Sweetest Sin(78)
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.
“It wasn’t Oxy. Oh, God.”
I rubbed her back. “It’s good news, Honor.”
“But I told the paramedics, the doctors when we got here…I kept saying it’d be Oxy or painkillers. For all I know, they spent all that time on the wrong diagnosis. If something had happened—”
“Nothing happened.” I knelt beside her chair. “Nothing. She’s okay. She’ll be okay.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked them away with a grunt. “I can’t believe I thought…am I a horrible person?”
I pulled her into a hug. “Absolutely not.”
“But I assumed the worst.”
“And now it’s time to start counting blessings. The worst has passed.” I took her hand. “Let me get you home.”
“Are you sure?”
No. I had the phone tree for this. The women’s group. Emergency contacts to take care of my flock when it was inappropriate for me to take that step.
But I couldn’t leave her. Not now. Not when she needed me.
I’d already tarnished her soul.
I wasn’t leaving her with a broken heart.
Chapter Nineteen – Honor
I welcomed Father Raphael into my apartment.
This was the one place I hadn’t wanted him to see, even if it was by his letter of recommendation that we could afford the one-bedroom apartment in a bad neighborhood.
If he cared, he said nothing. He closed the door behind us and waited for the moment I’d speak.
I didn’t know what to say.
I had visited his home, but so had most of the parish. But here? The apartment was private. He could see into our kitchen, read from the stack of overdue bills, or study the mattress in the corner I’d adopted as my room. This was a humbling experience.
Twice now, we had been together, as physically intimate as two people could be. But this was different. I let him into my life now.
I feared the day he’d leave it.
I moved my course books from the couch, marking my place with a pencil before closing the covers. I’d have to remember to email my professor. I couldn’t go to class tomorrow.
I sat. He didn’t. It was probably for the best.
“Your summer classes?” Father Raphael read the book’s cover. Race, Class, Gender and Sexuality in U.S. Law and Society. “How are they?”
“Expensive.” No need to lie. “I wanted to finish my degree. I think I was being selfish.”
“Why?”
“Mom needs more help than I’ve been giving.” I lowered my gaze. “I don’t think I’m a good daughter.”
He took the chair at my side. “You put a lot of pressure on yourself.”
“But it’s true. I know I haven’t been a good person. Why do you think I’ve spent so much time at the church?”
His eyebrow arched. “Maybe you ought to answer that.”
Another damning mark on my soul. “It wasn’t just to spend time with you, Father. I wanted to stay away from here. From her.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you why.”
“No. You haven’t.”
I should have offered him tea or coffee or something. That’s what people did with visitors.
We never had visitors when I was young. No family. No friends.
It was amazing Mom survived as long as she did.
“Let me get you something to drink,” I said.
He took my hand, preventing me from escaping. “Honor, I’m fine. I want you to answer the question.”
“What question?”
“Why are you avoiding your mother?”
He leaned forward, watching me, listening to me. Was everything about this man so intense? Even when he comforted, he demanded so much. I met his gaze, and the thrill almost blinded me to everything but the damning bit of white on his collar. It strangled us both. Him in his responsibilities, me in my own feelings.
“It’s not that I avoided her,” I said.
“No?”
“I just…I didn’t have faith in her. I thought for so long she’d relapse and prove everyone right. I couldn’t watch her destroy her body and mind again, not after everything that happened. It scared me so much, I just assumed that was why she collapsed. I told the EMTs, the nurses, the doctors to look for Oxy. And it wasn’t. What kind of person does that make me?”
He studied me. “What kind of person do you think you are? What do you hope to be?”
“A realist.”
“It’s not that great, I can tell you that much.”