* * *

Everything was going great. My studies at seminary were finishing up. I’d be taking vows next year. I had friends from school who would go off to parishes all over the country, possibly even the world. The only sad part was having to say farewell to Father McKenna who was reassigned to Rome on some kind of sabbatical. I had friends in the Blessed Name community. And yet something didn’t feel right.

Something nagged at me.

Bridget Murphy.

I’d see her in the hallway at school during break. Occasionally I’d spot her sitting on the curb outside school waiting to be picked up. Her friends from months before seemed to have deserted her. She no longer played on the basketball team. I checked the sports teams’ rosters.

No Bridget Murphy.

I wandered down to the gym one Saturday to talk to Coach Bill Peterson who was a pal. “Is there something up with the Murphy girl?”

He shrugged. “They all get a little moody around that age.”

“What’s the ‘moody’ age?”

“Fourteen to eighteen.”

I helped him stash the balls in a locker.

“Is there something I should be worried about? Are her parents going through a rough time?”

“Not that I know of. I think she had a breakup a few months ago. She missed practice sessions and I noticed a lot of mascara-ringed tear stains.”

“Did you talk to her folks?”

“No one’s called me. No one’s mentioned anything out of the ordinary.”

“Do you think I should reach out?”

He secured the lock on the gate that housed the sports gear. “Look. If I thought there was more than high school drama, I’d say, yes. It’s a fine line between being there for these kids and hovering. Your call.”

My call. I thought about it. I prayed about it. I just didn’t know. So I let it slide.

Thy will be done.

A week rolled by and I still didn’t see her. Then a second week.

“Have you heard anything?” I asked Coach again.

“Nope. Didn’t you used to date her sister?”

“A million years ago.”

“Find her on social media. You could always reach out to her.”

“My parents transferred her,” Mary Margaret Murphy-Fischer said over the phone. “Crest Point. It’s a private girls’ school in Vermont.”

“What was the problem?”

“Look, Aiden. I feel bad that I didn’t warn her. I didn’t see it coming. I’ve cried a thousand tears. I pray every day she’ll get past this.”

“Get past what? I’m sure there’s nothing you could have done.”

“But I could have. Remember the cool priest from our high school? Father Ed McKenna? The one who helped you get over the death of your parents?”

“Yes,” I said, nausea growing inside me.

“He counseled me after we broke up. I slept with him for a few months. I thought I was the only one he slept with. I thought I was special.”

“You are,” I said, feeling like my head was going to explode. “Father McKenna slept with you?”

“I thought it was consensual,” she said. “I figured out that it wasn’t. I was teenager. He was in a position of authority.”

“He’s a goddamn priest! He’s the person folks trusted,” I said. “I know I did.”

How was this possible?

“But it turns out, I’m not special, Aiden. It turns out he’s been sleeping with more than a few of the pretty young girls who get their hearts broken at Blessed Name High School. Or at least he’s tried. I’ve personally talked to at least ten other women he violated at Blessed Name after Bridget told me that he’d seduced her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me and maybe I could have done something.”

“Could you, Aiden? You saw the church as your healing. You saw it as your redemption. How could I take that away from you?”

“I could have helped.”

“The damage is done. Bridget’s getting counseling. The family’s suing. We’re handling it,” she said. “This isn’t about you, Aiden. This one’s about us.”

Five years ago I’d left my old life behind.

I left the church.

I dropped out of seminary.

I moved to Chicago and spent half a year slumming in dark bars, drowning myself in the frenetic energy of nightclubs, and playing all night poker games. Anything to distract me from my guilt. The memories of how I’d screwed things up in a spectacular way.

Anything to distract me from the pain.