The Gospel of Winter Read Online Free PDF Page A

library.
    Father Greg laughed. “No, I meant you.”
    â€œOh,” I said. “Yeah.”
    He excused us from the group and steered me a few feet away, closer to the coat closet. It felt good to get a little direction. He smiled, then took on that serious expression he got before he found the right words to set the world straight.
    â€œHow are you holding up?”
    It was the first goddamn honest question I’d been asked all night. I wanted to be somewhere quieter. I wanted to be somewhere we could take ourselves seriously, close the door on all the gibbering nonsense and speak as two people who cared about meaningful things. It was about time.
    â€œLook,” Father Greg said, “I’m heading outside. I need a break, a little fresh air.” He fished out his coat-check tag and handed it to the doorman. “Why don’t we step out for a minute?” Father Greg asked me. He took his coat and wore it like a cloak, without sticking his arms through the sleeves. He dug into the breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He always smelled like them. “Join me. Only if you want to, of course.” His coat billowed and flowed behind him as he walked onto the stoop. I found my ski parka and followed him outside.
    He stood beyond the curve of the white stone semicircular drive outside the front door and looked down theslope of the snowy front yard. “We have to find a way for you to enjoy your party,” he said.
    I watched my breath mist and disappear in the cold air. “It’s not really my party,” I said. I zipped up my parka. “I don’t know what I’m doing tonight.”
    Father Greg stepped closer and put his foot on the stoop. He exhaled from the corner of his mouth and blew the smoke away from me. “Yes you do. You’re doing what you always do. You’re trying to help. Don’t beat yourself up, Aidan.” He always said my name a lot, and although at first it had sounded strange to hear myself referred to so often, I actually grew to like it. It made me feel real, as if he genuinely wanted to speak with me, as if I actually meant something to him—as if he might have needed me a little too.
    I stared out at the island of manicured shrubs in the front drive. He offered me his cigarette, and I looked away from him as I took a drag. The nicotine went right to my head, and I leaned back against the column. “I’d rather be upstairs, reading for school,” I finally said.
    â€œThat’s my boy, ever the hard worker.” I shrugged. “I understand, though. I know how you feel.” He gave me another drag. “We’ve talked about this before,” he said softly. “Hard to have meaningful conversations at these kinds of parties. Conversations that people like you and me are accustomed to having. I rarely see many of these people anymore, except at parties like this one. I don’t know when I’d see your parents if they didn’t invite me to their parties.”
    â€œYeah, and then one of them doesn’t even show up.”
    â€œThere you go,” Father Greg said, nodding slowly as he always did when he listened to me. Father Greg rolled the filter of his cigarette gently between his forefinger and thumb, until the cherry dropped to the ground. He tucked the filter into his pocket and glanced toward the front door. “But you’re not alone,” he said. Father Greg often explained that the presence of God in my life was an assurance, the real stability. God was with me, and yet God had to work through people like him sometimes, he had said, in order to remind me of His presence. God wasn’t firmly placed in my mind, but Father Greg was actually there, and something tangible and definite was what I needed most. Certainty.
    He blew air into his fist to warm it. “You are doing very well, Aidan, for your father not being here. Nobody wants to feel abandoned. We’ve talked