Value Precious Relationships

Father Lorenzo finds Annie’s cream-colored scarf draped across the door to the confessional when he returns from his weekly lunch with Mrs. Fitzpatrick. A wave of confusion shadows his brain momentarily because he’s sure Annie tied it around her neck before leaving the church. Deciding it’s an invitation to visit, Lorenzo folds it carefully into a small rectangle, pushes it gently into his black leather bag, and makes a mental note to stop by Dottie’s at the end of his day before going home to have dinner with Nona.

When he does leave the church, just as the evening darkens the colors of the stained-glass windows to mimic the gray-stone walls of the sanctuary, the echoing thump of his winter boots against the tiled floors of St. Catherine’s feels lonely. But he likes it. In all the years in this sacred place Father Lorenzo never lost his sense of belonging. Something, he knows, Annie never had.

As he makes his way along the neighborhood toward Dottie’s house on the corner of Pemberton Street, he feels his stomach tighten and wonders why being near Annie does this to him. He knows the world is too big and complicated for one person to make a real difference, but in his own small way Father Lorenzo tries to fix what is wrong. He’s not always sure what God wants from him, but having Annie returning to him seems like a sign. 

The white wooden gate is open and the porch light is on. It feels welcoming. As he walks toward the familiar door Father Lorenzo thinks of the story Charlie liked to tell about  meeting Annie when she was in Maine at the t-shirt printing company where Dottie worked. Charlie didn’t believe Annie had given him the correct change when he’d paid for an order and he demanded to know why she was not in school. She’d told him that her mom sometimes kept her out of school to help at the front desk when the receptionist called in sick because she was really good at math.

Charlie liked to say it was love at first sight when he saw Dottie storm into the front office, her face flushed and her red-tipped fingernails pointed, to defend her daughter’s computational skills.

“I’m sorry, sometimes she can be little bossy,” Dottie had said when Annie had tried to convince her mom she was right about the change. Annie said there was a sparkle, a light, in Dottie’s tired gray-eyes that she’d never seen before. The spark that ignited Dottie and Charlie.

Father Lorenzo hopes Charlie is asleep, surrounded by his friends on Fox News, in the bedroom at the back of the house. Despite his vows of obedience and understanding, it is often difficult to sit through Charlie’s tirades against an imaginary other. When he’d first taken to his bed after his cancer diagnosis in December and asked that Dottie get him a television the size of a mini-van, she’d begged him not to watch the news all day. But he refused, in typical Charlie style, agreeing to what she said but then doing what he wanted. When Dottie set up her own bedroom in what had been Annie’s attic, it was clear she was done with whatever she’d needed from Charlie, but would take care of him until the end.

“Anyone home?” Lorenzo yells into the open front door.

“Father Lorenzo, is that you!?” Dottie shouts from the kitchen at the end of the hall over the sounds of the television from Charlies bedroom. “Come on in, honey. I’m just cleaning up a little and Charlie’s watching his news shows.”

Lorenzo steps across the familiar threshold and feels the smallness of the space. The dark smoky air catches him by surprise and he coughs. As he moves to cover his mouth with his right hand, he knocks a photograph off the wall. “I’m sorry,” he says to no one as he kneels to pick up the photograph, feeling awkward and bulky at the foot of the narrow staircase. 

“You okay?” Dottie yells a little too loudly.

“All good,” Lorenzo calls back.

He looks at the photograph of Annie from her college graduation, she is smiling with one arm draped across her little sister’s shoulder, underneath Maeve’s red hair pulled high in a ponytail. In the picture Maeve’s smile is wide revealing her teeth covered in silver braces. Charlie would say that was the proudest day of his life, but he never talked about what happened the night Annie gave up her dreams for a different kind of life with JP. Not on her infrequent calls home or occasional visits when Jean-Pierre wasn’t touring in some part of the world no one from the neighborhood had ever heard of. Looking at that image reminds Lorenzo of the wound that opened on the night Annie ran off with Jean-Pierre because, in his heart, he knows that without him everything would have been different.

 “That you Lorenzo?” Lorenzo hears Annie call from the top of the stairs, her voice worn by sleeplessness and life. “Come on up, I’m in the attic.”

He repositions the photograph on the wall and proceeds slowly up the steep staircase, holding tightly to the wooden railing. The family photographs nailed along the sloping walls tell the story of a family growing and changing. Annie with Maeve when she was still in diapers and Annie was her favorite person. Maeve as a teenager with her serious gray eyes slightly covered by her straight red bangs.

These are the girls he loved.

As he reaches the top of the staircase, his breath ragged and short, he hears that familiar guitar solo. “Are you listening to JP?” Lorenzo asks as he steps into the room and turns the volume down on the small speaker perched on the edge of the windowsill.

“Sorry, but I love that song. It makes me feel better when I miss Maeve. You know I wrote most of the lyrics, not that JP ever gave me any credit. It was about that last summer night in Cambridge. It’s even my title, An Old-Fashioned Summer Night,” Annie says with a deep inhale and dramatic exhale. “Maeve might be transferred, again, so she could be home for Easter.”

“Will you be here that long?” Lorenzo feels hope lift in his chest.

“Not sure yet,” she giggles, her eyes slightly close as she slides gently back in the soft armchair. “Never know the future. If you’d asked me last New Year’s Eve how 2016 would end, I could not have seen me ending up here.”

 “I would love to see her,” he says, sitting down with a huff on the orange cushioned-window seat - the one Charlie built when Dottie and Annie first moved in. Lorenzo feels a tinge of shame because of his exhaustion, wondering how he got this way. When he takes a seat he breathes in deep to rebalance himself, he can smell it in the air.

“Are you getting high up here?”

“I’m always getting high,” she says without opening her eyes. “It’s how I get through.” He looks at Annie and she seems out of place in her old bedroom. The posters of the earth and the stars and Annie’s favorite astronauts are gone, replaced with a delicate cross above the neatly made twin bed and the silver-framed photographs of Annie and Maeve on the opposite wall.

When Annie was first on the road with Jean-Pierre, Lorenzo missed her, or the idea of her, and would spend hours in this room talking to Maeve about where Annie was and how she was doing, staring at the constellations that Charlie had painted onto her ceiling. But the years passed, things changed, and they stopped telling each other everything. Lorenzo focused on religion, and Maeve set off to save the world.

 “Sorry, I just can’t hear it.”

“Sorry?” Annie says.

“I don’t want to, I can’t, when I hear that guitar---” he sits back, nauseated by the acidic burn in the back of his palette, bitter with the truth of his jealousy. His eyes well-up and his heart stops, for a moment, and it feels like he’s about to lie, but doesn’t know why he’d lie to her. He fears it may be because it’s been almost twenty-years since Annie needed him and knowing his compassion now may not be enough. Even if compassion is all he has to give.

“You’ve always been a little old man, a real worrier. But I always saw the real you,” Annie says with a mysterious grin, the edges of her lips turned up but not quite smiling. “You and me, we were hot and cold, a reflection of each other like a mirror. But you took in all the sadness and tried to give it hope. You always loved the dark.”

“Not true,” he laughs, knowing she is teasing him. “You always loved the dark.”

“Truth,” she admits and tilts back in her chair.

“You left this at the Church.” He hands her the small folded scarf which he’s taken from his jacket pocket.

“Thank you, this was a gift from my housecleaner. Turns out the only two friends I really had in LA were my housecleaner and my hairdresser.”

He laughs but she isn’t smiling.

“Do you know that on the night I turned forty-two, I was childless, mostly friendless, and as I stood, alone, on my beautiful balcony overlooking the lights of Los Angeles, I knew my light had gone out and I needed to go home. Or I needed to find a home.” She looks down at her hands, turns the ring on her left finger and sighs.

 “I thought Father Lorenzo would have had enough of you for one day,” Dottie says from her place at the doorway, her presence startling Lorenzo.

“Lorenzo could never get enough of me,” Annie says, sitting up with a light behind her tired eyes. “But don’t get too excited, I’m not accepting the faith, I just need a compassionate listener.”

“It saved me, kept me safe,” Dottie says, lifting her eyes toward the cross over her bed on the opposite side of the room and moving her right hand in a swoosh across her body. Dottie startles when the phone in her hand vibrates, lifts it close to her face and stares down at the glowing screen. “Charlie wants his meds,” she says with a shake of her head as she grabs the bag on the floor next to the window seat and pulls out her pack of Marlboro Lights. “Thanks doll,” she nods at Annie before heading down the stairs to figure out what Charlie needs.

Annie and Lorenzo sit quietly in the moment, smiling at each other like they used to when they were children. Comfortable together. “Well, if you’re going to stay until Easter you can’t hide out in this attic. Isolation, they say, creates the perfect breeding ground for addiction.” Father Lorenzo leans forward, the weight of his body shifting the cushion to the edge of the wooden bench, so he can get a better look at Annie’s eyes.

Annie squints at him. “Yes, I smoke pot. Weed. The devil’s lettuce. But I’m not at risk of addiction, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

He dismisses her with a flip of his hand. “If you’re back, for good, you’ll need a job and a reason to get up. You know bonding is our nature, bonds and connections. Do you know there are studies proving connections and purpose reduce addiction? Not you, just in general, you know.” He trails off, sitting back awkwardly and lifting his eyes to see the cross above Dottie’s bed.

“Why do you always want to help people? It’s like love just runs through your heart, you never try to hurt or cause fear. You never try to break people, that’s so unusual in the world.”

“It’s my job,” he answers too solemnly, feeling regret and shame in his didactic tone. “I get up every day and do my work, this is my purpose.”

Annie laughs. “So heavy, okay.”

Father Lorenzo feels something shift, a sensation of him quietly slipping closer to her darkness comes through him. He’s tired, but hopeful she is comforted by his light. “Dig deep into joy, it’s a beautiful thing to be inside of joy. It’s not ignoring the darkness of the world. We are all broken.”

“I know,” she says. “I’ve tried hard to understand all the ways JP is broken, but I don’t like when he tries to break me. He loves his bad boy rocker image but you, you make goodness look attractive,” she teases with a smile that lights up her tired face. “You listen to my stories and seem to see my truth. But when I tell JP my truth, he thinks I’m crazy. It makes me feel very sad and alone. It’s not nice. I always tell him that we should be nice to the people who love us, just like his first big hit, Value Precious Relationships. I can’t believe everything in my life goes back to his songs!”

“It’s what you know,” Lorenzo says solemnly.

“But mostly I just wanted him to appreciate what I do. Did.” She pauses and stands up quickly. “I’m hungry, want to stay for dinner?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulls Father Lorenzo up from his place on the soft orange cushion and they stand together, their bodies close but not touching.

“Why are you here?” he asks and feels her body shudder.

“Really, you really want to know?”

He nods and sits down on the orange cushion and she takes her place next to him.

* * *

“It was the year they finally had a real hit, do you remember? That song played everywhere in 2006. And people actually said V.P.R. to me when I was feeling low, like I didn’t hear that enough!” Annie says quickly, trying to decide where to begin. “Khadijah wanted a song people could dance to so they created a fusion of hip hop with R&B. It was all a riddle to me, but not to him or Khadijah. Those two had a language of their own.” 

“I remember,” Father Lorenzo says shaking his head. “It was the year I thought the band was done. I thought you were moving home.”

“That was the plan, but then magic happened. They actually wrote a hit song! But I was so done with touring and living my life in hotels rooms and on tour buses. The worst were the summer festivals, filled with puppies and children running around and no one really watching the show. That summer I refused to tour with them, it was my first summer in five years away from the band. I was tired, but JP and Khadijah never got tired of touring. It’s where they are both most alive.”

“But you never came back to Cambridge.”

“No, I stayed in Nashville. It was nice to be home. In my own home. But it was a little lonely. He called me every morning and filled in the gaps of his days, the little stories and things he knew I would miss. And I missed him, I did. But there wasn’t a place for me on the road, I didn’t really have a purpose. Not until Colette.” She sighs and hangs her head down.

“You weren’t happy Khadijah was having a baby when you found out.” Father Lorenzo reminds her.

“I know, but when Colette appeared she changed everything. I loved her. I love her and I couldn’t see. Wouldn’t see the whole story. When Colette was born I missed here, Mom and everybody, a little bit less.”

Father Lorenzo sits still as he can but can feel Annie’s sadness in his own heart. He looks at her hands, her fingers tightly entwined and clasped on her lap. He knows he should not touch her.

“Khadijah always said it was a one-night stand in Chicago. And that’s all I ever knew, or wanted to know. I never asked. But if I’d opened my eyes I would have seen it. He’s in her. Her smile and her curly black hair.” Annie laughs. “Her hair! How could I have missed that. And I didn’t see the tender moments between Khadijah and JP when she was pregnant as anything unusual. It was just us, a band family taking care of each other.”

“Colette is JP’s daughter?” Father Lorenzo interrupts. The words hang for a moment in the space between them before Annie answers quietly.

“Yes.”

“How long have you known this?”

“I might have known the day she was born but I wouldn’t see it. When the band went back on tour the summer of 2007 I was in love. How could I say no when they asked me to go on tour that summer. I loved being with her every day. I loved taking care of her during rehearsals. They knew I couldn’t leave her, by then Colette and I were bonded. I needed her.”

“When did you know for sure?”

“When she was starting school. I saw the paperwork on JP’s desk.”

“What kind of paperwork?”

“Her birth certificate. Well first I saw the application, for pre-school. He was listed as the emergency contact. I was annoyed because I wanted to be the contact person and didn’t understand why Khadijah had chosen him. Then I saw it, it was in the file for the pre-school application. I was looking through it and saw the birth certificate and there was his name. Jean-Pierre Sarfati, Father. I couldn’t understand what I was seeing and I don’t know how long JP was standing behind me. But when I saw him I didn’t say anything. I just sat down and started crying.”

Annie stops the fidgeting of her hands on her lap and sits quietly remembering the moment. Her heavy sighs the only sound in the room. Father Lorenzo gently puts his arm around her shoulder and when she rests her head gently against him he smiles while he waits for her to finish her story.

“Colette is JP’s daughter but I’m not her mother, I’m not even her real aunt. I’m nothing to her. But I wanted to be her mama. I pretended I was on so many days. I’ve known for a few years JP is her dad. And I’m ok with that now. I understood the loneliness of the road and I knew, I know he loves me.”

Father Lorenzo ponders her words but he can’t seem to settle his own turbulent thoughts. “I don’t need to know why you stayed, but what happened to make you leave now?” He asks without moving away from her.

“I left this time because I found out that Mama Sarfati knew JP was Colette’s dad before I did. She knew when Khadijah was pregnant and no one told me. When I confronted him and asked why he kept the secret from me but not from his mother, he said just five words, but they triggered me. They enraged me.” She sits up slowly and looks Lorenzo in the eye. “He said, you are not her mother. That’s all, just a true statement. A fact. But it was like my brain caught on fire and all reason was gone. I started yelling things like Is that what you really believe? What about all I’ve done, what about everything I sacrificed for her?  I was crazed, and I couldn’t control myself.  He came very close to me and I pushed him. I pushed him and he fell to the ground.” She sighs. “But that wasn’t enough for me. He had gotten up and was walking away from me when I had an impulse, like I was possessed. I wanted to hurt him, too. The guitar was next to the open balcony door, and all I could see in my tunnel vision of anger was the blue varnish of that guitar, his favorite guitar, reflecting the full moon outside the window. I was standing on the balcony next, that’s all I remember, and I was looking down at the guitar on our front lawn, JP was behind me screaming, What have you done? but I couldn’t hear him. I was so angry.”

“Are you still angry?” Lorenzo asks.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think I was ever really angry, I was sad. I am sad. I know how disappointed Mama Sarfati is, was, in me and JP especially when she learned I couldn’t have children.” She turns away from him and looks at the cross above the bed and smiles with her mouth but not with her eyes. “But I miss him. I miss Colette. Lorenzo, can you die from a broken heart?” she asks turning her gaze back toward him. “Because that feels like all I am these days, one giant broken heart.”

Father Lorenzo stays quiet and refuses to answer her question because they both know too much about broken hearts, and they are both still very much alive.