The Gospel of Winter by Brendan Kiely

when he held up his hand and pointed at me. “Aidan,” he said, looking me in the eyes, “remember that you made a promise to me, too. You wouldn’t break your promise, would you? After all I’ve done for you? After all we’ve discussed?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood,” he said, and nodded toward the door. I hesitated. He calmly folded his hands together and placed them on the desk. “Don’t make me ask you again, Aidan,” he said, looking at his hands.
    I stared at his hands too, until we both heard Cindy’s voice in the hall, shouting hello to Father Dooley. As usual, she was so wound up, she stuffed four syllables into the word “hello.” Father Greg looked up at me and for a moment was speechless. Cindy knocked on his door and poked herhead into his office. “We’re here!” she shouted through her bullhorn smile. “James is ready for his first service, aren’t you, honey? Oh. Are we interrupting?”
    â€œNo,” Father Greg said quickly. “Not at all.”
    â€œGood!” She pushed James forward and stepped into the office behind him. The electric blue in her scarf and pumps accented the cool light in her eyes. She was “fierce,” as Mother called her. “Come on, honey,” she said to James. “Speak up. You’re ready, aren’t you? Tell him what you practiced.”
    James had changed his look since I’d seen him last. He was still shorter than me, but he was much skinnier now, with the pale, gaunt features of a goth rocker, and a wild nest of dark hair, but he was still the timid, twitching little boy I’d always known him to be. “Is Aidan helping too?” James asked quietly.
    â€œNo,” Father Greg said.
    â€œBut,” I said, looking at Father Greg, “it’s the Feast of Saint Stephen. I know what you’ll read in the service:
    â€œWhen they bring you to trial, do not worry about what you are going to say or how you will say it; when the time comes, you will be given what to say.”
    â€œAidan,” Father Greg said, cutting me off. “That’s enough.”
    The room was quiet. I’d memorized it specifically toimpress him, but instead Father Greg stared at me silently, and he aimed at me a tight, cheerless smile. Cindy was behind him, though, and couldn’t see him. “See, honey?” she said to James. “You’ll be as good as Aidan in no time. Can you imagine?”
    â€œAidan,” Father Greg said, “apologize to James.”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œNobody likes a know-it-all. That’s not welcoming. This is church, Aidan, and in it we behave in a way that makes everyone feel welcome and respected, don’t we?” He turned to Cindy. “I’m sorry. Please forgive my tone, but occasionally a child needs a bit of discipline.”
    â€œOh, I understand, Father,” she said. “Hear that, James? You listen to Father Greg.” She patted her son on the back and pushed him forward again. “He’ll be good. He always is!”
    Father Greg stood up and ushered Cindy and James into the room. “Please. Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch. He became more animated and enthusiastic as he spoke. “Aidan was just on his way out.” He looked at me with one of his party grins. “I have a meeting with Cindy and James. What a big day!” Father Greg clapped once and then, with one hand on my back, steered me out of the office. “All right. Let’s go,” he said as he closed the door. Through it I could hear him clap again and then say, “You are going to be great, James! Let’s run through the rites to make sure you remember.”
    In the main hall, the geriatrics dozed over their phonesand coffee. I knew the damn script better than any of them and yet, nobody wanted me there at Most Precious Blood. Even with all the holiday adornments, the statues,