He turned onto her street, rolling slowly down the road. A lot of children lived in these neighborhoods, and they weren't always well watched.
"In my family, the first son of each generation, gets the name—and the vocation."
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm confused." She focused on him, frowning a little.
Turning into Wanda's driveway, he put the car in park. "The men in my family have been priests since before Henry the VIII created the Church of England. There has been a Prescott Randolph in each generation, and he's expected to become a priest. The first was in 1563, in England. There were those religious orders before, but he was the first with The Name," he used air quotes.
"The Name being Prescott Randolph?"
"Yes. Middle names change, and we usually go by it. There hasn't been an Obadiah since 1772. He and his wife came to America when he was twenty-five. They had three children, the eldest of which was named Prescott Uriah Randolph. Obadiah founded a small community, and built a church. People came, they settled around it, and the rest is history."
"Around here? I didn't think the city was quite that old."
"Not quite. They settled in Eastern Pennsylvania. The original homestead is still there. Built in 1777. Obadiah served in the Pennsylvania Militia as a clergyman and doctor. His son became a priest after him, and named his first son Prescott Samuel Randolph.... I won't bore you."
"I think it's fascinating!"
"All right, I won't bore me," he teased.
"So, you got the name, and became a priest?"
"As was expected."
"Is that what you wanted to do?"
He shrugged. "It's expected."
"And when you have a son, will you do what's expected?"
Shaking his head, he sighed heavily. "At the rate I'm going, who says I'll ever have one?"
Wynter took his hand, squeezing hard. "You will. You have to have faith."
His face dissolved. Lips trembling, he wept silently.
"Obi, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean— I'm so sorry!"
"I can't find it," he whispered. "I can't find my faith. My belief. Cieran robbed me of it. She shook me to my foundations. I don't even know who I am, anymore."
"Come inside. I'll make us some tea."
Nodding, he got out. Standing dejectedly, head bowed, he didn't come around to let her out, as he had been. She was fully capable of opening her own door, so she did. Hopping to the ground, she shut it. The thump startled him, making him aware of her once more.
"I'd like that," he replied, as if there hadn't been a break in their conversation.
As they walked up to the house, his hand sought hers. She gripped his, pulling him a little closer.
"You're a good man, Prescott Obadiah Randolph. And I'm honored to call you a friend."
"Thank you, the same applies. Osteen, huh?" he chuckled when she threatened to punch him.
"You caught that."
"What's your confirmation name? You seemed disinclined to have your mom say that, too."
She unlocked the door, inviting him inside. By habit, he wiped his feet on the coarse straw mat.
"I chose St. Vitus, the patron saint of dancers."
"And epileptics. And those who suffer from St. Vitus Dance."
"True. But I chose it because I wanted to be a dancer. I started lessons when I was five."
"But you chose a man, huh?" He chuckled.
"So?" The defiance was back.
"Nothing. I think it's a brilliant choice. I got St. Crispin of Viterbo."
"Got? As in – how?"
She led him to the kitchen and started setting out the teapot while he filled the kettle.
"Another family tradition. Whatever saint was born on the day we're born, we get that name at Confirmation. He was born November 13, 1668, and was canonized on June 20, 1982. I was born November 13, 1988."
"So, you got Crispin. What did he do?"
"I don't really want to get into an religious conversation right now." He sighed, shaking his head.
"No problem. We'll have another chance to talk about it."
"If you like."
"You're the only other person I know here, Obi." She teared up again.
He held his arms wide and she fell into his embrace, sobbing.
"Cry all you want. I don't mind."
Hiccuping, she nodded. "Some supportive daughter I am. I keep falling apart."
He tilted her chin with his finger under the chin. "You're entitled. But when you're around Mama, smiles and strength. You can call me, and cry anytime you want. I don't mind."
"You're going through your own stuff right now."
"Then maybe I'll cry with you. Would that be all right?"
"Yes. I think I'd like that, actually."
"I'm here, no matter what."
"You're a good friend, Obi."
"So are you, Wynter."
They held one another closely, until the tea kettle started to whistle. Wiping her eyes on her shirt, she set the pot to steep.
"I'm going to grab a quick shower. Will you take the tea ball out in about three minutes? I put the cozy on the pot already."
"I'd be happy to. Go bathe."
"There might be cookies in the jar on the counter, or the cupboard over the toaster."
"I'll have a look."
©Dellani Oakes 2023
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