One Hundred Sixty-One

Unbidden, the shadow of a smile chased across the Bishop’s face.  Skimming the text again, he chuckled silently and scrolled through the images on the computer screen, taking more time to study them this time through.

She looked happy – incredibly so.  Even more so than in the photographs from New York.  The woman with the wide smile, bantering with the photographer, bore little resemblance to the piteous creature who had sought shelter such a short time ago. 

Something was certainly agreeing with her.  Perhaps pregnancy was partially responsible for the glow that even chaotic paparazzi photos couldn’t conceal.  The blurbs on the internet made no mention of a baby, so he could only conclude that the press hadn’t ferreted out that information when her engagement was revealed.

The close-up of the ring showed it to be undoubtedly pricey, but far less gaudy than he would have expected a rock star to choose.   But, really, what did he know about rock stars other than the stereotype traits?  This Sambora may be a model citizen for all he knew.  A saint.

The Bishop did know that Mr. Sambora was blatantly protective of the woman at his side.  You could see it in the curve of his arm at her waist, keeping her close during the rain of camera flashes.  He’d also seen it the day he’d come to fetch Allegra’s belongings.  When Sambora had caught him watching from the window and tried to kill him with a single look. 

Not that he hadn’t deserved it and more.  The Bishop considered himself fortunate that he hadn’t received a personal visit from Allegra’s family after her discovery.   Therese Castanelli, in particular.  Frannie had always spoken of Therese as a bulldog when it came to her loved ones.    

But, aside from the withering glare from Mr. Sambora, there hadn’t been the first shadow darkening his doorstep.

It made him wonder if Allegra had mentioned it to anyone.  Her cousin – the Bongiovi man – certainly didn’t seem like the shy type when it came to vindicating his family.  He’d certainly taken the Bishop’s information about Felix and run with it in a hurry.  Of course, that wasn’t a bad thing, and he was grateful.  Felix’s transgressions couldn’t be erased, but it assuaged his conscience to know there’d be no more.

Cloudy gray eyes lifted from the computer monitor and gazed toward the garden.  He couldn’t bear to look at her photos with thoughts of that cretin muddying his mind – or with the images of his dead body crowding in.

He’d allowed twenty-four hours to lapse between his phone call to Allegra’s cousin and one to the Philadelphia morgue.  As he’d suspected, that had been ample time.  Unable to push down the need to see for himself that it was finished, the Bishop had made a little visit to the morgue – under the guise of delivering last rites to a man with no family.

The ligature marks around Felix’s neck were a mottled purple, made all the more shocking by their contrast against the pallor of his bloodless skin.   The bruising also made a patchwork quilt of his face in varying shades of black, pink and purple.  Without lifting the institutional white sheet, he knew that there would be more markings, but had no desire to see them.   The head and neck gave him enough satisfaction – almost too much satisfaction.  Anymore and he would have to repent. 

And he wasn’t repenting. 

Felix had received his just reward.  God could have pity or mercy on his soul – the Bishop would not.

After saving her photos to his hard drive, hHe sighed and closed the internet browser.

Forty years. 

Forty years, he had known of his child’s existence and never felt as though he was missing a thing. Now, though?  Now that she knew?  And hated him and everything he stood for?  Well, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

His daughter.  Frannie’s daughter.  Their daughter.  Pregnant with his grandchild.

The Bishop slid open the desk drawer about two inches, extracting Allegra’s cross.  It was in and out of this drawer several times a week, and had been ever since she left, acting as a reminder.  Acting as his conscience.

In all likelihood, there was nothing he could do to make amends, but he would put forth the effort, anyway.  He had to.  Everyone else he owed an indebtedness was dead.  There was no second chance with his brother, Frannie or that little girl, Tessa.  He could only pray… for their souls and God’s forgiveness. 

Allegra, however, was very much alive.  There was still a chance to… not necessarily right a wrong, but atone for it.  Apologize for his shortcomings and ask – or beg, if necessary – forgiveness.  Explanations would be futile, since he’d already explained his actions in the only way he knew how.  Sadly, at the time, he’d still believed he was justified in those actions. 

He’d had ample opportunity to think since then.

Now he understood he was.  Wrong for being concerned with what the world would think of a man in his position.   So concerned that he would shun his only child – the child he’d created with Frannie, whom he’d loved with all his heart.  And for what?  Sure, he’d served the Church and risen through the ranks.  But the expected sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that should have followed never did.   There was always an emptiness inside his chest.  It was subtle, yet gaping.  Like there was a huge void in his life.

Maybe one that should have been filled by his daughter? 

If only he hadn’t been so afraid of the judgment of man.

Considering the way he’d handled himself with regard to Allegra, the Bishop had no expectation of forging a relationship with her, but he longed for peace between them.  

And perhaps…  the opportunity to see his grandchild some day.

♪♫♪♫

“So…”  Allegra began with an impish grin, embedding her fork tines into the piece of chicken before her.  They were at Soldier Field having dinner before the last show of the US leg of the tour.  At the large round table, she was surrounded by the band members:  Richie on her left, then David, Tico, Hugh, ending with Jon at her right hand.

“Yes?”  David quirked a brow at her before elbowing Richie and stage-whispering, “My Spidey-sense is tingling, man.  Your wise-ass woman is about to be… well, a wise-ass.”

“Your own fault if she is,” her fiancé swallowed his own chicken and washed it down with a swig of Pellegrino.  “Stop spending so much time with her.  You’re rubbing off.”

“What are you complaining about?  You’re the one rubbing against her.”

Jon reclined as much as the rigid dining chairs would allow, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles with a sigh.    “Think you could finish that thought before they start a food fight?”

When both Richie and David looked intrigued by the prospect, Allegra warned them off with a scowl before she voiced, “I was just going to say…  This is David and Richie’s last show as single men.  I wanted to know if they’d be catatonic with grief or like un-medicated ADHD children on the stage tonight?”

Tico, Hugh and Jon cackled outright at her question.  David stuck his tongue out, and Richie just looked at her.

David’s wedding was in exactly one week.  When he discovered Lexi’s reasons for putting up with Kristofer, and her qualms about the wedding ideas, he took the planning out of her hands and fired the flamboyant little man.  The new plans were what Lexi had wanted all along:  they would be having a quiet ceremony in Colt’s Neck with “a hell of a rockin’ reception” afterward.  And there would be cupcakes.

Allegra and Richie’s big day was only four weeks later, on a Sunday morning.  Kristofer didn’t have a hand in the wedding, but Richie had cheerfully relieved of reception duty, taking great delight in doing so.  Dot and Allegra would find a caterer and put together something simple, which was more in line with what they really wanted.  Although, not to be done outdone by David, it would be “a hell of a rockin’ reception” too.  Richie was still busy rounding up friends to come and jam with them.

So the next time Bon Jovi hit the stage – in Mexico City – all of its band members would be happily married.

Poor fans…

“I, for one,” Richie announced haughtily, bringing his arm to rest along the back of Allegra’s chair, “Have been as good as married for months now.  It’s just another show for me, darlin’.”

She flicked her eyebrow up with a frown of displeasure.  “Yeah, I can tell you’re already in show mode.  Since when do you call me darlin’?”

“Since you were looking to pick a fight.”  His grin was pure devilry and cocoa eyes crinkled with mischief. 

He knew good and darn well that she didn’t want him using that particular term of endearment with her.  It was his public fallback when he couldn’t remember or didn’t know someone’s name.  It was his way of being impersonally personal, and made him seem sweet and charming.  Which was fine, but she’d asked him to keep it for the public, not her.

Allegra wrinkled her nose as the guys laughed, and directed her attention to David.  “What about you, Davey?  Is it the end of an era?”

“Nah,” he denied, crooked grin in place.  “It’s the beginning of an era.  If you’re interested in more than a quick tumble in bed, being single sucks.  At my age it’s about more than the tumble.  I want somebody to come home to, on the rare occasion that I am home.  It’s all good.”

“Hmm.”  She glided her eyes over the other three guys.  “Am I supposed to believe that?”

Jon snorted.  “We’re old fucking men.  What’s not to believe?”

“Oh yeah, Mr. Sexiest Man Alive.  Women and young girls are still hanging off your coattails every chance they get.  Try and sell that crap to somebody else,” she scoffed.  These men would always be sex symbols to the women who made up their faithful following.

“The difference is, Sunshine…”  Richie nudged a rebellious tendril of hair from her forehead with a gentle touch.  “We don’t care.  Yeah, it’s funny and amusing and flattering, but it stopped being a turn-on a long time ago.”

“Oh real-llly?”  She couldn’t help but be skeptical.  What straight man wouldn’t be turned on by the displays of cleavage that normally made up half the stadium?

“Yes, really,” Jon scolded her.  “Those women view us as nothing more than meat.”

A vibration against her right hip interrupted her rebuttal, and Allegra slipped and hand into her pocket to answer the call.  Inspecting the display, she frowned as she answered.   

“Hello?”

“Allegra, where’s my Dad?”  Ava demanded in a near whine, with no preliminary greeting whatsoever.  “I need to talk to him right now and he’s not answering his phone!” 

Given Ava’s ingrained manners, the lack of a ‘hello’ coupled with the high pitch of her voice instantly set Allegra on alert.  Ava didn’t do the teenage drama thing – yet, anyway.  Something was definitely wrong.

She tucked the phone under her chin and quietly bit out, “Richie, where’s your phone?” 

After patting his pockets, he rolled his eyes.  “Shit.  On the table in my dressing room.”

Going back to the agitated girl, Allegra made a quick effort to soothe her before putting her father on the line.   “Don’t worry, Ava, he just forgot his phone in the dressing room.  Hang on just a second and I’ll hand him mine.”  Passing him the phone, she warned him in a low voice, “She sounds upset.”

His face went instantly somber.  Lifting the phone to his ear, he forced out a casual, “Hey, baby girl,” while moving toward a deserted corner of the room.

Hopefully, it was nothing more than a spat with one of her friends that had her wanting to cry on Daddy’s shoulder.   Or a boy crisis. 

But she had a bad feeling about this.  Her instincts were screaming that it was something else entirely.

So Allegra watched him go, wondering and worrying about what Heather might be up to now.