Hot Under His Collar - Andie J. Christopher Page 0,48
but the Church’s position on gay and lesbian members hasn’t changed.”
He didn’t know what he’d do if Rafferty demanded that Patrick terminate Jemma’s contract. He didn’t have the political juice to just defy him. Rafferty could have him sent on a mission to Siberia if he wanted to.
A kernel of the rage formed in his belly. It was an old, familiar friend. Every time he’d visited his mother to see her more wasted away, the same ravenous beacon had formed in his gut. The fact that he was not in control right now made him so angry. He tried to remind himself that he had chosen this. In his experience, so little of his life was in his control. He’d become a priest partially because it required controlling himself and regimenting his life. And it allowed him to give comfort, the deep, spiritual kind that he hadn’t been able to offer his mother. She’d been his parent up until the end of her life, and he regretted that to this day.
And right now, he was on the verge of losing control of something good that he’d been able to cultivate in his community. But he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. “No one at St. Bart’s is upset by Jemma’s marriage.”
Rafferty raised his brow. “They don’t have a marriage in the eyes of God.”
Patrick wasn’t going to touch that one. “She’s a great teacher. We couldn’t have the program without her.”
“Which is why the diocese didn’t fund it next year.”
Patrick was going to flip the desk like a Real Housewife after too much pinot grigio if he didn’t get his emotions under more control. He knew that his face was probably red and his jaw was starting to ache from biting back all the choice words for Rafferty. He might be a man of the cloth, but he was a hot-headed Dooley first and foremost. Always.
Rafferty had known about Jemma and Marie the whole time, and he’d kept that information in his back pocket for when he could use it against Patrick. He took a deep breath, ready to defend himself. But Rafferty cut him off.
“We could fund the pre-K program fully if you found a more appropriate teacher. I was willing to look the other way, but then you performed the baptism.”
“You’re really reading our Church bulletin pretty closely, aren’t you?” Didn’t this man have bigger fish to fry? Like a cardinal’s ass to kiss or something? “I’m not going to fire her. You and I both know that the negative publicity that would garner for the Church would be worse than leaving things as the status quo.”
Rafferty sighed. He must know that Patrick spoke the truth. “You can be replaced as pastor, you know.”
“I’m sure it will look great for you to fire me because I wouldn’t fire a pre-K teacher you don’t approve of.” Patrick knew that he was playing his last card and calling the bishop’s bluff might backfire horribly. But he didn’t feel like he had a choice.
He hadn’t realized how much it would sting to curtail his choices by joining the priesthood. He hadn’t realized how much it would chafe when he became fully an adult. And he’d never regretted becoming a priest quite as much as he did now. He’d thought it was an honorable thing to put the needs of the Church—something enduring—ahead of his own earthly desires. He’d been so naïve to believe that the Church wasn’t filled with men who used the Church’s rules to wield their own desires and need for power.
And God wasn’t there to take away the anger he felt in that moment. He didn’t have the wherewithal to jockey for power in the same way that Bishop Rafferty did, but he was smart enough to use the few tools at his disposal.
“I’m still not funding the pre-K program if she’s there.” Rafferty sounded resolute in that.
“That’s fine. We’ll find a way.” Patrick only hoped that he was speaking the truth.
* * *
—
SASHA DIDN’T SEE PATRICK for several weeks after the bake sale, and she convinced herself that it was a good thing. She didn’t have much time to think about it, because her sister was auditioning to be the most depressed soon-to-be-divorcée in a nonexistent cosmic contest.
By week three of her sister drinking a bottle of wine a day, starting at around eleven on her couch, Sasha decided that Hannah’s plan of putting her to work was indeed the less disastrous option. Especially after