The priest covered his face with his hands. “I thought you were on birth control,” he whispered angrily.

“I thought so too.”

Later that evening, Rosa Gambino sat on a motel room bed holding her baby in her lap. The baby was cooing and drooling. The bed’s mattress squeaked every time Rosa, or the baby, moved. Father Brady sat as far away from the pair as he could get, on an uncomfortable chair in a far corner of the room. They spoke in Italian.

“Why did you come here, Rosa?” he asked.

“Why did I come to Philadelphia?” The question seemed to startle her.

“Well?”

“I came here to find you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“But what good would your coming here do? What did you think you would accomplish? Do you want money?”

“I want you.”

“In what way do you want me? Do you want me to leave the priesthood and marry you?”

“Yes! I want you to return to Rome and marry me and take care of us. I want you to stop being a priest and find a job in Rome. I will also find a job. Not doing what I used to do, but something else. I will work in a department store. Or a beauty shop. I’m sure I can find a job. I’m sure you can too. And then we can live like other people do. Like a family.”

“And where will I work?” asked Father Brady. “In a beauty shop too?” The priest made a strange sound that might have been a laugh.

“You will find a job,” she said. “I will too. We will be together. The three of us. Look at your daughter. She is beautiful, no?”

“Yes, she is beautiful.”

For the first time, Rosa Gambino smiled.

“I don’t know the first thing about babies.”

“You’ll learn,” said Rosa Gambino. “Do you want to hold your daughter?”

“I’ll drop her.”

“No, you won’t.”

“They cry all night.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“You have to burp them. I don’t know how to do that.”

“I’ll show you.”

“I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. Do you want money?” the priest asked, returning to his priestly demeanor. “I don’t have much but I can get—”

“I don’t want money. I want you. I love you.” Rosa lifted a full breast from her blouse and let the baby suckle. “Do you love me?” she asked.

“I’m very…fond of you.”

“Fond of me?” she said, looking up at the priest. “Fond of me?”

“Yes. I am very fond of you,” said Father Brady, trying to sound enthusiastic, “and…and—”

“Well, I’m not fond of you,” said Rosa Gambino. “I love you. But if you don’t love me, if you are only fond of me, and if you do not intend to come back with your daughter and me to Italy, then…”

“Then what?” said the priest in a cold voice.

“Then I do want money. Lots of money.”