You’re good for me, I screamed.
I screamed it over and over until my inner voice was raw and ravaged.
And like a chant on my lips, I prayed for him to feel the true meaning when I said my next words.
“They love you, Bastien.”
FOURTEEN
Tressa
“See?” I yelled over the chugging of the volunteer fire truck a few afternoons later, a loud spray of water covering the wide, skating-rink-sized layer of snow in the side yard of St. Michael’s. “They are loving you so hard for this already!”
Bastien shook his head, crooked grin on his face at my use of modern teen-speak. He stood, arms crossed, looking all lush and warm and inviting as we watched the first stages of my winter festival game plan unfold.
Step one—convince someone with an extremely large hose and an endless water source to share a little for our community ice rink. An announcement had run in last week’s church newsletter requesting donations of old or no longer used skates and hockey equipment, and the drop-offs had come in droves.
Excitement was already high, so when a giant fire truck rolled up outside the local parish, the people came out.
I laughed as kids clapped and waved, one firefighter pointing out the control system on the hose to a small group of kids, as another group of older ladies pointed to the two firemen operating the hose at the business end.
I nearly made a joke to Bastien about the dirty old birds but thought better of it, before he caught my gaze and split into a laugh of his own that rumbled so deep, I swear it hit places he hadn’t touched since…well…
A dash of a frown crossed my face when I thought of Bastien’s hands on me.
I relived the few minutes his hands had spent beneath my panties, the rough touch of his desperate fingers working my skin into a fever, and it nearly sent me spiraling all over again.
Just a look from this guy was about enough to send me over the edge, the chaste white collar at this throat a taunt, begging me to tackle him and loosen it with my teeth.
I expected to burn in hell for these thoughts one day. I’d already made peace with it.
“We’re a good team,” Bastien said.
“We?” I bumped his shoulder. “I think it was me on the phone begging the fire commissioner to loan me that giant hose he’s got.”
“Loan, huh? Dare I ask what you promised in return, Tressa?”
“It’s better you not.” I winked, waving at the fire chief across the yard.
Bastien lifted an eyebrow.
“Turns out he hasn’t had good arroz con pollo since his grandma passed last summer. I promised I’d make him a batch, with enough for the rest of the guys, a few times a month through all of winter. It didn’t take him long to agree.”
Bastien laughed. “I concede. You never cease to amaze me.”
“Well, for the record, I may have done the legwork, but it wasn’t without your inspiration.” I shrugged. “So, we are a good team.”
He nodded, eyes taking in the busy scene, St. Michael’s looking alive for the first time in a long time outside of weekly Mass.
“Things were pretty quiet without your particular brand of—”
“Crazy?” I interrupted.
“Love, I was going to say.” His voice lowered, gravelly with seriousness. “I believed from a very early age that I would do this. Many of the men in my family, untold generations, have been seminarians. I was drawing crosses and relics in my school notebook in Havana as a child. For a time, my mother thought I was the second coming of the Holy Father.” He shook his head, wry smile on his face at the memory. “That’s why she enrolled me at the Jesuit school and why she was relieved when I made it official after I graduated. Mi Mamá…” He paused, reserved irises softening with emotion. “She was raised with a belief system that’s both traditional and—” he shrugged his shoulders “—spiritual in a worldly way, I guess you could say. She told me stories of her ancestors escaping a revolution in Spain and Portugal, only to find themselves confronting another in Cuba. From the beginning, I’ve felt called to this life. I’ve pledged my soul to God’s highest good. It’s my vocation. The Jesuits teach that a vocation has nothing to do with you, that it will not always fulfill you, that it will not heal any sense of incompleteness or loneliness. That it is only a part of God’s pledge, that the answer shall be given in the end.” He turned his eyes to the sky, pondering something far beyond both of us. “I’ve been fortunate. This calling has always been good to me, and perhaps despite some of the sadness, it has breathed life into me. I’ve always been thankful for that, but it’s just one of the core values that led me down a path away from Jesuit thinking. The Catholic church may not pride itself on being progressive, but with few exceptions, it doesn’t seek to control and prostrate at the pyre for the slightest transgression. Hardship builds character, holy restraint requires deep self-reflection, and therein we unlock our true selves, free of bodily sin and suffering.”
“So…” I leaned closer into him. “The Catholic church is more forgiving that you had your hand down my pants?”
Bastien’s eyes turned dark, smile sinking into a frown. “Tressa.”
The way his lips hissed my name sent a thrill of rebellion cutting through me.
I liked eliciting a reaction from him.
I tipped my chin in the air, smile defiant.
“That look in your eye tells me I’m not wrong.”
His eyes softened before he turned away, amused smile returning. “I would never.”
I bumped his shoulder softly, surprised when he rocked back against me this time, the lightning bolt his touch sent through my veins thickening my blood like lava.
“But think, if you have the capacity to love something outside of this church—”
Bastien’s eyes cut to mine, intense with something darker than I was comfortable with. “Love?”
“It’s obvious you have the capacity.”
“I do, huh?” His eyes twinkled.
“I just think everyone has the capacity to do good in different, nontraditional ways.”
His fingertip skated over mine, the chill of the temperature no match for the warmth of his glow.
“I can assure you, little dove, I’m nothing if not untraditional.”
His words curled through me like a dragon, breathing fire and uncontrollably hungry for more.
I sucked on my bottom lip, a flashback of his thumb swirling under my panties playing like an illicit movie behind my eyelids.
“There’s that look again.” His littlest finger hooked through mine. I nearly singed a human-shaped hole into the snow and earth at my feet.
“Father Bastien! I was thinking—” Ms. Watson crunched over on fur-lined snow boots, red-lipsticked smile crossing her face and completely unaware she’d just interrupted the most intensely sensual moment of my young life “—my daughter-in-law makes these wonderful stuffed cabbage rolls for the bakery she works at. I could have her make a few batches for St. Michael’s Winter Festival, especially. What you and this lovely Tressa have been doing to freshen up the place, well…” She pressed a hand at Bastien’s forearm. “It’s just a miracle. Like breathing the Spirit back into things. This world needs more of the special kind of love the two of you have to give. Doing God’s work, you both are.” She winked, pressing something into the palm of Bastien’s hand and then tottering off down the sidewalk.
“She’s so sweet,” I said, watching her leave.
“With a heck of a sweet tooth. Passes me lemon drops after every Mass.”
“She loves you.”
“They love you too.”
I shook my head, catching Bastien’s gaze for a moment as clouds of our breath rose around us. I wasn’t lovable. Not really. Not in the way he was. I was the villain in this tale; I couldn’t go forgetting that. “I don’t have a place here, not really. Not in your life, not in theirs. I’m so thankful for St. Michael’s. It’s been my home more than anywhere else, but it’s no
t my forever home.”
Bastien nodded, hovering a hand at the small of my back and encouraging me to walk with him toward the front steps. The very ones I’d found myself on, downtrodden and desperate weeks ago. “That’s where we disagree.”
I tilted my head when we crossed into the vestibule. “Oh?”
“I believe God is everywhere. You just happen to keep finding him on the steps of St. Michael’s.”
I smiled softly, letting his words roll around in my head. “Maybe.”
“Hey.” Bastien’s hand was brushing against mine again, our bodies hovering between innocence and intimacy. “Do you always make a habit of doubting a holy man?”
I laughed then, laughed so hard tears burned at my eyelids, and a few parishioners from the yard looked up, smiled, and then waved at both of us.
“See?” he murmured at my side. “They love you.”
Heartache settled over my shoulders like storm clouds. If they realized we weren’t their saviors, but Bonnie and Clyde, engaging in every sinful temptation under their very eyes, well, would they burn us at the stake then?
“God’s in your heart, Tressa. Why you keep finding him on the steps of St. Michael’s is the better question.”
The pain of his words clawed at my throat.
I had to find a job and get some cash flowing into my bank account.
I couldn’t be here when this all fell apart.
And it would.
Bastien and I were two fast-moving trains in the night, too far gone to turn around, moving too rapidly to hit the brakes in time. We would crash and burn, and it would be a public affair.
Bastien was too sweet; I couldn’t let his entire life’s mission crumble to ash.
I wasn’t the one with a reputation and sacred vow to protect.
And while he obviously could survive a life without me in it, I was certain he couldn’t survive without his holy flock.
Blood was thicker than water, and Bastien had pledged his to God.
What we were was heartbreakingly shallow in comparison.
Correction. I was shallow.
Bastien was holy.
FIFTEEN
Tressa
“Some days, I swear I’d use my last dollar to hitch a ride on a bus anywhere warm.” Lucy whisked her hands together at my side, cracked vinyl of the city bus at our backs.
“Fun to visit, but isn’t braving the elements so much more fun? All that frigid air is good for the lungs.”
Lucy nailed me with a dark gaze, and the older gentleman at Lucy’s other shoulder huffed. “Never heard a heavier load of bullshit.”
Lucy and I broke into giggles, warmth thawing the cool temperatures via the 1970s ventilation system.
“Thanks for coming with me. I know if I get this job across town, I’ll have to get over it. But doing anything for the first time alone gives me such a serious set of butterflies, I’d probably fumble my way into reception while dropping off these applications.”
Lucy’s hands subconsciously cradled the tiny swell of her stomach through the heavy puffer coat she wore. Her feet were twisted at the ankles, toes worn through on her furry winter boots. “I owe you the thanks, trust.”
I looped her arm with mine, sending her a smile.
“Sisters?” The old man grinned.
“Not quite.” I shook my head. “Coworkers.”
“Roommates,” Lucy chirped.
His chestnut eyes brightened. “It’s good to see people loving each other. I know what you kids think about my generation, all the free love and peace stuff, but I, for one, don’t think that much love was a bad thing. Just finished this this morning.” He pulled an old, worn paperback from a giant pocket in the folds of his coat. “I usually hang on to a book for a few days after I finish it—” he leafed through the pages, callused pad of his thumb grazing the edges reverently “—sometimes to reread certain passages. I like to let the meaning of a story settle into my bones like dust on a bookshelf. This one, I never could quite get rid of. Been holding it right here since I found it in one of those tiny free-book libraries downtown. I’ve read it eight times, cover to cover. I happen to believe that some books are fated to the reader. No matter how many times you ignore them, somehow, they just keep chasing you down, begging you to crack the wisdom inside. There’s a splash of dark roast on page thirty-eight that makes me cringe every time. Still relive the moment a tourist in the park tossed a nickel and three pennies into my cup and left a permanent stain. When you get to it, I apologize on behalf of that animal.” His lips twisted into a wry smirk. “But, this book, my dear”—his gaze hung heavy on mine—“I think this one was meant for you.”
A ball of emotion rolled over my vocal cords as I nodded, unable to break the sweet old man’s gaze. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He squinted his eyes before squeaky brake pads slowed us to a halt and the exit doors of the bus swung open. “This is my stop.” He stood, winking once before walking off the bus and down the congested sidewalk, his broad shoulders and the dark knit hat on his head lost in a sea of strangers.
“This is our stop too, I think.” Lucy snatched the manila envelope that held my resume and completed application inside. “Yup.”
She grabbed my arm and escorted me down the steps, bumping my shoulder when our feet hit the sidewalk.
“You okay?” she asked.
“That guy, that was kind of intense, right?”
Her eyes shot up, then she shrugged. “What book did he give you?”
I flipped the soft paperback in my hands, shades of orange and licks of yellow splashing across my vision. “The Alchemist.”
Lucy’s eyes scrunched. “Haven’t heard of it.”
“I have.” My hands tightened on the binding. “I had a professor who had a signed copy of this.” I swallowed a shard of pain lancing my throat, eyes shuddering closed as I thought about that book, its glossy, mint-condition cover mocking me every day. The overwhelming urge to toss this one in the garbage was like a violent wave in my gut.
“I haven’t read it.”
I pushed the paperback deep down into my tote bag, half praying it’d fall out a mysterious hole I hadn’t yet discovered, never to be seen again.
“I’ll read it.” Lucy beamed, unaware of the flurry of anguish that fucking book had set off inside me.
“I’ve heard it’s good.” I snagged my manila envelope from her hand, just to have something to cover my raging heart. “303 Broad Street. I think that’s this way?”
Lucy nodded, setting off ahead of me as the memory of that old man’s eyes still haunted my mind. “You know that I definitely, one-thousand percent, want the best for you, right, Tressa?” I’d never been so thankful for Lucy’s chatter a few steps ahead. “I’m happy that you’re moving on and whatever, and this comes from a totally selfish place, but I can’t even imagine not living with you. I’ve never really lived with anyone so…” She quirked her head over her shoulder, catching my eye with a grin. “…healthy.”
“Healthy?” I laughed. “First time anyone has ever applied that word to me.”
Lucy’s smile fell, head shaking from side to side. “You don’t even see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“You,” she breathed. “The real you. The you that the rest of the world sees.”
Her words caught me off guard, like the kind generosity of the stranger on the bus.
“We’ve only got an hour before the nursery opens. We should get these delivered if we’re gonna get back in time to keep Bastien off our scent. I mean, big life questions before I’ve even had morning coffee? That’s a bridge too far.” I shuttled past her, clutching the envelope to my chest.
Lucy’s words were still haunting me after pushing through the swinging doors of 303 Broad Street. I felt the edge of the envelope cut into my clammy palm, the memory of the man on the bus still hovering just out of my grasp before we reached the third floor, doors whooshing open to reveal a lone reception desk, a home
made sheet of paper printed to read: Certified Nursing Assistant Applications Drop Here
I frowned, glancing around, the little eyeball of a security camera the only other proof of human existence.
“Friendly,” Lucy sneered, poking her head around the desk, picking up the phone and holding it to her ear for a second before returning it to the cradle. “Had to confirm it worked. This place is suspicious, T.”
“Most of the applications are automated now.” I shoved my envelope into the nondescript box then turned with a shrug.
“Ready to get back to St. Mike’s?” Lucy clicked a pen she’d found on the desk.
“Sure, I thought we could grab some coffee first, though. There’s a little cafe that used to be around the corner from here when I was in high school. I’m kind of curious if it’s still there.”
“Sounds great.” Lucy’s face grew animated.
I suddenly couldn’t imagine my daily life without her either.
We’d bonded like sisters in the short time we’d been together, so incredibly different but somehow a perfect fit. I’d never had many close friendships before, but that was what I was coming to learn about them—when they worked, they worked, regardless of any sort of logical reasoning.
“So,” Lucy started a few minutes later, once we’d located what was now called Stanz Cafe, hot decaf latte in hand. “Gonna fill me in on that weird face you made when the guy passed you that book?”
I widened my eyes, voice box drying up to dust. “Face?”
She dropped an eyebrow, stirring her drink with a little puppy-faced stir stick that read Stanz, just for effect, I was sure. “Like you’d seen the ghost of a long-lost boyfriend or something.”
I shot my gaze to my own warm drink, letting the smell of cinnamon soften the blow of her words. “It’s not like that.” It was sort of like that. “I’m sorry I got weird. That book…” I paused, searching. “Someone I used to know loved that book.”
“Sounds…”
“Complicated.”
“Way the fuck more than complicated, I was gonna say.” She smiled brightly, taking a sip.
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