A Beautiful Sin

by Terri E. Laine

  “What’s this?”

  “I asked my boss to run this.”

  Macie worked for a realtor who specialized in downtown listings for residential and commercial properties.

  “It’s a listing of available apartments. I figured we should start looking. You need an art studio, so we’d need a three-bedroom.”

  I sighed. “Mace, this isn’t a done deal yet.”

  “You should move. I’ve thought about this all afternoon. It makes so much sense. Even down to the fact that your aunt is sick. And don’t glare at me like that. You know if she gets worse, you’ll be feeling guilty as all hell that you’re not here. I’m only trying to point this out to you now.”

  She was one hundred percent right. “I know. But maybe you’re jumping the gun. I think Jonathon was thinking down the road a ways. Like next summer or next fall.”

  “I can understand that, but why not now?”

  I shrugged, because I didn’t know. The waitress came up asking for our order and saved me from Macie’s interrogation. But when she left, Macie was back to being that dog hunting a bone.

  “So?”

  “Okay, one, I don’t know yet because I have to talk to Jonathon. Two, I still have my lease to consider in New York. Three, my head is spinning with all this. I need to slow it down a minute.”

  She grinned. “Understood. But will you at least look at these?”

  “Yeah.” And when I did, I was surprised to see they were all great, and the rent was so much cheaper than in New York. I was beginning to be swayed.

  “Nice, huh?”

  “Very nice.”

  We toasted and our food arrived. After we finished, we discussed it more and it would be a great idea to move, but I stuck to my plans. I wanted to see how it all panned out first.

  As I walked into my room, Canaan’s face stared right through me. The painting only needed a few touches and it was ready. I decided I would give it to him. When I thought I would be leaving in several weeks, I knew I couldn’t keep this. Every time I looked at it, it would only remind me of his scent, his touch, his voice. But if I stayed, it simply wasn’t possible to keep it. Having his face to look at every day with him being so close would be absolute torture.

  On Friday evening, I wrapped it up and requested an Uber. A train and a bus ride were out of the question carrying a painting of this size. When my ride arrived, Macie only shook her head as I left. It was quite a struggle getting the damn thing in the car, but we did it, and off we went to Holy Cross rectory. My driver dropped me off and I was glad to see Canaan’s car parked in front. I hadn’t thought to text him to see if he’d be there.

  I knocked on the residential part of the building, since I knew the office was closed, hoping Father Cernak didn’t answer the door. When Canaan opened it, I smiled.

  “Haven, what are you doing here?”

  Self-consciousness invaded every pore. Part of me wanted to hide in the bushes next to the porch and the other wanted to play like I had this under control. I didn’t at all. My stomach was an army of worker bees buzzing around the hive. “I…I brought you something. Is it okay if I come in or…?” I let my words trail off.

  “No, it’s fine. Father Cernak is gone. His parents are elderly and he went home to visit them. He won’t be back until late tonight.”

  “Ah. Okay.” I bent down to lift up the painting.

  He opened the door wide so I could pass through. “Here, let me get that,” he said as he saw me trying to lug the monstrosity through the door.

  “Be very careful with it, please.”

  When we got in the den, I told him to unwrap it. “It’s for you.” Another wave of shyness washed over me and I was suddenly afraid my work wasn’t good enough for him.

  He gently tore the brown paper off the painting, and when it was fully revealed he only stared, silent.

  When the silence became unbearable, I blurted out, “If you don’t like it, you can give it away. Maybe to your parents, although they may not like it either. And it’s okay if you don’t like it. I won’t be offended or anything like that. Everyone has different tastes. Art is one of those things—”

  He stopped me from vomiting any more words and further embarrassment. “Haven, you painted this for me?” His voice was so low and quiet I had to lean toward him to hear. He glanced between the painting and me several times before placing it on the couch so he could get a better look at it. He went around and turned on every light in the room and then went down on his knees to inspect it. And I mean he scrutinized it to the point where he lovingly touched each image, every brush stroke, and eventually looked up at me from where he knelt on the floor.

  When he lifted his face to mine, I covered my lips with my hand. I’d never seen an expression of adoration like that until now.

  “This is the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The work is stunning. I know a bit about art, though I’m no expert, mind you, but you have managed to capture such emotion, I feel as if I am looking into a mirror.” A V had formed between his brows and I wanted to massage it away.

  “You like it?”

  “I’m overwhelmed by it. I don’t like it—I love it. And I’m flattered and touched by your generosity that you would go to these extremes and spend the time doing this. Haven, I don’t quite know what to say.”

  My smile must have taken up half of my face. He said exactly what I wanted him to say. “You’ve said enough. I’m pleased you like it. You wear so many hats, I wanted to capture you in all of them, but I’m pretty sure I missed a few.”

  He kept touching it, running his fingers over the different images. “Why did you do it?”

  “I got the idea one day and my creative juices started to flow. That’s the way things transpire for me. The many faces of Canaan kept showing up in my mind, and when that happens, I need to transfer them to canvas.”

  “Was the painting of your mother like this?”

  My smile faded. “No. It was a singular portrait of her. She was a blonde, like me. And I thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. She would let me brush her long hair, and I sketched her as she’d sat on the chair, her hair gleaming, but I had woven flowers into it and for whatever reason, it worked for the painting. And her eyes, they were blue with hints of silver in them, and in the painting I brought out the hues so she looked very ethereal.”

  “You still miss her.”

  “I do. I knew she was sick, even though she never told me. She would lie on the couch watching TV and tell me she was tired. But she never let on that she didn’t feel well. And one day I came home from school and BAM! She was gone.” It was strange telling him because I never talked about this to anyone, except Macie.

  The room filled with silence again and all I wanted to do was precisely what I couldn’t. At that moment, it became abundantly clear that I needed to walk away from Canaan Sullivan for good. There was a certain kind of closure to this, me bringing him this painting. What started out as my enormous animosity toward him ironically had morphed into great respect and more. However, Macie was right. Though he was an extraordinary man, he was out of my reach, and by showing up at church, coming around here and trying to see him, I was only prolonging the inevitable. There would never, could never, be anything between us, other than pure friendship.

  “Canaan, I’d better be going now. This is my way of saying goodbye. For good.” His head slanted as his brows rose, but before he could ask me anything, I went on. “We both know there’s more to this than friendship, but I’ve been foolish to think I could be just ‘your friend’.” I used my index fingers and squiggled them when I said the words your friend.

  “It can never be, and it was silly of me to have that young girl’s crush on you again. But if I’m honest with myself, it’s more than a crush. You’ve turned out to be a man—a man I can trust and admire, a man I could love. But I know you could never love me back. I knew cutting you off cold turkey wasn’t possible because I kept thinking ab
out you. You were always there. So I figured if I became your friend, it would be a gradual thing, and maybe this ache in my heart would be alleviated.”

  I placed my hand on my chest and rubbed circles on it, trying to ease the ache. Only it didn’t help. Nothing would. I knew that now. “You’re constantly on my mind—hence the painting. It’s becoming torture for me and quite possibly for you. But you have your life, here at Holy Cross, and it’s what you’ve wanted your entire life. So thank you for being the way you are, and helping me, and my aunt, but I think it’s best for me to bow out gracefully, as they say, and carry on with my life. I do have to tell you something though.”

  Looking up at the ceiling, I gathered my thoughts for a moment. “Because of you, I believe I’m a better person. The other night, I had the opportunity to be with someone and I backed away from it. In the past, I wouldn’t have thought twice about that. Maybe you’ve brought some self-respect into my life.” I offered him what I hoped was a full-on smile, but I was pretty sure it was an epic fail.

  “Haven, I’d like to tell you things could be different, but we both know they can’t.”

  “I have to ask you. The painting—you said it was the second most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. What was the first?” As an artist, I wondered if he’d been to the Vatican and viewed some of the artwork there.

  “You. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I could only swallow the knot of unshed tears that clogged my throat.

  There was a deep sadness in his voice. Did he already feel as bereft as me?

  Nodding, I muttered, “Well then, I guess I’ll be on my way.”

  “I should drive you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. I’m fine. It’s not that late and I do this all the time.”

  I walked up to him, stood on my tiptoes, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. But to my surprise, he changed course, catching me off guard. His mouth crash-landed on mine before his tongue timidly traced the seam of my lips. One of his arms circled my waist, drawing me into the frame of his body, and he left me with no choice but to grab on to his shoulders. The sexual side of me wanted to latch onto him with everything I had, responding with flaming intensity as blood scorched my veins and heat flushed through me. But reason won out and I gently pried myself away.

  We were both panting as we stood together, his arm still imprisoning me. The warmth of his flesh radiated from him, making me want to run my hands over his skin, through his hair. But I didn’t. I fell into the forest green of his eyes as he stared, wanting to stay like this for eternity.

  “I…please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I don’t know…I didn’t mean…” he stumbled on his words awkwardly.

  “Canaan, it’s fine.” But it wasn’t, because it showed me how good it could be and what I was truly missing. He’d driven that nail home and now I knew what I would never have. Disengaging myself, I took one step backward and licked my lips, still tasting him there. I clenched my eyes shut for a second before I pasted on a smile.

  “You’re an amazing man, Canaan, and you’re going to bring an abundance of joy to many people as a priest. Have a happy life. You deserve it.” Without another word, I hurried away before I lost my composure.

  It was a long ride home, but I was glad for it. I wasn’t exactly in the mood to face Macie. I needed to get my shit together first. And I thought I had. Until I walked in the door and she asked how it went. That’s when I broke down and told her.

  When Haven walked out the door, she didn’t know how wrong she was. She wasn’t the only one who had fallen. The thing was, I hadn’t known how far I’d plunged and had no idea how to pick myself back up. My heart felt as if it had been scraped raw as I watched her leave, and I wasn’t quite sure how it had all happened. That piece inside of me that gave me life was now so defective, I felt as if she reached inside of my chest and ripped it out of me. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. A man of the cloth was forbidden to love a woman. Even with the wall I had attempted to construct, I had failed completely.

  With my thoughts on Haven, I carried the precious painting to my room. Setting it on my desk and resting it against the wall, I stared at it, lost in the intricacies of the details it contained. The complexities were mind-boggling and the fact that her small hands created it was proof that God had bestowed a mighty gift upon her. I sat on my bed, and as I did, traces of her lavender scent that still lingered on my pillows wafted up. I had washed my bedding but not the pillowcases. She wasn’t the only one with the crush after all—or far beyond a crush, as it were. Once again, the sinner in me reared its ugly head. There wasn’t enough penance in the world to make me atone for my transgressions. My daily routine of repenting would be longer and harsher than I had already made it. I now questioned whether I was worthy to even wear the holy cloth. It seemed that it had all been a mistake to grant me such an honor and privilege.

  The weekend crept by, and on Sunday, my parents invited Bill and me over for dinner. It was a welcome distraction, moving my mind away from its sinful thoughts. Mom made her usual giant spread. There was enough food for the entire Holy Cross School. After we ate, we sat around and enjoyed an hour of congenial conversation before Bill and I left for home.

  If I knew a way to purge thoughts of Haven from me, I would do it. Even though she was gone from my life, I saw her face in everything I did. I was a dying man trying to resurrect myself. Losing one’s heart wasn’t something I would ever recommend, and I’d never imagined how hopeless and pain-filled it left one feeling.

  “Canaan?” Bill’s voice cut through my thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m expecting a call from the bishop any time. I wanted you to know, in case it came through while I was outside. The call has to do with that issue I spoke to you about several days ago.”

  “Okay, if he calls and I answer, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Thank you.” Bill ducked back into his office. Whatever happened had to have been grave for Bill to get the bishop involved.

  I didn’t ask Bill about his conversation with the bishop afterward, other than to see if he was okay. He seemed fine with the results, so that was okay by me.

  Bill left the following Saturday morning to visit his parents. “I hate to leave you.”

  “Are you serious? Family is important.” I did my best to reassure him.

  “I know, but so is God.”

  I smiled. “It would please God to know you’re taking care of your parents.” I reminded him about the priest who was stepping in on Sunday morning to say the nine forty-five Mass. “I’ll be fine. That leaves me with only two. It’s nothing monumental by any means. Now go.”

  “Thanks. You make me feel better about leaving.”

  “As you should,” I assured him. He got in his car and I watched him drive away.

  Saturday was gloomier than usual. The clouds rolled in and rain threatened. I celebrated morning Mass and then later made my rounds at the hospitals and nursing homes. I held confession from two to four in the afternoon, so I brought my Bible and my phone in case there was a lull.

  It had been a slow day, as expected. The rain started about noon and it seemed when it rained, people tended to stay home. I checked my phone to see what time it was and saw I only had another five minutes to sit in the small closet-like room. I figured that would be it until I heard the door open and close, and then someone knelt on the other side of the screen. I drew the screen back and gave my blessing to the confessor, and he began to speak.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one month ago.”

  The voice on the other side was male, perhaps that of a very young teenager. It hadn’t quite developed the deep tone of an adult.

  “Father, I’ve done something bad. Real bad.”

  “What is it? What have you done that needs God’s forgiveness?”

  He whispered the words. “I killed Father O’Brien.”

  His confession hung in the
small box, then it expanded until it felt as though it echoed and bounced off the walls. How was that possible? The detectives came by stating he’d died of natural causes.

  “Did you hear me, Father?”

  “Yes, yes, I heard you.” I swallowed, not knowing what to say.

  “I didn’t mean to, but I know I did it.” There was definitely an edge of desperation in his tone.

  In a voice that was much calmer than I felt, I said, “Go on.” This boy was mistaken, but something clued me into the fact that there was something much deeper buried beneath his words, and I wasn’t going to like what I heard.

  “It was, uh, yeah, well…”

  “It’s okay, son, you’re confessing and whatever you tell me stays between God, you, and me.”

  His voice trembled as he answered, “O-okay. It happened after Saturday Mass. I stood up to him and told him I wouldn’t let him do it anymore, that I wasn’t going to take it again. And if he touched me one more time, I was going to tell everyone. Maybe even call the police.”

  My apprehension worsened with every one of his faltering words.

  “He started to say something about being a sinner, like he always did, but when his hand reached out for me, I was so mad that I didn’t think, and I just pushed him. I pushed him, Father, and he fell. I didn’t think I pushed him that hard, but I guess I did. And that’s what happened. I ran out of there as fast as I could because I didn’t want him to get up and chase me. I didn’t know I killed him until later.” The sounds of his anguished sobs penetrated the thin screen that separated us. My heart ached for this young boy because he had thought all this time he was responsible for the evil priest’s death.

  Absolute guilt surged through me as my emotions choked me. If only I had spoken out, how many lives could I have saved from this same pain? One, five, a dozen? There was no telling. And here was this boy, kneeling before God, confessing to a sin he didn’t commit. I bore the liability for that as well. What a tangled web I had woven. The sin of omission had certainly come home to roost upon my shoulders, and its burden was heavy indeed.