Collin massaged the side of his neck. It'd been hurting since he and Deacon Bernard had moved the bed from the basement into his bedroom at the rectory. Nor did Collin care sharing the hard mattress with the deacon. When he was growing up, he'd had to share a bed with Julia and later Siobhan, but they'd been petite compared to the bearish deacon. After they spent time together evenings, Collin wished the deacon would go back to his own room, but he usually spent the whole night until just before the housekeeper came to work mornings.
He wondered if Mrs. O'Toole noticed the heavy bags under his eyes at 8 a.m. mass. She'd been the only person to come every day to mass, and he had to pause a moment -- she hadn't missed a day in, how many years? Yes, since Jimmy had died of leukemia back in '16. More than five years now. Collin had presided over that funeral, heartbroken and angry. He spouted platitudes of children coming unto God and having faith in God's plan for us -- but he could find no reason in his heart why God would take a 12-year old boy who smiled and laughed with everyone.
Collin remembered his own childhood. His mother had always said he smiled and laughed, just like Jimmy, he supposed -- but now Collin found himself looking in the mirror, unable to smile or laugh at the gray-haired man who stared back at him, even after a warm night with Deacon Bernard, the moonlight streaming into the bedroom.
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