Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

So here he stood. "Go in or go home, Thatcher," he said harshly.

God knew he didn't want to go in. Devil of it was, he didn't want to go home even more.

So he yanked at the heavy door and slipped inside. He'd known it would be open. It always was. He hesitated for a moment before pushing himself to the altar. He hesitated even longer before dropping to his knees. Crossing himself.

Opening his heart.

He'd lost track of time, deep inside himself until a noise behind him brought his head up and his hand to the weapon in his holster.

"I wondered when you'd come home, Steven."

Slowly standing, he turned and regarded the man sitting in the pew two rows back. Noted the silver at his temples. He was older now. They both were. They'd been children together, served in this very parish together. Been best friends together. Until four years ago when everything changed.

Four years ago when Melissa died and Steven found himself confessing one of the greatest sins of his life to the only man he knew he could trust to keep it secret. To the man sitting in the pew two rows back whose white collar was a stark contrast to the tanned column of his throat.

Steven swallowed. "Mike."

Mike raised a bushy black brow. "That's Father Mike to you." He smirked. "My son."

Steven felt the smile bending his lips despite the turmoil within him. "Stick it. Father."

Mike shook his head in mock chagrin. "I should order you to say five Hail. Marys for that."

"For 'stick it'?"

"No, for the impolite words you really wanted to say."

Steven met his friend's eyes and both sobered. "I should say a whole lot more than five."

"Why are you here, Steven?" Mike asked softly, his voice carrying in the quiet of the church.

Steven looked away, turned around to focus on the statue of the Madonna and Child. Tried to figure out the answer himself as he gazed on the serene countenances, so at odds with how he felt inside. "I don't know," he finally answered. "I guess I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."

"That's as good an answer as any," Mike said. "I've missed you, Steven. I thought I might see you after the trouble with Nicky last spring. I called… a number of times, but…"

Steven listened as his friend's voice trailed away and Mike wasn't Father Leone anymore, but the best friend of his heart. A friend he'd wounded through neglect. "But I didn't return your calls," Steven finished, dropping his chin to his chest. "I'm sorry, Mike."

"I'm sorry, too. I should have tried harder. I should have come to you."

Steven lifted a shoulder. "I don't know that it would have done any good. You know."

Mike sighed. "I'm sorry about that, too. How are they?"

Steven looked over his shoulder to find Mike in the exact same position. That was one of the things Steven had always admired about his friend-his calm patience that seemed to settle the most anxious parishioner. "I wish I could say they're fine, but they're not. Of the three, Matt is the most normal."

"Matt?" Mike tilted his head. "I find that hard to believe. What happened to Brad?"

The weight suddenly seemed heavier. "I don't know." Steven's shoulders sagged. "I don't know what to do, Mike. Brad changed… overnight."

"People rarely change overnight," Mike observed.

"Brad did," Steven insisted. "And I don't know what I or anybody did to trigger it. I thought it would pass, but…"

"But it's gotten worse."

"I guess you hear this all the time."

"Unfortunately, yes. Sit down, Steven. Please." Mike leaned forward and patted the pew in front of him. "You're making me nervous. You're wound tighter than a spring."

Steven dropped into the pew, sitting sideways and resting his arm along the wooden back. "I met one of Brad's teachers today. He's failing chemistry."

"Ouch."

Steven nodded. "I asked him about it when I got home and he acted like he… hated me," he finished in a shaky whisper. "I don't know what to do." He flinched when Mike covered his hand with his own, but didn't back away. It was so like… old times. Emotion welled up in his throat and Steven swallowed hard to force it down before it became overwhelming. He drew a deep breath and waited until he could speak normally. "Like I said, Matt is the normal one now and Nicky's improving every day." He made himself smile. "Helen's the same as ever."

Mike was quiet for a long time, then squeezed his hand. "So Brad is troubled, Matt is maturing, Nicky is improving, and Helen is the same old Helen. But how are you , my friend?" he asked softly. "How is your life?"

Again emotion pushed up his throat and again Steven shoved it back. "My life is… what it is."

"You can do better than that, Steven," Mike said dryly.

Steven smiled in spite of himself. "It was a bit theatric, wasn't it?"

"A bit." Mike waited, and when Steven said nothing, trudged forward. "And your personal life? Have you changed your mind about taking another wife?"

The corner of Steven's mouth quirked up. "Taking another wife. It sounds so archaic when you say it that way."

"You didn't answer my question, Steven."

"No, I didn't, did I?" Steven squared his shoulders, preparing for the argument he knew was just ahead. "No, I haven't changed my mind. I won't be marrying again. At least not until the boys are grown."

"Nicky won't be grown for ten more years, Steven," Mike said quietly. "That's too long for you to be alone."

Steven narrowed his eyes. "You're alone."

Mike smiled. "That's different and you know it. Besides, I have the Church." Mike lifted a wry brow. "I'd bet it's safe to say you don't even have that."

Steven looked away. "Below the belt, Mike." But he was right. Of course.

"Wherever it does the most good. Ten more years is a long time for you to be alone."

Steven stared at the Madonna and Child, knowing where this conversation was headed. "You said that already."

"And I was right both times. Hasn't Helen found anyone you like?"

Steven jerked his gaze back to where Mike still sat patiently. "What do you know about Helen's matchmaking?"

Mike shrugged. "She and I chat from time to time."

Steven rolled his eyes. "I bet she's confessing all the lies she's told to set me up with every Tania, Dorothy, and Henrietta this side of the Mississippi."

"That would be privileged," Mike informed him archly.

"Yeah, yeah," Steven muttered and Mike grinned, then sobered.

"So tell me, Steven. You haven't met anyone? In four years?"

A face flashed before his eyes. Black hair, violet eyes, kind smile. "No. Yes." Steven closed his eyes. "I don't know," he said miserably.

"I like the 'yes' answer the best."

"You would," Steven muttered.

"What's her name?"

Steven stood up. "This is ridicu-"

"Sit down, Steven." It was a soft roar, a command meant to be obeyed.

Steven sat.

Mike nodded and tilted his head. "So… Her name is…?"

"Jenna." Steven glared over the pew. "If Helen gets a word of this, I swear I'll…"

"It's privileged," Mike said and leaned forward. "And you met her when?"

"Today," Steven snapped and watched Mike's eyes grow round. Looking at his watch Steven added, "Seven and a half hours ago, to be most accurate."

Mike sat back in the pew. "Well, now your visit makes sense. So what do you plan to do about this woman? This… Jenna?"

Steven clenched his jaw. "Nothing."

Mike pursed one side of his mouth. "Oh, please, Steven. You're here. You're troubled." Mike folded his arms across his chest. "Not all women are Melissa, you know."

"I know. But I refuse to expose my kids to any woman until I'm sure she's not."

Mike waved his hand. "And because you can't afford time away from the boys, you don't have the time it would take to get to know a woman well enough to bring her home to the boys. I seem to recall having heard this argument before."