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“I spoke with him a couple of times, if I remember right. I’m not sure it made much of a difference. He was filled with something.”
“Filled with what?” Cleo asked, looking thoroughly confused. But Nick knew exactly what he meant.
“An anger.” Father Benjie said but then shook his head. “A hate.”
“Toward who?” Cleo pressed.
“It’s hard to say, but if I had to guess, himself. He didn’t want to be here. He certainly didn’t want to hear from me. But I don’t think he had much money and his family said they’d pay him if he did some odd jobs around here. That was the only reason he agreed, as far as I could tell. I think he wanted to save up enough to get a bus ticket out of here.”
“And did he?”
“I don’t recall.” Father Benjie scratched at his wispy hair as he thought it over. “But if I had to try to piece together the timing of it all he was probably the one working here when that blizzard happened.”
“And what was his name?” Nick held his breath, knowing it was a long shot.
“Clark,” Father Benjie said, looking satisfied with himself. “But not Clark Brown. They didn’t share a last name. I think it was either Lockhart or Lockheed. Something along those lines.”
“And how old do you think he was at the time?” Cleo asked, pulling out her phone to take notes.
“Oh, maybe nineteen.”
“Really?” Nick asked, doing the quick math to realize just how much of an age difference there might have been between Mariena and Clark at the time of the blizzard.
“Yeah, which makes me think maybe the story you heard was wrong. I don’t think Mariena would engage in something like that. She had her troubles later in life but only after Don betrayed their marriage and broke his vows.”
“I think she may have broken hers first.” Cleo shook her head. “Really, everything I’ve seen when it comes to the Munson parents has been tragic and toxic. Nothing would surprise me at this point.”
“I’ll pray for her,” Father Benjie said, and Nick couldn’t be sure if he meant Mariena or Cleo. “I’m sorry but I have to see you both out. I have a couple coming in for pre-marital counseling in about ten minutes.”
“We appreciate your time,” Nick said.
“Son, if you want to come back for mass, we’d love to have you. Or I can take your confession anytime.”
“Do I look like I’m overdue?” Nick asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“You look like you’ve got some things on your mind.” Father Benjie stood and saw them out, his warm expression never wavering. “Be good now.”
It was a familiar refrain from his youth. A blanket statement meant to guide him away from trouble. It rarely worked, but the nostalgia of hearing it made his chest warm.
“Are you okay?” Cleo asked as they stepped through the heavy wood doors and down the large cement steps to the street.
“That was a strange experience,” he admitted. “I grew up in church. Lots of memories of my mother.”
“My family wasn’t into the church scene.”
Nick laughed. “It’s not a club. It doesn’t really have a scene.”
“Well, we didn’t go.” She held up a finger to stop him. “And don’t say it shows.”
“Not everyone’s church comes in the form of a building. I get that.”
“My parents had their own code they lived by, and trust me, the church wouldn’t have approved.”
“You make them sound like criminals.”
“If the shoe fits...”
“I thought your dad was military.”
