Free Just Like Heaven by Barbara Bretton

us.”
    “That isn’t what Sister Michael Maureen said back at St. Aloysius.” She meant it as a joke, but the joke carried a slight sting.
    She had to hand it to him. He didn’t flinch. “I’m sure Sister Michael Maureen has updated her perspective since you last talked to her.”
    Clearly he had never met Sister Michael Maureen, but she restrained herself from saying so. She might not believe the way she had as a child, but respect for his religious vocation curbed her tongue. In many ways, once a good Catholic schoolgirl, always a good Catholic schoolgirl. Old habits died hard.
    He inquired about her health and she ran through the story for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.
    “Looks like God has other plans for you,” Father Boyle said when she finished. “You’ve been given a second chance.”
    Why did the notion of second chances get under her skin the way it did? “Maybe it just wasn’t my time.”
    “Isn’t that the same thing?”
    “I don’t know, Father, and to be honest I’m not sure it matters.” Where was it guaranteed that you wouldn’t make even worse mistakes the second time around?
    “Most people find themselves with a renewed sense of faith after an experience like yours.”
    “To be honest, all I’ve found myself with is a renewed sense of boredom. I can’t wait to get home and back to work.”
    “You’ve been through a life-changing experience. Don’t minimize its effect on your spiritual and emotional life. It takes some people longer than others to process all of the changes. Fortunately God has infinite patience with us.”
    “You sound like my mother.” She didn’t mention that Maeve dabbled in Wicca or that her daughter was exploring the Kabbalah. The man had his ecclesiastical hands full enough with her.
    “Faith can be a comfort in troubled times.”
    “I know,” she said, taken aback by the catch in her voice. Since when did she get all emotional about religion? “I wish—” She shook her head.
    “Go on,” he said. “I’m here to listen.” Father Boyle settled back in the chair as if there were no other place in heaven or on earth that he’d rather be.
    “I wish my daughter weren’t dating a fisherman. I wish I could remember what I was doing in Princeton on Monday. And I wish I had something interesting to say, Father, but I don’t. The heart thing was a minor problem, they took care of it, and I can’t wait to get back to normal.”
    “No, I want to know what was it you stopped yourself from saying.”
    “You’re good,” she said with a small laugh. “I thought I covered pretty well.”
    “You did,” the priest said. “We often hold back from saying the thing that’s most important to us.”
    “Okay,” she said, taking a metaphorical deep breath, “I wish I could thank the man who saved my life, but they rushed me out of St. Francis so fast that we lost each other. That’s what I was going to say.” And she wished she hadn’t. Saying it out loud that way hammered home the enormity of what had happened to her and she preferred to keep it an arm’s length away.
    “Chaplains have a pretty good network. I might be able to find out something for you.”
    “I appreciate that, Father, but I think it’s a lost cause at this point.”
    Father Boyle was a smart guy and he knew the brush-off when he heard it.
    “Would you mind if I said a prayer for your continued recovery?”
    To her surprise, she didn’t mind at all.
    He stood up next to her bed and bowed his head. The words were simple and direct. She didn’t know where those words went or who, if anyone, actually heard them, but to her surprise the gesture touched her mending heart.
    “Call me if you’d like to talk,” Father Boyle said. He propped a business card against the telephone on her nightstand, then said good-bye.
    Her days at St. Aloysius seemed a very long time ago, and for a moment she almost missed them.
    It had been nice to believe that someone was out there