Sweetest Sin(87)
I collapsed upon the sheets.
She nestled at my side, cradled against me, head resting upon my chest. I brushed her hair and rested in the quiet comfort of our silent admissions.
But it wouldn’t last. This peace was only the first complication—the most damning and mournful sin of all.
Honor spoke first. Her words hollowed like in solemn prayer. I recognized the sound. She begged for answers to questions she never wished to ask.
“What do we do now?”
My poor angel.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You know how I feel about you.”
“Don’t.” I stared at the ceiling, hating the darkness, the walls, the truth that bound me so far from her arms. “Don’t speak it.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t tell you.”
She stiffened, but I didn’t let her move from me. I savored a false warmth and forced a moment of quiet peace that was little more than a lie.
“I spoke with the bishop after the funeral mass. Benjamin had helped to keep me in a single parish, to teach me family, community, and togetherness. Now that he’s dead, no one is petitioning the diocese on my behalf.”
Honor shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“The diocese is moving me across the state at the end of summer.”
Chapter Twenty-Two – Honor
I never thought I’d refuse salvation.
When I was younger, I prayed. When I was older, I questioned. And when I became an adult…
Faith meant everything and nothing to me. It strangled me. It gave me hope, but it stole it just as easily.
I believed more in disappointment than miracles now, and the faith that remained broke my heart as much as it healed it.
I curled up on the couch at home. The sun had set, but I didn’t bother to move the homework from my lap or turn on a light. I didn’t want to do anything but stare into the shadows and curse the very faith that made me the woman I was and the angel he saw.
And it hurt.
Worse than the fear of sin or the ache of temptation.
Hell wasn’t a place of fire, brimstone, and torment. It was this. Loneliness. Realizing that the one thing I wanted was the one thing the Lord wouldn’t provide.
Father Raphael wasn’t a man. He was a priest. That distinction, that damned white collar, tethered him to something bigger, more important, more blessed than me.
It wasn’t right to hate it. Or him. Or myself. But without an enemy to fight or a hope for a prayer, I had nothing.
And so I sat in the dark, waiting for answers, hoping for a sign.
And all He gave me was the scratch of the keys in the front door.
Mom bustled into the house carrying a load of groceries. The bag smacked on the kitchen counter, and she flipped on a light.
We both flinched.
“Oh, Mother Mary and Joseph.” Mom grabbed her chest and tutted at me. “Honor Maria! You’re gonna give your momma a heart attack—a real one this time.”
I removed the keys she left in the lock and handed them to her. “Sorry.”
“Why were you sitting in the dark?”
“Must have fallen asleep.”
It wasn’t a bad lie. She tucked the keys into her purse and unloaded the bag. She’d kept to the list. Apples, milk, bread, peanut butter. But she snuck a smile and offered me a big chocolate chunk cookie, wrapped up from the bakery.
“Your favorite.” She winked. “I remember your Dad always used to get you those cookies. Big as your head.”
“You remember that?”
“Lord, the sweets that man shoved into you. Always trying to make you smile.” Mom put the groceries away, talking mostly to herself. “It’s a wonder you didn’t grow up with more meat on your bones. You should have been my own little sugar dumpling.”
Maybe. Mom didn’t remember it all. I fed myself mostly—ham sandwiches, a handful of carrot sticks, a can of soup. Most nights I didn’t want to disturb her, and she was passed out by eight. That’s when Dad could finally rest for the day, after working, cleaning the house, and taking care of her.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Definitely had a sweet tooth.”
Mom unloaded a rotisserie chicken from a second bag with a sheepish shrug. “They just smelled so good. And I didn’t know if you’d be here for dinner.”
I had nowhere else to go. “I’m staying.”
“You didn’t come home last night.”
My stomach clenched. She had noticed? I hadn’t stayed at Father Raphael’s all night, only long enough to break my heart.
“I came home late, and I had an early class,” I said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Mom shook her head. “You’re an adult, Honor. And you’re here out of the goodness of your heart. You don’t have to tell me where you’ve been or when you’re coming back. I think I lost that privilege a long time ago.”