The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [46]
“Yeah.” Bean shrugged carelessly.
“There’s a new priest, you know,” our father said, peering over his glasses at Bean. “Young man. Handsome. But more Benedick than Claudio, so it’s all right.”
“As long as he’s not more Don John than Benedick,” Cordy said, curling her dirty toes.
“He’s nice. I met him at the library the other day, and he was out in the garden today,” Bean said.
“Oooh,” Cordy said, leaning her book against her chest, now fully invested in the conversation. “Making friends with the locals. So is he cute?”
“You don’t trust my assessment?” our father asked, turning another page in his book.
“Of course I do,” Cordy soothed. “But I want to know if Bean thinks he’s cute. It’s a totally different thing.”
“Sure,” Bean said. “I guess. But he’s the vicar.”
“Oh, please. He’s not dead,” Cordy replied, and then, butterfly-minded, poked our father with her heel and changed the subject. “What happened to Father Cooke?”
“Put him out to pasture,” our father said. “And toil’d with works of war, retired himself to Arizona.”
“How sad,” Cordy said wistfully.
“There’s nothing sad about it,” Rose interjected. “The man’s retired, playing golf in Arizona. What’s sad about that?”
“Nothing, I suppose. But in a way it is sad that he doesn’t have a congregation or anything anymore, you know? Wouldn’t that be hard for him?”
“I imagine it’s a relief. Listening to other people’s problems day in and day out for years? Having to work every weekend?” Rose smiled at her own sacrilege.
“And never getting invited anywhere except if people want a vicar handy. All the pretty ladies and not a drop to drink,” Bean added. We all recoiled at the thought of the ancient Father Cooke and any romantic exploits in which he might have been involved. “Or not,” she said.
“Father Aidan writes excellent sermons,” Rose said, turning the tide of the conversation back. “I don’t think it’s entirely appropriate to be talking about whether he’s cute or not.”
“Rose, relax. We’re not going to buy him a hooker,” Bean said. “We’re just talking.”
“Besides, church is way more fun when the vicar is cute,” Cordy said.
“How would you know? We only ever had Father Cooke,” Bean said.
“I have an imagination,” Cordy said indignantly. “Besides, it’s not like Saint Mark’s is the only church I ever went to.”
“And in your vast ecclesiastical survey, were there lots of hot reverends?”
“Enough,” Cordy said mysteriously, and went back to reading. Bean picked up her shoes and went upstairs to shower, leaving a trail of grass on the carpet. Rose looked after her thoughtfully. She never had been able to tell how much of Bean’s boy-craziness was real, and how much of it was artifice, like her makeup and perfectly coordinated outfits. Because she certainly couldn’t be setting her cap for Father Aidan, could she?
Because Bean? Dating our minister? That was the most ridiculous idea Rose had ever heard.
SEVEN
The best part of being in a relationship, for Rose, was that Jonathan was the first person she saw when she woke up, and the last before she fell asleep. This love had a nice symmetry to it, and before she fell asleep. This love had a nice symmetry to it, and she found it insulating; the gentle rhythm of morning chores and evening relaxation with him closed a gentle circle for her, cocooned her from the world.
But his departure had ruined the safety of their communion for her. You have to understand, our parents had raised us as good feminists, we are aware of the whole woman/man/fish/bicycle equation, but Rose was different. Rose needed security, stasis, and she had grown used to Jonathan as part of that so quickly. Some days she felt torn inside because he wasn’t there, as though it were the fact of his absence, rather than his absence itself, that offended her so. It was curious to us, who had so long enjoyed the benefits of Rose’s strength, had leaned on her for everything from ensuring our socks matched to keeping the secret of exactly how late we snuck out