His amusement grew. “Is that so?”
I groaned. What was it about this box that made all my words twist? I hadn’t meant to flirt. I didn’t think I’d tempted him.
Or had I?
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it that way.” I sighed, lowering my head. “It’s just been…a humbling day.”
“Problems at the food pantry?”
“How’d you know?”
He shifted, and I imagined he pocketed his phone. “I got a couple texts from Judy.”
“Great.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
The authority in his voice amplified within the confessional. He had such a power, not just over me, but over the entire congregation. Good power, but a control nevertheless. His ability to grant absolution through the Lord was awe-inspiring, but even that blessing gutted me.
His whisper stole my breath, and his words warmed me. Absolution seemed as unlikely as being able to support my family.
“I um…have to talk to you,” I said.
“Would you prefer to speak in my office?”
Yeah, right. The office was just as dangerous as the confessional. I didn’t trust my strength, discipline, or patience now. I needed comfort, and I’d take the wrong kind from him.
“This is easier, actually,” I said.
“Are you confessing, my angel?”
“Maybe? No.” I shivered over the nickname. “Do you remember that day in the adoration chapel? When I asked for you to be a priest for a few minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Could I have that Father Raphael back?”
He hesitated. His words might have edged hard, but he had infinite patience for me. Wasn’t sure I deserved it.
“Honor, you never lost him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m a priest, first and foremost. I live for this community. If you need me, I’ll be here. Always. I promise.”
I believed him, and that’s what made this so much harder.
“I need a favor from you. As a priest.”
“Anything.”
“The Second Chances charity is organized by the diocese. Mom had been a part of it. They helped her with her rent.” I lowered my gaze. “Our rent.”
“I know.”
“It’s only a yearlong program, and Mom’s reached the end. She needs to reapply for the help.” I spoke quickly, almost jumbling the words. “I can put off my classes for a while and get a full-time job somewhere, but I don’t think we’ll have enough money to find a new apartment before…”
“How can I help? Ask anything of me, Honor.”
“That’s the thing. I know what I have to ask of you…but I hate to do it.”
“You need a letter of recommendation.” He answered for me. “Something from me which will recommend your mother to the program.”
“Yes.”
His voice hadn’t changed, still echoed in confidence and power. “Of course, I’ll write it.”
It should have relieved me.
It didn’t.
I hesitated for too long.
“Honor?”
“I’m not sure I want you to write it.”
Father Raphael hummed. “Do you have another place to live?”
“No.”
“Do you have family to stay with?”
“No.”
“Then tell me why you won’t accept this help.”
I stiffened. It was easier to get mad at him than myself. “You know, you tend to order people around a lot. Especially in here.”
“It’s a necessity when they’re being stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“Foolish then.”
“Father—”
“This is a good program. Even if you’re too proud to take the help, your mother deserves it.”
“It’s not pride.”
I averted my eyes from the screen and traced the intricate wooden carvings in the confessional. He didn’t make this easy. His voice so often enraptured me, but his silence could punish.
“I know we need the help,” I said. “But there are others out there who need it more—people I see every day in the food pantry or volunteering with the church or wherever I’m called to help.”
“You don’t believe you’re worthy of help?”
I didn’t answer, and in my hesitation, he realized the truth I tried so hard to hide.
“You don’t think your mother is worthy.”
I closed my eyes. It might have been easy then, just to whisper it, to tell him.
Forgive me, Father, I’d deny my mother the help she needs.
But I didn’t confess it. I threaded my fingers into a fist.
“Why did you return home, Honor?” he asked.
“To help Mom.”