A Beautiful Sin (25 page)

When Haven walked out the door, she didn’t know how wrong she was. She wasn’t the only one who had fallen. The thing was, I hadn’t known how far I’d plunged and had no idea how to pick myself back up. My heart felt as if it had been scraped raw as I watched her leave, and I wasn’t quite sure how it had all happened. That piece inside of me that gave me life was now so defective, I felt as if she reached inside of my chest and ripped it out of me. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. A man of the cloth was forbidden to love a woman. Even with the wall I had attempted to construct, I had failed completely.

With my thoughts on Haven, I carried the precious painting to my room. Setting it on my desk and resting it against the wall, I stared at it, lost in the intricacies of the details it contained. The complexities were mind-boggling and the fact that her small hands created it was proof that God had bestowed a mighty gift upon her. I sat on my bed, and as I did, traces of her lavender scent that still lingered on my pillows wafted up. I had washed my bedding but not the pillowcases. She wasn’t the only one with the crush after all—or far beyond a crush, as it were. Once again, the sinner in me reared its ugly head. There wasn’t enough penance in the world to make me atone for my transgressions. My daily routine of repenting would be longer and harsher than I had already made it. I now questioned whether I was worthy to even wear the holy cloth. It seemed that it had all been a mistake to grant me such an honor and privilege.

The weekend crept by, and on Sunday, my parents invited Bill and me over for dinner. It was a welcome distraction, moving my mind away from its sinful thoughts. Mom made her usual giant spread. There was enough food for the entire Holy Cross School. After we ate, we sat around and enjoyed an hour of congenial conversation before Bill and I left for home.

If I knew a way to purge thoughts of Haven from me, I would do it. Even though she was gone from my life, I saw her face in everything I did. I was a dying man trying to resurrect myself. Losing one’s heart wasn’t something I would ever recommend, and I’d never imagined how hopeless and pain-filled it left one feeling.

“Canaan?” Bill’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“Yes?”

“I’m expecting a call from the bishop any time. I wanted you to know, in case it came through while I was outside. The call has to do with that issue I spoke to you about several days ago.”

“Okay, if he calls and I answer, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Thank you.” Bill ducked back into his office. Whatever happened had to have been grave for Bill to get the bishop involved.

I didn’t ask Bill about his conversation with the bishop afterward, other than to see if he was okay. He seemed fine with the results, so that was okay by me.

Bill left the following Saturday morning to visit his parents. “I hate to leave you.”

“Are you serious? Family is important.” I did my best to reassure him.

“I know, but so is God.”

I smiled. “It would please God to know you’re taking care of your parents.” I reminded him about the priest who was stepping in on Sunday morning to say the nine forty-five Mass. “I’ll be fine. That leaves me with only two. It’s nothing monumental by any means. Now go.”

“Thanks. You make me feel better about leaving.”

“As you should,” I assured him. He got in his car and I watched him drive away.

Saturday was gloomier than usual. The clouds rolled in and rain threatened. I celebrated morning Mass and then later made my rounds at the hospitals and nursing homes. I held confession from two to four in the afternoon, so I brought my Bible and my phone in case there was a lull.

It had been a slow day, as expected. The rain started about noon and it seemed when it rained, people tended to stay home. I checked my phone to see what time it was and saw I only had another five minutes to sit in the small closet-like room. I figured that would be it until I heard the door open and close, and then someone knelt on the other side of the screen. I drew the screen back and gave my blessing to the confessor, and he began to speak.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one month ago.”

The voice on the other side was male, perhaps that of a very young teenager. It hadn’t quite developed the deep tone of an adult.

“Father, I’ve done something bad. Real bad.”

“What is it? What have you done that needs God’s forgiveness?”

He whispered the words. “I killed Father O’Brien.”

His confession hung in the small box, then it expanded until it felt as though it echoed and bounced off the walls. How was that possible? The detectives came by stating he’d died of natural causes.

“Did you hear me, Father?”

“Yes, yes, I heard you.” I swallowed, not knowing what to say.

“I didn’t mean to, but I know I did it.” There was definitely an edge of desperation in his tone.

In a voice that was much calmer than I felt, I said, “Go on.” This boy was mistaken, but something clued me into the fact that there was something much deeper buried beneath his words, and I wasn’t going to like what I heard.

“It was, uh, yeah, well…”

“It’s okay, son, you’re confessing and whatever you tell me stays between God, you, and me.”

His voice trembled as he answered, “O-okay. It happened after Saturday Mass. I stood up to him and told him I wouldn’t let him do it anymore, that I wasn’t going to take it again. And if he touched me one more time, I was going to tell everyone. Maybe even call the police.”

My apprehension worsened with every one of his faltering words.

“He started to say something about being a sinner, like he always did, but when his hand reached out for me, I was so mad that I didn’t think, and I just pushed him. I pushed him, Father, and he fell. I didn’t think I pushed him that hard, but I guess I did. And that’s what happened. I ran out of there as fast as I could because I didn’t want him to get up and chase me. I didn’t know I killed him until later.” The sounds of his anguished sobs penetrated the thin screen that separated us. My heart ached for this young boy because he had thought all this time he was responsible for the evil priest’s death.

Absolute guilt surged through me as my emotions choked me. If only I had spoken out, how many lives could I have saved from this same pain? One, five, a dozen? There was no telling. And here was this boy, kneeling before God, confessing to a sin he didn’t commit. I bore the liability for that as well. What a tangled web I had woven. The sin of omission had certainly come home to roost upon my shoulders, and its burden was heavy indeed.

“Take a deep breath, son, and let me show you the way through this.”
Lord Jesus Christ, please give me the strength to guide this young man and set him on the path of righteousness to Your door.
I could hear him breathing on the other side of the screen as his sobs lessened. When it was apparent he was more in control, I continued.

“I need to share information with you, but first you must understand something. Did Father O’Brien touch you inappropriately?”

“Yes, Father.”

“That was wrong of him. You must know that first off. When you pushed him away from you, that wasn’t wrong. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Second, the police investigated Father O’Brien’s death. They wanted to rule out anything that might be suspicious. They found that he died of a heart attack. When he fell, he did hit his head, but he was already dead. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You weren’t in any way responsible for his death.” I was as emphatic as I could possibly be here. It was imperative this child believe me. The thought did cross my mind that what the young man said to the molester may have precipitated his heart attack, but I didn’t share that with him. Could the fright of being discovered scare the priest into cardiac arrest? Who knew? Only God, and Father O’Brien had to face Him for all his atrocities on the day he died.

“I—I wasn’t?”

“Not at all. You did not kill him.”

I heard a long, slow sigh come from him.

“Being in the confessional grants you anonymity, but as your priest, I would like to ask a favor of you. Would you talk to someone about what happened to you with Father O’Brien? And I’m not talking about you pushing him. I’m talking about the other thing.”

When he said nothing, I added, “I know it’s difficult and that you may feel ashamed. But you shouldn’t. Even if you don’t tell your parents, would you at least come and talk to me about it later, and I could set you up with someone else, someone who could help you?”

“Help me?” he asked in a small voice. “He’s dead now, so I don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“That’s true, but it would help you deal with the other stuff. Like the nightmares you don’t tell anyone about.”

“How…?”

“I just…know. So will you think about it at least?” I would pray that he did so it wouldn’t ruin him for relationships later in life.

“Okay. And thanks for telling me. About his heart attack and all.”

“You’re welcome. And now I’m going to bless you and pray for you.” I said my usual prayers but added extras because he needed it. I saw myself in him—the way I was back then—and guilt and remorse suffocated me.

It was almost five forty-five when I got back to the rectory. I was saying Mass this evening because Bill was at his parents’. What I really wanted to do was to take a long stiff drink to erase what had just occurred. If it kept happening—boys and men confessing their interactions with Father O’Brien—I wasn’t sure what I’d do. A man could only take so much. And right now, I needed penance to help me deal with this. Forty-five minutes later, it was time to return to the church. The sacristy loomed before me and now my uneasiness overwhelmed me; all the strides I had made in the past months seemed to have fled. As I entered the room I hated so much, my body shook and I almost threw up on the threshold as the scent assaulted me. I fought it with every cell in my body, and when it was time to leave to say Mass, I was drenched in sweat.

I stood with my back to the wall. The air in my lungs had become solid, making it impossible to inhale or exhale.

“Father, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” It was Shelby.

Her jovial presence thawed the brick of ice in my chest. “I’m fine. Just a bit hot. Are you ready?”

She nodded, and I questioned whether I’d make it through Mass. My reasoning told me I’d been through much worse, so I figured this would be easy. I wasn’t sure how to feel when it was clear Haven had made good on her words. She wasn’t there. So I focused and lost myself in prayer. It was like riding a wave until it hit the shore. Celebrating Mass and the Liturgy had that effect on me. Afterward, though, thoughts of that young man and how he’d been suffering rushed into me again. I finished greeting the parishioners and luckily it had started pouring rain so nobody lingered.

Upon returning to the rectory, I walked straight to the cabinet where Bill kept the liquor and poured myself a Scotch. No ice. Straight up. It wasn’t my usual style, but I needed the burn of the numbing agent to ease the burn in my heart.

How many? The question kept tumbling in my head like a roll of the dice. If only I had a time machine. But I didn’t. Three drinks later and I felt no better. Why do they say alcohol numbs the pain? It wasn’t working on me. How much of the stuff would I have to drink before it did anything? My decision was made. I would drink until nothing mattered tonight. For one single night, I wanted to feel the absence of everything.

Standing, I poured myself one more when my phone rang. Reaching in my pocket, my heart came to a halt when I saw who was calling me. It was only yesterday when she said goodbye.

Saturday night I decided to pay a visit to Aunt Kathy. It had been a couple of weeks and it was nagging at me that I’d been a negligent niece. Now that my evening was free, I could do the right thing for once.

“You’re going without calling first?” Macie, my fierce protector, asked me.

“It’s fine. I’m sure he won’t be there. He doesn’t just hang around the house anyway, especially on a Saturday night.”

“How would you know? You haven’t lived there for years.”

She had somewhat of a point. But she didn’t know him like I did. When you lived with a man who beat you the way he had beaten me, you memorized his every move. “You’re right, I haven’t, but when I did, he never stayed home on Saturday nights and he certainly never took my aunt out. A man like Kent wouldn’t start staying home now. If I were to bet, I’d say he’d be spending more time away these days.”

“I don’t know, Haven. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go alone. I would go with you, but I’m afraid my mouth would land us both in more trouble.”

“You can’t go. You have a date with your hottie tonight. Don’t worry. I’m fine.” I didn’t give her any more chances to object because I ran out the door. I heard her telling me to be careful as I went.

When I got to Aunt Kathy’s, I wasn’t going to lie to myself—it was a relief not to see my uncle’s car parked out front. I rang the doorbell and there was no answer, so after what I thought was a reasonable amount of time, I rang it again. Maybe Kent had taken her out after all. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw the curtain move, so she was home. I fully expected the door to open, but when it didn’t, I began to get scared.