Free The Prodigal Spy by Joseph Kanon Page B

still your father, Nick. No matter what.”
    This was so far from what Nick had been thinking that he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he changed the subject. “Is it a sin to wish somebody would die? To say it, I mean.”
    “Yes,” Father Tim said, “a great sin.” Then, misunderstanding again, “You don’t wish that, do you? No matter what he’s done.”
    “No,” Nick said. “I don’t.” But he was disconcerted. Tim had opened a different door. What did Tim think his father had done?
    They stopped for a red light and Nick looked across at the Smithsonian, surrounded by flowering trees.
    “Of course you don’t,” Father Tim said. “Anyway, that’s all past now. You’ll both have a fresh start.”
    But not together, Nick thought. He remembered the night his father went away, his mother clinging to Nick. He’d imagined going on like that, just the two of them. Now it seemed she’d be better on her own, putting Nick behind her with everything else. Maybe it was because he looked like his father, a visual reminder of what they were all supposed to forget.
    “It’s not easy making a new life,” Father Tim said, as if they’d already disposed of the old. “But she’ll have you to help her now.”
    This struck Nick as unfair, coming from the man who’d arranged to send him away, but he said nothing.
    “You’ll settle in before you know it,” Father Tim went on. “And it’s just a train ride from New York. You’ll make new friends. It’ll be a fresh start for you too.”
    “They’ll know,” Nick said. “At school.”
    Father Tim paused, framing an answer. “It’s not Washington, Nick. They’re a little out of the world up there. That’s one of the nice things about the old Priory. They don’t hear much.”
    “I don’t care anyway,” Nick said, looking out the window at the Mall. They were climbing the hill now, up toward the Capitol.
    “You mustn’t mind what people say, Nick,” Father Tim said gently. “We’re not responsible for what our parents do. There’d be no end to it then. God only asks us to answer for ourselves.”
    Nick said nothing, staring up at the Capitol, where everything had started. The flashbulbs and microphones. Maybe the committee was meeting now, banging gavels on the broad table, driving someone else away.
    “If you commit suicide, do you go to hell?”
    Father Tim glanced at him, visibly disturbed, then nodded. “Yes.”
    “Always?”
    “Yes, always. You know that, Nick. It’s a sin against God.”
    “What if you helped? What if you made someone do it? Then what?”
    “You mean that poor woman,” Father Tim said quietly. “We don’t know why she did that, Nick. You mustn’t judge. It may not have anything to do with your father.”
    “No, not him. I was thinking about Mr Welles.”
    Father Tim looked at him in surprise. “Mr Welles?”
    “They said in the papers he was pressuring her. What if—”
    “I don’t think that’s true, Nick. And even if it were, we mustn’t judge. He’s only doing what he thinks is right.”
    “No. I
saw
him. He’s—” Nick searched for a word, but it eluded him. “Bad,” he finally said, knowing it was feeble and childish.
    But his inadequacy seemed to relieve Father Tim. “Not necessarily,” he said smoothly. “I know it’s hard for you to understand. I don’t condone his methods either. But Communists are godless people, Nick. Sometimes a man does the right thing the wrong way. That doesn’t make him bad.”
    Nick looked at him, stunned. Tim thought his father was godless–that’s what he’d done. We mustn’t judge. But Tim had judged and now he was going to save Nick, shipping him off to the priests and a world where people didn’t hear much. Save him from his father.
    “Now this won’t do, you know,” Father Tim said, catching his look. “Taking the world on your shoulders like this. They’re still pretty young shoulders, Nick. The right and wrong of things–that’s what we spend