A Beautiful Sin

by Terri E. Laine

  “What are you doing here?” I asked coolly.

  My tone wasn’t pleasant. I couldn’t care less about his station in life. His head whipped around as my frank words startled him. Composing himself took a second as his eyes dug into mine briefly before he addressed me. That gave me a moment to assess how tired he looked, exhausted, in fact. Then he turned back to the painting.

  His words were quiet, but clear. “You did this?”

  My lip curled as I hurled back a snarky response to his idiotic question. “I am H. Richardson as you can see by my name on the painting.”

  He bowed his head for a second, his eyes closed. When he opened them, I could see recognition. “That’s…it’s…” He ran his hand through his hair as he stared at it. “That’s us, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  My tone had lost some of its bluster. He was clearly rattled, maybe even more than me.

  “From that day. Long ago. The day I destroyed your life.”

  I hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. But his words only reminded me of all the hurt I’d endured.

  “Yes.” My tone was unfriendly and clipped. “Why are you here?”

  “I, uh…I saw the article. The…the interview with you in the paper. I wanted to see your work.”

  I brushed aside his stuttering words. He wasn’t the victim here; I was.

  “Well, you did. You can go now.” I moved to leave him.

  “Wait, please.”

  Just like that night, his voice caused me to stop and face him.

  “I also came to tell you it was wrong of me.”

  He turned and studied the painting. His hand reached out to touch it.

  “Don’t,” I warned.

  He quickly drew it back.

  “I only finished it today so it’s not quite dry.” I didn’t understand why I felt it necessary to explain that to him, but I did.

  “The likeness. How did you—”

  “Memory, obviously.” My tone indicated he was an idiot, yet he said nothing in response to that.

  He shook his head. “How could you know?”

  “Know what?”

  He flicked his head toward the painting. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m so sorry for everything I caused you.”

  “I think it’s best that you leave.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “I want to…no, I need to tell you some things.”

  “I don’t want to hear any things from you.”

  “Haven, is everything all right over here?”

  It was Jonathon. Of course he would come and check on me, his new moneymaker.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Jonathon stood there, waiting for an explanation. When one wasn’t given, he asked, “Is this man causing you trouble?”

  I released a long slow breath. “As I said, I’m fine. This is Father Sullivan, and he was just leaving.”

  Canaan turned to Jonathon and they exchanged a few words. I didn’t pay attention to what was said. As it was, I could barely focus on staying on my own two feet.

  As he moved to leave, Canaan said, “Your work is magnificent, Haven. It is truly a gift from God. I’m sorry to have distressed you. Have a nice evening.” And he slipped out the door before I could think of a response.

  “That’s a first,” Jonathon remarked.

  I had forgotten he was standing there. “A first?”

  “I can say I’ve never had a priest visit one of my galleries before.”

  “Oh.” It was the only thing I could think of to say. I felt like a zombie the rest of the evening, walking aimlessly, unable to think. I planned to meet Macie at eight for dinner and drinks. In the state of mind I was in, I was fairly useless, so I told Jonathon I was leaving early. I sent a text to Macie to let her know I was on the way.

  The restaurant we decided to meet at was only a short distance from the gallery. It was an off the beaten path place that we knew wouldn’t be crowded and had great food with cheap drinks. When I walked in, the first thing that greeted me was the huge bar. Since I spied some empty seats, I decided to wait for Macie there. The room was dimly lit and I was texting a message to Macie as I walked. I grabbed the first seat at the bar and planted my butt on it.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  “I think I’ll just have whatever hard cider you have on tap to start with.”

  “Coming right up.”

  As I waited for my drink, I scanned through my emails. I felt eyes on me and glanced up. He was staring at me. Of all the places in Chicago, what were the chances of me running into Father Sullivan again?

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

  “I sort of do,” I snapped.

  He was sitting two seats away.

  “I promise I won’t do anything to bother you.”

  “You’re already bothering me. And is it normal for priests to hang out in bars?”

  “Not really, but given that I’m Catholic, Irish, and that ever since I learned the truth about what happened to you, I’m finding I’m doing a lot of things I probably shouldn’t be.” I noticed a bit of hope spark in his eyes.

  Before I could stop myself, the sharp retort flew out of my mouth. “I am aware that Catholics drink. I lived with my uncle who drank on a regular basis. And I paid dearly for it.”

  My words extinguished his spark of hope like a bucket of water tossed on a flame. “It seems I keep digging a hole for myself where you are concerned.”

  “That hole you’re digging? You dug it for me years ago. You’re welcome to jump into it anytime. At the very least, it’s probably best if you go your way and I go mine.”

  “Haven, that’s not possible for me. You see, I’m in the business of forgiving and helping others do that.”

  “Yeah, well, excuse me, Father Sullivan, if I don’t buy into that crap. My soul doesn’t believe in God, nor does my mind, because He abandoned me a long, long time ago. And forgiveness? I’m not sure that’s even a word.”

  You would have thought I’d slapped him the way he recoiled from my words.

  “Haven, you can’t mean that.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  “But God’s love is so great and vast. To not believe is…well, you must. You’re missing out on the greatest glory.” His convictions were so obvious.

  “That’s your path, Father, but it’s not mine. And don’t try to impose your values on me.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I only want to open your eyes and fill them with the light that should be there.”

  A rueful laugh busted out of me. “Oh, don’t worry. See these blues?” I directed my thumb up to my eyes. “They were opened at the ripe old age of eleven.”

  Canaan hung his head for a second. “There are things…things you don’t know.”

  I swiveled in my seat to glare at him. His face was in shadows, though I could see the lines furrowing his brow. The purple smudges beneath his eyes sketched a picture of insomnia. I recognized the signs of this ailment, since I’d suffered from it for years. There were times when I wouldn’t allow myself to fall asleep, afraid he would come into my room and beat me for the hell of it.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you said that before.”

  “It has to do with why I told you what I did that night.” Then he hit me with those eyes of his—deep green and dark as a stormy night. I found myself leaning into them, almost falling into their depths. “I thought I was protecting you.”

  “There you are! I was looking for you in the dining room.” Macie’s voice interrupted what he was going to say next.

  I was rattled, to say the least. Macie leaned down to hug me, and I felt like I was on another plane. When she stood up, she asked, “You okay?”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” I jumped off the bar stool.

  Her eyes darted back and forth between Canaan and me, but I refused to supply her with an explanation. Not then or there anyway.

  As we walked away, I glanced over my shoulder to see Canaan’s eyes
following us. Guilt rained over me. His mouth was slightly open as if he had more to say, but I didn’t give him the chance. Was it because I didn’t want to hear, or was it because I was afraid he may deserve my forgiveness?

  “Who was that? And why is he a priest, for fuck’s sake?”

  “I can’t answer the second question, but as for the first, he’s Canaan Sullivan. From Holy Cross.”

  “No! Really? He’s that Canaan?” She glanced over my shoulder to look at him again. “The boy everyone crushed on in school, including you, who ended up crushing you?”

  “The same.”

  “He sure has grown up,” she said wistfully.

  We arrived at the hostess station, so the rest of the story had to wait until we got our table, which only took a few minutes.

  Once we were seated, Macie struck again with wide mischievous eyes. “So, don’t leave me in suspense. You know I can’t stand that.”

  My hand moved to my forehead. I knew this was going to be painful. “He showed up at the gallery.”

  Her jaw dropped, which was the same feeling I’d felt. “What? You’re joking?”

  “Why would I joke about that?” I asked. Macie craned her neck. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to get another look at him. You rushed me out of there. I didn’t get a good chance to really check him out.”

  My jaw would’ve hit the table had I let it. “So, one, he’s a priest, for Christ’s sake. You don’t check out priests, Mace. Two, that’s totally creepy, so stop.”

  “No, it’s not creepy. He’s still hot, maybe even hotter if that’s possible. But why would someone so good-looking become a priest in the first place?”

  My hands flew up in the air. “How the hell would I know? I mean, maybe he loves his faith and the church. Have you thought about that?”

  She sank into her thoughts and nodded. “I suppose so, but I never gave it much thought. I always thought of priests as sort of stodgy and nerdy. He is none of those things. Although wasn’t he an altar boy or something? But damn, did you get a look at his biceps? He must work out a lot.”

  It might have been the fact that I agreed with her that my head started to pound. Still, I couldn’t keep up with all her thoughts with my own in a chaotic state. “How the hell did you manage to notice all of that in, what, two or three glimpses? Are you the body detective or something?”

  “Or something. So go on.” She waved a hand to get me to talk.

  “Go on?”

  Macie huffed. “Yes. The gallery.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I told you about seeing him a few weeks ago. And he showed up today. Said he read the interview and wanted to see my work. He did say there were things I needed to know about that night.”

  “Hmm. Interesting. Maybe he likes you.”

  The glee in her eyes was recognizable. She got it every time there was a guy she thought would be perfect for me.

  I gave her an exaggerated eye roll. And it made my head hurt worse than it already did. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “But it’s true. Why else would he stalk you?”

  “He’s not stalking me. And he’s a priest,” I said slowly as if she hadn’t seen or heard me earlier. “He took a vow of celibacy and all that.”

  Macie squinted at me while giving me a shrug, dismissing my words. “Then why did he come here?”

  “I don’t know, but he was here when I got here. So there. No stalking.” I felt like sticking my tongue out at her, but refrained.

  The waitress came and took our order. But that didn’t deter Macie one bit. She jumped right back in where she’d left off.

  “Then it’s that damn Catholic guilt they ingrained in us at Holy Cross. He feels bad for sending you away that night.”

  I rubbed my head again. “I know, but can we get off this subject? What’s done is done. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. But I do want to show you something.” I pulled my phone out and showed her my painting.

  “Oh…oh…Haven. When did you do this?”

  Although Jonathon had praised me, I knew it because he saw it as saleable. Macie’s wide-eyed wonder was truth I could trust.

  “I started it a week and a half ago and finished today.”

  “Jesus. It’s giving me goosebumps just from your phone. I can’t even imagine how I’ll feel when I see it in person.”

  Suddenly, all the emotion I’d felt while painting wanted to rear its ugly head through sobs. I blinked furiously to ease the burn of tears that threatened to spill. Macie looked up at me and saw raw emotions exposed.

  “Hey, babe, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I said with a shake of my head.

  She knew me too well for an answer like that to get past her.

  “Don’t bullshit me. You and I have been around way too many blocks together for that.”

  “Mace, I don’t really know. That painting, take a hard look at it and tell me what you see.”

  That had been what I wanted to ask her about.

  Her eyes searched mine for a time and then she did what I asked. Her fingers spread the picture, enlarging it so she could study it better. “Well, shit. It’s Holy Cross. And is that Canaan when he was young?”

  “Yeah, and that was me. Only you probably couldn’t tell since it’s my back facing you.”

  “So, this piece of art is the result of your anger at him for what he did?”

  I tossed a hand in the air. “You might say that.”

  The waitress brought us our food then, but I wasn’t sure I could eat a bite.

  Macie reminded me of a ravenous dog as she dug into her cheeseburger. “I’m sorry, Have, but I’m starving.”

  “No, eat. That’s why you ordered food.” I was glad someone was hungry. I picked at mine.

  “You know what I think?” she added.

  “You’re going to tell me anyway, so what?”

  “You need to talk to him and hear him out. If he says there are things you need to know, then you need to listen to what he has to say.” I went to say something, but she held up her hand. “Wait, I’m not finished. He’s a priest, Have. He’s not going to spin a web of lies and tell you some trash like you’d expect from others. He’ll tell you the truth. Go to him and give him the chance.”

  I chewed on her words and maybe she was right. But I wasn’t ready to accept that.

  “I don’t know, Macie.”

  Before she could answer, a dark shadow loomed over our table. I looked up into the deep green eyes of Father Sullivan.

  “Father,” I breathed.

  “Haven. Once again I regret upsetting you. That was never my intention. I hope you have a good evening.”

  Macie kicked me under the table.

  It was enough to spur me to speak. “Um, I was wondering if there would be a time we could talk.”

  The way his eyes popped told me more than I needed to know. His hand trembled as he handed me a card. It was white and simply said in plain black letters, Father Canaan Sullivan. Directly beneath his name was his phone number.

  “You can reach me at this number, day or night. Have a good evening, ladies.”

  Going to the gallery was a mistake, but I’d felt drawn to it as if a siren had lured me there. Looking at her paintings was an even bigger one; it was as if she’d painted my soul. The expression she captured on my face, the pain reflected in my eyes—how could she have known? But then she couldn’t have. She must’ve pulled it from her memory, from that long ago day. I stood on the platform, waiting for the train, so consumed by my chaotic ruminations of the beautiful and talented woman that I never heard the L pull in.

  “Mister, aren’t you getting on?” a voice asked behind me, taking me out of my internal confession.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled as I moved through the open doors.

  Falling into the seat, I reflected on my memory of that piece of art. Her vision of that fateful day included a stormy cloud-filled sky, as if ligh
tning were about to strike. I got the impression that Haven was sending a message to me. She wanted the heavens to strike me dead for what I had forced upon her for all those years.

  The impending issue was how could I explain myself without revealing my personal truths? Or did she deserve the knowledge of my shame in payment for how she’d been wronged? What would I say to her if she called? I couldn’t possibly expose the truth. But I couldn’t lie either. The spinning web of deception grew larger every day. First Bill and now Haven. Soon I would be wrapped in a cocoon so massive, I would be trapped by my own falsehoods. What kind of a priest was I?

  I wiped the sweat off my brow and stuck a finger under the neckline of my shirt in an attempt to loosen it. The saintly collar that used to bring me comfort and even joy had turned into a noose and threatened to crush my trachea. I reevaluated my role as a priest. In the little time since I had returned to Holy Cross, my life had taken a one hundred and eighty degree turn.

  A grim-faced Bill greeted me when I walked in the rectory door.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Kathy Frederick’s condition has become unstable, and she’s been hospitalized. I’ve been at the hospital with her this evening, and I told her you’d be there sometime in the morning, if your schedule is open. You have the six-thirty Mass so I thought you could go sometime afterward.”

  Kathy had been diligent in her attendance at Mass since my arrival a few weeks before. We’d spoken a few times before she’d gotten sick in the last week.

  “That’s awful. Of course I can go.” Immediately, I thought of Haven. “Hadn’t her condition improved some?”

  “She’d been stable, but apparently her lungs seem to have worsened.”

  “I see. Is she critical?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, not critical. It looks like her disease is progressing and affecting her heart now too, though. It’s times like this, they often like to have more than one priest to talk to.”