Page 15 of Broken

Savio

Everybody’s Changing - Keane

When the plane touches down in Italy, I can breathe again.

Behind me, the impatient folk traveling to the Eternal City attempt to jostle me aside as I stand on the top step of the airplane, sucking in the scent of jet fuel as I absorb where I am.

Rome.

More than that,home.

An attendant shoves her way forward. “Father? Is everything okay?” she inquires politely, even though I see the strain on her face as the grumbling passengers’s restlessness mushrooms.

“Forgive me, my child,” I rasp and begin my descent.

Crossing the tarmac, I head for the bus that will take us to the terminal. I sit and wait for it to fill. When a woman hobbles on,her hand shaking with fatigue as she maneuvers a walking cane, I climb to my feet and let her take my place.

She smiles at me, her eyes tired but relieved as she sags onto the uncomfortable seat, murmuring, “Grazie, Padre.”

“You’re more than welcome,” I tell her in English, hearing the accent beneath her words.

“You’re American?”

“No. French.”

“Your accent?—”

“I spent a few years in the States.”

I’ve been all over the world as the Church tries to find a place to fit me in. Sometimes, I only spent weeks in a parish before I was moved on.

In all honesty, I’m surprised they’ve tried so hard.

But I know they’re attempting to save face.

If they force me out, then I could only imagine the press.

For some reason, the media is interested in me and my past. I’ve been featured in several articles, and someone is even writing a book on the subject. I’ve had film offers, too.

I’d never say yes to such a macabre project, but they’re my saving grace.

The journey to the terminal takes place in silence—the faint jostles have pain creasing the woman’s expression so I leave her in peace.

Once we arrive, I help her off the bus. “Can you manage on your own, my child?”

She pats my hand. “My daughter’s waiting for me past Customs.”

“I can take you there,” I offer.

“Do you have luggage?”

“It can wait.”

Her genuine smile soothes something in me. “I’ll be fine, Father. Thank you. You take care of yourself. Say a prayer for me, hmm?”

“Willingly.”

Watching her limp off, I head to the carousel, collect my suitcase after an interminable wait, then start the familiar walk to thetermini.

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