One afternoon, as Father Jim sat in his recliner, he told Mark, “Hop up.”
They met that way, just twenty to thirty minutes at a time, once or twice a week, throughout that year – never a sexual touch, only the slow, emotional seduction, sealed with a kiss. “His kissing me was meant to be like kissing my father. “He talked so much about kissing,” says Serrano today. “Now give me a kiss goodbye.” As he spoke, he put his lips to Mark’s. “You kiss your father good night,” said Hanley. Mark had no idea his dad called him that. “Your father tells me you kiss him every night before you go to bed,” Hanley went on. “I love you” was one phrase Mark hadn’t heard them say. But they were reticent about putting every emotion into words. His mom and dad encouraged all of the children and were generous with hugs and kisses. “You’re such a good kid,” Hanley said, smiling.
He had just turned ten when one day Hanley invited him into his bedroom. Mark started out visiting after school or on Saturdays, maybe once or twice a week. If no response came, you knew to return another time. When Hanley’s voice boomed down, “Yeah?” you could head up. To visit Father Jim, you first had to ask the housekeeper.
