“Where were you?” she asks concerned.
“At the gym, why? What’s wrong?” I am immediately on alert and concerned for her.
“Uh, I, uh, didn’t know where you were. I was worried,” she says stiltedly, wringing her hands.
“I’m fine, darling.”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” she tells me, walking into my open arms. I can’t help smiling.
“What should I call you then?”
“Beth is fine with me.”
“Beth is a fine name,” I tell her rubbing her back.
“We should go back to the church and be sure the damages won’t interrupt the Sunday service.”
“Of course. I am just going to take a quick shower.” She makes a strange gurgling sound in her throat and backs away from me.
“Good idea. I’ll leave you to it,” she says going back into her room.
I decide to keep the room until I can see what kind of damage we are dealing with and if it’s safe for Beth to stay there. When I emerge from the bathroom, I find her dressed, without her wimple on, sitting on the couch watching a reality show.
“What is this?” I ask simultaneously appalled and intrigued by the two cast members making out on a boat.
“Below Deck. It’s my guilty pleasure,” she says suddenly looking up from the TV at me. “Is it wrong for me to like this? I never thought about that before.”
“No, darling. It’s fine. No sin there,” I say reassuring her. She is unbelievably beautiful. I want her to be mine, but I know that can never be.
“Oh, good. I haven’t been able to let it go completely.” She looks relieved which makes me smile.
“You’ve got time, though I still watch sports.”
“Yeah, but you are like the boss, you can get away with things. I am the youngest nun in the convent. I don’t get away with anything,” she says laughing.
“So, don’t go back,” I say suddenly, surprising myself.
“What?”
“Stay here with me, permanently.”
“As what?”
“Whatever you want to be. I’ll push for a convent here. Whatever you want.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do anything for you, Beth,” I reply honestly.
“Why?” she asks.
“I must,” I say moving to her.
“But why?”
“I feel like I am supposed to.”
“Oh,” she says softly. Again, I put my hand on her cheek, the only touch I will allow myself.
“We should go,” I tell her.
“Alright,” she says standing.
Together, we go back to Saint Francis and everything seems fine. While I order a new window, she cleans up the glass and mops up the area.
“Thank you, Beth.”
“Your welcome. Lunch is almost ready,” she tells me, and I realize that I only have about four hours until confession starts.
The last few weeks have flown by quickly. Our first service was a success with about seventy new parishioners. Fathers Milo Fratelli and James Benson have joined me as junior priests. They have hired lay secretaries who go home at the end of the day. Beth has taken everyone under her wing dotes on us all. Thankfully, me more than the others, but I can’t really be thinking about that. Believe me, I know that because of the number of times that I have taken myself in hand thinking about her is sinful. Good thing that doesn’t really make you go blind like I was told growing up. I want so badly to sink inside of her and make her mine. My head is so messed up right now. To be honest so is my heart. My vows weigh heavily on my mind but so does she. It’s a dilemma to be sure. Every step I take, I feel like it’s right toward her. Each conversation I have with God tells me that this isn’t some kind of test, but the real thing. I can only hope that she feels the same way. If she doesn’t, this could all be ruined. She could go back to Pennsylvania and honestly, I’d rather see her and be in her presence than be without her. She has sat in the front pew for the last five Sundays. I am not ashamed to admit that each homily I have given has been solely for her.
I begin to prepare for confession since it’s Saturday afternoon. Milo and James are already in their booths waiting to begin. We randomize which both we are going to be so that the chance is greater for the confessor to have a different priest then the last time they were here. I take my seat behind the partition and wait, holding my Bible and my rosary.
Confessor after confessor comes through. I listen to their multitude of sins of which I die before divulging.
When the next one enters, the air stills and I know it’s Beth, though she would have no way of knowing it’s me, at least until I speak.
Chapter Seven
Beth
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been one week since my last confession,” I say, making the sign of the cross. “I have been having impure thoughts and doing impure things.”