by Nancee Cain
“What are you talking about?” His tone of voice suggests that of a patient parent.
“I killed my daddy.”
Chapter Nine
WHAT A MORNING. It started with another spy from above. Francis enjoyed pawning off that pathetic mongrel, Goner, on us. And in the guise of a foreign gas station attendant, please. How cliché. It ticks me off to no end that The Boss won’t take a phone call, answer a text or a prayer, but can take the time to send nosy old Francis of Assisi to do His reconnaissance. Not because He doesn’t already know what’s going on. It’s a warning, like a horse head in the bed. He’s the ultimate Godfather, after all.
A red Porsche 918 Spyder flies by and the Driver leans on the horn. It’s tempting to flip Him off, but I refrain, knowing better. I glower for a moment, wishing He’d given me that car instead of the five-year-old Altima to drive. I guess a priest wouldn’t have a car like that. His lack of trust annoys me. I might not be going by the book of Saving Lost Souls, but she’s standing here, still alive and hasn’t tried to kill herself since I arrived on the bridge.
I draw on the cigarette and sigh. That’s not why He’s checking up on me, and I know it. On second thought, this kind of warning isn’t so bad. And truthfully, He’s right. I’m skating close to the edge and about to fall in over my head. This chick is getting under my skin.
Actually, I want to be all over her skin, inside and out. I stare at Evangeline. Her shoulders slump, bearing the weight of her guilt, making her look like a lost little girl. Sure, she made some terrible mistakes and bad choices, but she’s not inherently evil. I haven’t seen Jack hanging around heaven, and I hope he’s serving some time for being such a jerk taking advantage of her, not to mention his adultery.
I watch as the wind blows one of her curls across her cheek. She’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Her warm, chocolate eyes melt my heart when she peeks at me from under those ridiculously long lashes. Not to mention those full, dusky-rose colored lips the same color as her tempting nipples…
An eighteen-wheeler drives by this time, leaning on the horn. I draw my attention away from her smoking hot body and back to how I can make her understand she isn’t the reason for all the bad things that have happened in the world.
Nope, just a few bad thoughts from yours truly.
An eighteen-wheeler speeds by and blows the horn, making Remi jump. “Don’t be ridiculous, you were just a little kid, you didn’t kill your father.” He blows a perfect smoke ring before stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of his boot, and folds his arms across his chest. I like his forearms, they’re defined without being too muscular and the light dusting of hair on them glints in the sunlight.
“I did.” I raise my chin in defiance and place my hands on my hips.
“Proud of that fact, are you?” He snorts and mutters, “What a pretentious little brat.”
“What?” I stare at him with a mixture of horror and disbelief at his blasé manner. “You don’t believe me?”
“Hell no.”
“You sure cuss a lot to be a priest.”
“I didn’t prior to meeting you.” He chucks me under my chin, and the wide grin he flashes makes my skin tingle. “Now you can add corruption of a priest to your pathetic, self-indulgent list of sins. Feel better? Wanna go pick some old lady’s flowers or throw a candy wrapper on the ground to add to the catalog?”
“You’re not taking me seriously,” I huff with indignation. Meanwhile, my warped mind plays out images of corrupting him on the hood of the car.
“Oh, don’t worry. I take you very seriously. You, on the other hand, take yourself way too seriously. You can’t take on the sins of the world. Last time I checked, you hadn’t been appointed a savior, unless you received a memo I didn’t get.”
“But, it’s my fault…”
“For crying out loud, stop this mea culpa shit. You were six when your father died. It was an accident with a chainsaw, Evie!” I hear the distinct sound of flapping feathers, but don’t see any birds around.
“But I was fooling around instead of working—” My eyes widen as fear plummets to the pit of my stomach. My mouth tastes like a rusty nail. “H-How did you know? I didn’t tell you any of that.”
“It doesn’t matter how I know, who told me, or why I know. The only thing that matters is this—it wasn’t your fault. Get that through your thick skull. You’re not responsible for all the death and tragedy in the world. Quite honestly, while you are important, you’re not the end all, be all.”
“But—”
He whistles and Goner runs toward him from the woods. Picking the happy dog up, he carries him to the trunk of the car and opens it. I watch, confused as he pulls out a lug wrench. Remi walks toward me, the dog in his arms, and the lug wrench in his hand. My heart pounds in my constricted throat. He isn’t wearing his sunglasses and I see the cold, deadly intent in his eyes.
“W-What are you doing?” I croak, my eyes widening. Dear God, no. I shake my head and reach toward him, palms up in supplication. Has he snapped? Have I driven the priest over the edge? I’m trembling so hard it would only take a slight breeze to knock me over. “No, put the dog down—”
“I’m going to kill this dog. I told you his name was Goner. He’s lived a good life, he’ll eventually die anyway.” His voice sounds cold and lethal, his eyes appear distant and soulless. Goner whimpers and squirms in his arms, his tongue hanging out of his sweet face, tail wagging nervously. I must be in some sort of parallel universe. Why would Remi hurt a poor, innocent dog?
“What? No! You can’t do this. Please, I’m begging you.” I lunge to grab the dog from his arms, but Remi sidesteps me. “If I take this lug wrench and bash this poor mongrel’s brains out it would be wrong, wouldn’t it? You might even say it would be a horrendous act of evil?”
Nodding, I fall to my knees, blubbering like a baby. “Please, please, don’t hurt my dog. He’s innocent.” Drowning in my sobs, my breathing stutters. Is there no one to stop him? Frantic, I look up and down the road but there are no other cars. I’m alone with a madman. My heart hurts for the poor little dog. They’d been feeding him at the gas station…If I’d just left him there…Please God…someone, anyone stop this insanity…
Remi kneels with the dog in front of me and puts down the lug wrench and releases Goner. Instead of running for the safety of the trees, the stupid mutt runs straight in front of the lone car on the interstate. I scream and jump up to run after him, but Remi stops me, yanking me against his chest. Everything happens so fast I can’t comprehend.
The sound of screeching tires and a blaring horn sickens me. “Noooo,” I scream sagging against his chest. I can’t look. The car doesn’t stop. I clutch his T-shirt, soaking it with my tears.
“Shh, he’s fine, Evangeline. Look.” A bark sounds across the interstate. I wipe my face and risking a peek, see Goner sniffing the ground, his tail wagging.
Relief leaves me feeling weak and my knees buckle. I’d no doubt fall if it weren’t for him holding me. “I don’t understand. Why did you do that?”
“If I’d killed that dog, it would have been a sin, a malevolent act done on purpose to harm an innocent. If the dumb dog got run over because he ran into traffic instead of the safety of the woods, it would have been a tragic accident.”
Now that the relief has faded, anger rises from the pit of my stomach and I can’t contain it. He did this to teach me a lesson? “Are you insane?” I scream at him, my fists clenched at my sides. I smack him hard, causing him to flinch, but he doesn’t budge.
He raises one eyebrow and smirks, “Are you, Crazy Girl?”
I stomp around cursing him with every profane word I’d ever heard and throw in a few made up ones for good measure until my anger sputters and dies. I wind down, now emotionally, physically and spiritually spent.
“God forgives you for your mistakes, Evangeline. Would it help if I assign you a gazillion Hail Marys and Our Fathers as penance? Or told you to go work in a
homeless shelter, a soup kitchen, or an animal shelter? All of these things are good, but mean nothing if you don’t internalize it and forgive yourself. Quit using your craziness as a crutch and take responsibility for your actions, not your perceived sins.”
I swallow and remain motionless, trying to comprehend, but finding it difficult to erase years of self-retribution. Is he right? Do I use my mental illness as a means to punish myself? “But I feel so guilty.” I hang my head with shame. I’m about to start ugly crying all over again.
“Then channel that guilt and do something for someone else. Quit wallowing in your self-pity. For God’s sake, quit being afraid to live.”
He trudges back to the trunk and throws the lug wrench into it. He stands for a moment leaning against the car, looking as exhausted as I feel. When he returns to stand in front of me, he’s wearing his priest’s stole over his 50 Shades of Grace T-shirt. I fall to my knees and wince as the gravel digs through my jeans. This physical pain is minor compared to the crushing mental anguish I’ve lived with most of my life.
“Ask for absolution, forgive yourself, and be done with it. You can’t carry this around forever. It’s killing you, and I’ve already told you, I won’t allow you to die on my watch.”
His gentle voice and the hand caressing the back of my head comfort me. He’s right. The weight of my shame and regret has emotionally crippled me since I was six-years-old and watched Daddy bleed to death before my eyes. I’ve been sinking in the quicksand of my guilt, and he’s offering me a lifeline.
Ready to be free of the mire of this self-imposed torture, I reach for the safety he offers and bow my head. The words I haven’t spoken in far too long come without prompting. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” My guilt has festered in my heart and poisoned my mind for years. Remi’s compassion has lanced it, allowing it to drain and heal.
“I know, Evangeline, I know.”
He cups my cheeks and I look up at him. His unwavering gaze holds mine, and in the depth of his eyes I see forgiveness and love.
“God, the Father of Mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” My forehead burns where he places the sign of the cross, and a halo of light surrounds him, blinding me. As the sun bathes my face, the darkness in my soul bursts with light. It’s similar to the feeling I had on that dark night, flying down a back road screaming with joy.
I’m free.
I’m alive.
It takes us an hour to round up Goner, who seems to hold no grudges, judging by the jubilant sloppy kisses he bestows upon Remi. My emotions ping all over the place, vacillating between feeling drained and carefree. Physically, I ache all over and I’m in definite need of a bath. I’m not sure if Remi has the sunroof open because of the dirty dog stench, or the soured vomit stink of my clothes. Probably, it’s a combination of both.
Due to my mental breakdown, or breakthrough, depending on how you look at it, we don’t make it to St. Louis as planned. Remi pulls over to a motel on the interstate in the middle of nowhere. After getting us checked in, we sneak Goner into the room, determined to give him a bath.
Goner has other plans.
“Hold him still,” Remi grouses through clenched teeth. He winces and wrinkles his nose as Goner shakes his nasty, wet dog hair. I giggle and the murderous look Remi shoots me makes me laugh harder. I’m glad the lug wrench is secure in the trunk of the car.
“I’m trying. It’s like trying to hold a basket of snakes. You hold him, I’ll scrub,” I complain in return. After several swear words offered by the good Reverend and myself, the stupid dog is finally scrubbed clean, while we look a lot worse for wear. Using the detachable shower nozzle, I rinse off, wiggling my toes and feeling strangely lighthearted.
Remi has Goner on the leash and is brushing at the muddy streaks on his jeans, making it worse instead of better. “Yuck, this is disgusting.”
I can’t contain my grin. “Why? I would think this would be right up your alley.”
Remi frowns and furrows his brow. “I’m filthy thanks to this mutt. How is stinking like a wet dog up my alley?”
“Because right now you’re a dirty white boy.” I take the shower head and squirt him, singing the words to the old Foreigner song. “And don’t you dare reference me to any song that says bitch in it.”
He laughs so hard he doubles over and tears track down his ruggedly handsome face. When he is finally able to stand upright, he peels off his wet T-shirt and runs a hand through his damp hair, oblivious to his effect on me. I swallow and turn off the water as I stare at the water dripping down his body. One drop hangs for a second on a brown nipple before sliding down and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. A desire to lick him dry from head to toe makes my tongue snake across my lips. Blushing, I spin around before he can see the lust written on my face.
“So, I think I’ll grab some clean clothes and get a quick shower. I’ll clean up this mess, too.” I move to head out of the cramped bathroom, but Remi’s blocking my exit. Goner’s leash is wrapped around his legs. His piercing green eyes stare at my chest and I realize too late that even with a bra on, it looks like I could enter a wet T-shirt contest. My nipples are as hard as marbles, and I’m sure he knows why. Without saying a word, he tears his eyes back to the panting dog at his feet. He unwinds Goner’s leash and stomps out of the room grabbing his cigarettes as he leaves.
Guilt washes over me, leaving me feeling as dirty on the inside as I am on the outside. He’s warned me repeatedly he’s a man as well as a cleric. I know he’s on leave for a reason and I don’t need to add to his problems by lusting after him. Not to mention, I certainly don’t need to add more stupidity to my life.
After I shower and clean up the bathroom, I find Remi stretched out in the chair with his feet propped up on the bed snoring loud enough to drown out the doggie snores beside him. I gently shake his shoulder. “Shower’s all yours.”
His eyes open and crinkle with his sleepy grin. “Thanks. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” He groans and stretches, affectionately rubbing the sleeping head of the dog beside him. How could I have ever thought he would harm Goner? Sadness sweeps over me. In this moment I’d give anything in the world for us to be two different people. To be a man and a woman who could get to know one another, fall in love, and grow old together.
How many times has he told me I need to move on and start living? I desperately wish it could be him to move on with. It seems unfair, but I guess it fits in nicely with the story of my life—wrong place, wrong time, and wrong person. I’m sure there are plenty of studies of women who fall in love with men who should be off limits, like married men and priests. It’s probably a hazard of his job. Who hasn’t seen The Thorn Birds, after all? I cast a wistful smile at him.
Even if he were available, why would he want a girl like me? I have enough problems to pack a landfill. Tucking my wrong, immoral thoughts away, I cross the room to the vanity to dry my hair, and start chattering to get my mind off his chiseled chest and my unfulfilled desires. “I wish we didn’t have to eat cheap tonight. I’m starving. My mama’s a great cook. Her cranberry biscotti and lasagna are to die for. Uh, well not literally, I mean I don’t want to die any more. Of course, I know we all die at some point…” My voice trails off when he doesn’t answer.
Without saying a word he walks up behind me and his gaze meets mine in the mirror. We stand staring at one another, not saying a word, yet saying everything. I wonder if he knows how much my newly discovered soul yearns for his. A barely audible sigh leaves those lips I long to kiss, and his green eyes appear as turbulent as a stormy sea. Yeah, he knows.
When he looks away, I feel like part of my heart has been ripped from my chest.
“I won’t be
but a few minutes,” he murmurs. When the door to the bathroom closes, I grip the sink and wonder how I’m going to get through the night, much less the rest of my life.
I stand in the cold shower for at least fifteen minutes, attempting to get my warring emotions under control. One minute I want to throttle her, the next I want to kiss her. I’ll never forget her look of fear and abject horror when she thought I was going to hurt her silly dog. I’d never admit it out loud, but I love that mangy old mutt. I didn’t want to threaten him, but I didn’t know how else to break through her guilt. Guilt she shouldn’t be carrying. If I ever see Jack, I plan to kick his ass for taking advantage of her. I sigh and tiredly scrub my face. Who am I to judge? Can I really blame him? I’m right there with him, having forbidden thoughts about Evangeline.
It’s more than just a sexual attraction, I argue with myself. I love her. I lean my head against the side of the shower and close my eyes. I love her and I can’t have her. What the hell am I going to do? I can still see the outline of her lace bra trying to conceal those perky nipples under her wet T-shirt. The girl I love is one hundred percent hot sex in a five-foot-four package, and Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. I want nothing more than to unwrap that present. But it isn’t an option, and the icy shower isn’t helping.
I sigh and take matters into my own hand.
After a quick, fairly normal blessing over the food, Remi digs into the basket of chips on the table.
“I’m going to say it one more time. You are the most unethical priest I’ve ever known.”
Remi grins. “Are you sure you weren’t raised Jewish with all of this guilt you carry? If it bothers you, then don’t eat.” The look of unadulterated bliss on his face as he dunks a chip into the cheese dip makes me smile.