"....Lead us not into temptation...."
"Father! Father Randolph!" the shrill voice of the church secretary broke through his prayer.
Muttering the last few words, he rose from the kneeler bench, pushing it into its upright position.
"Father! Oh, there you are." Mrs. Bannister waved at him from the door to the narthex.
Moving somewhat stiffly, having been in prayer for the better part of an hour, he walked over to her. "Yes, Lorna?"
"Important call for you, Father." She handed him the cordless phone from her desk.
"Who is it?" he asked, his hand over the mouthpiece.
"Didn't say."
"You didn't ask?" this was not an uncommon occurrence, and annoyed him. Today, of all days, he didn't need her flightiness.
Mrs. Bannister blinked, looking like an owl behind her round, black glasses frames. Without another word, she returned to her office.
"Hello? Father Randolph here," he snapped more than he intended.
There was a hesitant pause. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" the woman's voice trembled.
Pulling himself together, he took a deep breath. "No. I'm sorry. Who is this, please?"
"You don't know me, I'm actually a member of St. Blase Church."
"Did you need something specific, Miss—" he waited for her to fill in the blank.
"Whitley."
"How may I help you, Ms. Whitley?" the irritation was descending once more. Taking another deep breath, he headed to his office. Closing the door behind him, he opened a bottle of water, the phone awkwardly positioned between his ear and shoulder.
"It's a bit embarrassing, actually. I do apologize. I'm the acting secretary here, just filling in for the regular one, who's on emergency medical leave." Taking an audible breath, she paused. "I'm calling because we have a parishioner in the hospital, and Father Charlie has come down with the flu, himself."
"Is the parishioner sick with the flu, too?" He rubbed his nose with thumb and index finger. A headache threatened to break through, he tried to pray it away as he listened.
"Um.... no," she laughed nervously. "But I was told to call the area churches and ask if another priest could go visit."
"Which hospital?" He grabbed a pen and paper on his desk.
"You'll go?"
"Certainly. I'd be happy to."
"She's at.... Oh, bother."
There was a scrabbling sound, paper rustling, and the phone fell.
"Sorry!" he heard at a distance. "Okay. So sorry about that. I'm really bad at this job."
"How did you get it?"
"She's my mom," she replied, as if that explained it.
"The woman in the hospital? Or the secretary."
"Both."
"I'm sorry.... Who am I going to see?"
"My mother is the one in the hospital. She's the secretary here. I got handed the job, when she went in for emergency surgery last night."
"Is she all right?"
"Yes. It was an appendectomy. They caught it before it ruptured—just."
"I'm glad to hear that. Which hospital?"
"St. Mary's – Metro?"
"Aren't you sure?"
"I'm from out of town. But that's the name. I wrote it down."
"Certainly. So she's in the surgical wing?"
There was another pause. "I guess? I wasn't here when she went in. I was on my way to the city, when I got the call. Instead of going to the hospital, I went home. Mom called this morning and asked me to step in, to find someone to cover for her, and to get a priest. I'm not usually this disorganized, Father." She laughed a little.
"You're lucky. I find myself foundering a good half the time. Yes, I'd be delighted to go see her. What is her name?"
"Wanda Whitley. She's in room....420," she laughed a little. "Insert Marijuana joke here. Oh, gosh! I shouldn't have said that to a priest!"
He chuckled. "It might surprise you to know that I've had my bad boy days."
"Whew! Thank you so much. I'm heading up there shortly. Mama wants me to bring her lunch. She says that the hospital food doesn't pass muster, so I've got instructions to pick up Thai food. Where do I get Thai food?" her voice broke and she sniffled.
"Ms. Whitley, are you all right?"
"I'm just—this is a lot, you know? I have no idea what I'm doing, where I'm going...."
"Why don't I stop and pick up something for all of us? I'll head over and meet you at the front door. We can go in together. I'm there a lot."
"That would be—just great!" she gasped. "Thank you. Mama's very demanding.... This is—it's—"
"It's always difficult when someone has emergency surgery. At least you're here. My parents are six hours away. I can't imagine what I'd do if either of them got sick."
"It's terrifying. I'm at the church office, but I'm taking a cab to the hospital."
"Why don't I come get you? I don't mind, and it's on my way. We can pick up the food together, and head over. That way, you aren't trying to get there on your own."
"Oh, could you? That would be—that would—" she sobbed.
"I'm on my way. I'm about fifteen minutes away. I drive a red Ford Explorer."
"Okay. Thanks. I'm going to go wash my face, and try to look respectable."
"I'm sure you look fine. I'll be there shortly."
"Thank you so much! Thanks."
"You're welcome. See you soon. Goodbye."
"Bye."
©Dellani Oakes 2023
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