City Life by Helen Haught Fanick

Author:Helen Haught Fanick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Helen Haught Fanick
Published: 2015-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Early mass had been an ordeal for Monica. The pastor, a substitute from another parish, had droned on and on, and she had been unable to focus her attention for even a minute. Perhaps Frank had been too tired last night, or too stressed out, she kept thinking. Surely, if he found her unattractive, he wouldn’t have agreed to go home with her for dinner. He had said she was beautiful, and he wasn’t the kind of man to say something like that lightly.

She chided herself for thinking of him all during the service. Communion wasn’t an option today, so she knelt and tried to concentrate on prayer while the others went forward.

When she went to her car, she took the Taurus revolver from the glove compartment and put it back in her purse. The only time she was without it was in the church. How ironic, she thought, that if a drug dealer or irate husband killed her without a fight, it would be on the way into or out of St. Mary Magdalen’s.

Her goal today was to go to Frank’s and invite him out to brunch. Failing at sex was a lot like falling from a horse, she thought. Retreating and hiding from the problem would solve nothing. Not that she intended to try to seduce him again immediately. Now was the time for friendly companionship with the hope of bringing a little humor and understanding to the situation.

It was too early to go to his house now, and too early for brunch, but she had to visit Aunt Petra first anyway. Monica still thought of her as Tia Petra, but she stopped calling her that years ago when she taught the elderly woman English. Aunt Petra went to Saturday evening mass and sat home Sunday mornings watching the protestant evangelists on television, pouncing like a cat on their deviations from the true faith.

She came to the door with her cane, her white hair drawn back in a bun. Monica kissed her cheek and went with her to the couch. “Get some coffee,” Aunt Petra said. “I have some empanadas for you in the kitchen.”

The television was blaring with brother something-or-other exhorting sinners to touch the TV screen and be saved. “Do you mind if I turn this down?” Monica lowered the volume to a murmur without waiting for an answer. “I don’t want anything to eat now, just coffee. I’ll bring you a cup.”

“With the half-and-half. It’s in the refrigerator.” And when Monica returned, “What’s the matter with you this morning? You’re usually starved after mass.”

“I’m in love.” Aunt Petra was one of those people you could tell anything. She was a woman who understood human frailty.

“The same man you told me about last week, the one you found attractive?”

“The same one.”

“Ah.” Aunt Petra smiled and nodded. “Last week you found him attractive, this week you’re in love.”

“His wife’s divorcing him. I guess I allowed myself to feel more seriously about him when I heard that.”

“A divorce.

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