“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?”