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“No, of course not. In a family this size one more person is barely noticed.”

Just then, Chrissy ran up with our cat in her arms.

“Something’s wrong with Socky.”

I took a closer look. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Shawna and Trent joined the medical consultation.

Chrissy was hesitant.

I asked, “What is it?”

“It’s Socky’s…um…uh…butt.”

I checked, and sure enough, there was a piece of string poking out slightly. I leaped into action. I looked at Trent and said in a mock official tone, “Find me an open operating table with newspaper covering it.”

My son sprang to attention and called, “Yes, sir.” He gave me a quick smile and wink.

Trent led me into the living room, where he had cleared the coffee table and spread newspaper over it. He helped me hold Socky, who seemed to like the attention, as I conducted a thorough examination.

Eddie joined us out of curiosity as the girls knelt down to comfort the cat.

I used a napkin to grasp the string and pull. The foot-long string slid out easily, although afterward Socky squirmed free and fled.

I held up the string and said to the girls, “Voilà. The operation was successful.”

Mary Catherine stepped into the living room and said, “Quit acting like a child in front of our guest.” Then she saw the string I was holding and said, “I wondered where the pork-loin string went last night.”

I smiled and said, “I hope you’re not going to use it again.” I was rewarded with a hail of laughter from the girls.

Father Alonzo laughed, too, and said, “You’re a lucky man to spread such joy.”

I smiled. He was right.

As dinner simmered and the children cleared their homework off the dining-room table, I joined Seamus and Alonzo on the balcony.

Both priests sipped on glasses of red wine, and Seamus passed one to me. I accepted and brought it to my nose, hoping it wasn’t my Talisman Weir Vineyard Pinot Noir. Sixty bucks was a lot for a cop to shell out for wine. I’d been saving it for a special occasion.

Alonzo was perceptive. He said, “I hope you like the wine. I took it from the Communion box at Holy Name.”

I just stared at him for a moment, speechless.

Alonzo said, “I’m sorry—just a poor joke. We picked it up at the liquor store down the street.


I wasn’t used to a priest with a normal sense of humor.

We chatted for a few more minutes. Alonzo complimented me on how well behaved the children were. It’s hard to not like someone who compliments your children.

I tried to get a little more of his background. He was raised in Bogotá, educated in Mexico City.

Alonzo said, “I had quite a full life before God set me on the right path. I’m trying to use my experience in a different way, dealing with everyday people.”

“What motivated you to join the Church?”

Now Seamus interrupted. “Michael, my boy, those aren’t the kind of questions we ask people who’ve come into the Church. No one cares that I used to own a bar.”

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