Beautiful Mistake

He was silent as I tucked my cell into the side pocket of my purse and took out my keys before slinging it over my shoulder. He didn’t move when I brushed past him but then grabbed my elbow to stop me.

“I’m the last person who should be giving relationship advice. But if it’s not there, you can’t force it. No different than when it is there and you try to make it not be.”

Again, I wanted to read something more into his comment than he’d meant. I needed to stop doing that. “Thanks, Caine.”

He nodded, looking sad and resigned to stay that way. “Thank you for covering my class today and coming to my rescue tonight.”

“Of course. That seems to be our thing. We rescue each other.”

Caine

Fifteen years ago

A little thing like her shouldn’t be out riding a bicycle all by herself.

I’d waited outside the church this week, on the little bench hidden in front of the statue of Mary—most likely so people could pray in peace, not stalk ten-year-old girls. If anyone caught wind of the crazy shit I was up to on Saturdays, they’d probably think I was a goddamn child molester.

My little friend locked up her bike on the other side of the church and looked around to see if anyone was watching before running inside. I ducked but wasn’t sure if she saw me or not. I wasn’t even sure what the hell I was looking for—but at least I knew how she got here and that she came alone.

I waited a few minutes before going inside, figuring I’d let her settle in on her side of the booth. But when I slipped into the church, I found her kneeling in a pew near the confessional. Her head was bowed to her steepled hands.

She must have felt someone watching her, because after a minute her head came up and she looked around. Luckily she looked the other way before turning in my direction, giving me a chance to pull my head back behind the column. What the fuck am I even doing? I was hiding from a little girl I was reasonably sure lived in some sort of an abusive home and pretending to be a priest so I could what…rescue her?

Finding the coast was clear, the little girl got up from the pew and went to the confessional. Just like last week, she opened the priest side instead of the parishioner side. Although this time, she didn’t go in. Partially blocked by the door she was holding open, I couldn’t make out exactly what she was doing. But from the way her body folded at the waist and her arm came up and then right back down, I thought she might have tossed something inside. Then she opened the other door and disappeared inside.

What the hell was she up to?

Curious, I headed straight for the booth, only to find it just like each of the last six weeks I’d sat inside. There was the red velvet chair, the makeshift wooden pew with its worn-leather kneeling bench, a gold cross on the wall…and that was about it. Then I noticed a small coin sitting directly behind the front leg of the chair. I’d almost missed it. Leaning down, I picked it up. She spoke before I could even take my seat.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

I flipped the dulled copper penny over and over between my thumb and pointer as we got started. “Tell me your sins.”

Her mood was melancholy this week. She didn’t have any funny stories to share about Tommy, and even though she’d been on the other side for a solid twenty minutes, she hadn’t actually said much at all.

“How was school this week?”

“I didn’t go for three days.”

“Why not? Were you sick?”

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you go to school?”

“Is it a sin to skip school?”

“Not really. But you should go. Education is really important.” Apparently today I was channeling my mother instead of a priest. “And you can get in trouble for not going. Do you know what truancy is?”

“No.”

“It’s when you’re absent from school illegally.”

“So something can be illegal but not a sin?”

What was she getting at? “Well, breaking the law set by the state of New York is different than breaking God’s law. Why were you absent from school?”

“Because I was waiting for my sister.”

“Where was she that you were waiting for her?”

“I don’t know. She ran away last week. But before she left, she told me she’d come back and get me once she found a new place for us to live.”

“So you skipped school?”

“I pretended to go in the morning and then I came back to the house after Benny left. I didn’t want to miss her if she came back for me while I was at school.”

“Do you know why your sister ran away?”

She was quiet for a long time. Then she finally said, “I think it was because of Benny.”

That sounded like the fucking understatement of the year. “Did Benny go looking for your sister?”

“No. He yells a lot about her after he gets home from work. But then he falls asleep on the couch that smells like him.”

“You need to go to school. Talk to a teacher. Tell them what’s going on at home.”

“No. I don’t want to get my sister in trouble.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t know…”

I was thinking it was time I went to the police. But what would I say? Hi. I’m a fake priest, and you need to look for a guy named Benny and a skinny little girl who rides a blue bicycle?

“What’s your name?”

She was quiet again. “I have to go.”

“Wait!” I’d been flipping the penny around the entire time we were talking and suddenly stopped. “Did you drop some change on the floor?”

Her voice was low and almost melodic. “Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck.” Then the door creaked open and closed behind her.

With whatever shit was going on in this little girl’s life, she was sneaking in to drop coins on the floor for the priest to find and have good luck. Unbelievable.

Rachel

I agreed to have dinner with Davis in spite of the glum feeling I’d been walking around with for a few days. Or, maybe I hadn’t done it in spite of myself, but more like to spite someone else. Because I made sure that someone knew I had plans for this evening. I’d blown my naturally curly hair straight, slipped on a sexy, little summer dress, and laced-up, high-heeled sandals that tied with ribbons wrapping up my legs. The ensemble made my legs look long and the skirt look extra short. Perfect.