Free The Leap Year Boy by Marc Simon Page A

to see Father Kiernan this morning.”
    Ida wiped Alex’s mouth with a checkered napkin. “That nincompoop? What in the world did you want with him?”
    “Because, Ma, you always told me that no matter what happened, you were always supposed to be able to tell a priest your problems and he would give you good advice, or comfort, or understanding, no matter what you did, but Ma, I couldn’t go through with it.”
    “Well, at least that was sensible. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, Kiernan is an idiot. Now Father Delaney, bless his soul, now there was a priest you could talk to.” Ida remembered the day she sobbed her heart out to Father Delaney after her son, her precious little boy James, had taken ill and died of a blood infection when he was just four. What kind of evil God would do that, she asked him, why would God sear her soul like that, and although she couldn’t recall what Delaney had said that soothed her, she remembered the mellifluous sound of his voice.
    “Ma, don’t you want to know why I almost went to see a priest?”
    Alex made the sign of the cross.
    Ida said, “What’s he doing?”
    “Never mind him for a second.”
    “Irene, what is wrong with you?”
    “Abe is cheating on me, Ma. Some woman named Delia.”
    Alex said, “Delia.”
    “I don’t know who she is and I don’t care. Alex must have overheard something Abe said, that’s why he keeps repeating her name.”
    “So he’s cheating on you? What a surprise.”
    “I was going ask Father Kiernan how I could get the marriage annulled.”
    “Annulled?” Ida laughed through her nose. “Oh no, annulment is out of the question. Think of the boys, Irene. Think of your upbringing.”
    “But what am I gonna do, Ma? I can’t live like this.”
    Ida considered telling her daughter, I knew this day would come, I knew you’d come running to me with your pack of troubles, the whole kit and caboodle, I told you this is what you’d get for marrying out of the true faith, and to a Jew, yet. But beneath the streaking tears, this was her daughter after all, her little girl, her only child, looking as frightened as she did during summer thunderstorms, when she would cower against her skirts, and so Ida began in an unaccustomed softer tongue.
    “First of all, Irene, settle down, you’re upsetting the baby. Here, wipe your face.” She handed Alex’s napkin to her. “Now, you listen to me. I’m sure you want to do the most sinful things to him. It’s only natural. And it would serve him right. Men are the way they are, and there’s no changing their swinish nature. Your father, may he rest in peace, was no exception.”
    Irene sniffed. “Daddy?”
    “Yes, your dear Daddy. He had some floozy in Aspinwall. He thought he could hide it from me—they all do—but I knew. A woman always knows. Come here.” She put her arm around Irene’s shoulders for the briefest of moments. “But now listen to me. You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not the first woman in this situation and you won’t be the last. You need to do what I did.” The words of Father Delaney came rushing back to her. “You must perish murderous thoughts from your mind. You must rise above it. You must be better than he is. And sad to say, of course you can’t leave him. For lots of reasons. First, it’s against the church. And what if you did? You’d be on your own, and who in God’s creation is going to marry a woman with three young boys? You might as well have leprosy, that’s how close single men will come to you.”
    “So what do I do?”
    “Think about it, Irene. Let him know who’s boss. See how he likes cold dinners and colder sheets.” She poured tea for her daughter and herself and added a shot of Irish whiskey to each cup. “Here’s to better days, daughter.” Her double chin shook a little as she took a deep swallow.
    *
    The door to number six swung open as soon as he knocked.
    “Look at you, Mr. Abraham