The car wasn’t what you’d expect a priest to drive. It was a bright candy-apple red with matching seats, dashboard, and steering wheel, but he’d explained to my father that the church had managed to get a very good price on it at an auction and they were planning to respray it once they had enough funds to do so.

Da surprised me by coming to the farmhouse to say his farewell. It was the third day of the new year and there was much to be seen to after the Christmas break. With a productive two hours of sunlight remaining until dusk, I’d expected him to take full advantage of them.

Da was many things—a violent drunk who had absolutely no farming acumen or business savvy, a man who was not well-liked or even grudgingly respected—but I’d never considered him to be a hypocrite. I could only conclude then that his tears at my departure were genuine, and that they either came from some well of feeling he’d always managed to keep hidden, or that what he was feeling was regret.

Perhaps he looked back and saw himself for what he’d been to me: a brutish father who, though he’d shown himself capable of tenderness toward Ruth, had never shown me anything but disdain.

“Ah made ya a key,” he said in his thick brogue, holding it up. Its gold contours glinted in his dirty fingers, the nails permanently rimmed with mud. “In case ya ever change ya min’ an’ decide ya wan’ to come home.”

“I won’t,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness. It stung that he thought I’d fail at the one thing I wanted most in the world.

“Still, it’s always good to ken tha’ ya have options,” Da said. “I’ve chiseled oot a hole in this here statue,” he said, indicating one of the concrete angels Ma collected. It was the only one that didn’t look somber, so I’d be able to tell it apart from all the others.

“Trust Da to pick the one that looks drunk,” Ruth said, and I smiled.

“It’s wedged tight in here, see?” Da said, slipping the key into the hole at the angel’s base and then letting it drop with a thunk. He came over to me and I thought for a moment that he was going to embrace me, but his arms never rose higher than his ribs before he dropped them again. “It will always be there. Ah promise ya tha’.” He leaned forward to give me a quick peck on the forehead. He smelled of a mixture of sweat, manure, and tobacco. “Goodbye an’ good luck.”

“I won’t need luck,” I said. “I have God. He’s all I need.”