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I was beginning to get the picture.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you came from wealth?”
He thought about it, then answered quietly. “I didn’t want to start from the assumption that I’d somehow bought my education.”
“Chris, no one buys an advanced degree in forensics. They buy their kids a law degree to bury their crimes. Not solve them.”
He sighed deeply. “I wanted to impress you. For many years, if you recall my recent humiliation.”
“You seem fully recovered, at least.”
“I am. Now I can stop hiding the fact that I’m rich, and I’m free to find a woman who wants me for my money.” He laughed.
“Good luck with that.” Somehow, I didn’t think that was Daphne. “Come to dinner tonight.”
“I’m eating with my family.”
“On the estate?” I said in a hoity-toity accent.
He said nothing.
I pulled my lips between my teeth and clamped back a smile, knowing that meant he probably did have an estate somewhere in Nashville, and I didn’t want to know how far back his family money went.
“Daphne’ll be there.”
He quirked his head. “Maybe a drink after.”
Gus
Behind the altar, Dadsat in the chair and waited while I buzzed around him, putting my vestments on. There was supposed to be a process to this. A ceremony. Prayers spoken silently while I donned each garment, but I was too excited for that. I was about to christen my father, offer him his first taste of communion in the Orthodox church. My brain was going in a million directions at once, and I was afraid that if I slowed down, it would give him enough time to back out.
“Are you sure this is the way you want it?” I asked, buttoning my cuffs.
Dad lowered his eyes and nodded.
“No family?”
“I didn’t want it to be a big thing. Your ma…. she would’ve made it into a production. Gotten a cake and a DJ. I’ve been going to this church long enough. I just want to take communion with my kids. From my son’s hand.”
Dad’s sunken eyes looked deep into mine, begging me to let him pretend this wasn’t momentous.Don’t overcomplicate this, he told me with that look. And I wouldn’t.
Momentous events weren’t always accompanied by the clanging din of triumph. For every new birth that screamed into the world, there was a soul that slipped peacefully into death. For every explosion of cheers when the clock ran out on a game seven victory, there was the silence of a monastic’s prayer. For every moment of thunderous applause in a stadium filled with graduates, there was a couple in love experiencing orgasm.
All joy was worship. Even the most humble.
I wanted to call attention to Dad’s chrismation, but it was just as well that it remained soaked in quiet reflection.
As I began the service—Dad had been baptized in infancy, so this was would be quick and neat—I prompted him to recite the Nicene Creed.
He did it unfailingly. In English first. Then he unfolded a slip of paper he’d removed from his jacket pocket and read it again in perfect Greek, which was above and beyond necessary.
Blinking away tears, I watched my father do his cross for the first time. Three fingers pinched together, touching his forehead, his belly, his right shoulder, then his left. Three times.
Father Vasili was his godfather. All this time I’d thought they were just meeting for beers, Dad had been seeking conversion, with Vasili teaching him his catechism. Now, Vasili stood next to him, not just now at the altar, but for the rest of his life—however short that may be—as his guide and friend in the faith.
When I’d lifted the spoon to his lips and offered him the Holy Eucharist for the very first time, the words caught in my throat. Tears streamed down my face. The teenage acolytes holding the cloth under the chalice exchanged wide-eyed glances, probablybiting their cheeks to keep from laughing at their priest crying over communion.
“The servant of God, Demetrios,partakes of the Precious and All-Holy Body and Blood of our Lord and God and Savior, Jesus Christ, unto the forgiveness of sins and unto life everlasting.”
