Tempting Daddy by Ava Sinclair
Chapter Seven
Father
The first snow of the year is going to be a big one, and it’s not even Christmas. Some of the elderly parishioners have predicted a hard winter. One even stopped by last week with a welcoming gift—a snow shovel. He said I’d need it and it looks like he’s right.
I sip my morning coffee as I watch the forecast. Last night the radar showed a large swatch of blue indicating three to six inches of snow for the region starting tonight. Now it’s been joined by a swath of headed directly for our parish. Eight to ten inches, the forecaster says, and possibly more.
They’re already calling schools to be closed on Thursday.
The timing couldn’t be worse. The church council meeting is this morning at ten a.m., and I’ve been second guessing my decision to have Carmen present her case for office computers to the parish council. Since the day I proposed it in the fellowship hall, she’s been more reserved and less talkative. She comes to work looking as if she’s had little sleep. It had been my intention to provide a place for her to stand up to her father in a supportive atmosphere where she’d feel empowered. I expect the measure will pass, but now worry what it will be like for her if she goes home tonight and is snowbound with a furious Stephen Angelo.
I resolve to gauge his reaction and to talk to him if he shows any sign of holding a grudge should things not go his way. While Carmen denies he is abusive, I’m not sure I believe her. It sickens me to think of her being treated badly when I’m not there to protect her. He’s a religious man; perhaps a word from the priest can soften his heart towards a daughter who deserves only kindness and love.
I shut off the television, down the rest of my coffee, and grab my overcoat. Outside, the clouds are heavy in the sky and the air already smells like snow. Wind sends leaves whirling along the walk ahead of me.
Because the council meeting is at ten, Carmen is riding to work with her father and will stay the rest of the day. I know this isn’t something she wanted to do and figure this was at his insistence.
The first council member arrives early. It’s Ingrid Beale, a classically trained piano teacher who’s as modest as Carmen’s father is arrogant. Father Morris was able to get her to play occasionally, but she did so with reluctance. He said she confided in him that her shyness is why she never became a concert pianist, but she now makes a good living by providing private instruction.
She chats with me while we wait for the others to arrive, and by a quarter before ten, the members are all here except for Stephen Angelo. When he finally comes through the door, Carmen trails behind him, looking anxious, and immediately shoots me a look as the council files into the side room where we hold the meetings.
“Father.” She walks over to me, her voice low. “I can’t do this. He hit the roof when he read the email and saw that there’s a request for a secretary’s computer on the agenda. He said you were the only one who needed a computer because you had to communicate with the church members and…”
“Carmen.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “If that’s your father’s argument, let him make it before the council. He needs to hear other points of view.”
“I’m…” She stops again, and I know what word she was going to finish with. Scared. I want to hug her to me, to tell her I’ll protect her, but the council treasurer, Alvin Cranden, is walking into the room now, and I just give her shoulder a reassuring pat.
“It will be fine,” I say. “I promise.”
We follow Alvin into the room, where Stephen Angelo is settling into his chair.
“Let’s get this show on the road, people,” he says. “Some of us have companies to run.”
Ida Klein, the council secretary, reads the minutes of the last meeting before we launch into business. Carmen sits beside me, fidgeting with her papers as we go through the agenda. Alvin gives an update of cash on hand and reports the church coffers are doing well. Janet Cary, a retired librarian who organizes our annual Christmas pageant, suggests the inclusion of a living nativity this year and has even checked with a local sanctuary farm that can supply rescue livestock for a modest fee. Stephen Angelo balks at this.
“It’s a nativity. They should do it for free to the glory of God.”
“They take in elderly animals and give them homes,” Janet says. “The fee goes to support their work.”
“Homeless people on the street and they’re saving cows and jackasses?” He crosses his arms. “Bunch of nonsense, if you ask me.”
The measure passes anyway, and Stephen sulks angrily, seemingly unaware of the irony when he also balks over added funding for our outreach to feed the homeless. Beside me, Carmen is growing visibly more nervous. Her father is already agitated at not getting his way on the other votes, and he’s clearly ready when the issue of the computer is raised. As soon as the secretary reads the agenda item, he leans forward, his hands folded in front of him.
“How long has this church done without a computer in the office, huh?” Before anyone can answer, he asks again. “How long?” He looks at Carmen. “This your idea, girl?”
Carmen seems taken by surprise to be addressed directly.
I see her flinch and feel anger well in my chest.
“Mr. Angelo,” I say. “If Carmen doesn’t mind, I’ll answer.” I turn to her. “Do you mind?”
She shakes her head, gratitude in her eyes, and I turn back to her father.
“Carmen is an excellent secretary. She’s attentive, bright, and efficient. She also has skills that could be put to better use with a computer. You’re right that we haven’t had a computer in the front office in this church. What we do have is a cabinet full of ledgers of historical significance that Carmen thinks can be scanned and archived. If there was a fire or a theft, all that information could be lost. There are other records, too.”
“And if the computer gets burned up? Did you ask my genius daughter that?”
The room grows quiet. I see the other council members exchange concerned glances at how he’s talking about his daughter. To my surprise, Carmen slowly stands to make her pitch.
“There’s a thing called the cloud, Dad. It’s like a big database where you can upload all your information. That way even if the computer crashes or gets destroyed in a fire, the data is safe and accessible. With a computer I could create a social media group for the youth, do an online newsletter… there’s all kinds of possibilities.”
The other members nod and murmur approvingly.
“Really, Stephen,” Ida says. ‘This seems like a very good idea to me.”
“Sounds like a good excuse for the church to pay a secretary to get on social media and waste time if you ask me.”
I move my fist under the table so no one will see me clench it in anger. I want to stand up, walk over, grab Stephen Angelo by his collar and punch his smirking face. This is not some ham-handed dad joke at a child’s expense. It feels like hostility to me, and I’m not the only one who’s picking up on it.
“That is uncalled for. It’s also disappointing, Mr. Angelo,” Ingrid says. Everyone is surprised to hear the usually shy pianist speak up. She’s glaring at Carmen’s father. “It would be unacceptable to insult church staff; the fact that you’re doing so to your own daughter is embarrassing.”
The deacon sets his jaw at being called out and tries to brush it off, but there’s a mean edge to his tone. “My daughter’s not embarrassed,” he says. He looks at Carmen, his expression challenging.
“I’m not referring to her being embarrassed. I’m referring to you. You.” Ingrid nods towards him. “You’ve embarrassed yourself.”
“Now you listen to me,” Stephen Angelo says, pointing his fat finger in Ingrid’s direction, but she ignores him and addresses the rest of the council.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve made my decision. I vote in favor of spending up to $2,000 in church funds for a new desktop and additional funding for a subscription to Dropbox or some other cloud storage.” She smirks at Mr. Angelo. “To those who don’t know what that is, they can go home and do some reading.”
Janet hastily seconds and the other members vote in favor. All eyes look now towards Carmen’s father, whose face has gone ruddy with angry humiliation. It’s not been a good day for him.
“Fine,” he says, obviously seeking to save face.
“What’s your vote, Stephen?” Ida waits for him to say so she can record it.
“Yes,” he says, but the word seems forced from between his lips and the look he shoots Carmen is no less than threatening. He’s furious, and I’m concerned now. He needed a lesson in humility, but I can almost feel the anxiety coming off Carmen in waves. I’m afraid I just made her situation worse by trying to help.
When the meeting is adjourned, he’s the first to rise and I see him shoot Carmen a look and incline his head to the other room. I want to follow, but as I’m getting up, Janet Cary walks over to me.
“Father, can I have a word?” She’s looking towards the door and I already know what she’s going to say. “I was a school librarian for years. I know that Carmen is an adult, but I’m worried about her.”
“I share your concerns,” I say. “I’ll talk to her father.”
“Thank you,” she says, and pauses. “Has she said anything? Carmen, I mean, about how things are at home? Her mother Laura is so quiet when I see her.”
I sigh. “We both know even if she had shared something with me that I couldn’t confide it, Janet.”
“Yes, Father,” she says. She shoulders her purse, her gaze moving back to the open door. Over in the corner of the other room, Carmen is standing, arms crossed. Her father is looming over her in an intimidating manner, quietly scolding her when he should be congratulating her.
“Excuse me,” I say, walking out into the office. The other council members have left. “Mr. Angelo, can I borrow my secretary? We’re getting a late start as it is and I want to get a lot done today before she goes home ahead of this snow.”
“Yeah. Looks like she’s doing plenty here,” he says, cutting his eyes at her. “We’ll continue this at home, Carmen.”
He leaves without another word. Through the office window, I watch as he stomps to his car. Once he pulls away, I turn back to Carmen. She’s standing by her desk. I walk over.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, sure,” she says, but her voice is shaking.
“Carmen,” I say. “It’s a sin to lie to a priest.”
There’s a joking tone to my words, but rather than lighten the mood, I realize I’ve cracked the wall she’s been holding back. She begins to cry. Within moments, she’s shaking and sobbing and this time I can’t stop myself from reaching for her.
