“May I continue, Father?” I asked him.
“Very well,” he said.
“Since you have confessed my past sins for me, I shall confess my future ones.” I felt the rage and hate crawl up inside me as I thought about it. “I will kill my mother. I swear it.”
He was silent. We were both silent for what seemed like forever.
“Honor thy father and thy mother, Melody. Of all sins to break among man, the one you speak of is…”
“Honor thy father and thy mother?” I snapped; it was my turn to cut him off. “Where is honor thy child? Why is that not written in stone somewhere for us to hold above our heads? Some fathers and mothers should not be honored! Some should not even be given the title.”
“What was done to you, my child?” he whispered, but I didn’t answer. Instead I stared out at the stained glass.
It made me think of my childhood.
“When I was a child, the church was the only place I felt at peace. I would lie in the pews and stare up at the paintings on the ceiling. Sometimes I would speak to God, sometimes I would dream, but often times I would think about my mom. Wishing she would come find me, worried because she couldn’t find me in the house. I even prayed about it and God never answered. I knew that wasn’t how it worked. But, I was angry. In my mind, he was Santa Claus, and the one thing I wanted, he wouldn’t give me.” I sighed at my own stupidity, “Here I am, years later, and my mother is alive and well.”
“Is that not something to be thankful for?” he asked, slightly confused.
I looked to the screen blocking our faces. “Not when she is worse than I am…far worse, and sadly, I’m not being sarcastic.”
“I see.” I could feel his worry even though I couldn’t see it. “Is there a sin I can ask the father to forgive, one in which you regret?”
I thought for a moment.
“I shot my husband.” I said.
“Is he still alive?” he asked with amusement.
“Yes.” For now. “He’s still alive. I shot him out of anger, and I’m sorry for it. I abuse him often, actually.”
“You don’t seem regretful,” he added.
“I am.” That wasn’t a lie. “ I lov…I love him. But, I’m not good with caring for anyone but myself, my own needs. With each passing day, I notice more and more sex won’t distract him.”
“Distract him from what?”
I knew I set myself up for this, but I didn’t want to think about it.
“Distract him from getting even closer to you,” he answered his own question. “You love him, but you live a life of constant loss. You do not want to hurt him. You do not want to love him. You’d rather push him away because you want to have control over how you lose him…if you lose him.”
I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to admit to it. But he was right. It was one of the reasons why I came back every week. He was the only one outside of the family that did not judge and could never speak about our conversations, even with a gun to his head.
“Yes, Father,” I whispered finally.
“Pray to our mother for guidance and loving heart. Ask our father for the strength to forgive. Go and do these things, for you are forgiven, my child. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.”
“His mercy endures forever, Amen.” I blessed myself before leaving my peaceful confessional at the back of the church.
I mentally sighed at the sight of Coraline and Olivia, both sitting up front in the pews. Taking care of the family was trying—all their issues, their problems, hopes and fears. I wanted to go back into the confessional and just rest. But it was my job, mine and Liam’s, to take care of the family, to keep things going, to keep each other safe.
Despite all the killing we’d done, that really wasn’t our role. We weren’t hired killers. We were business people who sometimes had to bash a few heads in to make sure things got done.
That was part one.
Part two was to make sure the family was happy and safe. That meant listening and handling problems in their lives. Yes, there were times when we had to knock some sense into them, but that was the life.
My red heels echoed throughout the church as I walked right past them and towards the altar to light a candle before kneeling to pray. I believed in God, but talking to him was difficult. I was a conversation starter. I listened and reacted. Liam was the talker.
I wasn’t sure how long I had been kneeling there before I heard Coraline or Olivia’s cell phone vibrate for what had to be the ninth time. Rising, I turned to them; I wanted to chuck a motherfucking candle in one of their faces.