The Consequence of Secrets - Part Two: A Priest Romance (3 page)

“Is everything alright, Father Daniels?” Deacon Salisbury asks me at dinner that night. We were talking about the latest crop yielding from the community garden project he champions, and somewhere between the tomatoes and the cucumbers, my mind drifted toward Emma Williams, the way she makes me feel and more importantly, the danger she is in.

“Of course,” I say, cutting off a slice of beef from the meal the Deacon’s wife, Carol so kindly prepared for us all. “Just a little tired, I suppose.”

“I've noticed you in reflection a lot these past weeks,” Father Matthew adds, backing up Deacon Salisbury’s observations of my recent behavior.

“I have a lot on my mind, I suppose.”

“It’s hard vocation for a young priest. Not having second thoughts about your calling?”

Frowning, I shake my head. “Why would I be having second thoughts?” I ask, wondering if perhaps one of them observed Emma and me together at some point and picked up on something.

“Because you’re young, and you’re living in a seaside town full of temptation,” Father Matthew explains.

“Plus, there’s been quite the influx of pretty young girls coming to mass on Sundays, and your confessional hours are getting a little crowded,” Deacon Salisbury adds.

“And over perfumed!” Carol coughs, miming the stench by waving her hand in front of her face.

“It can just be very hard to reconcile oneself with their vows in a place like this,” Father Matthew adds. “I recall myself struggling for a time.”

“He used to surf,” Carol points out as she begins clearing away some of the empty plates.

Father Matthew chuckles. “I did. I grew up around here, so it was something I loved to do on my days off. But there was a girl,” he goes on.

“There’s always a girl,” Deacon Salisbury laughs, giving his wife a conspiratorial wink.

“Yes,” Father Matthew continues. “There always seems to be that one girl who makes you question your path and mine was a girl I never really said goodbye to. Her name was Molly Rivers, and we were sweethearts in high school. Then she moved away and I answered my calling, and by the time I'd finished seminary and returned to Newport so had Molly. I would see her almost every time I went surfing, and soon I realized I was going surfing
because
of her…” He runs his hand over the top of he's greying hair as he obviously relives the memory.

“So, what? You just gave up surfing?" I ask, urging him to continue. It’s kind of nice seeing father Matthew as something other than my ageing colleague.

“No. Not at first. First I did what any good priest would do, and I prayed for guidance. I warred with what I wanted and what God wanted and whether I really belonged in the priesthood, and eventually, He did give me a sign, and I knew where I belonged.”

“What was the sign?” I ask.

“It was Molly coming to me as a friend to discuss her feelings for another man,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping to the side of his coffee cup where he moves his fingers to wipe away a drip. “I was heartbroken at the time, but in the end, I realized that He was showing me that I’d made the right choice in the first place, and after that, surfing just didn’t hold its appeal anymore. I suppose I was trying to hold on to my old life a little bit too much.”

Watching the old priest, I feel a great sadness over his story. While I’m sure that the priesthood has brought him great comfort in his love and support of his parish, I can’t help but wonder if that girl was just trying to make him jealous so he’d fight for her. Although, what do I know? I sucked at relationships and rarely had a girlfriend last more than a week or two before I took my vows.

“Is um…is there a reason behind this story, or are you just concerned about all the pretty girls in the church?” I ask, looking between the deacon and the priest. Deacon Salisbury glances at his wife, and I take a sip of water while I wait for them to spit it out.

“We’ve noticed you spending a lot of time talking to Ms Williams and well, today, you seemed…close,” Deacon Salisbury explains.

“I see,” I say. “And you’re worried I’m trying to woo a married woman?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Father Matthew adds. “The church loses many a man to his heart and his yearnings.”

“That’s possibly because the church needs to enter the twenty-first century and lift the celibacy vows. If an Episcopal Priest can marry then convert to Catholicism and remain married, then perhaps that loophole should apply to all of us.”

“Are you saying there is something going on between you and Ms Williams?” Father Matthew asks, looking at my under arched eyebrows.

I shake my head. “No. I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying that if they changed the rules then Carol and the Deacon wouldn’t have had to marry in secret the moment they turned eighteen, and you, Father Matthew, you would have been able to pursue Molly instead of praying about it and losing her to some other guy.”

“If that’s the way you see it, then why did you become a Catholic Priest?”

“Because like you, I answered a calling, and I truly believe in this faith and feel that I can do a lot of good in the community and with our youth as a priest. And for your information, I wasn’t sitting in our church trying to break my vows with a married woman. In case you haven’t noticed, she hasn’t been especially well lately, and I’ve been praying for guidance on how best to help her, because unlike most of the girls who fill up my confessional time, Emma Williams really does need help. Frankly, I’m disappointed that neither of you noticed there was a problem before, or were you all just too scared of losing the money her father throws our way to say anything?”

“What are you insinuating?” Father Matthew asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

I shake my head and stand from the table, taking my half eaten plate of food in my hand. “I’m not insinuating anything. I’m simply trying to follow the He is guiding me along,” I say, before thanking Carol for dinner and removing myself from the situation, knowing that from now on, I’m going to have to be very careful of how I interact with Emma. We are being watched. 

My heart seems to lodge itself in my throat as I present Gabe with the fake test, my hands sweating, and my breathing shallow.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking at the long box I’ve sat on the table in front him instead of his meal. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make this special, and around it is a pale blue ribbon, and I can see the hope in his eyes when he picks up the white cardboard and looks back at me.

What if he doesn’t believe me?

“Open it and you’ll find out,” I smile, standing beside him with my hands clasped together in front of me. I’m nervous as hell.

What if he asks me to take another one?

Smiling, he pulls the ribbon and removes the lid, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the man I thought I was marrying – the handsome man with the boyish grin whose genuine smile could light up an entire room. “We did it?” he asks in a whisper, looking at the pregnancy test then back to me.

“We did,” I tell him. “Although, it’s early days so we need to be careful still.”

He looks down at the test again then back up at me before he jumps up from his seat and picks me up by the waist, twirling me around in a circle before setting me back down and dropping to his knees, his hand splayed out across my abdomen. “You’ve just made me that happiest man on the planet,” he says, looking up at me as he presses his ear where his hand was. “I just know it’s going to be a boy too. I had a feeling this would be our month.”

Standing up, he wraps me in his arms and kisses me passionately, telling me over and over again how wonderful the news is. And for a moment, I feel intensely guilty for being so deceitful but I remind myself this is self-preservation. 

“Go and put on that new dress I bought you, I’m taking you out to celebrate,” he announces, holding on to me by the tops of my arms as he peers into my face. “Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic,” I lie, smiling broadly, because in truth, even though I feel a little guilty, most of all, I’m petrified that he’s going to find out I’m lying, and I’ll never see Braden again.

The next day, I expected to have Braden slip into the pew next to me again, but instead, I found Father Matthew was in residence instead. Finding that odd, I spend a little less time in the church than normal then try to call Braden using the number I have from when Jules and I were helping at the youth center. I want to tell him that I used the test and that we have maybe three months to come up with a plan and execute it, and hopefully it will involve putting Gabe behind bars and throwing away the key.

I feel jittery and I need to talk. I’m nervous about what I’ve begun with Gabe, so when he doesn’t answer, I head to the Youth Center anyway, to see if perhaps Braden is there and just doesn’t have his phone on him.

“Hello?” I ask, pushing open the entry door. The lights are on, and the first thing I notice is the mural along the back wall. It’s coming along beautifully, and looks so colorful and happy with the children’s drawings stretching along the brickwork. I’m so glad they went ahead with it as it will be beautiful when it’s all done.

Stepping inside, I continue to look around, but no one is on the first floor that I can see, although, I can hear a rushing noise from the basement and head toward it, walking carefully down the stairs that are lit with a single bulb and down into the darkness.

“Hello?” I call louder, the rushing noise so much louder in the vast space below, but ahead, where the basement opens out, I can see where the noise is coming from. The pool is being filled, and to the side of it, is Braden, standing at the edge looking in at the water as the internal lights cause the surface of the half filled pool to shimmer in a mess of color from the tiles below.

“Braden,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm gently to alert him to my presence. When he turns, his beautiful face lights up with a smile as his blue eyes dance and reflect the soft glow from the pool.

He reaches out and takes my hand, bringing me to stand next to him so we’re looking down at the filling pool together.

“What do you think?” he asks in a yell, the rushing noise like a waterfall as the water inches upward.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s your eyes,” he yells, moving his hand about to indicate the surface. You can’t see the mural below, so all there is are the various colors bouncing in the tiny waves.

I give his hand a gentle squeeze and look up at him, wishing for a moment that we really were standing next to a waterfall, and that I wasn’t married to a wife beater, and he wasn’t standing in front of me with his clerics and collar on, and I wasn’t lying about being pregnant and trying to find a way to disappear. I just wish that things were simpler instead of being so damn complicated all the time.

Looking down at me, his eyes have a sadness in them as he presses his lips together in a smile then reaches up and gently runs the backs of his fingers against my cheek. His mouth moves but I don’t know what it is he said. It’s far too loud for me to hear him speak without yelling. But, I don’t really need his words; I can see what’s about to happen in his eyes.

Slowly, he lowers his mouth to mine. At first, it’s soft – a simple teasing of lips as his nose brushes lightly over my cheek and I feel his breath wash over my face, warm, sweet, and tempting. Then comes a soft suck as he pulls at my bottom lip, his breath shaking slightly as he drops his forehead against mine, and just breathes, his eyes locked on mine as if he’s trying to decide what to do. But I’m of no help, I’m practically frozen by his gaze, drawn to his movement and completely unable to speak or even think.

His hand releases mine, and his fingertips run lightly up the length of my arms, up to my shoulders and then to my neck where he slides them into my hair and just holds me there as he moves his head, lightly brushing his cheek against mine before trailing the tip of his nose along my cheekbone, his warm breath tickling until I feel his lips next to mine again. He pauses, and I shake, my mouth opening as I release a gasp, getting so turned on by this display of not kissing.

I feel as though I may die, and I chase his lips with mine, coming up empty when he drops his chin and keeps that short distance between us, forehead to forehead.

The noise of the water continues to fill the room, deafening me as I watch his chest rising and falling rapidly as his hands move down to the neckline of my blouse, his fingers trailing along the edge of the fabric, gently brushing along my skin. With his index finger, he presses lightly against the pearl button, rolling around its edge as if daring it to break free. Then he pulls at the fabric around it, and it slides through the hole with a soft pop, causing me to shudder, and for the area between my legs to ache as he reaches just one finger inside and slides it against my chest.

He rolls his head from side to side, still pressed against mine, and I fight to focus on his features through both my arousal and the sheer closeness of his face to mine. My lips burn, and my body aches. I’ve never felt this; I didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this.

The next button pops open, and I feel his fingers trail along the curve of my breast above the lace of my bra. His lips brush over my cheek, all the way up to my eye. I can’t stop shaking as his hands move to work my next button open then my next, until my blouse is open to my waist and his hands are feathering across the skin of my quivering stomach. They work their way across my ribs, ghosting over my breasts then feather light again, up to my shoulders where he pushes my blouse off my shoulders, his hands shaking slightly as he slides them down my arms to my elbows then just holds them there. His fingers move lightly against my skin as he takes a deep breath then lifts his head to meet my eyes. They stay there for only a moment before moving down to my exposed body, filled with longing and compassion as he sees everything that I hide.

His fingers move with his gaze, tracing the different marks on my skin – scars, bites, and bruises in varying shades, as well as cut marks from those early days when I became unhinged. It’s all there, all in front of him for him to see, and he touches every one of them reverently before finally returning to my eyes with tears in his.

Seeing his expression is enough to send me over the edge. My tears fall. This moment is all too much for me to bear – every moment with him is too much for me to bear. I don’t understand how his touch can have me feeling so undone.

His hands move again to my face, brushing away my tears, smoothing over my hair as his own tears fall. Then he steps forward and kisses me.

He kisses me long, slow, and deep, his tongue like velvet against mine, curling my toes, making me weak at the knees, barely able to stand. It’s as if he owns my soul and in this moment. I want nothing more than for him to take me where we stand. I want him to break his vows for me. It’s wrong, I know, but I want to be wrong with him and try to kiss him with enough passion to communicate that.

Then the lights turn on.