Terri helped. Honestly, she was much more helpful with keeping Vera from breaking down than actually tidying up, but Vera appreciated it much more than assistance on wiping the floor spotless. They stayed for two hours, Vera still not quite satisfied, but convinced they had done enough for one night. When she would gather enough courage (possibly liquid one), she could come back. Tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Week tops. Terri walked her home and Vera actually managed to go the sleep without the glass of whiskey which waited for her in the fridge. Mind over matter. She didn't even drink it next morning, because she didn't need to get up at the exorbitant hour, having a day off.
Truth to be told, having a Friday off kinda sucked. Having any day off sucked, because she needed to do something. So she cleaned up her apartment, tried to casually chat with Anna, not having to hold her tears at her love-struck rambling about Martin, her boyfriend, because something finally went well in her love life and they were officially together for over a month and they were totally in the beginning of a relationship, when they were still a little worried about how far they could go with touching and Anna was smitten and wouldn't shut up about it. In the end, Vera guessed it was better than if she asked Vera about Matt.
Her mum did ask about Matt. It was Vera's fault, because it was her own idea to skype in the afternoon, so she had something to pass the time (and she was pretty much fed up with reading from the hospital, so books were a no-no). Her mum thought she was being too sad. She figured out it was because of boyfriend troubles. Naturally.
Vera sighed. "Yeah... Uhm. He left to travel across states. Kinda"
Her mum's eyebrows shot up in silent shock. Vera hated telling the stupid tale over and over – she said it to everyone and she did it so often she was almost starting believing it.
"Ugh. Some university asked him if he could make a lecture about the biggest case their practise had – a huge corruption case, all over the newspapers – and some other professors heard of it and they wanted that kind of a lesson too, and they also wanted him to talk about making it through college with a disability, so now he's just moving from one uni to another, super busy and miles away," she recited the story on autopilot, not quite looking to her mum's eyes even on the screen.
Shocked silence followed. And Vera understood. It was a lot to take in and it utterly, utterly sucked (well it would, if it was the truth anyway), but really? She eyed her mum – her expression was a mixture of confusion, surprise and suspicion.
"Yeah, I know. I miss him," Vera offered carefully, the face on the screen frowning, gaze examining Vera closely.
"Why would Matt lectured students about studying college with disability?" she asked slowly and Vera suddenly realized her mistake, her mouth falling open. Oh shit. Oh shit.
"Uhm... his friend is blind?" she tried her best to sound at least a little convincing, probably failing miserably. Her mum's face changed colour to something slightly redder than usual, expression losing the confused note, being replaced by comprehension and something Vera was pretty sure was betrayal.
"Sweetheart? Is Matt blind?" she demanded, voice pretended kindness and patience.
"...Maybe?"
Her mother gaped silently. "You're dating a blind man for almost four months and you never thought it might be an interesting fact to share with me?!"
Oh god, Vera was in so much trouble. Her mum was watching her expectantly, waiting for an excuse for such a horrible crime.
"I... plead the fifth?" she offered innocently and the face on the screen gave her an unimpressed look.
"Of course you do. You're dating a blind lawyer."
"You never asked! It never came up!"
"How should I have done that when I had no clue? ... Oh my god, that's why you never wanted to introduce him!" her mum figured and Vera closed her eyes, taking a calming breath. Deep, slow breaths, Macháčková. Huh, she could actually say that out loud, it worked for both of them. She almost chuckled at the thought- but no, this wasn't funny. Maybe just a little?
"Yeah, it was kinda an issue. He's doing just fine, he did manage to graduate suma cumme laude from law school, because he's brilliant, sweet and possibly the best boyfriend in the world, but yeah, screen talk and keeping eye contact is quite difficult for him," Vera admitted hastily and her mum's face actually softened.
"I'm sorry, baby. How you're holding up? When he's coming back?"
For the first time in a long time, Vera believed she wasn't asking just to piss her off and prying whether it had any effect on Vera's return to Czechia. She sighed.
"Well, I live." That sentence shouldn't be so literal, but it was. "And I actually don't know... But I know when I'm coming back. I bought a plane ticket few days ago, for 14th September."
Her mum did light up at that, despite her best efforts not to. Vera bit her lip and clenched the laptop with more force that necessary. But damn, she couldn't blame her. Right now, she missed her mum more than ever, hell, she missed her brother, because a very long bear hug was exactly what she needed at the moment. Yeah, dream on, Veronika. She held her tears with the power of will.
"It's gonna be alright, Verunko. I love you and I'll be looking forward to it. Let's call soon again, alright? Have a nice day," her mum said her goodbye, maybe too quickly, sensing Vera needed to end the call as soon as possible.
Vera gave her a weak smile and closed the app, just around the time the first tear rolled down her cheek.
She used the glass she was saving from yesterday. It felt like the right time.
---
She returned to the gym on Sunday night, not only for the clean-up, but for punching something really hard too. It was totally her own fault, because she had the brilliant idea of going to the church.
Yes, she went to the church, because it was Sunday, it was mass and it was what Matt would do. She never went there with him – not to this particular church. They went on Christmas Eve to the church that was closest to the Nelson's (and Vera later found out Matt sneaked out the next morning, brutally early only to light a candle in his favourite church). He also took Vera on his father's grave when she asked him once and he accepted, somewhat pleased, taking her to the graveyard behind the church, kissing her forehead before they left back home, strangely intimate gesture in the surreal environment. But she never came in.
Vera wasn't a complete stranger to the holy houses (she went for a midnight mass with her grandma twice, when she was still among the living, and she had gone to London and Paris, visiting the Westminster Abbey, Notre Dame and Sacre-couer, because that was a must when being there), but she wasn't religious, so she wasn't very familiar with them either. She carefully stepped in, following a group of people, sitting rather in the back, listening to the sermon with her eyes closed, trying to relax and let the words wash over her. She couldn't. She didn't pick up much, but with horror realized it was almost Easter time – when the fast was beginning anyway. Instead, she wondered. She wondered how a man, who went through so much, felt so much pain, saw (sensed) too many wrongs and suffering – fighting against it, hurting people, no matter how many other people he helped while doing it – could be in his core a devoted catholic. She never understood that. Her gaze lingered on the crucifix above the main altar and she couldn't quite stop herself from seeing a little piece of Matt in it. Blood. Pain. Sacrifice for others. Or just for you, tiny voice in her head whispered intrusively.
She shushed it and quickly blinked away her tears at the thought, looking around to make sure no one caught her. Her worries were gratuitous – there was no one in the church anymore. She slowly stood up, leaving the pew. The small lights of candles caught her eyes, tiny images of hope. Or a tribute? She didn't remember whether it was allowed to light a candle for sick and lost, or only for the dead. She hesitantly made her way to them, unsure what she even intended to do.
It wasn't just the lights – it was the heat. Or warm, perhaps. She missed warm these days, because even though she never realized it before, warm was something that was associated with Matt in her mind. Warm eyes. Warm smile. Warm embrace. She reached out one hand to them carefully, flames flickering with her movement, gently offering their heat.
"People like to do that," kind voice sounded on her left and she retreated immediately, shooting the newcomer a startled glance. He must have been really silent or she had to be too consumed by her thoughts.
An old priest, all in black apart from his white collar (and really, how else she would imagine a priest), mostly bald, but with few grey hair, amiable eyes, lips slightly pursed as if he was admonishing her, or simply thinking. Vera hoped for the latter, expecting the earlier though.
"I'm sorry, Father," she whispered, unable to state his gaze. He took it as an invitation, taking two steps closer to her, soft rustle.
"I didn't say it was wrong and you have to stop."
Vera raised her eyes to him, surprised. He looked like he meant it. Huh.
"I think I should probably settle on just looking," she murmured, watching the flames while speaking.
"Lots of people don't go to the church because they consider it too cold, fearing it, not seeing that God offers light and warm just like these candles..." he explained, gesturing lightly to a bin with candles. "You can light one too, you know."
She hesitated and shook her head. "I'm not a believer, Father," she admitted, ashamed for being at the end of his kind words despite not quite having the right.
Short silence followed before he spoke up, hint of a smile in his voice. "I don't think I saw you there before, that's true. You don't need to go to church to believe in something though. And that's the thing about Him – He doesn't discriminate against any of His children because they found their way to Him later than the others. He forgives. He loves them all the same with no differences."
Vera decided she liked the man – he weighted all of his words carefully, sure saw a lot in his life and he believed truly, from the bottom of his heart. She would never manage to do that, thinking it was one of rather rare things that somehow truly put distance between her and Matt. She never comprehended this side of him.
This priest seemed to be a fount of wisdom. What was a little question for him?
"Does He?" She looked at the man, meeting his compassionate eyes.
"Doubting so soon after coming here?" he questioned, not reproaching. She sighed, only half guilty, her mind wandering. Matt often came to confession, to talk about things that lied heavily in his mind. Why couldn't she? Was it forbidden for someone like her? A non-believer?
"I know a man," she started, examining the priest's face and finding no indication he wasn't willing to listen, "he's catholic... very catholic. He truly believes. Yet, it seems Go-, it seems his faith is being tested constantly. He's good, Father. He believes. So why does he suffer?"
He sighed as well, sounding regretful. "I can't answer that, my child. Lord works in mysterious ways."
Vera hated that phrase. She bit her lip, trying to cover her disappointment, eyeing the candles again. Warm and light. Was Matt one of the people the priest talked about, who liked to reach for it – in his case simply because he couldn't enjoy the light itself they provided?
"He left to war. Fighting a fight for someone else, fighting for something he doesn't want. A bad man," she strained the title through her teeth, "hurt someone he cared for and he was afraid he would do that again. He was forced to leave his home. His life. People he loved and who loved him. It's not fair."
Silence fell for a long time and after a while, Vera looked at him, afraid she might offend him somehow. But he was watching her thoughtfully, his eyes probing her. Small smile appeared on his lips.
"I know a man who would be willing to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of those he loves," he offered and Vera had to wonder why she felt a hidden meaning in his words. Probably because she was paranoid.
Do you? she almost asked him, keeping her mouth shut by force.
"He has been through a lot. Lost his father when he was too young. Never met his mother. And that's just a fragment of what life had prepared for him..." he continued.
Paranoid, Veronika. There are many people of whom he could say that... how many of them are going to this church, though?
The man sighed. "He likes the candles too. He always had, their heat. The flames. Most people associate flames with Hell and suffering. He used to as well; sometimes he says that the world on fire is all he can see."
Vera's head snapped to him. She only heard the phrase few days ago – Terri used it, when she was telling Vera about her conversation with Foggy, not quite understanding what he meant. It supposed to be a metaphor for Matt's world, the way he saw it. He never shared that with Vera, but this man knew.
Matt had said to her his priest knew. Father Lantom.
The man was smiling knowingly now, slightly amused by Vera's shocked expression and disability to speak.
"It seems we have a common friend. You can light a candle for him. He would appreciate it. I do it too, every day."
Vera felt something very uncomfortable growing in her chest. "Aren't the candles only for the dead people?" she asked, voice barely a whisper, the words heavy on her tongue.
His smile transformed into sympathetic one, a little patronizing, and he shook his head. "They don't have to, no. They are also for those you would like to send a ray of hope, Vera."
Her breath hitched, her heart picking up speed. "You know my name," she stated the obvious, astonished. How the hell did he know her name?
"It's hard to forget when you hear it repeatedly," he noted, taking a candle from the bin, challenging her. She hesitantly did the same, absolutely taken aback by his exclaim.
"He...talks about me?"
Father Lantom ignited his candle with a long thin piece of wood, handing it to her. She accepted reluctantly, following his example, sending an approximation of a prayer for Matt's safety. She hoped the God Matt believed in wasn't picky about these and would keep him safe and bring him home despite the dubious form of the prayer.
"From time to time," he hummed, the smirk on his face saying otherwise. Depends on your definition of 'from time to time'.
"How did you know it was me?"
He honest to god shrugged. "I didn't. But a young woman, coming to this church, talking about love, about a man favouring the safety of the others to his own, leaving to fight a war – relatively shortly after I haven't heard from him or about the vigilante patrolling these streets? ...I couldn't be sure, of course. Your reaction was the best confirmation I could ever be offered."
Wise man, this Father Lantom indeed. And stupid Vera. She couldn't be more obvious, could she?
She returned her gaze to the candles, feeling his eyes on her. "He never told be about the world on fire. I only learned recently from someone else. It seems I'm the only one who he hadn't shared this metaphor with." I wonder why, she left unspoken, yet it hung in the air as if she said it out loud.
"I believe it's because of the common sense."
Vera turned to him, confused and curious. "Because of the common sense?" she parroted, clueless.
"Don't you think most people – religious or not – see fire as an essential part of Hell?"
Vera thought about his words, nodding hesitantly, agreeing only partly – the religious ones? Sure. The others? Not so much... Vera herself always liked fire and she never thought of Hell when looking at it. And she wasn't an arsonist either.
"I think we can both agree that Hell is not something pleasant. And Matthew associated flames with Hell too. Perhaps it's a sin that he was always drawn to the candles when feeling this way. But there's the catch. Fire doesn't have to be synonymous with destruction and pain. It provides hope and safety as well. Candle in the dark. Torch illuminating the way, guiding. In some languages, hearth is associated with the warmth of family, home," he made a pause, his gaze getting more intense and Vera felt tiny under it, tears slowly appearing in her eyes with no real reason. She was crying too often, dammit. How awkward was crying in front of a priest? "Matthew's viewing of fire changed not so long time ago. He spoke of a woman then. A woman, who sure made him want to sin..."
Vera gulped, wondering whether she was reading this right and Father Lantom was talking about her now (she hoped he was, because...well) – and if she should be feeling guilty for that. She kinda didn't, in contrary, pride washed over her for a second; she quickly shook it off, well-aware that definitely was a sin.
"...But also made him to want to be a better man. And when he talked about her, he often compared her to the best kind of fire – the gentle one, safe, warm and bright - the candle, the torch, the hearth. The kind of fire he wouldn't stand dying out."
Vera gasped, not bothering with holding her tears anymore. She did wipe them away fast though, feeling silly. Jesus (blasphemy, Matt's voice admonished her in her head, she was swearing in a church, how idiotic was that, even if she only did it in her mind), just few words about fire and she was on the edge again.
Delicate touch on her shoulder made her jump. He ignored her startle, squeezing carefully. "I can't speak for God, but I can talk from experience. Matthew is a very stubborn man. Strong one too. And he always comes back to the candles for their warmth. This time will be no exception," he offered kindly and Vera closed her eyes, breathing in shakily. He always comes back to the candles for their warmth.
He would always come back to you.
Vera looked at him gratefully, trying her best to smile at the kind-hearted man. "Thank you, Father Lantom."
"You know my name. So he talks about me too, huh?" One corner of his lips raised, vivid spark appearing in his eyes.
The smile came easier after his note. "From time to time."
She might be leaving the church in relative peace, but it faded away too soon, during her afternoon shift. The conversation with yet another person close to Matt threw her over the edge, actually. She was punching the bag hard, soon exhausted as she was out of shape – she stubbornly continued until her legs felt too weak and she barely stumbled to her backpack, drinking whole bottle of water in one go, sitting down heavily. She was staring at the punching bag dully as it stopped moving too soon. When Matt was done with it, it kept swinging on the chain for god knows how long.
She huffed, pushing herself up, making herself to stretch at least a little so she was able to move the next day. She changed in hurry, packing her stuff as fast as possible. She walked home, alone, cold.
Hot shower, covers, charm on her neck and shot of whiskey to warm her chest.
Falling asleep, she thought of candlelight.
-----Notes:
Alright, this meeting was... a little unexpected to be honest. Not planned. So I hope it wasn't that bad, because these too spontaneous ideas usually don't end up very well.