by Vi Keeland
“You sure? I’m known as a pretty good listener.”
“No offense, Father, but it’s a woman—not sure that’s your area of expertise.”
The priest smiled warmly and took a seat in the row in front of me. Turning to the side, he lifted a knee onto the seat and slung one arm over the back of the pew to face me.
“I might be married to the Lord, but I got a mother and four sisters.” He held up four fingers. “Four sisters. None of the bunch ever shut the hell up, so I know a lot about women.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a priest say hell unless he was referring to eternal damnation.”
He smiled. “It’s the new millennium, son. I have to keep up with the times. Even watch some of those Real Housewives shows when I go over to my sister Mary’s place. She’s addicted to that stuff.’”
“That sounds like a penance.”
“Yeah, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“That I can wholeheartedly agree with.”
“So what brings you out this fine evening? Don’t think I’ve seen you around at any of the masses. Are you new to the area?”
“No, actually I grew up here. St. Killian’s was my church when I was a kid.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “You back in town visiting family, then?”
“No. Dad passed away years ago. Mom doesn’t live here anymore. I just…I was…” No use lying to a priest. “Thought I’d go for a drive to clear my head, and somehow I found myself here.”
“Sometimes the path is created for us, and we can only follow.”
“I suppose…”
“So tell me about your girl. What’s her name?”
“Rachel.”
He nodded. “From the book of Genesis.”
“If you say so.”
“What’s been going on with Rachel that has you lost?”
“It’s a long story, Father.”
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
“You won’t like it very much. I haven’t honored the church too well. Or priests for that matter.”
His smile was inviting and nonjudgmental, even after I’d warned him off. “We all make mistakes, son. Sometimes getting it off your chest helps.”
There was nothing to lose, except his respect. I already had none for myself. Maybe a real confession was a long time coming.
So, I took a deep breath. “Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The priest took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Well, that was a doozy indeed, son.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. What you did all those years ago…while it might’ve begun for the wrong reasons—you skipping out on working, hiding in the confessional—you came back even after you didn’t have to be here anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, why did you keep coming back each week?”
“I knew something was off. The little girl…Rachel, I mean. She was scared. She seemed like she really needed someone to talk to about whatever was going on.”
“So you wanted to help her?”
“Yeah.” That was the truth. I had wanted to help. “But I didn’t go about it the right way. I should have told someone on day one, involved the police when I had my suspicions. Instead I played detective and got her hurt.”
The priest contemplated for a moment. “Why didn’t you go to an adult? There must have been a reason.”
“She was scared, skittish almost. I wasn’t sure what I suspected was right. I was afraid I’d scare her off and she’d trust no one after that.”
“Perhaps if you’d run off and informed the police after the first time you spoke to her, Rachel and her sister would’ve been too scared to admit the truth and denied anything was going on.”
I shook my head. “Maybe they would have told the truth and been taken out of that hell sooner.”
“Sometimes in life, pain is unavoidable, son. We do the best we can. It seems to me that you brought the situation to an end. Had you not come back that next week, it could have gone on for years. Many teenage boys wouldn’t have given up their Saturday afternoons to befriend a young girl.”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know.”
“Do you believe in God, son?”
It had been a long time since I walked into church, but that didn’t change my faith. As miserable as I was, and as screwed up as my connection to the church was, I still believed in a higher power.
“I do.”
“That’s good. You need to heed the destiny He has chosen for you. And the only way to honor that is to accept it and embrace it with truth.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“There is no such thing as coincidence. Coincidence appears to be a remarkable concurrence of events that have no plausible connection. But there is always a connection. God is always the connection.”
I was skeptical. “So you think God put us both in that confessional at the same time?”
“I do.” He was steadfast in his answer. “And even more importantly, I believe God brought you back together again for a reason.”
“And what’s that reason?”
“That.” He pointed a finger at me. “Is for you to figure out. It appears He’s giving you a second chance. What you do with it is up to you.”
I shook my head. Maybe he was right. Maybe we were back together for me to come clean with Rachel, or maybe this second chance was about something more. But doing the right thing by her was fifteen years in the making.
“Thanks, Father.”
He reached over and extended a hand to me. “I’ll give you some space so you can do what you came here to do—think.”
We shook. “Thank you.”
He stepped out of the pew, took a few steps toward the altar, and then turned back to me. “Four Hail Marys, two Our Fathers, and an act of faith.” Seeing the look on my face, he explained. “Your penance. I don’t believe in just saying prayers to atone for your sins. Sometimes I give an act of virtue of some sort as part of your contrition—an act of charity, an act of hope... I’m going easy on the prayers for you, but I want the act of faith to be significant.”
I sat alone in the back of the church for almost another hour, thinking. Eventually I decided it was time to go. But as I headed out, I couldn’t resist taking a look, returning to the scene of the crime.
I smiled when the door to the old confessional creaked open just like it used to. The inside looked almost exactly the same, maybe a little more time-worn. Taking a seat in that chair where everything had started, I took a look around. The decor hadn’t changed much either. Only a simple gold cross hung on the wall. I stared at it for a while, then my head fell into my hands and my eyes closed.
So many questions swirled around. Could there be some truth in that Rachel and her sister might have denied anything going on if I’d told someone right away? Could she forgive what I’d done and all the lies then and now? Even if she could, had Rachel already moved on? Is it better that she did? Seeing her earlier with Davis—the happy look on her face as she laughed—hurt like hell. I wanted to be the one to make her smile. Maybe that was my act of faith, part of my penance of sacrifice.
I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do. It was possible I was more confused now than when I’d wandered in. I know I’ve been a crap parishioner, but a sign might be nice.
Feeling defeated, I opened my eyes and looked down at the worn carpet. A shiny penny stared at me, heads facing up. I laughed and reached down to pick it up. Even after all these years, I could still hear her little voice.
“Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck.”
God, she was still with me. Even after all these years and everything we’d been through. How could I let her go?
And then it hit me.
I could let her go physically. But she’d be taking my heart with her. I needed to at least give her the truth and let h
er decide what to do with it.
Just like I’d done before when I sat in this seat, I flipped the copper penny over and over between my thumb and pointer. Closing it into my palm after a minute, I looked up at the cross.
“Thanks. I’m gonna need it.”
Rachel
If he really cared, he would have done something about it.
That was tough to accept. Even though Caine had given me no reason to hang on to hope, I had been. But tonight I felt like whatever I’d been clinging to had finally snapped.
“It’s killing me to see you like this,” Ava said.
We’d just locked up O’Leary’s at the end of the night. Since it had been slow, I’d done everything I needed to before we closed, except total out the register, which I was currently doing. I stopped counting and looked up at my friend.
“I’ll be fine. It was just a rough night.”
She took a seat at the bar. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told Davis you weren’t interested. He’s a nice guy. Might help you to get over the fuckwad.”
I smiled. Ava had been Team Caine right up until the moment I told her he’d broken things off. Now she had a wide assortment of names for him, none of which were Caine.
“I just don’t understand why he showed up here tonight.”
“Caine? I don’t know. But he didn’t look happy. He stared at the two of you sitting in that booth over there and didn’t even hear me call his name. I thought for sure he was going to storm over and throw a punch.”
Although that would have been upsetting, at least it would have shown me he cared. No man sees a woman he has feelings for and walks out. Especially the moment Caine had apparently walked in on. Finding out he’d stopped by O’Leary’s and left when he saw me holding hands with Davis felt like it was finally the end. I’d been imagining seeing something still there in his eyes. But Charlie had been right—if you want to know whether a man’s heart is still in it, show him you’ve moved on. I’d been seeing what I wanted to see instead of the truth.
“Well, he didn’t. And that says more to me than anything.”
“Men suck.”
I finished counting out the register and put the money in the leather bag we used to store it in overnight in the safe.
“That about summarizes things.”
On the drive home, I gave myself a pep talk. I was over Caine West—I hadn’t really fallen in love with him. It was just lust. My nine-month dry spell had me confusing the two. I needed to get out more, maybe date people my own age. This was for the best. Goodbye, Caine West. Tomorrow comes with or without you, so I don’t need you to continue.
I prescribed my own musical therapy on the way home. Listening to Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song” had me feeling that I was not only going to be fine, but was actually better off without Caine. I’m pumped to be dumped, I thought to myself, laughing.
I parked my car in the overpriced lot near my apartment and sighed audibly. Convincing my head was a heck of a lot easier than convincing my heart. And with those two at odds, my emotions were all over the place. I went from pumped to plummeted in the span of turning off the car and walking five blocks home alone.
Lost in thought, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. My footsteps were sluggish, and an unexpected panic hit me as I turned the corner to my building. I looked over my shoulder, across the street, up and down the block—all the while feeling a strong wave of anxiety. That feeling grew as I walked faster toward home. It wasn’t until I opened the outer door to my apartment building that the reason for my anxiety made itself known.
I jumped and screamed as I found someone standing in the vestibule. On instinct, I pulled back and punched as hard as I could, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Shit!” the intruder yelled.
Only…that voice. It wasn’t an intruder at all.
“Caine! What the hell? You scared the shit out of me. Again!”
His hand went to his face where I’d just decked him. “I can see that. You’re packing a pretty nice punch, Feisty.”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” My heart was beating out of my chest.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was ringing the bell. I figured you’d be home by now since O’Leary’s closed at midnight.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
He moved his hand, and I could see his cheek already starting to turn red and swell.
Caine nodded. “I deserved it anyway.”
Once the rush of adrenaline began to wear off, I realized my hand hurt, a lot. Opening and closing it, I wondered if I might have broken something.
“You hurt my hand.”
Caine pulled his head back. “I hurt your hand? You punched me.”
“Yeah, but it’s your fault for scaring the crap out of me. Again. What is it with you waiting in here anyway?”
“Let me see your hand.”
I held it out. It wasn’t cut or anything, but the knuckles on the middle and pointer fingers had started to swell. Caine took my hand in his and gently ran his thumb over my knuckles. A bolt of electricity shot through me that had nothing to do with the injury. I pulled my hand back quickly.
“That hurt?”
I lied. “Yeah.”
“We should put some ice on it.”
Hearing him say we, reminded me he shouldn’t even be here in the first place.
“What are you doing here?”
Caine looked down, then up at me. His beauty kicked my pulse up again. He looked tired and stressed, and had a lump growing on his face where I’d punched him, yet he was still absolutely gorgeous. The kind of handsome that never grows old because each time you’re amazed at the effect it has on you.
His voice was tender. “I need to talk to you. Please.”
“It’s late.”
“It can’t wait.”
When I hesitated before opening the door, he took that as a sign I might not be comfortable inviting him up.
“We could go get a cup of coffee or just take a walk, if you want.”
I dug into my purse for my keys. “No, it’s fine. I want to change out of my work clothes anyway.”
The elevator ride was awkward. The doors were silver and reflected Caine looking at me. I kept my eyes trained up, watching each floor illuminate as if the car was dependent on me for movement. The damn thing moved at a snail’s pace.
Inside my apartment, I went to the kitchen, dug a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and handed them to Caine. “Your cheek is swelling.”
“It’s fine. Use that for your hand.”
I set the bag down on the kitchen counter and practically ran to my bedroom to change, needing to gather my thoughts. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Twenty minutes ago, I’d been angry-singing “Fight Song” in the car, wishing the man a good riddance, and now I was getting my hopes up because he’d showed up at my door. I was pathetic. What was he doing here? Had he been drinking? He’d better not think he was showing up for a booty call. Sex with Caine. I cursed my libido for even considering it.
I changed into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, brushed my hair, and washed up. I might have even spritzed on some perfume. (Don’t judge.) As I was about to walk back to the living room, I realized I wasn’t in the right frame of mind yet. Grabbing my iPhone, I opened my playlist and scrolled until I found something to change my mood back to pissed off. I stopped at Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You.”
That’ll do.
Lying back on my bed, I shut my eyes, popped in my earbuds, and reset myself. After, I felt stronger and ready to face Caine.
He was in his usual spot, looking at the photos on the wall when I finally emerged.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I walked past him and headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water, though I really could have used something stronger.
“No, thanks.”
Twisting off the cap, I took a long drink while h
is eyes followed my every move. “So what do you need to talk about?”
“Could we sit?”
Caine waited for me to take a seat. I was closer to the couch but intentionally sat in the chair across from it so we wouldn’t wind up sitting too close. Tonight our roles were reversed. But I needed space to think straight when he was near.
After he sat, he clasped his hands together, rested his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head, staring down at his feet. I’d never seen Caine look so nervous. He was generally the epitome of composure. The longer the silence stretched between us, the more anxious I became.
After what was probably only two or three minutes, yet seemed like an eternity, Caine blew out a ragged breath. When he finally raised his head to look at me, his eyes were glassy and filled with pain. I wanted to reach out so badly, but I had to protect myself. Whatever was hurting him would soon be hurting me.
“I don’t know where to start,” his voice was hoarse.
There’s only one answer when a person looks as troubled as Caine did. “How about at the beginning?”
He nodded. “That’s where I should have started weeks ago.” He searched my eyes. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but can you promise me something?”
“What?”
“Hear me out until I finish.”
“Okay…”
Caine just kept shaking his head. “Do you remember the first night we met?”
“In the bar? Yes.”
“I said you looked familiar to me. You thought I was feeding you a line. At the time, I couldn’t place it, but after finding out you went to Brooklyn College, I chalked it up to having seen you around.”
I furrowed my brows. “Are you saying we met before?”
Caine nodded. His face was so solemn. “It was a long time ago.”
“Where did we meet?”
“In church.”
What the heck was he talking about? My head tilted to the side. “Church?”
Caine dragged his fingers through his hair and stared at me. The look on his face was breaking my heart.
“Do you remember going to St. Killian’s to talk to a priest every Saturday?”