 18

  “Father Emerson Riley.”

  He bolted upright from his chair, still wiping his mouth with the white and gold linen napkin having eaten the remainder of the bread and cheese from his plate.

  “His Holiness would like to meet with you.”

  The small frail Pope came through the arched entryway, his white robe swaying; he confidently walked up to Emerson, his hand outstretched.

  Dropping to one knee, head bowed, Emerson closed his eyes and kissed the Pope’s ring murmuring, “I’m pleased to meet you, Your Holiness.”

  “As am I, Father Riley.” The Pope put his hand to Emerson’s upper arm, urging him to stand. “Come; let’s go over to my desk.”

  Emerson’s chest was so tight, his breathing so restricted he felt like he may hyperventilate.

  The Pope! I’m meeting the Pope!

  “We love nothing more than a vigorous debate here in Vatican City and I’ve heard your arguments and heard from my trusted advisors, the Cardinals.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands over his white vestments, his gold and jewel encrusted cross dangling just above, attached to a button to prevent it from interfering with his daily duties.

  “It was rigorous at times, Your Excellency. But I hope that everyone had their say and we aren’t any worse for having done so.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Emerson wanted him to know that either way, he’d leave happy and mentally enriched by the experience.

  “Not at all, Father. The Cardinals seem invigorated by it and it’s made us all take pause. So, without further ado, we’ve decided that you’ll be the first laicized priest that we’re giving dispensation to. You’ll be allowed to marry, and the Roman Catholic Church would like nothing more than to have you return to your previous position or to contemplate a position here in the Vatican. We’d love to interact with you daily, and there are many, many schools and communities here that would benefit from your intelligence, gifting, and many talents.”

  “I…did you say…you’re letting me marry and serve?”

  “Yes, Father. Isn’t that what you wanted?” The Pope had pulled out formal parchment to sign the declaration, but paused looking confused, waiting for Emerson’s answer.

  “Oh yes! Of course. I was just confused, stunned is probably a better word, Your Holiness.”

  The Pope chuckled, signing the document, closing the padded, cream colored portfolio over it, picking up a sealed envelope from the table as well. Handing both of them over to Emerson, he stood. “The envelope contains the computer document; that is actually the official one. The one in the portfolio is for posterity.” He flicked his wrist. “You can hang it on the wall or something.”

  “It’ll be the first thing I do after I tell my soon-to-be fiancée.”

  “Splendida! Congratulations, Emerson!” He stood from behind his desk. “And it appears that our limousine will be rushing to get you to your flight on time. We’ve already alerted them to hold the plane for you in case our driver gets stuck in traffic. The traffic is ridiculous around here—tourists.”

  “Thank you, Your Holiness. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It was wonderful to meet you. And don’t forget to contact me if you ever want a job in Vatican City. I’ll always have a place here for you.”

  Emerson knelt on both knees this time, kissing the Pope’s ring and silently thanking God for his favor this day.

  Chapter 19

  Chelsea,

  Had a meeting today, will probably be home late. Not sure if I’ll be available on my cell phone. Hoping to be home for dinner, but don’t wait for me. I’ll be in touch.

  Love, Emerson

  She stared at the note scribbled on her yellow legal notepad on the kitchen table, her heart pounding, and blood rushing in her ears. This is how it had started with David when he began his affair.

  I won’t live through this again. I won’t.

  She’d ignored the warning signs in her marriage, and had learned the hard way that ignoring something never makes it better.

  How had she not seen that Emerson was unhappy?

  She knew with David that he felt the comparison with Emerson—she’d voiced it many times too. He said he’d been dueling with an imaginary person their whole marriage. And he had. He never could live up to her memories and the level and expertise of the sex she had with Emerson. David fought with someone he’d never met but had only seen on the television or newspapers.

  But Emerson had come back to her. Chosen her over the Church. Had vowed that she was his all and all. They’d talked about a future, children, and where they’d settle as a family.

  She picked up the note, staring at his precise yet scrolled cursive—the training of the Catholic nuns in school. He didn’t have the chicken scratch most men had. His writing was beautiful…just as he was beautiful.

  Her eyes filled with tears, the stinging behind her nose signaling that she’d be crying—hard— and soon. She shook her head, saying out loud, “No! I won’t cry. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll just move on.” Tossing the note back onto the table, she grabbed her purse, mumbling, “Just as he’s moved on, apparently.”

  She stalked to the door, taking a look back, wondering if she was jumping to conclusions too quickly. Pulling in a shaky breath, she grit her teeth and slammed the door behind her. Hurriedly, she went down the stairs and out the door, finding refuge in her car. She fished around in her bag to find her cell phone, going to her contact file and pressing the profile picture of her friend Anna.

  “Hello.”

  “Anna, it’s me, Chelsea.” Her voice broke and she started to cry, unable to continue.

  “Oh my God! Chelsea, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  Chelsea heard a male voice in the background and Anna responding, “I don’t know; she’s not talking.” Her voice came back onto the phone. “Chelsea, talk to me now! Is it Emerson? Is someone hurt?”

  She gasped through her tears. “I don’t know. He left me a note saying he’s gone to a meeting. He didn’t say where or with who.” She hiccupped, pausing to gain control again. “He said he would be available by cell phone and he didn’t know when he was coming home, to not wait for him. And that…he’d be in touch.” She broke down again, sobbing.

  “Oh, Chelsea. I’m sorry. Okay, stop crying. Let’s reason this through. He’s been busy with the Bishop in Philly, right?”

  “Yes, but he would have told me if he was meeting with him.”

  “I know, but would he tell you if he was meeting with someone out here about the Bishop?” Anna’s voice lilted with the question

  “Well…probably not, but normally he tells me all these things.”

  “Yes, normally. But you know how that sh—stuff is in the Catholic Church. Maybe he couldn’t.” She whispered away from the phone. “Hey, why don’t you drive over here? Have dinner with us, then we’ll be with you while you wait to hear from him, okay?”

  She exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Yessss! Thank you. Tell Gustaaf thank you for me. I’d love to do that. I’m in my car; I just couldn’t sit in the apartment alone. I’ll be over soon.”

  “Drive safely. And put that cell phone in the trunk or on the back seat.”

  She giggled. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you soon.” She hung up, tossing it into her bag and putting it on the back seat. No reason to add insult to injury; she’d take no chances with driving distractedly.

  “She’s on her way, and she’s really upset about Emerson. I just didn’t want her alone over there. Thank you.”

  “Absolutely. Your friend is welcome over here any time; you know that.” Gustaaf wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and watched her make a tossed salad.

  “It’s odd that he just left and didn’t give her a warning or tell her with who or where, you know?”

  “Hey.” He swiveled her to face him. “You listen. This is their relationship, not yours. You can keep her company and distract her from thinking negatively, but I do not want you feeding into any fears she has or talking bad about him. Understand?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s just—”

  “No.” His eyes pinned her with a glare. The last thing he needed was some drama that wasn’t theirs and an angry boyfriend because of her involvement. “You need to listen because I’m giving you a warning. Are you listening?”

  Her throat worked to swallow. “Yes, Sir.”

  He tilted her chin up wanting her full attention. “I do not want you involved in this unnecessarily. You’ll support him when possible, you’ll not feed into any negativity, and if he calls or texts, or wants her to come home so they can talk, you’ll answer, making sure he knows where she is, and you’ll encourage her to go home. Period.”

  “Yes, Sir. I will. Besides, I think it’s all going to work out. He’s a good guy.” She turned around again to continue making the salad.

  “Good guy or bad guy, I want my girl involved as little as possible.”

  “Yes, Sir. I promise.”

  He kissed and nipped at her neck a bit. “Okay, so what’re we having for dinner with our guest tonight?”

  “I found a new recipe for Greek lemon chicken and rice. It’s baking in the oven now.”

  Chapter 20

  Emerson extracted his key from the door, putting it in his pocket and quietly pushing the door open. There were no lights on. He flicked the switch in the hallway, turning them on in the kitchen and dinette. His note was still on the table. He tossed his bag onto a chair, draping his black suit coat over the back of the same chair.

  Her purse wasn’t on a chair. Turning, he looked at the sink; it was empty, making him think she hadn’t eaten, or worse, she hadn’t come home yet.

  Walking quickly, he went down the hall, flicking the light on in their office. Nothing seemed out of place. He shut the light off, then turned on the light to their bedroom. There was no sign that she’d changed her clothes, no shoes on the floor or stockings on the nightstand, and the bed was still made.

  Flopping onto the couch in the living room to gather his thoughts, he pulled out his phone to check his messages again.

  No new phone calls or texts since before she left work. He’d written her once he was at the airport to let her know that he’d be home in approximately three hours but had received no reply. He hadn’t thought much of it, though, as life is complicated and many times they were busy and unable to respond immediately to a text. Their relationship had enough grace that neither of them worried about the other.

  But tonight—he was worried. Where could she be? It was almost ten o’clock and the sun was setting. Normally, both of them would be home by seven, and definitely by this hour.

  Hey, how are you?

  Good. You?

  Busy day at work. A TON of chaos and looks like I may work a little late. Oh crap, I’m late for a meeting. Shutting my phone off, see you later.

  He felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn’t been able to tell her that he would be home late too, but he was glad he’d decided to leave a note on the table, knowing that if he was unable to speak to her again, at least she’d know.

  But he looked toward the kitchen. He noticed that the pen he’d left in the center of the note had been moved away from it—so she had read it. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch, thinking.

  Hey. I’m home. Where are you? Are you okay?

  He waited for the ding on his phone. Nothing. His palms were sweaty and his stomach began to roil. This wasn’t good. He needed to find his girl—and now.

  Anna!

  Anna, it’s Emerson. Have you heard from Chelsea? She’s not home and I’m worried.

  He stared at his screen waiting for her response. It was taking too long. He needed answers.

  Gustaaf, it’s Emerson. I tried contacting Anna but she must be busy. Have you two heard from Chelsea? It’s late and she’s not home yet.

  Yes. She’s here. She had dinner and is with Anna. Come to the house. Did you say you texted Anna?

  Thank God! Yes, I texted her. She must have her phone off. I’m on my way. See you soon!

  Yes.

  Grabbing his keys, Emerson shut off the lights and ran out the door.

  Emerson said he texted you asking if Chelsea was here. Is that true?

  Yes, but I didn’t know what to say.

  “Yes” would have been a good answer. You’re in trouble. Go to the bathroom and take your panties off.

  Now?

  Are you testing me?

  She paused before answering, a smart move on her part. She was definitely testing him, and saying no would only increase her punishment.

  I’m sorry. I’m doing it now.

  Bad girl. You’re in big trouble. Now go do as you were told.

  He heard the door to the bathroom close; it was just outside their bedroom. He rose from the bed, leaning against the door jamb of their door with his arms crossed on his chest waiting for her to exit.

  She crossed the threshold, gasping, her hand going to her throat as she closed her eyes when she realized it was him standing in the shadows. “Jesus!”

  “Give them to me.” He held his hand out palm up.