Act of Contrition

by Linda Rettstatt

  “Wait a second.” He stretched an arm to grab a blanket from the chair behind him. With one hand, he shook it from its folded form and spread it on the floor beneath them. When he lay back, Jenny stretched, naked, atop his body, her heart thundering.

  She locked eyes with him. “I want to make love to you.” Without waiting for a reply, she pressed her body to his and kissed him deeply. Thrusting her pelvis forward, she made contact with his erection.

  Patrick groaned and dug his fingers into her shoulders. “Holy…”

  She smiled, worked her way down his body, lips following the narrow band of soft, dark hair below his navel. She kissed the length of him.

  He bucked, hissing with pleasure.

  She sat up, straddled him and opened herself, drawing him inside. Her whole body responded as a current seared through her belly. A whimper sounded in her throat, and she leaned forward.

  Patrick’s hands caressed her back while his mouth worked at her breasts. His lips, his touch were familiar and, yet, different. The last time they had been together, he was still a boy. Now he made love to her like a man. A man reacquainting himself with the landscape of her body.

  He lifted her, gently lowering her onto her back. “My turn.” He kissed his way to her center. With the tip of his tongue, he stroked her until she began to shudder. Before she exploded completely, he rose up and plunged into her once again.

  She arched to meet him, taking him deep inside. The lines of where she began and he ended blurred as they moved together. When she cried out, he held her against him, shuddering with his own release.

  Patrick lay on his side and spooned around her, wrapping the blanket over them both. “Jen?” he whispered into her tousled hair.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  She kissed the forearm draped across her. “Yes.”

  “I want you to know this wasn’t part of the plan. I mean, I didn’t set out to seduce you.”

  She laughed. “If you recall, I think I did the seducing.”

  “Come to think of it, you took advantage of me.”

  Lacing her fingers through his, she laughed harder. “Oh, and you resisted so well.” It was as if a veil had been lifted and fresh air and light flooded into her. She wanted to remain here in his arms, hold onto to this feeling.

  They fell into silence again. The tension had broken. Their breathing synchronized, she could feel his heartbeat, sure and steady, against her back. She drifted into a satisfied sleep.

  Jenny woke when Patrick pressed his lips to her naked shoulder.

  They had crossed the invisible line that had hung between them for weeks now. No going back, but could they move forward? Jenny saw only darkness when she glanced at the windows. “What time is it?”

  “It’s after seven. We’re stuck here for the night. Fog rolled in as the sun went down.”

  She sat up and stretched. “Do I remember you saying something about dessert?”

  He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Sweets for the sweet. I’ll make coffee.” He stood and located his jeans. “Let me stoke the fire and give us a little more light.”

  “Is the power turned off?”

  “No, but I don’t want to break the mood.” He added a log to the fire and poked the embers to get a flame burning. Struck a match and relit the candles.

  Jenny rose with the blanket and knotted it at her chest. “Is there a powder room on this floor?”

  He pointed to the hallway. “Down there on the right.”

  When she padded back into the kitchen, he stepped in front of the table. “No peeking. Wait in the living room. I’ll serve dessert.”

  “I can help.” She tried to edge past him, but he blocked her.

  “And ruin the rest of the surprise? Now, go.” He turned and poured two cups of coffee, which he carried into the living room and placed on the tablecloth. “I’ll be right back.”

  Patrick stood in the open doorway holding a cake covered with lit candles. He began to sing, “Happy Birthday to you…”

  Happiness tugged up the corners of her mouth and she smiled until he finished the song with a flourish and set the flaming cake in front of her. “Make a wish.”

  She looked down at the cake, then up into his eyes and held there for a moment. When she broke their gaze, she drew her mouth into an ‘O’ and blew out the candles.

  “Do you want cream or sugar for your coffee?” he asked.

  “Cream, please. And we need a knife.”

  Patrick returned with a container of powdered creamer and handed a knife to her. “You get to cut.”

  She stared at the cake. “Butterflies. You remembered everything.”

  He nodded. “You used to wear them in your hair.” He tucked a strand behind her ear, his fingers pausing to graze her cheek.

  She lifted a slice from the cake and looked around. “No plates?”

  “Sorry. Some host I am.” He started to get up, but she stopped him.

  She took a bite from the cake, icing coating her upper lip. She then held the slice out to him. He bit off a small piece, his eyes not leaving hers. After he swallowed, he reached past her hand and swept the icing from her lips, the tip of her nose. She leaned back and smiled, scooping a glob of icing from the cake and smearing it across his mouth. The blanket dropped, exposing her body.

  He dabbed a finger into a yellow butterfly and circled one breast, lowering his head to taste. Next he chose pink icing, drew a heart and kissed it tenderly. Patrick grinned when she moaned, scooped up two fingers of blue and painted her belly. The cake fell from Jenny’s hand. She grabbed a handful of icing and reached for him.

  This time, he took the initiative, neglecting no part of her as they made love in the firelight.

  When they were both spent, he rested on his elbow, gazing down at her. “You look good in pink, blue and yellow—like a new breed of butterfly.” He streaked his finger across her cheek and stuck it into his mouth. “Mmmm, you taste good, too.”

  She tugged on a strand of his hair, showed him the clump of icing she’d removed. “New styling gel?”

  He scanned down their bodies. “We’ll both need a shower—when we’re finished.”

  Her eyes widened. “We’re not finished?”

  “Not if I can help it. We have at least another seven hours before we can head back to the mainland.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “And we’re out of cake.”

  She gazed up at him, thinking they needed to talk. She snuggled closer. Words could wait. She needed this now. Only this. She settled her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his abdomen. He covered them with the fleece blanket and kissed her forehead tenderly.

  The words ‘I love you’ clogged in her throat. Whatever they needed to talk about shouldn’t be clouded with promises either of them may not be able to keep. Whatever happened after the sun rose, she wanted this time together to remain simple and pure.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jenny stretched then pressed her fingertips to her left hip as pain shot across her buttocks and down her leg. She opened her eyes, confused at first by the surroundings. Her gaze settled on Patrick, sitting in a chair across from her sipping a cup of coffee.

  He smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” She shifted and her body protested the movement.

  “I know. We’ve reached the point where we’re both too old to sleep on the floor—or do anything else there.”

  Her face warmed. “Can I get a cup of that coffee?”

  “Sure.” He set his cup down and stood. “I’ll get it. Stay there. I found a box of cereal bars in the cupboard. Want one?”

  She sat up, tucking the blanket under her armpits. “No, just coffee. Thanks.” While he was gone, she took inventory. Her hip twinged, her back ached, and she had rug burn on her elbow. The rug burn and the soreness between her thighs brought her fully awake. Why did I let this happen?

  Patrick presented her coffee in a mug bearing the image of a
disheveled woman in a bathrobe and the words, ‘I hate mornings.’

  She dragged her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “Thanks.”

  Patrick resumed his post in the armchair, gazing at her. “How do you manage to look so good in the morning?”

  She peered at him over the top of the coffee mug. “Yeah, right.” Her eyes shifted to the window. “Has the fog lifted? I need to get home.”

  “It’ll be clear soon. I set out fresh towels upstairs. I assumed you’d want a shower.”

  “Thanks. Do we need to wash the blanket and the towels before we leave? I mean, we kind of took over this place.”

  “It’s okay. I’m friends with the new owner. She won’t mind.”

  “Oh.” Jenny wondered who ‘she’ was, but didn’t ask.

  “I’ll take everything with me, wash them and return them on my next trip.”

  “Okay, so I’ll take that shower now.” He stretched out a hand to help her to her feet. She hugged the blanket close while she stooped to pick up her clothing. She didn’t dare look to see if he was watching her as she bent over to retrieve her underwear from between the sofa and a chair.

  ****

  Bright sun sent a golden sheen across the gray water. A thin veil of leftover fog hovered above the surface. Patrick maneuvered the boat away from the pier and into the bay.

  Jenny wrapped her arms across her chest, trying to hold herself together.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” She wasn’t cold, not on the outside. But inside, a chill—as though she’d swallowed an ice cube—stung her center. Now they needed to talk, but what would she say? I love you; I love making love to you, but I’m leaving again; thanks for everything?

  “Yo. Jenny?”

  Her head snapped around. “Huh?”

  “Where were you?”

  “Uh…just thinking about what I have to do…when I get home.”

  “I asked if you want to go to the diner for breakfast. I can dock in town, drive you home from there. My truck’s parked at the docks.”

  “No, I need to go home now. I have to work.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows. “You also have to eat. But, I’ll take you right home.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused. “Jenny, about last night… We have to talk about it.”

  “Please, not right now.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Let me check my schedule. We’ll talk, I promise.”

  He snorted. “Your schedule?”

  “Patrick, please. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  He looked stunned by the vehemence in her voice, and turned his attention back to the front of the boat.

  They made the rest of the crossing in silence. When he pulled up to the small dock, Jenny scrambled ashore before he could touch her. “Thank you for the birthday dinner. I…We… I’ll talk to you later.” Without glancing back, she climbed the sloping lawn toward the cottage, fueled by her own confusion and panic.

  She headed to her bedroom and changed clothes, grabbed the car keys.

  ****

  Four hours later, Jenny paced around Gavin’s office. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  He leaned back in the swivel desk chair. “You could start by sitting down and looking at me.”

  She cast a furtive glance at him, looked away. “I can’t look at you.”

  “This must be really big, then. What did you do, mug an old lady?”

  She stopped and glared. “This isn’t funny, Gavin. Do you treat all your confessees so casually?”

  He righted the chair and rounded the desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this was a confession.” He sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and motioned for her to sit in the other.

  Jenny continued to unravel the tissue she clutched in her damp palm. Staring at her hands, she said, “I slept with Patrick.”

  After a few beats, Gavin said, “Oh. Well, according to the church, sex outside of marriage—”

  “I’m not here about the sex.” Her cheeks flared hot. “I mean, that’s not the issue. It’s more complicated.”

  He paused, expression solemn. “I’m confused. Do you want me to be your confessor or your friend here?”

  “Just listen. I slept with him knowing full well I’m moving to Los Angeles in a couple of months, if I take the job I’ve been offered. I’m doing the very same thing to him that I did before.”

  “Have you talked with Patrick about this?”

  “Of course not. I…I’m going to lose him again, for good this time. But I have to let him go. Things were okay, then…then I gave in to a weak moment, and…”

  Gavin knitted his thick eyebrows. “Wait. Is this about you taking a job on the west coast, or is it about giving up the man you’re in love with?”

  “It’s both. Don’t you see?”

  “Honestly, no, I don’t.” It was Gavin’s turn to pace, and he stood and slowly walked the room, hands in his pockets. “Let me get something straight. You love Patrick. You’ve always loved Patrick. You now have a second chance to be happy with him and you’re walking away? For a job?”

  “It’s not just a job. It’s my career. I’ll only screw up his life again anyway. He deserves to be happy.”

  “Then don’t go.” Gavin stopped and gazed down at her. “I will never understand women.”

  She sat back in the chair and drew in a ragged breath. “I have to go. Have to start over, and I can’t do it in Miley’s Cove or in Boston where there are too many memories.”

  Gavin sat again, and reached for her hand. “Jenny, we don’t leave memories behind. They go with us. There’s a reason for that, I believe. So we can always feel connected to the place that is home and to the people who have loved us. It’s so we can remember how much we’re valued.”

  “That’s an interesting construct, but… You know there are bad memories that we carry, too.”

  “Maybe those are what you should be letting go of.”

  She shrugged. “Can’t have the good without the bad, can we?”

  “What I hear you saying is that you’re giving up.”

  She stilled, but murmured, “Maybe I am. So what? Isn’t that what we Catholics do—we give up the things we love to be forgiven, absolved?”

  Gavin exhaled in exasperation. “Yes, we do. We give up cursing, or chocolate, or hamburgers. We don’t give up love or happiness.”

  “If I love Patrick, I’ll let him go.”

  “Did you read that on a poster?” Cocking his head, Gavin half-smiled at her. “This isn’t even about Patrick, is it? You’re afraid to take a chance.”

  She stared hard at him. “I am not afraid. I’m…I’m…” She breathed hard. “I want this job in Los Angeles. It’s what I’ve worked for. Patrick has his responsibilities with his father and with Kari. For all I know, he’ll move back to Grand Cayman.”

  “If you have this all figured out, then why are we having this conversation? Excuse me—confession. I can’t absolve you of the one thing you seem to be suffering from.”

  “What’s that?”

  He frowned. “Terminal stupidity.”

  Jenny gasped. “How can you say that? You’re a priest!”

  “I am. I’m also a friend. Because of both roles, I have to be honest.” He shook his head. “Jenny, you’re so afraid of getting what you desire, you’re willing to condemn yourself to a life of misery to avoid taking the risk. All because you think you don’t deserve to be happy. Hell, if we only got what we deserved, most of us would be standing on a cliff contemplating the jump. You’re also being very conceited to assume that you’re the one to make Patrick’s decision for him.” He looked upward. “God, you can have a day off. Jenny’s in charge. Go ahead, play a round or two of golf.”

  Wearied of it all, her shoulders sagged. “I’m such a fuc—screwed up mess.”

  Gavin reached out and grasped her hand. “I know this sounds like
a line out of a Disney movie, but…listen to your heart. And not only the fearful part. What’s there, right along the breaking line?”

  “I love him so much.”

  “And love is never wrong, Jenny. Not real, honest love. Do you trust Patrick?”

  “I’d trust him with my life.”

  Gavin looked her in the eye. “And there is your answer.”

  She considered his words. “But, what if…”

  “What if, what if, what if?” Gavin waved a hand. “What if the world ends tonight? What if I get elected Pope—though that’s highly unlikely. What if you talk yourself right out of finding happiness? What’s your heart telling you?”

  She nodded. “Okay. I get your point.” Though it wasn’t okay. She had heard every word Gavin said. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that making a clean break was the right thing to do. She would get over it. Patrick would move on. And with that, a part of her heart fell away like the frozen shelf of a glacier.

  Gavin narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

  Jenny turned and picked up her purse, forcing a smile before she faced him again. “I’m exhausted. And you’ve given me a lot to consider. I’m going home. I’ll call and let you know how things turn out.”

  “You’re not staying in town tonight? I was hoping we could have dinner.”

  “Maybe next time. I’m driving back to Maine.” She pulled a twenty from her pocket and handed it to him.

  “You know, you don’t have to pay for our conversations,” he teased.

  “You’re cheaper than my therapist, and more fun to talk to. Usually. And I know the money will go to a good cause.” She hugged him quickly. “Thanks, Gavin.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She studied him for a moment. “If anyone had ever told me one of my closest friends would be a priest, I’d have said they were crazy.”

  He chuckled. “I think Mrs. Colonna is suspicious of our relationship.”

  “Oh. That would explain the glare I received on my way past the kitchen. Maybe I shouldn’t come here.”

  “Are you kidding? I think it’s good for my image as ‘Gavin Santorino—Maverick Priest.’” He walked with her to the entry. “Remember what I said—ignore that evil voice in your head.” He laughed. “Now you’ve turned me into Dr. Seuss.”