Sunday is ordinarily a day of rest, but I would much rather spend it in the sun, weeding the church garden under the sweltering hot sun. I’m sweating through my cotton T-shirt.
“Priest.” Father Thomas calls as he approaches. “You should be resting.”
I throw down the garden tool and swipe the sweat from my forehead. “There is no rest for the wicked, is there, Father?” I huff. He narrows his eyes at me, like I’m a parasite he wants to exterminate. Afraid I’m going to out you, Father? That isn’t my game.
“Have you settled in all right?”
I wonder if this is a trick question. “As well as can be under the circumstances.”
“I know it’s quite an adjustment, but I do hope that you’ll find solace here. Many men like you have walked into Our Lady of Heavenly Hope seeking forgiveness. They've all left fulfilled.”
I want to ask him if that is what he was doing last night, helping someone atone for their sins
I’ve never been a religious man, which I suppose is why my father sent me here. I always found the whole system hypocritical. Case in point. “I am hoping to do just that."
“It will serve you well to keep your distance from the nuns, Mr. Michaels.”
And there it is. The real reason he sought me out. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well, now that that’s settled, I’ll leave you to your gardening.” I don’t miss the gleam of devilry in his eyes.
I pick up the hoe, raising it over my head, then let it drop, digging into the earth. This is far from settled, Your Reverence.
Chapter Three
Celeste
Every day is the same at Our Lady of Heavenly Hope. It’s difficult to keep track of what day it is. It’s almost as if they’re intertwined, folding seamlessly into each other until it’s impossible to tell them apart. It’s five a.m., and we’re all awake, bathed, and gathered in the church. Mother Superior leads us through the Liturgy of Hours. Sister Concessa looks up at the Mother Superior like she is God herself. I, on the other hand, feel anxious. Father Thomas asked to see me, and my knees tremble in anticipation. After an hour, we’re finally released for private prayer. I make my way to the garden, another of my sacred spaces. Kneeling beneath the large oak tree, I clasp my hands together. I sense Priest before I hear his footfalls. Keeping my eyes shut, I continue my private worship.
“It is rude to stare, Mr. Michaels.” I say when I’m done.
“I couldn’t help it.”
I stand, turning to face him. Despite the chill in the air, he wears a thin T-shirt that stretches over his lean body and black sweat pants. He leans against the wall, his muscular arms folded over his chest. Priest Michaels is a tall man, at least six feet. His shoulder length coffee colored hair is pulled back in a ponytail. His face is angular, his forest green eyes penetrating. He offers me a lopsided grin that sends heat to my cheeks.
I bow my head and start walking. “I must get started on breakfast.”
He grips my wrist as I pass by him, halting me in my tracks. “Are you going to explain what I saw the other night?”
“That is hardly any of your business.” My eyebrows pull together. He has some nerve bringing that up.
“You’re right, but you’re going to tell me anyway.” He runs his calloused thumb over my wrist. I tug my hands from his grasp.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me then.”
“Mr. Michaels-”
“Priest,” he interrupts.
“Priest. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of church business.”
He snorts. “Church business> You killed a man.”
My eyes widen. “Keep your voice down.” I hiss.
“So, are you going to tell me, or do I need to get the authorities involved?” I feel a muscle in my jaw twitch. “Do what you must.” I say simply, stomping away before he can stop me, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I know he won’t say a word. The people who come here do so because they need a place to hide, until whatever they are running from blows over. I know that Priest Michaels is no different.
I slip into the kitchen, grateful Sister Concessa is nowhere in sight. Tardiness is another thing she won’t tolerate. I wash my hands, which haven’t stopped trembling, and slip on my apron. Priest Michaels is just nosy. I move around the sterile space, gathering ingredients for the bread I’m about to bake. I’m covered in dough when Mary Concessa joins me in the kitchen, pleased to see me hard at work.
“Come in.” Father Thomas calls. I open his door slowly and enter his office. It’s always dim and dusty in this room, but comforting. I remember the first time I entered this room. I’d just turned sixteen, and it was the first time I realized that the Father was more than just a priest but also a man. A man I desired and would do anything for.
I take a seat at the desk, opposite him. He’s in his late forties, but he doesn’t look it. His hair is still more ebony than ivory, brushed back. His jaw is strong, clean shaven. A dimple dents his chin. I’ve heard the nuns and novices talking about how his eyes are so dark, they’re almost bottomless. They swoon when he’s not looking. None of them have had him look at them the way he looks at me. They haven’t felt his touch, tasted him the way I have, had him inside them. I press my thighs together at the thought.
“Have you spoken with Mr. Michaels?” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Only briefly, Father.” I wring my hands in my lap.
“We have a confession tonight, Celeste, we cannot afford his kind of interest in you.”
“He is not interested in me, Father. He was introducing himself.”
“I am a man, young lady, and I know what men want when they look at you.”
“Is it what you want?” I meet his gaze.
He breaks eye contact. “We have spoken about this.” he frowns.
“Then Mr. Michaels’s interest shouldn’t concern you, Father Thomas.” I’m just saying this to get a rise out of him. The last thing I need is the unwarranted attention from Priest.
Father Thomas stands and stalks around the desk until he’s standing in front of me. Gripping my chin painfully, he tilts my face until I’m looking up at him. “You will watch your tongue, Celeste. You don’t want to push me to do something we’ll both regret.”
“Oh, I’m counting on that.” I smirk, and he releases my face. He backs away, sitting in his chair again. Feeling brave, I stand and round his desk, standing beside him. He swings his chair to face me.
His stare is hard as I drop to my knees in front of him, my hands finding their way over his thighs. I edge closer to his prominent erection, and he grips my wrists.
“That will be all.” he hisses.
Rising, I making my way to the door. When I open it, I’m met with Sister Concessa’s stoic face. “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.” she says, looking behind me at Father Thomas, her mouth curving into a smile. “The others are waiting for you in devotion.”