When you had a conversation with him about religion, he would never force you to go to church or pray, but still, you felt closer to God.On releasing him, I said. “It’s good to see you, Father Petrou. My mother told me you wanted to see me about something.”“Let us walk George.” We walked out of the church, making our way to St. Barnabas Church which was a small walk away. “Your mother has told me about the discovery of your child, that it may still be alive.”I replied. “Today we will visit my mother-in-law to see how we can find the child.” We reached St. Barnabas church, that is when I remembered, next to the church was a small hall, they used it for small parties. “Father Petrou, do you use the building next to the church for anything?”“we haven’t used it for many years, I wanted to do something with that space for the community, but the church does not have the funds. There is so much I want to do to help.” He said those last words while his eyes became moist.“The Lord works in. Wouldn’t take long with the image of those hands in the forefront of my mind. I took a deep breath and stepped off the curb—and there he was! He took my elbow, silently urging me to run with him. I fancied I could feel the heat and texture of his fingertips through the thick corduroy of my jacket sleeve. We crossed the parking lot in long, splashing strides. Without slowing, I pressed the button on my key fob to unlock the car. He laughed as I ducked into the driver’s seat, a throaty chuckle that made me wonder what he sounded like as he came. Circling the hood, he opened the passenger door and slipped inside. The downpour sounded marvelously loud in the metal confines of my little car, like a roaring train. My blood felt similarly as it whooshed through my veins, my pulse pounding from the rain and the run and—most especially—the touch. We stared at one another for a few long seconds, until he accepted my silence as acquiescence. I was powerless to move. My body wanted him, ached.
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