Haunted (Michael Bennett 10)

By ten in the morning, we had somehow whipped our brood into shape and gotten everyone dressed properly in time for mass at the local church. Seamus had met the young priest in charge of the tiny Catholic church in town. They had started talking at the firehouse clambake, and the priest invited Seamus to celebrate mass at one of the day’s services.

Seamus understood his limitations and that he was still recovering from his heart attack. He chose to celebrate the family mass and was treated like a rock star from the moment we arrived at the church.

We all sat in the third row. We took up the entire third row. Tom Bacon and his family and friends filled the pews in front of us.

The young priest acknowledged the Bacon family and gave a good sermon about the need for strong families. Although he mentioned what a good boy Tom-Tom had been, the priest never mentioned Tricia’s name. He also said more than once that Tom-Tom had “passed away.” There was no mention of the circumstances.

The young priest ended by saying that everyone should cherish time with their loved ones because no one knows when we’ll ever see them again.

Mary Catherine started to cry. I had a lump in my throat.

Then it was time for Holy Communion. Seamus was introduced as a “distinguished priest all the way from the Holy Name parish in New York City.” I could see that it sounded great to others. But I still saw the old man who made fart noises when I tried to discipline the kids.

Seamus was impressive. That’s coming from someone who’s used to hearing his accent and seeing him dressed as a priest all the time. The local people loved it.

It was always a moving experience to hear my grandfather celebrate Holy Communion. His accent seemed to hit just the right syllables, and his tone changed perfectly as he recited Jesus’s words from the Last Supper: “Take this, all of you, and eat of it: for this is my body, which will be given up for you. In a similar way, when supper was ended, he took the chalice, and, once more giving thanks, he gave it to his disciples, saying: Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

Seamus had told me how powerful those words were to him when he considered the sacrifice Christ made for all mankind. And today, as I looked up at him preparing the communion, it really moved me.

Mary Catherine and I had been holding hands for the entire service. It was a natural thing for me to do, and I didn’t notice it. That is, until Trent and Juliana both looked over at us and said, “Awww.” Like we were teenagers on our first date.

Mary Catherine smiled at the kids and squeezed my hand.

This was the way I always dreamed my life would be. Why hadn’t I jumped to dispel Mary Catherine’s questions about our future? She was everything I wanted and needed in a partner.

Was there something I couldn’t understand that was holding me back? Was I still too in love with my late wife, Maeve, to move on?

I was in the perfect place to pray for guidance on the issue. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still an idiot for not telling Mary Catherine exactly how I felt about her.

As the service ended, I gathered everyone together so we could pay our respects to the Bacon family. Tom and his wife and ex-wives had formed an impromptu receiving line and accepted everyone’s sympathy.

When my turn in the line came up, I took his hand and mumbled, “I’m so sorry.”

When I tried to move on, Tom wouldn’t release my hand.

He said, “You should be sorry and ashamed. That maniac killed my boy, and a lot of people in town think he’s responsi

ble for other missing kids. No one is happy. They think you and Sandy Coles took money to let him go. Or are you just incompetent?”

“What are you talking about?”

He released my hand and said, “You’ll find out. We’re not gonna stand for this.”

“Stand for what?”

“Injustice. That Texas redneck is going to pay for what he did. You and the local cops have a lot to answer for, too.”

I wanted to answer this crazy accusation when Mary Catherine gently tugged on my arm to move away.

She whispered, “Let it be, Michael. He’s crazy with grief.”

As usual, she was right.

Chapter 69

Later that evening, after a nice dinner with the family and another group fishing event, I tried to relax on the couch with Mary Catherine. She knew me better than anyone. That’s why she understood how much Tom Bacon’s comments bothered me. The fact that we hadn’t found the teenagers alive was bad enough. The idea that others thought we hadn’t tried our hardest made it hurt that much more.

I tried not to be distracted and to give my full attention to Mary Catherine and Chrissy, who was nestled in on the other side of Mary Catherine. We had watched a Disney movie about some princess in a cold, icy land. I really didn’t pay that much attention. Now we were trying to get everyone calmed down for bed.