LOVE IS IN DISGUISE: Verne Estate Series, Book 3

10. LORAINE

If there’s one thing my job has taught me, it’s never to trust hearsay. And my personal experience has taught me that you’re never better served than by yourself. This is why, when I would be better at home snoozing to recover from my hectic night, I find myself sitting on a pew in the village church.

Let’s be honest, this is a place that I don’t go to often. Papi Gus had me take a few catechism classes as a child but didn’t insist too much when I told him I didn’t want to go back. And if you put weddings and funerals aside, I haven’t had the opportunity (or the inclination) to attend a service.

I expected to meet only a few people as old as the last coat of paint on the building. I’m surprised to discover that the flock is rather numerous. The church is gradually filling up with worshipers of all ages, mostly women. But my biggest surprise is to see my friend Romy, who slips onto the pew next to me.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I could ask you the same question.”

I’m not inclined to tell her the truth.

“Well, I’m coming to attend mass. Obviously!” she replies, taking the offended look of the one who doesn’t understand why she’s asked this question.

However, I have the right to question her. First, she’s not Catholic; secondly, it’s her biggest morning of the week at the bakery, it’s rather rare that she’s absent at this time.

“Aren’t you supposed to work on a Sunday morning?”

“I left the shop to the employees. They can do well on their own for an hour.”

“To go pray?”

She gives me a sidelong glance before replying, whispering:

“Don’t be naive, I’m sure you’re here for the same reason as me.”

I play the i***t:

“Since I have no idea why you’re here…”

“All my clients are talking about the new priest. I had to see this for myself, and apparently, I’m not the only one who had this idea,” she said, gesturing to a woman across the aisle.

“What do you know? Maybe she comes here every week.”

Romy stares at me with the look of someone who knows.

“She ordered a cake for her son’s bar mitzvah just last month.”

“So what? She has the right to be Jewish and to attend a Catholic mass.”

“Yes, just like me who’s not baptised,” she admits.

“Which leads me to wonder why you suddenly care who the priest is?”

I know why I want to know, but she? What did she hear about him?

“It seems that…”

She doesn’t have time to finish her sentence, because the woman in front of us turns around, uttering a “shhh” so loud that it resonates in the building. It must be said that she has the training. She’s the village librarian.

I exchange a glance with Romy, and the next moment, our ears are assaulted by the deafening music of the organ. A few bars and three wrong notes later, the main entrance to the church opens to make room for two altar boys carrying a smoking metal censer. They go up the aisle to the altar. Then a silhouette appears in the doorway, haloed by the rays of the winter sun. All the women in the audience turn to him: there’s no doubt about it, it’s a man. Some are bending over and twisting their necks, and I might be one of them. A male voice rises and sings the chorus of the hymn. A second after, like a divine apparition which unfortunately undermines all my hopes, the new priest of Locron enters the proud collegiate church of Saint-Matthieu and I can only note that it is… Ethan Boyle.

“Damn, these benches hurt the buttocks,” grumbles Romy for at least the hundredth time.

“Then you should pray on your knees.”

For my part, I don’t care about the state of my buttocks. I’m too amazed by my recent discovery to care. Ethan Boyle is a priest. What a terrible loss for the fairer s*x!

Because yes, I feel compassion for all the singles in the area right now. Besides, what better place than mass for that?

I, who have always found church to be deadly boring, have to admit that Ethan’s presence, I mean Father Boyle, but I’m having a hard time getting used to the idea makes it more pleasant. I don’t even notice the clock ticking. When he ends the last hymn with that lovely accent, I’m almost disappointed it’s over. He walks back down the aisle. When he passes near our row, our eyes meet. That’s when he winks at me. I could almost believe that I’m the victim of a hallucination, but immediately Romy’s reaction confirmed to me that I wasn’t dreaming. She looks surprised at me and asks:

“But… have you already met him?” she whispers so as not to be reprimanded by the librarian again.

“In a way…”

“Which means…?”

I sigh. This isn’t the moment that I would have chosen to explain everything to her. Mainly due to being within earshot of half of the village’s female population.

“Do you remember the man I met at the retirement home?”

Her eyes widen, understanding where I’m going.

“No... no,” she stammers, suppressing a giggle. “You’re telling me that the handsome boy you told us about the other night is the priest!”

“Louder,” I muttered between my teeth, “I don’t think everyone heard you.”

“It’s incredible,” she adds just as loudly. ”You fell for the priest!”

“Oh, no you don’t! You don’t have the right to make fun of me! What are you doing here? At least I didn’t know anything about his profession.”

“Just as I said. All my clients have been talking about him for a few days. I had to see it with my own eyes. It’s the duty of a good trader to always be up to date with the latest news from the village,” she retorts with pride.

“But of course... Come on, let’s get out of here. I think I’ve heard enough for today.”

A discreet exit would have been too much to ask. Father Boyle is standing in the doorway of the church and saying goodbye to the faithful one by one. Suddenly, I feel a bit compelled to stand in line with them and patiently wait my turn.

“Loraine! You’re here!” he exclaims as if we were old friends who were reuniting after ten years of absence.

Romy hits me in the ribs.

“Uh... Father, allow me to introduce you to my friend Romy. She runs the village bakery.”

“Hello father,” she smirks.

I give her a dark look that she pretends not to notice.

“You too, are you a friend of this young man whose apartment burned down last night?” he asks her.

This time, it’s Romy staring at me.

I detect a glimmer of curiosity light up in her eyes. Father Boyle, totally oblivious to giving her a great bone to chew on, asks us:

“Have you heard from Mark since that night?”

“Uh… not really.”

And there’s little chance that I will any time soon, in my opinion.

“I’m going to try to go see him at his restaurant to see how he’s doing,” he informs me.

I smile politely, and as I feel that the people in the queue are getting impatient, I take my leave of the parish priest. Romy, by my side, overdoes it. Between the smile, the small movement of her hair and the wink, she’s ridiculous. I ask her, once we have moved away:

“Are you aware that this is mission impossible?”

“Not really. You’ve never seen The Thorn Birds?”

I roll my eyes, but don’t even bother to answer.

As I predicted, it didn’t take long for Romy to ask me about Mark. One minute, at the most. That’s why I suggested we have lunch together. Even if it means being subject to the Inquisition, I might as well do it with a full stomach. Especially since I’m seriously beginning to feel the lack of sleep.

A good hour later, Romy was aware of the vicissitudes of the night, as well as Elena, who joined us. She’s not eating anything due to a virus that she probably caught at the school where she works.

This didn’t prevent her from gently spoofing me on the episode of sexy Ethan and the new priest of the village are one and the same person.

And it’s between two yawns that I tell them my adventures of the night, or rather those of Mark.

“Do you realise he’s single now?” Romy asks.

“We don’t know at all. Just because he put his fist in the face of the guy Jenny cheated on him with, doesn’t mean they’re not together anymore,” I argued without really believing it.

“Yeah, well, it still seems like that bridge has been burnt. I’m sure he’s back on the market,” says Romy without an ounce of tact.

“For less than 24 hours,” underlines Elena before adding: “Do you realise that it’s because of this kind of thinking that we continue to maintain our reputation as starving bachelorettes?”

“But I’m hungry! I haven’t had a guy since… I don’t even want to calculate, it will give me the blues.”

“Anyway, this one is reserved for Loraine. Since the time she had a crush on him…”

The mention of my first name brings me out of the lethargy I was slowly sinking into.

“That’s very nice of you girls, but I think the poor guy has other things to do right now. Like taking care of his burnt down apartment, for example. And even if he was single and I was the last woman on earth, there would be no way he’d be interested in me.”

“Oh no!” says Romy indignantly. “Why exactly don’t you feel good enough for him anyway?”

My two friends look at me contrite and spend the next few minutes trying to convince me that I could totally c***k a guy like him. I let them do it, too tired to contradict them. I don’t want to explain to them either that I learned a long time ago that if life gives hope, one shouldn’t be deluded either.