Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

even the wood oil used to polish the benches couldn’t help. He liked to think of them as a testament to the struggle. Worn, but still strong.
    In his thirty years in the priesthood, he’d striven to find the same sort of peace he’d seen in the face of the saint. Not that he counted himself worthy of such things, but even priests had dreams. And nightmares.
    “Are you all right, Father?”
    Father Cavanaugh startled at the voice of his assistant pastor, Father Peter Fitzpatrick. The lad tried so hard, too hard sometimes, to be all that he thought a priest was. He was earnest enough, and his heart was truly given to God, but he was so young. It was hard to see past the pale, freckled face of the choir boy he’d known those years ago and see the man who stood before him now. Especially today, he thought, as he absently massaged his arthritic fingers. Normally, the signs of age served to remind him how far he’d come, but today they seemed to harken how little time there might be left.
    He had heard many late night confessions, but Dixie’s knock on his door in the early hours this morning and the conversation that followed had left him with a difficult decision. Knowledge can be a burden.
    He smiled at the young father. The boy would have to be a man to face the things this parish would show him. He wondered if he’d done the right thing sheltering the boy from the darker side of things. He wanted Peter to find his footing before he revealed the truth of what it meant to be pastor in these times. Perhaps he had waited too long.
    The younger man’s pale brow wrinkled in concern. “Father?”
    “I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, never having broken the habit of using his given name. “Just looking for wisdom.”
    That seemed to unnerve the younger man, and he tugged on his ear. It was a nervous habit that always made the older man smile. Father Cavanaugh stifled a chuckle. The poor boy couldn’t conceal his feelings if his life depended on it.
    “Is there anything I can do, Father?”
    Father Cavanaugh smiled kindly. “No, no. It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. But I will be rather busy this morning. Several meetings,” he said, waving casually toward the office door. “Would you be a good lad and make sure I’m not disturbed?”
    “Of course, Father.”
    Father Cavanaugh patted Peter’s shoulder as he passed by. Opening the door to his office, he hoped for a few minutes to plan his opening remarks, but saw there wasn’t time for that.
    King Kashian flattened his gloved palms on the desk. “You’re late.”
    * * *
    “You’re late,” the waitress said with a grin.
    Simon looked up from his menu. The diner was busier than normal and the din was at a new high. “Pardon?”
    She shrugged. “You two always come in at the same time s’all. Breakfast at one in the afternoon,” she said shaking her head and snapping her gum. “You want the usuals? Oh, I asked Fred about getting that Chinese tea stuff you’re always askin’ for. He said, ‘They want chink, they can go across town.’” She looked over her shoulder at the squat, little man behind the counter and gave him a quick wink, before turning back to the table and snapping her gum. “Course, Fred’s an ass.”
    Simon chuckled and put down the menu. “The usual will be fine. Thank you, Helen.”
    The woman smiled dreamily, as she always did when he used her name. He’d learned quickly how far a British accent could take him with most women.
    Elizabeth waited until Helen left before rolling her eyes. “You really are shameless.”
    He merely arched his eyebrows in mock innocence. Elizabeth shook her head and went back to reading her section of the paper. Simon watched her for a moment. How had he been so lucky to find her? Such a marvelous woman. And wearing, he noted with an appreciative smile, his favorite dress. The green set off her hair, and set his mind wandering to rather pleasant places.
    “Oh, the Marx Brothers are still playing at the Roxy,” Elizabeth said. “Wouldn’t that be great? To see an early talkie in the theater.”
    Simon grunted noncommittally and scanned the front page.
    “Come on, it’ll be fun. We only have two days left.”
    He shook his head and put down the paper. “It’s too dangerous.” Her face fell and he sighed. “Besides, ‘The Cocoanuts’ is really one of their lesser films. You’re not missing much.”
    His comment had the desired effect, and her lovely face went from