Just getting through our only service of the day is a miracle, and although there is still more to attend to today, that was my biggest duty, and I couldn’t be more relieved that it’s over.
Desperate to escape the chaos and crowd, I take off to my office. Dropping into my chair, I welcome the silence, hoping to find my way back to the mindset I had just two days ago, when things made sense and life was simple.
As I read over the Christmas services, not a single word makes its way into my mind. It all feels so...futile. How can I stand at the altar and preach about fealty and faith when I am so lost?
How can I claim to be so devoted to God when all I want is to give myself to her?
Sitting alone at my desk, I clasp my hands together and hang my head, and I do the only thing I know how to do when I’m bothered—I pray. “Lord, I am so lost. I am desperate for your guidance. Please, give me a sign.”
The room is eerily silent as I focus my mind on the intensity of my plea. Suddenly, there’s a harsh knock on the door. I know by the weight of the impact it’s not her, and my shoulders hang in disappointment.
“Come in,” I call.
Sister Abigail walks in briskly, stopping in front of my desk to bow her head. Quickly, I stand as she addresses me. “Good morning, Father Roman, and Merry Christmas.” It’s a greeting, but there is no warmth in her tone.
“Merry Christmas, Sister Abigail.”
“I know you’re very busy today. Can I have a word? I won’t take much of your time.”
“Of course,” I reply, gesturing to the chair. “Please.”
She sits and folds her hands in her lap. She’s a woman of about fifty, stern features and tight, thin lips. She has the stern confidence of a woman who does not regret or second-guess anything. I’d call it faith, but it appears on Sister Abigail as more like stubborn naivety.
“It’s about Cora,” she says abruptly, and my spine straightens.
“What about her?” I ask. Immediately, my mind fears the worst: she’s found out already what I’ve done. Did Cora tell her? Is Cora so upset with me that she would do that?
No. Even this morning she said it was the best night of her life. She told me...she loved me.
“I know Cora was a member of your congregation, that you baptized her yourself, which is why I sent her here with you this week, but I hope to confess to you some of my concerns when it comes to her constitution.”
“Her constitution?” I ask, my skin beginning to heat. Something about the way she speaks about Cora and that word has me getting worked up.
“Yes. I’m afraid the poor girl doesn’t have what it takes for this position. She’s a sweet child, but she lacks discipline. She struggles with her lessons, her commitment, and her responsibilities.”
“You’ll never find someone with more faith than Cora,” I say, keeping my tone level.
“Faith yes, but so much foolishness.”
“Foolishness?” I bark, letting my irritation show. Her eyes widen. “Excuse me, but I think you’ve misjudged her. Cora may be young and a bit naive, but you have no idea the things she’s endured, the home she was born into and the devotion she showed to the church at such a young age. You have no idea the commitment she’s exhibited to me.”
“To you?”
I shake my head. “To the church. To God, Sister Abigail. Cora…” I struggle to find the right words, but fuck it. It’s Christmas and I don’t care anymore. “Cora is special, and if you can’t see that, then I’m starting to wonder if you’re the wrong mentor to guide her in her journey.”
It’s silent for a moment but I can see she’s tempted to argue with me. Finally, she grips the arms of her chair before standing up and bowing her head to me again. “Of course, Father Roman.”
It grates on my nerves the way she acts like a subordinate to me, like it’s a slap in my face, toying with me. Keeping my manners, even though I’m thoroughly annoyed with her, I stand and show my respect in return.
Standing from her bow, she keeps her eyes down as she adds, “I would be careful if I were you because even though you may see her commitment to God, the rest of us see the way she looks at you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask through clenched teeth.
She raises her eyes and looks straight at me. “A woman’s love is a dangerous thing for a man in your position, Father Roman. Just...be careful.” Then, she quickly moves toward the door, opening it in a rush as if she’s trying to escape me.
“And what position is that?” I ask, stopping her.
Before slipping through the door, she quietly replies, “Tempted.”
Chapter 10
Cora
I have the privilege of driving into town to deliver the Christmas day donations to the soup kitchen and I’m already in such a blissful mood that this is just the star on top of the tree for me. The radio is blaring Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and my mind gets lost in the idyllic memories of last night.
A thrill of excitement shoots through me at every reminder of his touch, his kiss, his embrace. The way we kissed in the dark for over an hour like teenagers before we both drifted off to sleep. That was almost better than the two orgasms he gave me. Maybe I was overly sensitive from the last six months at the convent, never being able to touch myself outside of wiping with toilet paper in the bathroom, but my climaxes came on fast and intense, not that I think I would ever have a hard time being aroused around Father Roman.
Shit, can I still call him that? It feels weird to just call him, Roman.
The thought of him not as my priest, but as a man, gives me a whole different set of butterflies. A man who wants me. That image settles comfortably in my mind. No longer Father Roman, the priest, but Roman, my friend, my lover, holding my hand in the store while we shop, cuddling close to me at night on the couch. Making easy love to me in our shared bed every night.
I really shouldn’t be daydreaming about that, but I’m too far gone now. The dream is just too sweet to ignore.
It will only be him for me. That’s why I joined the convent in the first place. This was my only way to be in his life for good, to show my undeniable devotion to him, but I never saw this happening. I didn’t come to the church this weekend to seduce him or to even confess my feelings. The plan has always been to take what I can get and be satisfied with that. I just wanted to be near him and make him a part of my life as much as possible.
But now the dreams of something more are at the forefront of my mind, and I want them to come true more than I've ever wanted anything.
But that’s ridiculous. Dreams don’t come true. That’s why they’re dreams. All those nights I dreamt of my mother kicking my dad out never did me any good. Either did wishing my father didn’t drink so much or that he would just be a dad and not a monster.
Dreams and wishes aren’t reality. So it’s best to be sensible.
Father Roman can never be my boyfriend or my husband and he will never fully let himself be with me, so I need to accept that being a dutiful servant of God, alongside him, is the most I'm going to get, and honestly, that idea sounds a whole lot better than finding some other idiot to date. I’ve tried that. They don’t look at me like he does. They don’t say the deep and thoughtful things he does. They don’t light up my soul the way he does.