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Jud’s bag felt heavy in his hand as he stared up at the towering mansion. The way it was decorated, with fresh flowers in the planters and warm light gleaming from every window, suggested an effort to make it less… imposing.
It wasn’t really working. But Jud appreciated the sentiment all the same— the desire to take an uninviting locale and pry back its layers of brick, trying to open it up to the world. Jud’s thoughts drifted to Our Lady, and he closed his eyes, trying to refocus his mind. The whole point of this weekend was to not think about Chimney Rock, or the church’s rebuilding efforts, or Cy’s threats, or—
Jud placed a hand over his heart and felt it pounding. He took a deep breath, his hand moving to the clerical collar half-hidden under his sweater. A reminder of what he somehow hadn’t lost.
He’d been standing out here for too long. Lingering. He hefted his bag over his shoulder and made his way up the steps.
It had been five months since Wicks’s murder, four months since Jud was officially given the green light to begin renovating Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude, and two months since he had his first panic attack.
Really, it was a minor miracle that it took so long, considering… well, everything. Jud had been lucky enough that it hit when he was alone in the church office, and he knew enough about the symptoms to guess what was going on. He’d huddled himself underneath the desk, the budgeting spreadsheets above him like a dark cloud, and waited for the attack to pass.
In the following weeks, he’d managed to avoid anyone seeing his breakdowns, but eventually one caught him by surprise. He’d collapsed on the church steps, gasping for air like a fish out of water in front of one of the candidates for the groundskeeper position, who’d panicked and called an ambulance.
Once the whole mortifying situation was over and Jud was finally allowed to return home, he collapsed into bed, and was woken at eight the next morning to a call from one Benoit Blanc.
“I should just send him to voicemail,” Jud muttered as he pushed the “answer” button.
“You’re taking off a weekend in September,” Blanc said in lieu of a greeting, his voice tinny over the phone’s speakers.
Jud’s answer was an incoherent sound somewhere in the range of “huh?”
“There’s a little bed and breakfast in Massachusetts. Quiet, secluded. Somewhere to get yourself some much needed time to rest, relax, and not think about the church,” Blanc continued, unbidden. “I’ve made you a booking.”
“I can’t not think about the church.” Jud ran a hand down his face. “And I can’t afford a vacation.”
“It’s taken care of.”
Guilt pooled in the bottom of Jud’s stomach. “Blanc, you don’t need to—”
“I didn’t. I spoke with the owner. It’s on the house.”
The pool of guilt deepened. “That’s not… I can’t…”
Blanc interrupted him again. “You can and you will. You’ve had a rough go of it this year, and you’re not doing yourself any favors trying to fix a church with a cracked foundation all by your lonesome.”
Jud glanced out the diamond-shaped window, heart sinking at the sight of the overgrown church lawn. That groundskeeper was definitely not taking the job, and it was Jud’s own fault. “Do you do this for all your former murder suspects, or am I just that pathetic?”
“...I plead the fifth on that one. Go take care of yourself. Then you can take care of your church.”
Jud wanted to protest, to argue, to resist. But something— perhaps the spirit, perhaps exhaustion— moved him. “Okay,” he breathed. “Fine.”
The room at the B&B was, Jud had to admit, very cozy. As he unpacked, it took everything in him not to think of what was happening to the church in Chimney Rock without him there. He kept envisioning himself returning to New York to find the building collapsed in a pile of rubble.
The image filled him with anxiety, but worse than that: relief. The building itself was not the problem. He knew that. But every time he stepped inside he felt himself looking over his shoulder, expecting Wicks to appear behind him any second. He could barely bring himself to step foot on the pulpit.
Jud shoved his bag to the side. This was exactly what he was here not to do— ruminate on what he’d left behind. It was only three days. Two and half now, really. The church would survive without him for that long.
It was just… he was starting to worry that he couldn’t survive without the church.
Jud first met the B&B’s owner in its library, early the next morning. His sleep had been restless, plagued with twisted dreams of Wicks and Martha and Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude. He’d skipped breakfast in favor of the library, hoping a book could get his mind off of everything.
He’d been alone for the first hour or so, struggling through a copy of Emma. Every few pages he’d find his thoughts wandering to the next state over. Just as he was beginning the sixth chapter, soft footsteps entered the room, drawing his attention away from the novel once again.
The woman in front of him was dressed for the season, wrapped in a warm-looking cardigan. Her dark hair was pulled loosely behind her head. But what struck Jud the most was the soft, kind smile on her face.
“Good morning,” the stranger said, approaching him. “I didn’t see you at breakfast.”
Jud looked down, feeling chastened despite the lack of anger in the woman’s voice. “I, uh. I wasn’t hungry.”
The woman nodded. “Well, there’s always food around if you want some. Just ask.”
“Do you work here?” Jud asked.
“Technically, I guess. I own the building.” She held out her hand. “Marta Cabrera.”
“Oh! Jud Duplenticy,” Jud said, putting the book aside and shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. This is a lovely place.” He gestured around to the library.
“Thank you,” Marta said. Her smile faded for a half-second. Jud blinked, and it had returned.
As she sat down in the chair next to him, Jud recalled Blanc’s words over the phone. “You’re the reason I’m here,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”
Marta waved him off. “Blanc told me about what you’ve been going through. I was happy to do it.”
He wondered, at the familiarity with which she said Blanc’s name, if she knew the detective better than he had been led to believe. But he put that aside in favor of another curiosity. “Can I ask… what do you mean when you say that you own this place, but only technically work here?”
“Ah,” Marta said. “It’s a little complicated. I inherited the mansion several years ago,” she continued, and Jud noticed her voice catching in her throat. “It was big, even for me and my family, and I was just trying to figure out what to do with it. There was a local bed and breakfast that was looking to move to a new building, and they reached out to me. I wasn’t quite ready to let go yet, but I thought it would be… good. For all of us. So I kept ownership, but I don’t have much— anything, really— to do with management. Not that I’d be any good at it,” she laughed.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jud said.
“That’s nice of you to say, but it is. I don’t know the first thing about running a business.” Marta looked around, taking in the spacious library. “I think they’re doing very well, anyhow. It’s nice to see the life coming back into this place.” Her smile turned wistful, wobbly.
“So what do you do for work?” Jud asked.
“I’m a nurse,” Marta said brightly. “I work at a retirement community a few towns over.” Jud had only known her for a few minutes, but he could already see how the job complimented Marta’s personality.
He was also starting to see why Blanc sent him here, in particular, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to be a little bit annoyed at the detective’s minor manipulation.
Marta left just before lunch, apologizing profusely and explaining that she had an appointment to keep. As he walked to the dining room, Jud was startled to realize that he hadn’t thought about Chimney Rock or the church once during their conversation.
Jud woke up the next morning feeling more at ease than he had in months. He was reluctant to admit it (and he especially would be to Blanc, who was sure to check in), but the time away truly had done him some good.
Maybe it was just that. Or maybe it was that in addition to the act of connecting with someone else— not a potential coworker, or a contractor, or another man of the cloth, or a meddling detective, but a friend.
Stepping outside of the bed and breakfast, Jud took a long, deep breath. The Massachusetts air smelled like pine and oak.
He thought of his woodworking. He thought of the cross Wicks had never let him build, and the little pink gem locked in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He thought of the church, and the work that would have to be done.
Jud adjusted his clerical collar, and let his hand drift down to rest over his heart. He felt it beat, slow and steady.
He took one last look at the mansion, and began the walk to the bus station. He needed— no, he wanted to get back to Chimney Rock.
There was a foundation waiting to be repaired.