Three-2
1364 Words
I KNOCK ON THE DOOR of the Beckets’ two-story home in one of the newer developments on the edge of Myerton and Frank Becket answers, with Sharon, his wife, by his side.
“Come in, Father,” he says gravely as he shakes my hand. “I have a feeling you have some bad news for us.”
“What is it, Father?” Sharon asks, her fear palpable in the question.
I lay my hands gently on their shoulders. “I think it would be a good idea for us all to sit down.”
They usher me silently into the living room, where the rest of their children are gathered, except for their oldest, Rick, who I remember has been away at school. The two older girls are there too, along with the three younger boys, and the youngest, I believe her name is Emma. She obviously was awakened by all the activity, and is still in her PJs.
The Beckets are what is euphemistically referred to as a blended family. Both Frank and Sharon lost spouses way too young, Frank’s to a sudden brain aneurysm and Sharon’s to combat wounds in Iraq. I can’t remember which children belong to whom, but I know that Rick is Sharon’s oldest son and Ashley was Frank’s oldest daughter. Together, they’ve formed a loving family, very active in the parish.
Except for Ashley.
Sharon takes a seat on the couch with Frank beside her and I sit in a nearby chair. Not wanting to prolong their agony, I say, “Frank, Sharon, I believe you have a daughter named Ashley, she’s about 18 years old?”
They nod their heads, saying nothing. “I am so very sorry, but there has been an incident. Ashley is dead.”
Sharon breaks down at the news, as Frank holds her and keeps his face stoic even as tears trickle down his cheeks. The girls hug each other and then reach out to their younger siblings.
I take a deep breath and say, “I want you to know that I gave her her last rites before I came over here.”
“So you were with her when she died?” Sharon asks.
“No, I was not with her when she died, but I was able to get there shortly after.”
“I don’t understand Father,” Frank says, confusion now mixing with his grief. “How did you know that something happened to her?”
I choose my words carefully as I say, “I got a call from someone who knew that she had been injured, and I went there immediately in the hope of being able to help.”
“Then someone was with her? She wasn’t . . . she didn’t die alone?” Sharon asks through her tears.
I decide that now is a good time to redirect the conversation. “Sharon, Frank, kids, I know you have so many questions right now. But the most important thing to understand is that Ashley has departed from this world and will be with Jesus. All the other questions that you have can wait till later. If I may suggest, why don’t we take some time now and pray for her soul.”
Around me, the members of the grieving family drop to their knees, older girls still holding their sisters’ hands. Emma comes and kneels in between her parents and they wrap their arms around her.
Pulling out my phone, I bring up the Breviary app and find the Litany of the Saints, the same prayer Helen and I prayed the night my sister Sonya was found dead.
“Lord, Have Mercy,” I read
Behind me, a mixture of older and younger voices respond, “Lord, Have Mercy.”
“Christ, have Mercy,” I continue.
“Christ, have Mercy.”
“Lord, have Mercy.”
“Lord, have Mercy.”
Back and forth, back and forth, first me, then the Beckets, we recite the ancient prayer to the saints.
“Saint Peter and Saint Paul.”
“Pray for her.”
“Lord, be merciful.”
“Lord, save your people.”
“From all evil.”
“Lord, save your people.”
The voices are beginning to drop one by one, starting with the littlest ones, as each member of Ashley’s family succumbs to the emotions of the moment. By the final verses, only my voice and the elder Beckets are left.
“Christ, hear us.”
“Christ, hear us.”
“Lord Jesus, hear our prayer.”
“Lord Jesus, hear our prayer.”
Taking a deep breath, I conclude, “God of mercy, hear our prayers and be merciful to your daughter Ashley, whom you have called from this life. Welcome her into the company of your saints, in the kingdom of light and peace. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”
Together, with one voice, the Beckets and I say, “Amen.”
No sooner have I finished the litany and we’re standing up than the front door opens and closes. “Mom? Frank?” a young man calls from the hallway.
“We’re in here, son,” Sharon manages to say as she wipes more tears from her eyes.
A young man in his early-twenties enters, a look of confusion on his face. “What’s going on? Why is everyone up at this hour? Who’s car—Father Tom,” he says when he notices me, “what are you doing here?”
“Rick,” Sharon says, “Father Tom’s here because of Ashley.”
Rick Richardson sighs and shakes his head. “Father Tom, I’m afraid I know why you’re here. Unfortunately, none of this comes as a surprise to me. In fact, I’m glad it's happened.”
The Becket parents just stare at him in horror as one of his sisters says, “Rick! What the hell! How can you say that!”
Frank begins sobbing and lunges toward him, screaming, “What is wrong with you? That’s my daughter you’re talking about!”
I quickly step between them and Frank backs off, unwilling to fight in front of a priest. Rick seems taken aback by his reaction and says gently, “Frank, I am so sorry you and Mom had to find out this way, but really, this was inevitable.”
Frank collapses on the couch as Sharon lights into her son. “Rick, I know you two didn’t get along but for goodness sake, Ashley’s dead! Try to show a little respect for us, if not for her!”
All the blood drains from Rick’s face as he says, “What? Dead? What are you talking about?” He turns to me and cries, “Father, what are they talking about?”
Realizing now that there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, I place my arm around Rick’s shoulder and say as gently as I can, “Rick, Ashley passed away a few hours ago. I was able to give her last rites but she is definitely gone.”
The young man just stares at me, uncomprehending. “Rick, do you understand?” I ask. “Your stepsister is dead.”
Rick nods, his eyes glazed over, then gropes around blindly until he finds the nearest chair. Collapsing into it, he begins shaking all over and sobbing, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
I kneel down by Rick and say calmly, “This is obviously a big shock for everyone, son. We have been praying for Ashley. I suggest that you and I do the same.” He continues to stare blankly at me even as I begin a brief prayer for Ashley’s soul and that God will comfort her family. I finish and make the sign of the cross before getting to my feet.
As soon as I do, Rick lunges for his mother and Frank. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry,” he sobs. “Frank, you must think I’m some kind of monster. But I didn't understand. I . . . I didn’t know she was gone. I’m so sorry.”
Frank takes his stepson in his arms and, crying himself says, “I know, son, I know. It’s OK.”
What Rick says next is muffled, but I swear he says, “If I knew things would end this way, I would have tried harder.”
With father and stepson comforting each other in their shared grief, I tell Sharon, “I have another visit to make. I’ll be in touch. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sharon whispers. She hesitates, then says, “There’s more than you’ve told us, isn’t there?”
I don’t know how to respond, so I just say, “Someone will be by to give you more details. It’s not up to me to say more.”
Sharon opens her mouth to say something else, then just nods. I walk quietly to the door and let myself out.
Standing on the front porch of this house of mourning, one thought swirls through my mind.
How long had Rick known that Ashley was a prostitute?
- Writer
