Biker's Virgin

Jace

My new church confessional was an old fashioned one that still had a booth for the priest and one for the parishioner. The church I was at in Boston had been a lot more progressive. During confession, there I sat in the confession “room” in a chair across from the congregate that was confessing. It was one-on-one still, but there was no hiding. Since you can’t hide from God, I felt that was as it should be.

This was my first real day of work in Lexington, though, so I would do it their way for a while. After Father Byrne moved on to his new post in New York, it would be my church and I could change things as I saw fit.

As I dressed and readied myself to hear confession, the words my mentor in the seminary used to read to us from the guide to hearing confession came rushing back to me. I heard his voice reciting it word-for-word as if he were in the room with me, staring me down with accusing eyes, judging me.

“But if he himself be ignorant, a profligate, and a lover of pleasure, how can he teach virtue unto others? And who would be so unwise as to hearken unto him concerning that which he (that is, the penitent) has to say, seeing him a disorderly person and a drunkard, and teaching others not to be intemperate, or to follow any virtue whatever, while he himself is unable to do this? For eyes are more believing than ears, says the divine Scripture. Therefore, take heed unto thyself, O Confessor, for if one sheep be lost through thy negligence, it shall be required at thy hands. ‘For cursed,’ says the Scripture, ‘is he that does the work of the Lord negligently.’ (Jer. 48:10)”

I shuddered and tried to push that memory down as I donned my sacred robes and lit the candles on either side of the confessional. Then, kissing the crucifix around my neck, I said the prayer reserved for priests who are about to hear confession: “Grant to me, O Lord, that wisdom which stands beside Thy throne, that I may know how to judge Thy people with justice, and Thy poor ones with equity…”

I could taste the residue of scotch still coating my throat, and the prayer that usually gave me peace, instead caused the bile to rumble up and compete with the alcohol for my notice. I closed my eyes and refocused my mind on my faith and my love of God and I started over.

When I finished, I flipped on the green light and took my seat in the chair. Sister Adeline had left a pot of tea for me next to the chair. I poured a cup and held it to my face, letting the steam seep into my skin.

It was probably my imagination, but I thought I could smell the alcohol seeping from my pores and filling the room. My stomach had just be

gun to lurch as the first parishioner arrived. It was time to tuck my sins away to later be judged by my Father and get to work.

Chapter Seven

Daphne

“Daphne, table six is asking for more coffee.”

“Oh shoot! I told them I’d be back 10 minutes ago!” I grabbed the freshly made pot and felt Bethany’s eyes boring in to me as I rushed over to refill their cups. She was standing in the same spot when I got back.

“What’s going on with you?”

I feigned an innocent look. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been distracted all day.”

“Oh, well, I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Daphne!” My boss Ken was cooking because our second cook hadn’t shown up. He wasn’t in a good mood about it, either.

“Yes?”

“The eggs are congealing! If you wouldn’t mind taking them out and picking your personal conversation back up later, that would be great.”

“I’m sorry, Ken, of course.” Bethany rolled her eyes. She’d been working here for more than two years and Ken didn't scare her any longer. This job was my only lifeline at the moment. He scared me to death.

I started to reach for one of the plates and Bethany grabbed my arm from behind. Annoyed, I looked back and saw her holding out the plate holder we use after they’d been sitting underneath the lights. Without it, I would have burned the skin off my hand. “Thank you,” I mouthed, gratefully.

She smiled at me and then in a whisper said, “Break in 15 minutes. Be ready to spill.”

I smiled back, nervously. There was no way I was going to tell her what I’d done. I could barely stand, that I knew. I took out the orders and refilled a few more drinks before it was time for our break. I took my ice water and followed Bethany out the back door of the restaurant.

As soon as we were clear of the building, she lit a smoke and said, “Come on, Daphne. I’ve known you a long time. I know something is wrong.”

Bethany was my oldest…my only friend. She was the only one I ever told about my drunken father and the house of horrors I’d grown up in. She loved me and I loved her. She made me feel safe and kept my confidences. She didn’t judge, but there was still no way I was telling her about this.

It was between me, God, and whatever name green eyes goes by. I was having a hard-enough time with that. I couldn't bring myself to let anyone else in on the sins I’d committed.

“It’s just a personal issue, Beth. I’d rather not talk about it, okay? Maybe some other time I’ll be ready…but not now.”

Bless Bethany; she always knew when to push and when to back off. Now, she knew I needed her to back off.