Bless Us Father (30 page)

“Yes, I did, thank you. Oh, wait. I need some bottled water.”

He gestured toward the huge stack of bottled water behind her.

She grabbed a six pack and placed it on the counter. “Please put these in a paper bag with a plastic bag around it so I can carry it easier.”

He rang up the groceries and bagged them as she’d requested. “You need help with the groceries, lady? I can close up and help you carry them if you like,” he suggested as his smile broadened.

For just a moment, she felt a pain in her abdomen and thought she was going to have a panic attack. Then she realized he wasn’t coming on to her, he was just being nice.

“No...no, I don’t need help. I can manage these two bags just fine.”

“Okay, but watch out for purse snatchers. Keep your
bolsa
in front of you.”

“I will, thank you.”

The walk back took only a few minutes, and Maggie was relieved once she was inside with the door locked behind and the deadbolt secured.

Sadie was asleep when Maggie entered, but woke quickly at the sound of grocery bags. Maggie let her out of her crate and put the bags down on the bed.

She washed a potato and placed it in the microwave. With no salad bowl available, she made do by opening the plastic bag the spinach salad came in and adding the packets of dressing, almonds and minced bacon. She held the top tightly and shook it to mix. Once the potato was done, she placed it on the plate and split it with a knife and fork. She covered it completely with spinach salad, opened a bottle of water along with the jar of chicken wieners for Sadie, and turned the television on to the evening news.

“Here you are, girl. A little treat before dinner.” Maggie placed two of the chicken wieners on a paper plate, then took her own plate to the upholstered chair and settled in to watch the news.

The first story was of a car chase that had ended without anyone being injured. The young man driving a pickup truck led police on a merry chase until it ended with him running out of gas on the 210 freeway. He refused to exit the car until the police fired tear gas through his back window. Traffic was backed up for miles in both directions.

The weather report was as predicted for July in Southern California--heat and sunshine for the next five days--temperature in the mid-eighties.

Maggie was about to turn the channel when the next story came on. A dark haired female reporter was standing on Temple Street outside the new cathedral in Los Angeles--Our Lady of the Angels.

“Here we are, outside the pride of Monsignor Roger Mahoney and the Los Angeles Archdiocese, Our Lady of the Angels cathedral. Word has it that the Archdiocese and the victims of sexual abuse by the priesthood are close to a settlement. Stay tuned to Channel 4 for the latest coverage on this developing story,” the tall slender brunette woman said.

Maggie felt sick to her stomach and dizzy all at the same time. She’d known this day was coming, but seeing it on television was somehow more than she could bear.

If they settled, then she could avoid having to testify. She wouldn’t have to look him in the eye after all of the years that had gone by since she’d last seen him.

Then again, if they settled, she wouldn’t be able to sit in the courtroom facing him, telling him how he’d ruined her life. Sadly, it was out of her hands.

She picked up the bound document her attorney, Barbara Monahan, had given her and turned to the first page. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared into the face of Mary Margaret Riley, fifteen years old, fresh faced and innocent. Her long blonde hair was divided into ponytails on either side of her head, and she was smiling sweetly. The black and white photo didn’t show her blue eyes, but they looked light, just the same. The photo had been taken at the beach by her dad just before she started her sophomore year at St. Mary’s. The date above the photo was August 14, 1963.

The next page showed Maggie as she looked now; puffy face, short gray hair, heavy lids hooding her blue eyes, and no smile on her face. No one would ever guess that the beautiful fifteen-year old had grown up to be this unhappy old crone. This photo had been taken recently by Barbara. The date above this one was February 10, 2007.

Page three gave vital statistics.

Mary Margaret Riley.

Birthdate: March 14, 1948.

Birthplace: Los Angeles, California.

Only child of Ellen and Sean Riley. Baptized Catholic at three months old. Attended grade school and church at Saint Catherine Laboure Church and school in Whittier, California. Attended high school at Saint Mary’s School for Girls in Whittier, California. Graduated in June of 1966. Attended a year and a half at Rio Hondo College in Whittier, California, but left when she became pregnant and married. Following her divorce, she secured a job as an administrative assistant to the CEO of a small tool and die company.

Maggie read the pages as if she were reading about someone else. It seemed so cut and dried, so normal, so ordinary. Her life had been anything but normal, at least after her fifteenth year. Everything had changed when he’d entered her life. For years she hadn’t realized what he’d done to her. She’d blamed herself. But then the news started reporting on sexual abuse by priests, other people had come forward, and somehow she’d gotten wrapped up in all of the frenzy. And suddenly, she’d discovered it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t been to blame. He was the adult and the responsible one, and he was the one that had been wrong. Not her, not Maggie Riley. She was finding it difficult to forgive Mary Margaret Riley, though. She should have known better. She wasn’t raised that way. She should never have let him touch her, never have let him seduce her, never have let him into her heart....”

She turned to the section that told about her life after Father Antonio had been transferred out of the parish. The August following her graduation from St. Mary’s, she’d started at Rio Hondo College in Whittier, California. She’d signed up for all general education classes and pre-requisites for the university, since she couldn’t decide what career she wanted for her life. One thing she did know was that she didn’t want anything to do with secretarial work or being someone’s assistant. The irony was that’s exactly what she’d done for a living for more than thirty years.

The more she read, the more embarrassed she became at her transformation once she’d started college. She’d reinvented herself and was no longer Mary Margaret Riley, good Catholic school girl. Inspired by the song made famous by Rod Stewart, she was now Maggie Mae. Maggie Mae Riley was a pot smoking, screw cap wine drinking, party animal. And, she slept with anyone that showed an interest in her. After all, it was the era of peace and free love. Wasn’t that what she was all about?

When Stan Connor, Kelly’s father, came along she’d thought he was the answer to her prayers, that he would be the one to save her from herself. He’d come along just when her life was spinning completely out of control. Stan seemed to be the steadying influence she’d needed at the time.

He’d settled her down and pulled her back towards the girl she’d once been. They moved in together and before she knew it, she’d become pregnant with Kelly. They married quickly, both quit college, Stan got a minimum wage job, and they made the best of it. Once the baby was born, Maggie was able to work part-time and Stan was able to take college classes in the evening. It was difficult, but they’d done it and Stan graduated with a degree in history. He got a job right away teaching at a Catholic High School for boys. The pay wasn’t great, but it was enough for them to live on.

Maggie read about the events that eventually led to the demise of that marriage. Once she’d stopped using alcohol and pot to make her feel better, she found she no longer enjoyed sex with her husband. In fact she hated it. It made her feel dirty and degraded, and she pulled further and further away from him. She couldn’t stand to have him touch her, even in a non-sexual manner. She didn’t know why, and couldn’t tell him when he asked. It wasn’t long until he found someone who did enjoy his touch. After all, he was a virile young man and good looking to boot.

Barbara Monahan had written painstakingly about Maggie’s years alone and how she’d refused to even consider dating anyone until she met her second husband, Dave Nielson. The marriage was a mistake from the beginning, and Maggie had known it. Dave was much older than she, and unable to perform sexually. This had suited her just fine since she’d married him for financial security, and found sexual intimacy repulsive. She hadn’t been able to work for years due to pain from fibromyalgia and migraine headaches, and Dave was a wealthy man. Unfortunately, Dave’s doctor suggested he try Viagra, and this led to the demise of their marriage. The divorce settlement afforded her the opportunity to buy the property in Hemet, and she had five years of alimony left. Not quite enough to carry her into Social Security, but after this week it might not matter.

Before anything else, preparation is the key to success.

-Alexander Graham Bell-

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Light streaming through a crack in the vertical blinds woke Maggie from a sound sleep. Her alarm was beeping and the message light was flashing on the telephone on the nightstand. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, thinking maybe three sleeping pills had been one too many, especially on top of the two glasses of wine she drank to wash them down.

She focused on the flashing light until her head cleared, then picked the receiver up and pushed the message retrieval button.

“Maggie. I asked you to leave your cell on. It’s a good thing you told me where you’d be staying.”

It was Barbara Monahan, her attorney.

“The defendant is pushing for mediation and the rest of the plaintiffs I’m representing are in agreement. You’re the only one that wants a court trial, and I believe it’s in everyone’s best interest to mediate, so you and I need to have a chat. I’ll pick you up at nine and we’ll go for breakfast.”

Maggie rubbed her eyes again, groped for her alarm and turned it off. It was eight-fifteen. She had just enough time to shower and dress then take Sadie out for a short walk. She looked around for Sadie and found her curled up on her favorite blanket, still sound asleep.

The shower ran hot then cold, jolting Maggie out of her stupor. She washed quickly, toweled herself off, applied moisturizer, deodorant and a swipe of pink lipstick, then combed the wet tangles out of her short hair. She dressed in her black pants and black and white checked blouse, and took her black cardigan sweater off the hanger placing it next to her purse. She probably wouldn’t need it, but the building air conditioning might be on high, so she would take it with her just in case.

She took the hairdryer out of its holder on the wall and turned it on. She fluffed her hair with her fingers while she blew it dry, then spritzed it with hairspray to hold it in place. Her hair was so fine that it would blow all around without a bit of hairspray, making her feel out of control.

Maggie put on her black oxfords, got Sadie’s leash, and jingled it so the little dog would wake up. Sure enough, at the suggestion of a walk, Sadie was up and wagging her tail.

They walked the length of the sidewalk and Sadie stopped to sniff at every flower and bush and squat to pee on every tiny square of green grass.

“Okay, Sadie. That’s enough. Barbara will be here soon. Let’s go back to the room so I can feed you before I go.”

Sadie had been crate trained since she was a puppy and wouldn’t mind sleeping in her crate for a few hours while Maggie was gone.

Maggie had just finished getting Sadie settled when Barbara arrived. She’d left the door open a crack and Barbara marched in, not bothering to knock.

“Ready, Maggie?” she asked, looking around the room, her frown showing her disapproval. “I could have gotten you a room at the Westin. I told you they allow small dogs, didn’t I?”

“I don’t want to stay at the Westin. I don’t want to run into anyone else involved in this case. I value my privacy.”

Maggie looked at Barbara. Her medium length black hair was pulled back and secured with a tortoise shell clasp at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was impeccable, and her dark brown eyes were fringed in lashes so long they couldn’t possibly have been her own. She wore the female version of a blue pin-striped suit with a starched white blouse underneath. Bright red toenails peeked out of her opened toe heels. Her fingernails were manicured in a more demure French manicure style with white tips.

“Come on, Maggie. Let’s go eat. I’m famished,” Barbara said, leading the way out the door.

Maggie didn’t believe she was really famished. She was so skinny she looked like she never ate.

“Is Denny’s okay?” Barbara asked.

“Sure. Anything is fine.” Maggie said.

Maggie followed Barbara out to her silver sedan, and got in the passenger seat. Soon they were parking in the parking lot on South Figueroa Street in Los Angeles.

Barbara walked in the restaurant first, causing heads to turn. “Table for two, please. The booth in the corner would be very nice,” she told the hostess.

Once seated in the booth, Barbara began, “I know you wanted to go to trial, Maggie, but the Archdiocese is ready to settle all of the cases. Today. It’s due to hit the news media soon. How about it?”