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“Babe,” he whispers furiously.Hiseyes are normal, clear, paying no mind to the fact thatI’mcowering from his touch. “Babe, there’s something with the wine,” he says, gaze drifting.
Abrow arches asIstudy him.He’sno longer the vampire that attacked me on the approach after drinking the wine—now, he’s justZak.
“Thebody ofChrist.”
“Theblood ofChrist.”
Myeyes widen, andIsqueeze his wrist. “Oh, myGod,”Iwhisper furiously. “ThebloodofChrist.”
Realizationblows him away until his ass rests on our pew. “Holyshit.”
Iglare at him and smack his thigh, making him jump.Acouple of people in the aisle waiting in line for communion glare at him, too.
Heshakes himself out of it and posts his elbows on the pew once more, clasping his hands together in front of his face.Aweand wonder light up his features as he stares at the altar.Gradually, his eyes close, like he’s praying.
Knowinghim, he is.
Butwatching and feeling the tension literally melt away from his body stirs enough wonder and thankfulness in me thatIfind myself offering up gratitude to the man upstairs, too.
Ifall it takes to keep his appetite for my blood sated with a weekly trip to church, then…
Wemight be in the clear.
“TheMasshas ended.Goin peace to love and serve theLord.”
“Thanksbe toGod.”
Thesecond the exit hymn finishes,Zakslips out of the pew.Aconfusing mix of emotions bubble up—relief, sadness, and regret all beat the shit out of each other for prominence asIwatchZakescape through the front doors of the church.
“Guesshe’s not comin’ over for breakfast,”Momcomments under her breath.
Somethingtouches my arm and jolts me out of thought.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,”FatherTomasapologizes. “It’swonderful to have you back home!”
Aftercatching my breath,Igive him a hug. “Hi,Father.”
Heholds me by my shoulders.Hisblack hair has a lot more gray thanIremember, but his dark brown eyes are still warm and kind and wrinkle at the corners. “Settlingin okay?Alreadyhard at work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good!Good.Itmakes me so happy to see y’all back in the pew together.”
Momsqueezes my arm. “We’reglad she’s home.”
Fathernods in agreement, eyeballing me for a long moment. “MayIgive you a blessing before you go?”
Theoffer takes me aback.Whatmakes him thinkIneed one?DoIhaveWhoreorSinnertattooed to my forehead?OrmaybeIhave this aura of “Imade a deal with the devil” about me thatI’mnot aware of.
Myreality bitch slaps me into nodding in response—maybe a blessing would help cover my ass.
FatherTomassmiles warmly and clamps both hands down on my head, like he’s making damn sureIstay put for the entire thing.Ormaybe to make sure that his blessing sticks.Whateverthe case may be, it wouldn’t hurt to have it.
SoIbow my head a little lower and clasp my hands together as he murmurs a quiet prayer over me, just loud enough for me to hear.
“LovingGod, grant your blessing upon your child,Stephani.Lighther path forward and be with her in all that she does.Protecther as she settles in at home, and always remind her that she is precious to those who surround her.ThroughChrist, ourLord.Amen.”
Iblink back tears threatening to tumble asFatherTomasreleases his death grip on my head. “Amen,”Iwhisper before crossing myself and thanking him.
