Taking a Chance on Love by Mary Razzell Page A

skirt of cotton twill with a white background and huge, multi-shaded red roses for $3.99, and for $2.99, a short-sleeved sweater the same colour as one of the shades in the roses. With the change left over, I bought a pair of huaraches sandals in a neutral colour.
    Dad and I had dinner at Scott’s Café, a few steps north on Granville from the hotel. He ordered breaded veal cutlets for two. “The best in Vancouver,” he said. “The top chefs of the city come here to eat on their days off.”
    I seldom had Dad’s full attention, and that made it special. I wore my new skirt, blouse and short-sleeved sweater. I felt eyes follow its bright colour as Dad and I made our way to a back booth.
    â€œTell me about Father Smith,” Dad said casually, as he broke open a roll and buttered it. “Does he come around to the house often?”
    â€œQuite a bit,” I said. “He’s trying to start a new parish. The more Catholics, and those who’ve been Catholic, that he can round up, the happier Archbishop Duke will be.”
    â€œAnd what do you think of the good priest? Do you like him?”
    â€œHe’s okay. He doesn’t like me, though.”
    â€œOh? Why’s that?”
    â€œAll I know is that I overheard him tell Father Quinn that I was a lost cause.”
    â€œWho’s Father Quinn?”
    â€œHe’s a priest who’s visiting Father Smith for the summer. Father Smith’s Chevy had a flat tire last week, and both of them came into Mrs. Hanson’s to use her phone. Father Smith saw me working in the kitchen, and I heard him say to Father Quinn that he didn’t like my attitude.”
    â€œDid he, now? Are you sure?”
    â€œHe’s deaf and he shouts, so, yes, I’m sure.”
    That was something else I didn’t like about Father Smith. When he took confessions, he shouted because of his deafness, and everyone waiting to give confession could hear what he said.
    Things like, “That’s self-abuse and a sin. Now you are to say ten Our Fathers and fifteen Hail Marys and don’t indulge in the habit again.”
    Dad continued, all the while drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “What else about Father Smith? How does he act when he’s visiting the house?”
    â€œWell, he likes Dan. He’s ‘taking an interest,’ he says. Always doing nice things for him.”
    â€œWhat sort of nice things?”
    â€œHe gave Dan an old bugle that should have gone to the Sechelt Indian Band. He told Dan that every time he had bad thoughts, he should play the bugle instead. Dan’s getting quite good at it.”
    â€œAnd your mother. What sort of things does he say to her?”
    â€œNothing special. I just know that he leaves a bunch of stuff for us to read. That’s probably why he doesn’t like me. He enrolled me in a correspondence catechism course taught by the nuns in Edmonton. Mom kept after me to do the lessons. I did one and quit. When Father Smith asked me about it, I told him it was too boring. I said that I didn’t like being made to feel guilty all the time. If God made us, He should understand that a person can’t always be good, no matter how hard they try.”
    â€œThe good priest wouldn’t have liked that.”
    â€œNo, he didn’t … Dad, I’ve met this really interesting boy. He likes me all right. But, I don’t …”
    â€œDon’t want to go as far as he wants,” Dad supplied. “And you shouldn’t. There are plenty of other girls around who will give him what he wants. Say no. In the long run, he’ll respect you for it. Boys don’t marry the easy ones.”
    â€œI really am not thinking of getting married. But I’d like us to be friends.”
    â€œFriends first, okay. But you need to look ahead. You’ll be getting married one of these days.” He rearranged the salt and pepper shakers and cleared his