Seconds later, I’m standing on the other side of the counter, Debra’s glare knifing through me.
“H-hi, Ms. Miller,” I stammer, my heart hammering in my chest.
She just nods. “What do you want, Solomon?”
I clear my throat, but the lump of fear choking me seems to only grow. “Um, can we talk?”
Her nostrils flare, and I have a feeling she’s seconds away from throwing me out.
“Please?” I add quickly.
After a few seconds of staring me down, she walks over to where her friend Beverly chats with a customer and says something in a low voice before walking back. She nods curtly at me, indicating I should follow her to the back office.
As soon as the door shuts behind me, Debra spins around and glares at me. She opens her mouth to speak, but seems to change her mind. She shakes her head and rubs her forehead. She sighs, the anger draining away from her features. Her silence is worse than a million angry words hurled at me.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I whisper, unable to hold back any more. I sit down on the chair nearest to me and drop my head in my hands. “I’m sorry I broke your trust, Ms. Miller. It was never my intention.”
Silence.
More silence.
My eyes start to burn with suppressed tears, so I squeeze them shut and focus on my next words. But I wasn’t prepared when I decided to come talk to Debra.
“Look at me, Sol.” The command is firm yet gentle.
My eyes peel open, and I lift my head, but the tears I was holding back have blurred my vision.
Her palm covers my cheek, and her fingers brush away a tear. “You really love her.”
“I do.”
She studies me for several seconds, searching for something. I don’t know what, but whatever she finds melts away the anger in her face.
Sighing, she grabs the seat on the other side of the desk and sets it next to mine, then sits down.
“You’re not solely to blame. Both you and Grace knew exactly what you were doing, but you did it anyway.” She takes my hands in hers, and that gentle gesture prompts me to meet her gaze. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I pull one hand away and drag it through my hair. Even those words sound lame to my ears. Jeez. I feel like a loser.
“You’re a good kid, Solomon Callan.” She squeezes my hand, offering me a kind smile. “You need to figure it out. Until then, I ask you to stay away from Grace.”
“Of course,” I say. She’s right. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
Feeling slightly better after our talk, I stand and wait for her to join me.
“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Ms. Miller.”
She screws up her face. “Stop calling me that. Makes me feel like an eighty-year-old woman who prefers the company of her cats and loves sticking lavender under her pillow to help her sleep.”
I snort, caught off guard by her comment. I’d assumed Debbie was off the table.
Since the mood seems to have lightened a bit, I tease, “I love having lavender under my pillow.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Whatever. Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
By the time I slide behind the wheel of my truck, the turmoil I felt before I walked into the diner has lessened. Mentally, I check Debra’s name off my list. My anxiety grows the closer I get to church. After parking the Chevy, I remove my cap and tuck it inside the back pocket of my jeans before heading toward the church. Several people pause long enough to stare in my direction. My shoulders tense, bracing myself, waiting. It doesn’t take long for their whispers to reach me.
Disgraceful. Scandalous.
What a pity.
He shouldn’t have taken the vow.
The girl seduced him.
The accusations float through the air in hushed tones, each one like a blow to my gut. Although my uncle mentioned that word had gotten around—and I’ve no idea how that happened, but things done in the dark never stay that way for long—I’m still not prepared for the harsh words. I avert my gaze to the ground and curl my hands into fists. After spending the past few weeks beating myself up, I’m three seconds from collapsing from all the weight on my shoulders. What I did was wrong and I’m trying to make things better. I’m exhausted.
Lifting my head, I stare ahead, ignoring the eyes judging me and—
Luke appears out of nowhere donned in his usual vestments, ready for Mass.
“You okay?” he asks, placing his body strategically in front of mine as if he’s shielding me from everyone.
My body sags in relief. “I. . . yes. You didn’t have to do that,” I mutter, flashing him a small smile. “Thank you.”
He squeezes my shoulder with one hand. “I’m always in your corner. Always. No matter what.” With his jaw set and one arm wrapped around me, he nudges me toward the church entrance. He stops suddenly and turns around, which makes the group of people walking behind us halt as well.
“As you’ve all heard, Solomon is no longer attending the seminary. I’d like for you to accept his decision,” Luke says, his voice stern and his gaze unwavering. I’ve never heard him use that tone of voice before. “We’re humans. We’re not perfect. Is there anyone among us who hasn’t sinned?” He pauses and glances around the congregation. “Then let’s not judge others. Let’s not judge him.”
A few people look away, glance down, shift on their feet. Me? I’m rooted to the spot, staring at my uncle. I’m pretty sure I’m about to bawl. I mean, he just swooped in and took over. As much as I love handling things, I know my current situation . . . and I can’t win this on my own. I need help.
Luke glances back at me and the lines on his forehead smooth out. “Come on, let’s go in.”
He winks, then flashes me a smile before dropping his arm and striding inside. I follow him and slip into a pew. Mass starts a few minutes later. My uncle’s worried gaze darts to where I’m sitting every few minutes. He’s making sure I’m all right, just as he did when I was ten-years-old, right after my parents died.
The situations are completely different, but with him in my corner I know I’ll be okay. I just have to figure out how to get there.
May
It’s been almost four months since I left the seminary. My former boss, Joe Soltz at Joe’s Auto Body Shop, was more than happy to hire me again. I needed to keep myself busy before I went insane while waiting for my paperwork for the mission trip to Peru that I’ve signed on for, to go through.
It’s almost nine o’clock in the evening when I get back to the rectory from my run. Uncle Luke sits at the table in the kitchen, staring at the chess board in front of him as if contemplating his next move. He reaches across the board and moves a pawn one square down, then nods, clearly satisfied. He sits back and looks at me.
“Did you have a good run?” he asks, resting his arms on top of his stomach and steepling his fingers.
“Yeah.” I open the refrigerator, grab a bottle of water, and unscrew the cap. Throwing my head back, I gulp down the contents.
In my periphery, I see Luke grab some papers, along with my passport, off the table. “The itinerary for Peru came in while you were out.”