Sweetest Sin(90)
“It’s complicated.”
“Love isn’t. Either it’s there, or it isn’t. It’s people that complicate the simplest gift God gives us.”
“He loves though. He does. Very much. Everyone and everything.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Is that right?”
“He gives so much of himself. Hours upon hours. Even in the depths of his own mourning, he still makes time for others. He…was there when you were in the hospital. Selflessly. When I needed him as badly as he might have needed me.”
Mom sipped her tea, thinking long before she spoke.
“This man…he’s young?”
“He’s older than me.”
“Too old?”
“Eight years older.”
Mom scrunched her nose, but she allowed it. “And he’s respected then? In the community?”
I answered twenty-questions while tip-toeing around a minefield. “Yes.”
“I see.”
I think she did. I braced for a lecture, a smiting, anything that might have punished me.
But nothing hurt more than unrequited feelings.
Except being alone.
Mom exhaled, long and slow. “Honor, the heart wants what the heart wants.”
“What about what God wants?” I looked away. “It’s not fair to the flock if the shepherd is the one lost.”
“This has only one answer, but it isn’t what you want to hear.”
I nodded.
“We’re taught that God sacrificed his only son so we’d be saved,” Mom said. “If you sacrifice this, he would save others. He has a duty, and he made his commitment.”
“I know.”
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
“So am I.” I released a pained breath. “It’s just hard to admit.”
“I wish I could tell you the hard part is over, but I know better.” Mom pushed the cookie towards me. “It’s not hardest when you pour out the bottle or flush that last pill. It’ll be a week from now. Two. When you think you’ve finally beaten that craving only to let doubt creep in. That’s when it’s hard. When it feels impossible. When you don’t know why you’re living.”
She brushed the hair from my face. I took her hand, amazed by the wisdom in a woman I hardly knew.
Mom continued, her voice a burst of passion. “That’s when you look around, take stock in what you have, and accept the help that’s been given. Do you know what you have, Honor?”
I shook my head.
“You have me. I’ll be here, and I’ll help you. I’ll be the mother you’ve needed.”
I looked away. “I don’t think I need a mom right now.”
Her smile cracked, but she hid it, nodding her head. “Of—of course.”
“I think I need a friend.”
Mom leaned over the counter, kissing my forehead. “You’ve got that too, baby girl. You’ve got that too.”
Chapter Twenty-Three – Raphael
I expected her confession, but this one wasn’t delivered behind screens or in the darkness.
We met in the adoration chapel, where it had all began, and where it would have to end.
Honor had come to me in the darkest hour of my life, only my lovely angel wasn’t able to deliver me from myself, my thoughts, or my heart.
The church was empty this late at night. The choir had finished their last practice before the big competition. The festival preparations were complete, and the grounds awaited the vendors, games, and stands. The parish should have been excited.
But I told them during Mass of my departure, and my last days at St. Cecilia’s turned somber and dark.
Honor closed the door. It was unnecessary. What was done was done. It wouldn’t happen again. Not now. Not after our lust became something more.
I finally trusted my body and desires, but it was my heart that failed me.
“You understand why I have to go,” I said.
Honor didn’t speak. She leaned against the door, hands behind her, head bowed. I’d have thought she was praying or crying or trying to escape. Instead she pushed forward, taking the few steps to approach me.
“You know why I want you to stay.”
Her words haunted me—too sorrowful. They weren’t spoken to convince me to remain in the parish, to appeal the Bishop’s recommendation. She simply admitted the truth to me, to herself, to the Lord and all the angels and saints, sinners and demons who mocked our foolishness.
“I knew the relocation was a possibility,” I said.
She sat next to me. Two imaginary Bibles separated us.
“When are you leaving?” she asked.
“Next week.”
“That quickly?”
“I should have been moved long ago. They’ve been waiting. I don’t think the diocese trusted me.” I clenched my jaw. “To them, I was someone young and…”