Page 6 of Counted

“I will.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds. Then both of them nodded, turned around, and walked toward their separate cars.

Jude’s mother had been a devout Catholic all her life, and she’d raised him in this parish church.

He hadn’t set foot in it since her funeral.

The familiar, musty scent of the building hit him as he entered, bringing with it so many memories of his boyhood. He felt kind of queasy as he walked through the narthex and into the sanctuary.

It was quiet. Empty except for an elderly lady kneeling in prayer near the front. After standing still for a minute, he went over to light a candle for his mother and slipped a few bills into the donation slot. Then he walked down the central aisle.

In a gesture that was automatic—almost muscle memory—he genuflected and made the sign of the cross before he sat down in the second pew on the right.

His head was aching even worse now. Pulsing painfully under his skull. He slid off the tie he’d used to pull his hair back that morning, hoping to loosen the pressure. Then he leaned over to use the fingertips of both hands to rub his head.

He sat like that for several minutes until a motion at the front of the sanctuary distracted him. He straightened, his eyelids way too heavy and his hair now a mess.

The priest who’d just walked in stopped, his expression brightening with recognition. “Jude,” he said, now walking quickly. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. If you were praying, we can catch up later.”

“I wasn’t praying. I don’t have anything to say to God at the moment. I was actually here to see you.”

“I see.” Father Paul was a small, grizzled man in his sixties, and Jude had known him since he was a child. He sat down in the front pew and turned sideways so they could speak quietly. “You should have let me know you were here. How have you been? I’ve read all your books and enjoyed every one of them.” He paused, peering at Jude more carefully. “You look like you’re in pain. Can I help at all?”

“I’m fine. Just a headache. I’m getting married.”

“You are?” Father Paul’s face broke out in a smile. “Congratulations. Your mother would be so happy.”

“I hope so. I’m here to ask if you’ll marry us.”

“Of course I will. I’d be?—”

“It’s a, uh, rush situation. She’s not pregnant, but we’re on a timeline. We can always just go to the courthouse, but I’d prefer to get married here.”

Father Paul’s eyebrows pulled together. “Naturally you should marry here. How much of a rush are we talking about? The church is booked every weekend for months out.”

“We don’t want a Saturday wedding. It’s going to be very small. No more than ten people total in attendance. An evening this week would be perfect.”

The priest’s eyes widened.

“As I said, it’s a rush situation.”

“I see. Well, if you don’t mind it being rather late in the evening—say around ten—we could do Wednesday night. But as you know, I can’t marry you without some kind of Pre-Cana instruction.”

Jude had suspected that was the case. “I suppose it would be too much to ask to fit that in before Wednesday night?”

“We do one-day classes all the time.” Father Paul thought for a moment. “I believe I could rearrange some of my schedule and fit something in tomorrow if you both are free.”

Jude almost slumped in relief. “That would be perfect. It’s incredibly kind of you to fit us in like that.”

“Is something going on you need to tell me about?” He peered at Jude closely.

Jude managed to keep his expression steady. “The timeline is… atypical. But we both want this.”

“All right. Plan on showing up with your fiancée around ten tomorrow, and we’ll get through the instruction as efficiently aspossible. In terms of the wedding itself, there won’t be time for a florist to decorate, and I’m not sure how you’ll get a caterer on that timeline.”

---