Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 15 | 1 WEEK AGO: ANASTASIS

Marta reached over and took her husband's hand.

"Honey, we are all tired. I'm sure the bishop means well."

She tended to go unnoticed, even in her own house, except for her ghostly whispers when praying the rosary. Submissive and reserved, she was one of those women who seemed to age ten years as soon as they got married and then another decade once they gave birth. However, while she often failed to meet people's expectations or get their attention, she always did enough when it came to bringing Abraham to his senses.

"Yeah, tired." With a heavy sigh, Abe rubbed his temples. "You better leave, bishop."

Marta knew her husband was a righteous man, yes, but he could also be brutal if someone—no matter who—hurt the people he loved.

He'll do anything to protect us, she thought.

The bishop took a step toward the window and stared at the haze resting over the uneven rooftops. The afternoon light bathed his stout body until he closed the shutters, thickening the gloominess in the room.

"You don't have to burden yourself with all this. There's a home for sick and retired priests on the outskirts of town."

"I'm aware," said Abraham.

"I know you are. It wasn't a question." The bishop pointed at the priest. "Why keep him here? Why spend all this money when the Daughters of Charity can take care of him? Is it that rules do not apply to him?"

"He is family," Marta said, caressing Ismael's cheek.

"And family deserves the best," said Abe. "After this clinic, that means staying with us."

The bishop, smoothing his thick gray walrus mustache with his fingers, put an envelope on the bedside table.

"The papers to transfer Ismael to the nursing home. The Daughters will look after him, and he won't cause anyone any more trouble. I promise."

"Why take him away?" Marta asked.

The bishop's tone lowered. "It's my cross to bear. After what happened to the altar boy, Ismael should have quit, but pride is his sin." He hunched over the priest to make the sign of the cross on his forehead. "My responsibility is to—"

Then, Ismael moved for the first time in weeks. Like a wild animal catching its prey, he took the bishop by the wrist.

Marta's jaw went slack, and her legs quaked. Even with her husband holding her, she almost fainted. She wanted to feel relieved, but something in her compadre's expression raised gooseflesh on her arms. Something that reminded her of her own demons, the demons she had struggled to keep quiet for years.