Beauty and the Blitz (42 page)

“I was supposed to protect you.”

“Stop—”

“The thoughts I had of you…the things I wanted to do.” His smile turned cold. “I pinned you beneath me and plunged into you, and if my body hadn’t betrayed me in exhaustion, I’d still be rutting you. You wouldn’t have left that altar. I’d have taken my fill of your innocence and left you…
broken
.”

“You can’t break me.”

He snorted. “I sacrificed your virtue.”

“I gave it willingly.”

“I desecrated your body.”

“We took our
pleasure
, Father.”

“I
fucked
you like a whore!”

I flinched, but he wouldn’t win this fight.

“That night meant more to me than you realize,” I said. “Not all sin is born of hatred or because we turned on the Lord. Sometimes we think we’re unforgiveable, but we’re forced to look past the shame to see
why
we led ourselves into darkness.
You
taught me that, Father. You’ve preached that one simple truth. Look deeper. Confess the
cause
, not just the sin.”

“I told you my reasons,” he said.

“And they’re wrong. We sinned together, but not because we wanted to fall from grace. We were together because we’re looking for something beautiful.”

“It wasn’t beautiful, Honor. I see that now.”

He turned from me, frustrated. His desk cleared of clutter, and that was good. The tension straining his arms might have cast anything within arm’s reach to the floor.

He grunted. “What I did to you was horrific. I made you kneel. I made you take me in your mouth. I had you beneath me because, in my mind, that’s where you belonged. On your knees. On your back. You were the object of my pleasure, and I meant to take you that night in every way that would have satisfied
me
.”

“Good thing I liked it then.”

“It wasn’t my intent.”

He lied, and he knew it. That was why he fell into silence. It must have been. He didn’t know what he believed anymore, about his faith or about himself. It was the first time I saw him truly frustrated.

Or was he frightened?

“That night wasn’t about desecrating my church,” he said. “I wanted to control you. That’s what sex is. Not the pleasure we feel but the power we
take
from another’s body. I took you because it made me feel
powerful
. Now do you understand?”

The implication hurt. “Was that all you think it was? Just a way for you to be cruel to me?”

“That’s the
world
, Honor. I would have protected you from it…if I hadn’t proven how vile I could be.”

“Stop it.” I met his gaze, but I didn’t recognize the man behind the self-inflicted darkness. “Father.
Rafe
. Don’t you understand what you’re saying? You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. Nothing is unforgivable. You preach that. You
taught
me that—”

“You don’t know the thoughts in my mind.”

“And you don’t know what I feel in my heart. What does yours say, Father? What do you feel in your soul?”

“I’ve lost my soul. I’ve destroyed myself. I’ve destroyed everything I loved. My faith. My willpower. My
honor
. And what remains is a demon of a man who wants nothing more than to violate you again, prove my power with every groan of my name upon your lips.”

I wished he had told me the night meant nothing to him. That I was an excuse for a man to explore his sexuality and
get off,
easy and quick.

But Father Rafael had done all he could to make that night something dark and beautiful. The candles. The altar. The oils. The gifted rosaries. He meant to explore that wicked sin with me.

And I had felt something then.
Him
. The real Raphael. A man, gentle and loving and
hurting
. Hurting so much. Hiding that pain and struggling every day with the reality of the burdens he carried. Something happened to him that perverted his view of sex and desire. Something that prevented him from understanding why I offered my body and soul.

I would have helped him. I would have healed him.

But he didn’t want that redemption.

He didn’t even
try
.

“You aren’t a monster, Father,” I whispered. “You’re broken. Let me in, and I’ll help you.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask for your help or forgiveness.”

“Ever?”

“No.”

But I would have given it if he would have let me care for him.

I turned without a word. I never thought anything would hurt more than the fear of losing my soul.

This was worse.

I lost him. And I couldn’t save us both.

I couldn’t save us at all.

Father Raphael didn’t try to stop me as I left his office, and he didn’t emerge during the festival preparations. Hours passed in useless discussion about foods, vendors, and setting the stage for the choirs, but I didn’t remember a word that was spoken. After night fell, and after a quick choir practice with Alyssa and Samantha that I requested just so I didn’t have to return home, I finally left.

I drove slowly and cleared Mom’s recent call from my phone. I’d have to face her tonight. She deserved an explanation. I had no idea how to begin or if it was worth opening old wounds, but sitting outside the apartment wouldn’t help. The prayer didn’t work either, but I gripped Father Raphael’s rosaries anyway.

My key stuck in the apartment door, and I groaned. I jiggled the handle. It didn’t move. I knocked. Twice. Three times. Mom didn’t answer. I knew she went to bed early these days, but it wasn’t even ten.

I pounded louder. Nothing. I gritted my teeth, slamming a hand against the key lodged in the knob. The door finally yielded. The lights were out, and I groped my way inside.

“Mom?” My voice echoed, even in the small space. “I’m back.”

She didn’t answer. Probably asleep. I turned the corner and tripped over her slipper.

My mother lay collapsed upon the hallway floor.

B
enjamin died
at seven-thirty in the evening.

I made it to the hospice at seven forty-five.

His skin wasn’t even cold when I’d kissed his forehead. The nurses said it happened quickly. That was a lie. The cancer had been eating through him for the past six months.

Now he was gone. Welcomed into Heaven and into the loving embrace of our Lord.

I had come to confess to Benjamin, but I arrived too late to say goodbye.

And my sins would die with him.

No other man would understand what I had done. No one would see through the sins and recognize the pain beneath. Only Benjamin would know I hadn’t acted in defiance. I fell because I had no other way to rationalize the darkness inside me.

A darkness that split, cracked, and faded in the light of Honor’s touch.

She’d kissed me, and I’d felt whole.

She’d touched me, and I’d felt healed.

She’d offered herself to me, and I’d felt…

Something more damning to a priest than just the temptation of lust. Something that would ruin us both. I could confess away the filth of sex, but what stirred deep in me wasn’t so easily cleansed.

My first, only, and primary concern had to be to the church. To Christ. To my parish.

Anything more, even something as pure and natural as the wrong feeling for the right woman, was a greater betrayal to my collar than what happened on that altar.

Even Benjamin would have warned against those feelings.

I stayed with him for a while, but without his voice, without his guidance, it only pained me. I’d lost my mentor. My spiritual and surrogate father.

The only man I’d trusted with the truth of my past.

I left the hospice and let the nurses and funeral directors handle him. The diocese would arrange the funeral Mass. At least I’d be there. I couldn’t let him go without offering my own final prayer. Benjamin deserved that.

He’d tried so hard to help me.

It wasn’t his failure. It was mine.

I returned home to sit in the dark and quiet. I’d cleaned the house, but I still smelled candied apples. Still saw her outline in my sheets. Imagined her in my kitchen. The forbidden fruit that conquered me wasn’t plucked from a tree, it had been baked in the oven. And before I tossed the chocolate cake away, I had a piece.

It was the best cake I’d ever had.

And in another world, another time, another life, I might have been able to enjoy it. That slice. More slices. Maybe we always would have had cake after dinner.

I had whiskey to drink, but the glass stayed half full as the ice melted. My phone rang after a few hours, close to midnight.

The damn phone tree. I imagined they heard the news. Except the phone number wasn’t Judy heralding a charge.

It was the hospital.

I answered with a rasped greeting. The nurse chattered quickly, the usual for a page to someone in dangerous need.

“Father Raphael, we had an admission tonight from your parish.”

Not good news, but it rarely was. “Do you need me?”

“She’s stabilized now, but it might be good of you to come and give a bit of comfort. Her daughter is here now.”

“Who?”

“I’m sorry, Father. I’m only relaying the message. The patient was admitted by ambulance. Drug overdose.”

My blood drained, cold and useless.

Drug overdose
?

Honor’s mother. Donna.

I swore, grabbing my car keys. “I’ll be right there.”

I sped to the hospital. Fortunately, it was late, traffic was light, and the police were without their radar detectors. But nothing would have kept me from reaching Honor.

My poor angel. She’d confessed more than just her reservations about her mother. She’d whispered her fears without words. Relapses. Debts. Sicknesses. The loss of her father. Everything wound within her mother’s former addiction, and even a woman as bright and good as Honor couldn’t see past the darkness to forgive what had happened.

I rushed into the hospital, and the staff directed me to the ICU’s waiting room. They didn’t know Donna’s condition, but they didn’t call me into her room. That was good news. At least I could deliver that to Honor.

I found her sitting alone on a bench in the back of the waiting room, her purse at her left, an uneaten candy bar to her right, and a bottle of Coke at her feet. She hugged her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Tiny. Waiting.

Not broken yet.

But close.

“Honor.”

She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw me. Shock stiffened her movements, but she shed her fears and scrambled from the chair.

I took her in my arms, clutching her close as her fists twisted in my cassock.

Her words muffled in my shoulder. “If you’re here—is she…?”

“It’s okay,” I murmured. “I was called because it was a member of my parish, not…”

I needed to educate the congregation on when it was appropriate to anoint the sick, but now wasn’t the time. I stroked her hair, held her close, and let her lean against me as her nightmares came to life.

“She was on the floor,” Honor whispered. “I walked in. I don’t know how long she had been there. I didn’t answer the phone when she called.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“She needed me.”

“And you got her help.”

A page rang over the hospital. Honor still held me, burrowing her face against my chest. Her hair bundled over her shoulders, and my rosaries still hung over her neck. She was warm but trembling. Tense but soft. She fit so perfectly against my body, it was like she was created specifically to nestle within my arms.

She tensed, speaking so softly I didn’t know if was her voice or my conscience.

“Are you allowed to hold me like this?”

I clenched my jaw. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting you go.”

In more ways than one.

Nothing was wrong with holding her like this unless it meant more to me than a moment of comfort. Maybe that’s what I did. Maybe I rubbed her back to ease the strain in her shoulders. Maybe I leaned down to shelter her from the harsh lights and screeching pages. Maybe I hated to see a member of my congregation in pain.

Or maybe I held her because Honor’s fear and sorrow struck through me like a spear to my side.

Maybe I held her because I’d do anything to spare her this pain.

Just as I’d do anything to see her happy.

Smiling.

Laughing.

I had taken her. Kissed her. Lost myself inside her. But I had nothing to make her
happy
. That urge endangered us both.

Another page. A nurse hurried down the hall.

Honor pulled away.

At least she had the strength to do it.

“Sit,” I said. It came out as an order, another command. I gentled my voice. “Is there anything I can get for you? Are you hungry?”

“I can’t eat.”

She curled her legs back under her. Shivering.

For any other woman, any other parishioner, I wouldn’t have compromised myself. For Honor, my lost and frightened angel, I’d have sacrificed anything. I wrapped an arm over her shoulders and let her rest her head against my shoulder.

And the touch damned my heart.

“What happened?” I asked.

She shook her head. Not yet then. I understood. I had waited with enough anxious families during these types of problems.

I loved the church and my role within in it, but I could do only so much. In the moments after quiet prayer, I was just the same as anyone else waiting for the mercy of the Lord.

After ten minutes—and eight hundred and fifteen pounding beats of my heart—she finally spoke. Softly. Pained.

“The women at the church saw her taking something the other day.”

No one had come to me with that information. “Did they say what it was?”

“A pill.”

My heart ached. Honor shifted. She nestled closer to me. I allowed her to rest, and she heaved a reluctant breath.

“I was at choir practice when they told me. The night…”

“In the Mary garden.”

“Yeah.”

I gritted my teeth. That was the night I let the darkness corrupt me. Maybe if I had fought my desire, I might have seen a woman in pain. One who needed me, her priest and her…

Nothing else. Just a priest.

“I should have been at home more.” Honor sighed. “I just couldn’t be there with her. Everything’s changed. I lost my home. I left college. I came back to this, and she was so…different.”

“I understand.”

“We fought this morning. She pulled almost two hundred dollars in cash from the bank account, money we can’t afford to be without.”

I recognized those signs. She didn’t need to say anything else. I rubbed her shoulder, and her shudder tore through me.

“I came back tonight, and I was upset. I was mad at her. I was mad at myself.” Her voice lowered. “I was mad at you, Father.”

That I also understood.

“She was passed out on the floor. I couldn’t wake her up. It was just like the times when I was a kid. I’d find her sick. Unresponsive.” She swallowed. “So selfish.”

She twisted from me, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to say it. Not while she’s sick.”

“It’s okay.” I cupped her cheek. “This was a fear of yours.”

“Can…
doubt
make things happen?”

She asked so sincerely, so desperately, I didn’t know how to respond. “Doubt?”

“I never believed that she’d stay clean. I always thought this would happen again. I didn’t believe in her, and now I’m just thinking…what if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“What if it is?”

“We want to feel powerful,” I said. “We look for reason and meaning in all things, but you know as well as I do, we have no control over others.”

If only I had learned that weeks ago.

Honor shrugged. “It’s God’s will?”

“I was talking about our own influence. How much we can guide and help another person. We want to protect them. We want to live up to their expectations, and them ours.” I brushed her soft cheek. “Sometimes it can feel like the greatest success or the worst failure, but every person is their own. We can’t control them, but, the lucky ones get to stay with them, support them, love them in whatever decision they make.”

She stared at me, shaking her head. “You’re such a mystery, Father Rafe.”

“I don’t try to be.”

“You have a good soul.”

“I doubt that.”

“I don’t. I can feel it.” She touched my hand. “And I’m grateful for it.”

That innocent touch would heal a thousand wounds to my heart and still cause the final slice that would end it all.

Footsteps shuffled into the waiting room. Honor stood, facing the pot-bellied doctor carrying his stethoscope, lab coat, and cup of coffee.

“Miss Thomas?” He asked. “I’m Doctor Bartlett. Let’s take a seat.”

I whispered to her, leaning close. “I’ll wait just down the hall. Come get me when you need.”

“No.” She spoke quickly. “Please. Can you stay?”

It wasn’t the first time a family asked me to stay while the doctor delivered news—good or bad. Whether it was an ill parent, a spouse in a car accident, a child in surgery, or the widowed wife of a soldier delivering their child alone, I had often stayed to help.

So why did I feel
relieved
to know Honor wanted me to stay? She wanted me to help her.

To be with her.

Doctor Bartlett exhaled as he sat at the nearby table, rubbing his hip as Honor clamored to her seat. He sipped his coffee as if it were his first break all evening.

“Well, your mother is a very lucky woman,” he said.

Honor didn’t believe him, and she wasted no time. “Was it Oxy or something else? I always knew she’d find a knock-off or something more dangerous.”

“Oxy?” Doctor Bartlett tapped the chart in his hand. “I know your mother has an extensive history of substance abuse, but it wasn’t painkillers tonight.”

Honor sat back. “Oh God. Please, tell me it wasn’t heroin.”

She found my hand under the table.

Squeezed.

I squeezed back.

“Miss Thomas, your mother took too much of her blood pressure medications.”

Honor blinked. “And it…causes a high?”

I hadn’t expected that. I leaned closer to her. “Honor, the doctor is saying this was an
accident
.”

She didn’t understand. “An accident?”

Doctor Bartlett flipped through the charts. “Her prescriptions look similar in size, shape, and color. Tell me, has she experienced any confusion lately? Forgetfulness maybe?”

“Yes. She’s…” Honor shrugged. “The drug use scrambled her a bit.”

“Has she displayed any behaviors which would lead you to believe she wanted to hurt herself?”

Her lip trembled. “No…but we had a f-fight…”

I answered for her. “No, Doctor. Donna’s a member of my parish. I didn’t know her when she was sick, but she’s nothing but vivacious and lively now. I never sensed any emotional distress in our conversations.”

Or confessions, though I couldn’t speak of those, even to Honor, even when Donna confessed her every sin to clear her soul so she could finally be a good enough mother to her daughter.

The doctor nodded. “Most likely, she didn’t realize she took her dose for the day. Or she assumed it was a different pill. Miss Thomas, does she take her medication at night?”

“Yes. Before bed.”

“Then I believe you found her in time. She’s still under right now. We’re keeping her in the ICU tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll move her to a regular room just for observation.”

“She’s…okay?”

“We’ll monitor her through the night, take EKGs and other toxicology screens, but she is stable and should be fine.” He gathered his stethoscope and coat. “I’d recommend going home for the night. Your mother will be sleeping, and you can come back in the morning during visiting hours. Once she’s out of the ICU, you can stay as long as you wish.”

Honor didn’t move. I shook the doctor’s hand for her and thanked him on behalf of the family. He bustled off, downing the rest of the coffee before answering a page in a brisk run.

My angel stared at the table before covering her face.