“I know what you’re trying to do,” she warned. “Please. Don’t try to comfort me.”
“No one is alone in this world, my angel.”
“Father—”
“No one is without sin, just as no one is unforgiveable. You do not suffer from temptations now, but an excess of pride. Everyone sins, and I won’t allow any of my flock to doubt themselves or their worth. No matter the cause.”
Even if it was my own doing.
I gestured to the pew. Honor hesitantly sat, her fingers tapping the wooden bench. Even in uncertainty, this woman embodied innocence, elegance, and gentleness. She swept her hair from her face, and a slight, grateful smile graced her lips.
It was enough to damn me.
I wanted this woman. To touch. To protect.
To possess.
The cassock covered most of me, but I wasn’t comfortable standing before this angelic woman with her almond eyes and honey-sweet lips.
She’d ruin me. At least if my heart stopped, if it finally ceased its rapid punishment against my chest, my final moments would be blessed by her beauty.
“May I sit?” I asked.
Neither of us knew which answer was right. Refusing would admit prior guilt. Accepting would welcome new.
She nodded.
I sat, placing an imaginary Bible length between us. Her hands pressed against the wooden bench. Flat. Still trembling.
Little novice. When confronted with sin, it was best to wield a weapon. I carried rosaries.
If only I might have felt her warm hand instead of the cold beads.
“Do you really want to listen?” she asked. “Do you really want to know what made me leave the meeting?”
“More than anything.”
She hesitated until the sigh wove over her. “Then you have to know. First and foremost, my mother isn’t a bad person.”
She spoke it like a confession. No—she whispered as if she didn’t believe it herself.
She looked away. It might’ve made it easier to minister to her then, but it didn’t ease my breathing…or my conscience.
She smelled of candied apples, and her teeth nibbled on a plumb bottom lip. I wondered if she ached for the sting of a bite or the soft caress of a kiss.
I forced myself to speak. “I understand.”
“Even when she was sick—” Her gaze slipped to mine for the briefest of moments. “That’s what my Dad called it, when she wasn’t sober. Sick.”
“It’s true.”
“The pain killers and the alcohol made her a bad person.” She frowned. “No. It made her a reckless person.”
“Addiction is a serious illness…” I edged closer, shielding her from grief and yet savoring her warmth, her scent, her beauty. “Addiction affects more people than the one suffering from it.”
Didn’t I know it?
Couldn’t I feel it?
Every second I strained at her side. I prayed in silence and sang with the melody of her voice. My gaze should have remained on the monstrance, the foundation of our church. Instead I imagined the softness of her legs, her arms, that hand so near to mine.
Addiction. Temptation. Sin. It was real.
And my desire trapped Honor in the middle of my battles. Man against faith. Reason against passion. Need against vows.
“My mom’s been sober for a year now.” Honor opened more and more. “And I hate to say it, but it’s…strange. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t popping pills or drinking. My mother is gone. Now she’s this…entirely different person. Someone new.”
“It’s a good thing,” I said.
“I know. She’s trying so hard to stay on the right path.”
“And you are good to help her.”
She leaned against the pew, her hands slipping, inching towards mine. “I’m not that good. I don’t know how to help her. I left my college and lost my credits, but we don’t have the money for a full-time tuition. I’ll be a part-time student for my senior year while I find a better paying side job because…well, Mom can’t really start a career. She…doesn’t have the right set of skills or references.”
She meant no one would hire a woman with such a tragic, complicated history. “The church is helping her.”
Honor didn’t want to hear it. “No. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure we don’t need the charity. I don’t mind working extra jobs.”
“Honor, the programs exist to help women in her position.”
“I know. We won’t need them.”
I frowned. “But you’re studying to do social work. You, above all, should understand how much these programs could help.”
“I do, Father. Believe me. But we won’t accept it.”