“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s an old thing, but it stands up well to abuse. Sort of like me! Would you like some hot cocoa? I was making breakfast, including a big pot of piping hot cocoa.”
She followed him gratefully back the dimly lighted hall, which smelled of lemon oil and pine disinfectant and vaguely of incense.
The kitchen was homey. A well-worn, yellow linoleum floor. Pale yellow walls. Dark wood cabinets with white porcelain handles. Gray and yellow Formica counter tops. There were appliances-refrigerator, oven, microwave oven, toaster, electric can opener—as in any kitchen, which surprised her, though when she thought about it, she didn’t know why she would have expected it to be any different. Priests needed appliances too. They couldn’t just summon up a fiery angel to toast some bread or work a miracle to brew a pot of hot cocoa.
The place smelled wonderful. Cocoa was brewing. Toast was toasting. Sausages were sizzling over a low flame on the gas stove.
Father Castelli showed her to one of the four padded vinyl chairs at the chrome and Formica breakfast set, then scurried about, taking care of her as if she were a chick and he a mother hen. He rushed upstairs, returned with two clean, fluffy bath towels, and said, “Dry your hair and blot your damp clothes with one of them, then wrap the other one around you like a shawl. It’ll help you get warm.” While she was following his instructions, he went to the bathroom off the downstairs hall and fetched two aspirins. He put those on the table in front of her and said, “I’ll get you some orange juice to take them with. Lots of vitamin C in orange juice. Aspirin and vitamin C are like a one-two punch; they’ll knock a cold right out of you before it can take up residence.” When he returned with the juice, he stood for a moment looking down at her, shaking his head, and she figured she must look bedraggled and pitiful. “Dear girl, what on earth have you been up to?” He seemed not to have heard what she’d said about aliens when she’d first crossed his threshold. “No, wait. You can tell me over breakfast. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Yes, please, Father. I’m starved. The only thing I’ve eaten since yesterday afternoon was a couple of Hershey bars.”
“Nothing but Hershey bars?” He sighed. “Chocolate is one of God’s graces, but it’s also a tool the devil uses to lead us into temptation—the temptation of gluttony.” He patted his round belly. “l, myself, have often partaken of this particular grace, but I would never”—he exaggerated the word “never” and winked at her—”never, not ever, heed the devil’s call to overindulge! But, see here, if you’ve been eating only chocolate, your teeth will fall out. So … I’ve got plenty of sausages, plenty to share. I was about to cook a couple of eggs for myself too. Would you like a couple of eggs?”
“Yes, please.”
“And toast?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve got some wonderful cinnamon sweetrolls there on the table. And the hot chocolate, of course.”
Chrissie washed down the two aspirins with orange juice.
As he carefully cracked eggs into the hot frying pan, Father Castelli glanced at her again. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now. I’m all right now.”
“It’ll be nice having company for breakfast,” he said.
Chrissie drank the rest of her juice.
He said, “When Father O’Brien finishes saying Mass, he never wants to eat. Nervous stomach.” He chuckled. “They all have bad stomachs when they’re new. For the first few months they’re scared to death up there on the altar. It’s such a sacred duty, you see, offering the Mass, and the young priests are always afraid of flubbing up in some way that’ll be … oh, I don’t know … that’ll be an insult to God, I guess. But God doesn’t insult very easily. If He did, He’d have washed His hands of the human race a long time ago! All young priests come to that realization eventually, and then they’re fine. Then they come back from saying Mass, and they’re ready to run through the entire week’s food budget in one breakfast.”