After 25,000 Masses

By Joe Novara

After 25,000 Masses is a sequel to I'm Here, published by GSP in October of 2018, and is the story of a retired priest who sets out to free himself from the constraints and bonds of his lifelong vocation. Fr. McRae decides that he has done a good job of being a priest and can now, in good conscience, step away from the calling and all of its demands. Open to new possibilities, he goes on an Elder Tour where one of his fellow travelers turns out to be a woman who knew him as the school chaplain when she was a senior in high school. It takes Bernice a while to recognize Fr. Tim and, given her boredom at being the only unattached woman on the tour, takes her time teasing him into acknowledging his former life which in turn means admitting to her girlish ‘crush’ on him. The story soon moves beyond their improbable early connection to the exhilarating possibilities of elder love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Sep 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781619503533

Joe Novara

Retired corporate trainer and writing instructor, Joe Novara and his wife live in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, poems, anthologies and articles. Seven of his young adult novels are accessible through http://www.storyshares.org/users/view He also maintains a web/blog titled, Writing for Homeschooled Boys http://joenovara.wordpress.com. His latest novel, Come Saturday...Come Sunday, (Cawing Crow Press, 2016) is available through Amazon.

Book preview

Contents

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Four

Chapter Eight

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

After 25,000 Masses

by

Joe Novara

All rights reserved

Copyright © July 10, 2019, Joe Novara

Cover Art Copyright © 2019, Charlotte Holley

Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Lockhart, TX

www.gypsyshadow.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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ISBN: 978-1-61950-353-3

Published in the United States of America

First eBook Edition: Monday, September 23, 2019

Chapter One

The tour guide paused in the middle of the church and raised his chin, revealing a prominent Adam’s apple bobbing above a red bow-tie and purple plaid shirt. Tim recognized the man as someone who reveled in his task, savoring the attention that came with his carefully memorized speech for this stop in the tour. This was a man who liked to play the expert, if only on the history of Amelia Island.

Who can tell what parable is being portrayed in this stained-glass window? the guide asked. Before anyone could respond, he continued, It’s the parable of the Prodigal Son.

Tim knew it wasn’t. It was the story of the Good Samaritan, but he wasn’t going to tip his hand or upstage the poor fellow. He had held forth enough times over the years to let someone else have a turn. He decided to simply tune him out the same way dozy parishioners had endured his homilies.

How many sermons had he given? How many masses? On average, ten a week, counting weddings and funerals, for fifty years. That was over 25,000 masses. God, that was a lot. No more. He was done with all that. Retired. Honorably discharged. It was time to be just plain old Tim McRae, retiree on a senior tour. A chance to make new friends who wouldn’t be calling him Father. Maybe even a lady friend. Whoa!

Let’s get back on the bus, folks, the tour guide announced. "Next, we’ll be heading to the house where the Pippi Longstocking movie was filmed."

Tim smiled to himself as he played peek-a-boo with the Atlantic Ocean glinting between shoreline condos. Mention of the red-haired storybook girl with pigtails reminded him of a woman he had met in Aspen years ago—she too a redhead, but with mini-ponytails sticking out between her ski hat and goggles strap. Could a woman have two ponytails, one on each side? The woman kept glancing at him as they rode the chairlift to Big Burn. She finally said, You remind me of a priest back in Grand Rapids.

He hated when that happened—getting dragged back into his role in the middle of a get-away vacation. Maybe she was a parishioner, one of 18,000, at St. Cyril’s. But then, maybe not, and he would never see her again. So, he deflected, and asked her what the odds were of running into another good-looking guy like him. She cut him slant-eyes before popping her goggles down and hopping off the chairlift. Of course, she came up to receive communion from him the next Sunday, glowering from furrowed brows as she stuck out her hand for the host. He was caught red-handed and red-faced from sunburn on the glaring slopes.

During the bus ride, Bernice tuned out the tour guide babbling into the PA system about the local excitement of a real Hollywood film crew and studied Tim across the aisle and one row up. Ha, she huffed to herself… the only single guy on the tour. And him short as me. Said he was a counselor at the group introduction. Looks more like a priest to me. Guess you could call a priest a counselor. But how many counselors wear black pants, black shoes and black socks? Guy needs a wardrobe consultant. She shook her head. Nah, he’s a priest. Look at the way he sits—like he’s got a candle up his butt, and he tilts his head with this I’m all interested look. Bet he throws in a dearly beloved or two before he’s done. Yeah, he’s a priest.

Wait a minute, she thought as Tim offered his profile, something about him rings a bell. She snapped her fingers twice, waking her long-term memory. The priest we had at St. Cyril’s. Senior year. It was his first parish. Me and Cindy had a priest-crush on him. Can you believe? But, it really could be him, just older, like when they age someone on a computer.

As the group filed off the bus, Tim stopped at the edge of his seat and motioned Bernice forward, pausing to check her name tag. He smiled. She caught his hazel eyes, smiled back. For crying out loud, it’s him, she realized. Father Tim. She tried to remember his last name. Mc… something. McRae. Fr. Timothy McRae. Yeah, but he was so determined to be cool back then, he insisted we call him just plain Tim, which only made him more a priest to us. He wore his hair long, sideburns and a mustache. And