Faith & Empire: Book One of The Holy Terran Empire

13. Michaelmas

Our breakup cast a pall over the rest of Summer. I brooded on it throughout Saint Michael's Lent but the festivities at Michaelmas lifted my mood. I spent most of the day with a small group of friends, parish and classmates and my two favorite cousins, Francis and Betsy, called Bitsy on account of her diminutive size.

We walked along the beach, joining in a variety of games, Four Square, Bocce Ball, Ring Toss, Volleyball, Corn Hole. The guys in the group also tried out our skills at a wrestling circle. We then took a turn, each climbing aboard a catapult which hurled us fifty meters out into the Atlantic surf. Here and there along the coastline, clusters of musicians played beach music. We stopped and Shag danced to a few songs as Carolinians have been doing on these sands for thousands of years. All the while, we stuffed ourselves with raw oysters, fried seafood, sausages and sugary snacks of a seemingly endless variety. Between events and meals, we cooled off with dips in the ocean.

We crossed Jacinta's beachside home twice on our walk up and down Litchfield beach. I spotted her on our first pass, sitting where I last saw her, laughing it up with a group of girlfriends. Engrossed in their conversation, she did not notice me among the throngs crossing to and fro before her family's sundeck.

And I made no effort to be seen.

The sight of her, I confess, smarted a bit. On the way back, we made our way along the water's edge which would've made spotting her more difficult. I purposely avoided the effort, keeping my gaze on the horizon where sea met sky.

Bitsy noted my pointed avoidance of Jacinta's house. "Still pining for her, are you cousin?"

I shrugged, and said, "Maybe."

Betsy wrapped her arms around my own right arm and pressed her pigtailed head against my shoulder. "My brother Tommy fell in love his second year of college," she said. "Claire was her name. A beautiful girl, if you remember. They were crazy about each other, Claire and Tommy. It was storybook perfect, their love."

Knowing the story, I said, "Until Claire decided to become a nun."

I felt her nod against my arm. "Oh, the tears, which that decision caused. Claire's, Tommy's, my mom's..."

"And a few from you, no doubt."

Betsy nodded into my arm again. "A few. I couldn't help it. Tommy has always been my favorite brother."

Walking beside us, the gangly Francis objected to what he overheard. "I thought I was your favorite brother."

Without missing a beat Bitsy raised her head to respond to Francis. "You thought wrong. Again."

Francis feigned heartache by clutching at his breast.

Bitsy lowered her head onto my chest again. "It was sad to see Tommy so heartbroken."

I kissed the top of her head. "I take it there's a point in reminding me of Tommy and Claire."

Betsy shrugged and said, "Maybe."

"Come on, out with it, Bitsy."

"I was just thinking of Bishop Flint's homily this past Good Friday." Betsy said. She stopped our walk and lifted her head from my shoulder. She unwrapped her arms from mine but took my hand. She stared down long enough to watch a foam-topped wave wash over our feet and then recede.

Betsy gave me a dimpled smile before continuing. "I don't remember the exact words, but the Bishop said something to the effect that all love this side of heaven is in one way or another eventually touched by tragedy, wounded by the very fallen world in which it exists because this fallen world is always disintegrating. Everything and everyone is flying apart from everyone and everything else. Every decision separates possibilities. Each of us, sooner or later, in one way or another, will be separated from those we love, from everyone we love."