WANTED: Love of my Life

08. How to be successful and get your homework done

Sorry to disappoint everybody, but this isn't a guide that's applicable to every situation. What I had planned was specifically designed to solve my own conundrum.

I returned to St Christopher's the evening of the same day. Miss Ellis had called my parents and told them what an excellent moral example I was setting for the rest of the class and what I wanted to do exactly. When she had reached that second point of her explanation, my father had started ranting like a raving rhino, and my mother had fretted, clutching her lace blouse and saying things like: “But isn't it... you know, a bit... unsafe there?”

Whereupon Miss Ellis had assured my parents that Father Elliot would take the very best care of me. What? Oh yes, the man in charge of St Christopher's was a priest.

That did it! The prospect of me willingly going off to spend time in the company of a priest and thereby hopefully being redeemed of my manifold sins was too enticing for my parents to resist. Dad had still grumbled a bit, but my mother had come over to me, ruffled my hair, and said how proud she was of her little Angel. Yuk!

I almost felt guilty. Almost. But when I jumped from the bus and saw the dark brick facade of the shelter before me, my guilt vanished in a burst of anticipation. I had hardly taken two steps when the front door flew open and Debby marched out, her thin arms wide open. “Ange! I knew you'd come back! I knew it! Well, actually I didn't, but I damn well hoped you would.” She was wearing an old tweed jacket, jeans and sandals. Obviously, with her nonexistent salary, she had an even more limited wardrobe than I with two ultra-catholic parents as fashion police.

This time, she didn't turn around and vanish into the building again, but picked me up and gave me a fierce hug, which I returned promptly. I could see that Debby was someone I could easily be friends with, even if she was twice my age and looked like a red hen that had spent her last vacation in a thunderstorm.

“So you've come to join the regulars!” She let me down again and gestured to the door. “Come on. I'll introduce you to Father Elliot. He's in charge of St Christopher's. Meaning that he gives spiritual advice, while I cook the meals and make the beds.”

A bit apprehensively, I followed Debby into the dingy entry hall. Priests had never been my favorite type of people. They always wanted to help you repent, even if you didn't think you actually had anything to repent for. Which left me feeling profoundly guilty for not feeling more guilty.

We went past the chairs in the entry hall. Until my eyes fell on his chair and saw that it was empty, I hadn't realized that I had hoped for it not to be. What was wrong with me? Why was I so obsessed with the guy? Could I be... no! That was just ridiculous. Shaking my head to rid myself of these confused thoughts, I followed Debby into the kitchen slash dining room. A little old man with remnants of white hair sticking up over each ear was standing between the pots and pans. He was holding a large meat cleaver in his hand, a quizzical look on his face.

“Father Elliot.” Debby hurried forward and snatched the deadly instrument from the old man's hand. “Give me that, will you?”

“Of course, of course, my dear,” he said, blinking, as his eyes slowly focused on her. “I didn't know we had cutlery that fine at St Christopher's. Please tell me, who is the benefactor to whom we owe these fine kitchen instruments?”

“You approved payment for the new cutlery out of our annual funds yourself four months ago, Father Elliot. Don't you remember?”

“Oh yes. Now that you mention it I seem to recall something of the kind.... my, my, how time flies...”

“Father Elliot?” Debby grasped the good father by the elbow before either his attention or he himself could wander off again. “May I introduce you to Angela MacAllen? She was here with her class the other day and has decided to volunteer.”