by Nancee Cain
“I’m so sorry, Crazy Girl.” He strokes my hair and rubs my back until my tense muscles relax under his tender ministrations. “I feel your pain.”
“Are you okay?” I manage to croak as I sit up. I’m pretty damn sure he meant he literally feels my pain, and I’m having trouble comprehending how this could be true. My hand trembles when I push my hair out of my face, hooking it behind my ear. I look everywhere but into his eyes, terrified of what I might see.
“I’m fine. You’re hungry, tired, and depressed. One of those is about to be relieved.”
The doorbell rings, and my heart jumps to my throat. “No one comes to see me,” I whisper, staring at the front door. Since Jack’s death, the men I’ve been with have never entered my home, even after my mother moved. I guess they were too afraid my affliction would rub off on them. Instead, they would take me to a cheap motel, or use me in a car if they were in a hurry. The doorbell rings a second time, but I’m too stunned by the interruption to make a move to answer it.
“Here’s a shocking thought. Maybe they’re here for me. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” He answers the door and the welcome smell of fresh, hot pizza drifts through the room.
“Thanks for delivering in this weather. You want to come in and wait out the storm with us and have some pizza?” Remi offers the delivery boy.
The color blanches from the boy’s face, and he shifts from foot to foot, biting his lip. He glances my way without looking me directly in the face, despite the fact I’ve known him forever. His older sister is my age and used to be my best friend.
“Nah, Father, she’s uh, you know, uh…Nope, I’m good. Thanks.” He casts one last look of terror in my direction, and I hiss at him for the fun of it. Shoving the money in his pocket, he almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get away. He’s always been an obnoxious brat.
Remi shakes his head and grins. “Gee, I bet you’re real popular at Halloween. Tell me, were you voted Miss Congeniality in high school?” There he goes, teasing me again, throwing me off balance. I kind of like it.
As he walks toward me with the pizza, his eyes seem to sparkle in the candlelight. A bright aura of yellow surrounds him, almost as if he’s lit from within, making him appear luminous. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, Remi’s digging in the pizza box. Saliva pools in my mouth, and my stomach growls in a most unladylike manner.
“Eat, you’ll feel better.”
I glare at him. “You sound like my mother. She thinks food is the answer to all of life’s problems.” I frown as he takes a slice and bites into it. “Aren’t you supposed to ask a blessing, or something, Father?”
“Uh, oh, um, right. Let’s see.” He ponders for a moment and bows his head. “Like fo shiz, this piz is the biz. Thanks, big Wiz.” He makes a quick sign of the cross, and winks at me as he takes another bite of pizza.
Shocked and amused at the same time, I close my gaping mouth. “That had to be the worst blessing, ever, Father Gangsta.” I shake my head, giggling as I take a slice and bite into it. The hot pizza leaves a string of cheese dangling on my chin. I pull it in with my tongue, humming my appreciation. I can’t remember when a delivery pizza ever tasted this good. I miss my Daddy’s homemade pizza. The sauce alone would take him all day to make.
“Why, thank you. I like to think I’m unique.” His mesmerizing eyes flicker.
Unique doesn’t begin to describe the handsome Father Blackson as he licks a drop of pizza sauce off his bottom lip. I want to lick the sauce off and see what his lips taste like. I pause with my slice of pizza mid-air, forcing myself to concentrate on his cross and not that perfect mouth, or the fire that seems to light his eyes.
“You’re sure not like any priest I’ve ever known.”
Raising his eyebrows, he smiles. “Known a lot of priests, have you?”
I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or being serious. “Just a few visiting fill-ins for Father Asswipe.”
Remi chokes on his pizza and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Father Asswipe?”
“Father Ashton. He’s a pontificating, self-righteous jerk and older than dirt.” The ancient priest christened me, gave me my first communion, and dragged me kicking and screaming through confirmation. Or, if I keep fucking up my suicide attempts he’ll be the one to perform an exorcism. If I do succeed, he’ll probably be the one to preside over my funeral, unless given a choice. I’m not exactly his favorite person. It occurs to me that I’m not even sure if suicides are still banned from being buried in consecrated ground. Do I care? Not really.
“Father Ashton is a man of God, Evangeline,” Remi chides. I drag my gaze to his face where a hint of a smile lurks on those kissable lips.
I bet they taste divine. I shake my head to clear the thought. “Uh huh. Have you met him? Or worse, suffered through one of his homilies?”
Remi chuckles and shakes his head. “If you think his suck, you should hear some of the—” A boom of thunder drowns out his voice.
“I guess you’re going to be working with him? Are you a curate or something?”
He pauses for the briefest of seconds and a faint frown creases his brow before he answers. “I guess you could say ‘or something.’”
I watch as he carefully wipes his mouth. I wish I were that napkin. Why am I having this reaction to him? Am I so starved for human kindness that I’m engaging in what the shrinks call transference? The little self-esteem I have left dissipates into nothingness. I have sunk to a new level of pathetic.
Remi sits back on the couch and motions with his hand toward the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. He has long elegant fingers, like a concert pianist. “Do you mind?”
“You know, I could die of second hand smoke,” I grumble, handing them to him.
He pauses, raising one eyebrow. “Worried about dying, are you?”
I punch him in the leg, hiding my smile with a curtain of hair. “Well, maybe not any time in the next hour or so,” I admit, realizing it’s the truth. Now that I’ve bathed and my belly is full, all I really want to do is curl up and sleep.
He sighs and pushes the cigarettes away. “Since I don’t want you to die, I’ll refrain from smoking.” He casts one last longing look at the cigarettes before returning my gaze.
“You’d do that for me?” My incredulous voice sounds husky with sleep, or is it something else?
He looks away for a second and shifts a little on the couch. “Of course. I’d do anything for you.”
“Anything?”
He nods and more forbidden thoughts produce images worthy of a porn film, making me fidget. I wrap my arms around my legs, resting my cheek on my knees, and stare at him, trying to figure out his angle. When was the last time anyone was nice to me, or wanted to do something for me that didn’t require sex, a lecture, an argument or medication? His unwavering gaze meets mine, as if he in turn is searching for an answer to something I can’t explain. For some reason, I can’t look away. It’s like we know each other, yet we know nothing about each other.
“Stay with me?” I whisper.
“Stay with you?” Flames flicker in his eyes again, and I wrap my knees tighter. Will I ever learn to think before speaking?
I bury my face on my knees and mumble, “Never mind. It was stupid of me to ask. And I really don’t mind you smoking.”
“I’ll stay.”
His agreement shocks me and I look up. It’s unexpected, and immediately I regret asking something so career damaging of him. “No, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked, I know it wouldn’t look good. People will talk, and it’s a small town full of small-minded gossips.”
“What do you care? You’re planning to leave this world, remember?”
My mouth drops as I stare at him. I have no idea how to deal with his teasing. He stretches his arms across the back of the couch and props one foot on his knee. Leaning on his elbow with his chin propped on his thumb, he covers his devilish smile with the fin
ger I regularly use to flip off people. His eyebrow rises as he waits for my answer.
“Aren’t you supposed to be talking me out of this and lecturing me on the sins of suicide?” I splutter. Indignation rises, bursting like a geyser. I leap to my feet clenching my fists. “Just what kind of man of God are you? How dare you be so callous about my life? Don’t you care I could spend all of eternity in hell?”
“Should I?”
“What?” I screech, full of righteous anger.
“So, Crazy Girl, are you saying you don’t want to die and that you believe in a hereafter?”
“I want to die someday and yes, I mean no…” I stomp my foot with frustration. “I don’t know about the hereafter. And I’m pretty damn sure calling me ‘crazy girl’ isn’t good for my mental health.”
“Would you prefer I call you Bonkers Babe? It’s a given we’re all going to die someday. Do you or don’t you want to die right now?”
Yes. No. Maybe. I rub my eyes like a tired two-year-old and confess softly, “I don’t know.”
He flashes his mega-watt smile, and I swear the room seems to brighten despite the power outage. “I think that’s a definite improvement. And yes, I do care. Now go to bed, Evangeline. I’ll be out here on the couch, and I’ll even pray for your immortal soul. But be warned, I’m a very light sleeper, so if you plan to off yourself in the middle of the night, I’ll know it and stop you.” Remi rises to his feet, grabs the candle and with a gentle hand guides me down the hallway.
“Brush your teeth like a good girl.” He has the nerve to swat my bottom as he shoves me into the bathroom.
“I’m anything but a good girl,” I mutter, squirting the toothpaste on my toothbrush and glaring at him in the mirror. “And you’re not my mother.”
“Bad girls are my favorites. They make confession more interesting and fun. I’ll hear yours with your nightly prayers, if you’d like.” With a smug look, he leaves to give me some privacy. As I brush my teeth, I ponder this strange priest’s impudence. No one has ever called me out on my bullshit like this. Even the specialists engaging in “reality” therapy were impersonal and professional when dealing with me. I spit, rinse, and reluctantly smile. This is more than a physical attraction. I like Father Blackson.
I turn the corner outside of the bathroom and run into his chest. Startled, I let out a scream, dropping the candle. Once again we’re plunged into darkness.
“Shh, Evie. It’s just me, not the bogeyman.”
We both stoop to pick up the candle and crack our heads together.
“Ouch, dammit. You have a hard head.” I stand and rub my sore forehead as I hear him fumbling for the candle on the floor.
“Me? You’re the stubbornest girl I’ve ever met.”
I laugh. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Is stubbornest even a word?”
His warm hand grabs my ankle making me jump and squeal again. I hold my breath wishing his hand would roam further up my leg, but he removes it. “Ah, there it is.” He lights the candle, yet I’m pretty damn sure the matches were still in the bathroom. Then I remember he has a lighter. Or is it still on the coffee table?
Before I can think too much about it, he’s grabbing my hand and pulling me toward my bedroom. My heart starts pounding, but I can’t say why. Is it fear of sleep, or the fact I’m inexplicably drawn to this guy? I see his collar and sigh. Remi stops short, and I run in to his muscular back. I want to wrap my arms around him and beg him to not make me go to bed. Not alone. Not with my nightmares.
“Why the sigh?” He turns and brushes the hair out of my eyes, the backs of his fingers grazing along my jaw. When I glance up at his eyes, they flicker with a reflection of the candle flame. Surely it was a reflection…
“I’m just exhausted.” And confused. And scared.
“I told you I’d stay. You have nothing to fear.”
If only that were true.
I’m afraid of my dreams.
I’m afraid to live.
I’m afraid to die.
I’m afraid of being alone.
But Remi is here—a stranger, a priest, and dare I hope, a friend? He takes my hand and leads me to my bed. I pull down the cover and turning my back to him, do the girl-maneuver of slipping my bra off through the sleeves of my shirt. Without any electricity, the hiss of Remi’s inhalation seems to echo in the stillness of the room. I dive under my covers, too embarrassed to tell him I’m afraid of the dark. However, my body doesn’t seem to have any qualms about betraying me, and my lower lip trembles.
“G-Good night, Father.”
His hand reaches toward me and I hold my breath as he makes the sign of the cross on my forehead. Cupping my cheek, he smiles and my fear evaporates, at least for the moment. “Sweet dreams, Evangeline. You are God’s child and in His care tonight and always.”
Unbidden, a single tear slips down my cheek, but before I can wipe it away, he does so with his thumb. “No nightmares tonight. I forbid it.” His eyes crinkle and he taps my nose with his index finger before leaving my room. A lingering sense of peace and the smell of Christmas remain in his wake as I snuggle in my bed. The lit candle remains on my bedside table, as if he knew of my fear of the dark. When I hear him trip in the hallway and the resulting muttered oath, I giggle softly into my pillow. The rain continues with less fury as I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Four
ONCE I’M SURE EVANGELINE IS ASLEEP, I open the front door, light a much-needed cigarette and lean on the doorjamb, exhausted. I’ve forgotten the feeling. We don’t tire back home. The rain has slacked off to a drizzle, leaving the air muggy and hot. Nothing compares to the stifling summer heat of south Florida. The oppressive humidity practically robs you of the ability to breathe. Even Luc hates it, preferring dryer heat.
Standing in the doorframe, I pause and listen for any sound from Evie’s room, but the house remains quiet. Drawing on the cigarette, I work on figuring my next move. First on the list, I have to move the car. No need to add fuel to the rampant gossip in this small town, especially if Evie decides to stay here after I save her crazy ass.
Finishing the smoke, I check the trunk and find a suitcase. I can only imagine what’s in it. Itchy black shirts, dull black pants and god awful stiff collars. Thunder rumbles and I roll my eyes. “I know, I know. Job requirement. Sorry, Sir.”
I haul it to the front porch and drive the car around the block, parking it on the street. It’s a middle-class neighborhood and appears to be pretty safe. Besides, I have the best protection around. He’ll look after us, He always does. How bizarre is it that Evie doesn’t own a car? How does she get around? If I lived on earth I’d have to own a car. Driving fast is almost as much fun as flying.
Jogging back to her house, I can’t seem to come up with a plan to save her. I’ve never dealt with anyone like her before. I guess I’ll just have to wing it. Snickering at my own joke, I grab the suitcase and tiptoe into the house. It’s a relief to discover some jeans and T-shirts, not just the Doomsday garb. He must not be too mad at me. Not wanting to risk waking her up with a shower, I quickly change into a pair of sleep pants and settle on the lumpy couch with my legs dangling off the armrest. With my hands crossed behind my head, I stare at the ceiling, thinking about the sad girl in the next room.
“What do you expect me to do, Evie? What the fuck am I supposed to do? She’s pregnant. I can’t leave her! Not now.”
“But what about me? You told me you love me. You told me you weren’t even sleeping with her. You said your marriage was over. I don’t understand. How can it be your baby, Jack? How? And, don’t even think about lying to me. I want to hear it from your lips. I want to hear how you betrayed not only me, but her, too.”
I slap him hard and the car swerves. Screams mingle with the sound of metal bending and glass shattering…
A hand brushes the hair off my sweat-drenched face.
“Evangeline.”
I refuse to open my eyes, not wanting to face the emptiness. I
just want him to hold me.
“Jack?” I whisper. As soon as his name leaves my mouth, I know it isn’t Jack. He never calls me by my full name. The bed shifts as someone stands and a frightening loneliness covers me like a thick shroud. Am I once again in bed with some nameless guy who picked me up at a bar?
Listening, I hear the snap of a light switch and the sound of running water. Peeking from under my lashes, I see Remi standing at the sink. He’s discarded the clerical garb and looks disheveled in black sleep pants hanging low on his carved hipbones. The muscles in his forearms flex as he hangs his head, gripping the sides of the counter. Each deep breath he draws forces his abs to constrict into perfect sculpted planes. For once, I’m thankful to be home, and it’s Remi that’s here. I hate those awkward goodbyes where I can’t remember a name. But, the men always remember me. I’m the party girl who’ll do anything, the girl you can fuck and leave. The girl who doesn’t matter.
In a moment he returns to my bedside and proceeds to wash my face as he whispers reassuring nonsense. I fight the urge to wrap my arms around his waist and hold him tight. I want to believe him when he says everything will be okay. It’s been way too long since anyone has given a damn about me, and I’m not quite sure how to process it. I’ve learned to avoid the pain of abandonment by tucking away my need to connect to another human being except on a superficial level.
“You promised me no nightmares.” My accusing look doesn’t faze him as I worm my way to sit up and glare at him. My reasoning sounds silly and childish even to my own ears. There’s no way another person can govern your dreams or thoughts, unless they hypnotize you, or perform a lobotomy.
He runs a hand through his golden brown hair making it even more of a tousled mess. “Were you sleeping? Or remembering?”
“Go to hell.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction to lash out and I regret doing so immediately.
A brief flicker of anger followed by concern, registers in his eyes. It’s as if he’s staring straight through me, deep into the hollow place where my soul should reside. With a heavy sigh he stands and looks down at me with a slight furrow in his brow. Guilt assails me. He’s been nothing but kind to me and doesn’t deserve my uncaffeinated snarky attitude.