“Now, Rose, have you made the bed?”

“Of course, Father.”

“And you’ve dusted and swept.”

“Yes, but there’s still the flowers and towels to lay out, and…”

He held up a hand. “Have you any idea what a treasure you are?” he asked. She felt herself flushing.

“Look at this day! God’s glory shines down on us!”

“It is nice,” she said, wishing she could string together a flowery phrase as he did so effortlessly and knowing she never could.

“It’s more than nice,” he said. “Here I’ve been drowning in depression, taking no advantage of these precious days of sunshine, when the Talmud tells us that man shall be called to account for every permitted pleasure he failed to enjoy. Do I want to be called to account for that?”

The Father was such a caution. He wouldn’t be called to account for anything. She smiled at him. “No, Father, certainly not.”

“Then how about if we go on a picnic together and celebrate this day? You’ve done enough for our guest’s room. I’m sure he’ll be very happy.”

She tried to object, but he overrode her. “Rose, the man’s been living in a hut with no floor in western Brazil for three years. I think our guest room will be fine.”

“What about the fathers’ lunches?” she asked, although a picnic sounded like her idea of heaven.

Father rolled his eyes as he sometimes did, too polite to laugh at her. “We’ll write a note,” he said. “They’ll make do, I’m sure.”

So now the sandwiches were made-mortadella and Swiss with the hot peppers Father liked on fresh sourdough rolls. She made two for him and one for herself, though she didn’t think she could eat the whole thing. She put several dills in a big Zip-lock bag with some of the brine, and there was leftover potato salad in the fridge. They’d pick up some cold beer for Father on the way out to the park-that’s where he thought they’d go, rowing out on Stow Lake-and a soft drink for herself.

Through the kitchen window, she saw Father coming from the garage, far out across the asphalt at the back edge of the wide parking lot. He still walked heavily, as though he carried the cares of the world with him on his shoulders. And in a sense, she thought, he probably did. The picnic would do him good, would get his mind off the Cochrans and the sadness of the past couple of weeks.

And she wouldn’t be an old stick-in-the-mud, either. She could tease him along and get him laughing, and that’s what he needed now-a dose of the carefree, a couple of beers, a day in the sunshine.

She turned back to pack the basket.

“So how’re we coming?”

Lord, he had come in so quietly. It startled her.

“I’m sorry, Rose. Did I scare you?”

She was too jumpy, turning into an old woman. Well, today she wouldn’t be-it wouldn’t be fair to Father, and that was that.

“You never mind me,” she said. “Can you think of anything else?”

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation, going over the items in the basket. Then, remembering something, he snapped his fingers. “The note.”

Rose opened the drawer nearest the sink and got out her yellow pad, but Father shook his head. “Let’s use some real paper.” He winked at her. “Give our guest the right impression.” With that he disappeared back into the house, reappearing a moment later rubbing his eyes.

“Rose, I’ve got something in my eye. Would you mind writing it? I’ll dictate.”

Rose sat at the table, taking the nice piece of white bond that Father offered. “Fathers,” he said, and she began writing in her big round hand. “I’m sorry I’ll miss you. Rose and I are going on a hot date-”

“Father,” she said, clucking with pleasure.

“We’ll be back in time for dinner,” he continued, “but you’ll have to make do for lunch. Father Paul, welcome to San Francisco.” He looked over her shoulder. “Perfect, Rose. Now, just let me sign it.”

He took the pen and quickly scribbled his name at the bottom.

It was an old two-car garage. In the seventies they’d put up drywall, redone the old pockmarked benches and insulated the roof. Since kids from the school had taken to using the garage as a place to sneak cigarettes (and who knew what else), they had replaced the old side door with a new, solid one that locked with a deadbolt. They had never gone for the electric garage-door opener. Cavanaugh had joked that he couldn’t see Jesus using it.

But now the old garage door, while sealing completely enough when it was closed, sagged badly when it was open and occasionally would slam of its own accord after being opened because of its weakened springs.

Father and Rose strolled out across the parking lot. On the other side of the school building children were laughing. They could hear them in their next to last day of school taking their morning recess, and Father flashed Rose the slightly guilty smile of a kid playing hooky. He carried the basket and opened the car door for Rose.

“Whew!” he said, fanning himself with his hand. “A little sticky, isn’t it?”

He crossed behind the car and got in the driver’s seat. “Let’s get some air in here.” He rolled down all the car’s windows with the automatic button. “All right,” he said, and smiled across at his housekeeper. “Ready?”

He turned on the engine.

“Oh, look at that, would you?”

He wheeled halfway around in his seat.

“What’s that, Father?”

“Look at the sag on that door.”

“Oh, it’s always that way.”

“I know, but I’d just hate to have it come down on the car’s roof while we’re pulling out.”

He pulled the keys from the ignition, leaving the car running. “Let me just make sure.

He went outside behind the car and pulled on the door, letting it slam to the ground. The springs resonated inside. He lifted the door slightly, slamming it down again, and again. As the springs rang out, he threw the bolt that locked the door, then pulled against it a couple of times for the effect.

“Rose!” he called out.

“Yes, Father.”

“The door seems to be stuck. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“All right. Now, just don’t panic. I’ve got the keys to the deadbolt just back in the rectory, and I’ll be right back.”

He turned and began walking slowly across the parking lot. Recess had ended. The kids were back in class.

Father had said not to panic, and she’d resolved she was not going to be an old woman, not today when Father so badly needed some surcease from his cares.

Still, it was a little scary sitting here in the darkened garage, the car’s motor running. But she would not panic. There was nothing to do anyway except wait, and Father would be back within a couple of minutes. She knew where the deadbolt key was, hanging by the back door of the rectory. It shouldn’t take him long.

Well, it must seem like it’s taking longer than it should, because I’m jumpy, she thought. She talked out loud to herself. “Just calm down, Rose. Father said not to panic…”

She forced herself to take deep breaths. There, that was better. Big, deep breaths. She was getting so calm, it was almost silly. She supposed she should be worried a little. But there was no need to worry. Father would be back in just another second, and they’d go on their picnic. It would be a wonderful day, one they both needed.

She closed her eyes.

He really hadn’t any choice. With the other suspects eliminated, he couldn’t have taken the risk that she would have mentioned Monday night to anyone. She was the only one who could tie him in any way to Eddie’s death, and now, or-he looked at his watch -certainly within another ten minutes…

In the kitchen he took the note she had written and carefully tore the paper so that it broke off after her name. He put a period after the word “sorry.” The note now read: “Fathers. I’m sorry. I’m going to miss you. Rose.”