Fr. Dick gave Jake and his wife a start at 5 o’clock mass on Saturday the 20th, Inauguration Day, year of the Florida Recount.
“It’s over,” he said at the start of his sermon, begun after detaching the microphone from the lectern and whipping the cord free so he could leave the sanctuary and come toward us in the half-empty or half-full church depending on your rate of metabolism.
The Christmas season, thought Jake. So did his wife, she told him later. So would their twenty-something eldest child, if she had been there, he later learned.
No. Something else was over. Perhaps the Clinton presidency, which Jake had already celebrated in his usual quiet fashion — right fist shaken once, about eye level, silently. He did not expect to celebrate it again here, at holy mass.
Not a problem. Something was over that Fr. Dick never quite spelled out. His sombre tone said it. His guy had lost . . .