A Beautiful Sin

by Terri E. Laine

  “Sure, but I doubt I can be of any help to you.” I ushered them into my tiny office and we sat.

  Detective Hernandez did all the talking. “When we came out after Father O’Brien died, we did so because the death looked like it had the potential to have some foul play involved. But after we had a good look at the autopsy, it appears that Father O’Brien died of natural causes, specifically a heart attack. He must’ve fallen after he died and hit his head. So there was nothing suspicious about his death. We wanted to give you the news in person.”

  I wasn’t sure how to feel. As much as I shouldn’t want it, the idea that he’d died in terror wasn’t all that offensive to my sinful mind. There would be much prayer for me tonight for even thinking that way.

  “Thank you for stopping by and telling me. I’ll certainly pass this information on to Father Cernak. Does Father O’Brien’s family know?”

  Did they know what kind of man he really was?

  “Yes, we’ve informed them.”

  “Well, thank you. Is there anything else?”

  “No, the case is officially closed.”

  I stood and held out my hand. Both men shook it, and I walked them out. I held my tongue the entire time. I wanted to ask them about Kent—whether or not they knew him, and if so, did they know he was abusive to his wife and niece. But I didn’t. I figured it would open a door I would deeply regret.

  After I let them out, I returned to my office and made my decision. I hit the numbers and when she answered, I almost backed out. But I didn’t. I hung in there, sticking to my plan.

  “Canaan? What’s up?”

  Her voice, the way she spoke my name, was a salve to my wounded soul. “I saw Kathy today.”

  “How’d she look? I talked to her this morning. She was all I could think of and I worried about her after the way I left last night.”

  “She looks a little worse for wear. But her spirits are good. Although I think she’s more afraid than the brave face she puts on.”

  She huffed out a groan, “Aren’t we all?”

  I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t and that I could probably take him down without a problem. I kept my mouth shut on that subject. Violence wasn’t my normal course of action.

  “Haven, I…we can’t see each other anymore. It’s…well, to be perfectly honest, it’s too unsettling for me. And for you, I believe.”

  There was a brief pause, and I had no idea what to expect when she spoke again.

  “Okay, that’s fine. I understand.” Her choppy words sounded unusually distant. “Besides, I took your suggestion. You’ll be happy to hear I’ve got a date with that new doctor.”

  The word good that left my lips sounded as though someone else had said it. Her comment and the way she was so casual about it hit me like a battering ram. It punched my solar plexus and I wasn’t prepared for it. Had I not been seated, I would’ve been knocked off my feet.

  It took me so long to respond, she said, “Canaan, are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” I wheezed. “I’m really very sorry. I didn’t mean for this to get out of hand.”

  “Hey, you’re making a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

  Again, her flippant attitude took me aback. I thought she felt what I’d felt. Maybe I’d been a fool for believing it. It was impossible to respond.

  Her indifference was further punctuated when she added, “Well, look, I’ve gotta run. I’m pretty busy here. Talk to you later. Or, not at all, as it seems. Have a great life.”

  She ended the call. I sat at my desk feeling lots of things, but none of them relief. In fact, I reeled with loss. What kind of priest did that make me?

  My head was buried in my hands when I heard a knock on my door.

  “Anyone in there?” It was Bill. I was not in the least ready to talk to him. He was too perceptive and would see something was wrong.

  “Yeah. Come on in.”

  One look and he said, “Are you ill?”

  “Only a headache. I’m fine otherwise.”

  “Stress. I should’ve come home yesterday.”

  Waving my hand, I said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t think it’s stress. It could be my sinuses from the weather.” A stretch of the truth, although they had bothered me lately. “How’s your mother?”

  “Better, thank you. She’s going to be fine. Gallbladders these days are nothing like they used to be.”

  “Except extremely painful,” I managed half-heartedly.

  “Too true. She told me to thank you for letting her priest son come and pray for her.”

  “I have a feeling your mother is a grand lady. And a firecracker.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  In our downtime, he’d shared stories with me.

  “From what you’ve told me. And from you. You have this all-encompassing personality and you had to inherit it from somewhere.”

  “Canaan, she is more like a stick of dynamite than a firecracker. She was ordering the doctor and nurses around to the point I felt sorry for them. She’s one huge kick wrapped up in this tiny package, let me tell you.”

  “Well, I’m thankful to our Lord Jesus Christ that she’s going to be fine.”

  He smiled and patted my back. I cringed because the welts on my back were especially tender. And that, in turn, reminded me of Haven.

  “So, is there anything you need to fill me in on?”

  I told him about Kathy Frederick being released, but held back on her situation with Kent. I wasn’t sure if she would be willing for me to share that piece of information. Then I ticked off the list of parishioners who were in the hospital and nursing home, and we reviewed the other bits of church-related items, but it didn’t amount to much.

  “Oh, and two police detectives stopped by to let us know it’s been determined that Father O’Brien died of natural causes. It was a heart attack after all.”

  Bill sighed. “Well, that’s good to know. Not that he died, of course, but that foul play didn’t have a hand in it.”

  I found myself agreeing, though I wasn’t sure I really did. May God forgive me, but that man would’ve deserved it. Those black thoughts made me think of Greg Clark and his poor wife and what they will face because of Father O’Brien.

  “Why the frown?”

  Rapidly shaking my head, I answered honestly. “I had a parishioner show up here and he faces some real tough times ahead. I’m not at liberty to discuss it at this point, but my heart hurts for him.”

  He clasped my shoulder, saying, “It pleases me to see your heart’s in the right place, Canaan. Although it’s not always easy to help parishioners, the fact that you empathize with this man means you’ll do all you can for him. Well, I’m off to unpack and get some work done.”

  I nodded, hoping he was right, and went back to thinking about Haven. I wished there was someone I could talk to about her, but it was ridiculous to think of it. The best thing for me was to expunge her from my system. The only way to do that was more penance.

  Only later I found that all the atonement in the world wouldn’t help me because nothing could erase the scent of Haven from my sheets. When I drew them back, lavender wafted up, inundating me.

  At that moment, I wanted to get in my car, drive to her, and see if she was okay. An overwhelming urge gripped me with the need to examine the bruises on her face, to see if she was still hurting. Further, I wanted to place my fingers on her lips, trace the outline of them, and commit to memory each iniquitous curve. I craved to feel her hands upon me, to identify their touch once more, but I knew my wicked thoughts would never come to fruition.

  Priests weren’t allowed to have these lustful thoughts after all. We were vessels of strength and piety. Our job was to pray for others, and for peace, in the name of the Holy Father and his merciful Son, Jesus Christ. Falling to my knees next to my bed, I begged the Holy Spirit to come into my heart and soul as I repented for my sinful thoughts. When I rested my head on my sheets in prayer, Haven’s scent washed over m
e once more. I knew then I was truly a condemned man.

  His news blasted every bit of air out of me and I don’t know how I was able to respond to him. After last night in his bed, all I did was smell his clean scent every time I inhaled. And now he wanted to cut things off. And what the hell was I thinking? How could it be any different? He was a priest, for Christ’s sake.

  The brush in my hand shook as I contemplated his words. This was a distraction I didn’t need. Macie’s face stared back at me from the canvas, saying, “I told you so, you little tramp.” To free her words from my mind, I was an inch away from drawing a mustache on her face, but then I stopped. Crazy laughter burst out of me, and I covered my mouth with my arm, since both of my hands were in use. What was wrong with me? I was losing it. Going abso-fucknut batty. Setting my palette and brushes down, I went to the little bathroom and splashed water on my face. Too late I remembered the cover up job I’d done on my bruises. “Fuck. Godammit!” My fingers tore through my hair and instantly got tangled up in my twisty bun. “Double fuck.” There was no winning for me today. Now I looked like a bruised up porcupine.

  “Fuck it all. I don’t even give a shit anymore.” Hands up in the air, I walked out of the bathroom, and Jonathon was standing in front of my painting.

  He turned in my direction and the expression of horror on his face was priceless. “What the hell?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Um, you have paint all over your hair.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” my grumpy self said.

  “Your next painting has already sold.”

  What was he talking about? “But it’s not finished.”

  “You have a wait list, Haven. You are getting requests for certain scenes and portraits too.”

  “Oh, God, no.” An artist’s nightmare, or at least this artist’s, were portraits.

  He held up his hand, saying, “I already explained that you don’t do anything traditional, and they don’t want trad.”

  That was a relief.

  “What I did tell them was if they furnished you with a picture or pictures that you would have free rein to do what you wanted. And they agreed.”

  “I can work with that.”

  Jonathon laughed. “Good, because your list is already growing.”

  “How long?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He made a noise like cha-ching. “Dollar signs for you and me, baby. No more money problems for you, if you play your cards right. You’ll need an investment broker.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration.” That was something I’d never thought of before, but he could be right. The money that would be coming in would be much more than I’d ever imagined.

  ****

  Aunt Kathy and I had only texted a few times, and I worried about her. But she claimed she was fine and that Uncle Kent hadn’t touched her, in a bad way at least. I stared in the mirror at the face reflected back at me. The little makeup I’d applied hadn’t taken the worry lines away.

  “Did you fall in the toilet?” Macie called through the door.

  I opened it to let her get a gander of the outfit I wore.

  “Well, that doctor is going to get more than an eyeful.”

  I shrugged. This was my go-out outfit. I’d planned to try something different with him, but I needed a good fuck to get Canaan out of my head.

  “Turn around.” Macie twirled her finger in the air.

  It was an easy enough request, and I’d missed her sisterly like advice while living in New York.

  “He’s totally going to swallow his tongue when he sees you.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  A knock came at the door. Macie’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Spare no details when you get home.”

  I nodded and she took that as her cue to race to the door. I stepped into the living room as they traded pleasantries.

  When Wilson glanced at me, the heat of his gaze warmed me. Every inch of his attention was centered on me.

  “Haven, you’re…” His pause was a confirmation that I should be pleased he’d noticed. Only my fingers pressed my lips, remembering another man’s against mine. “Simply beautiful.”

  I dropped my hand because I was damned if I thought I could have what I wanted.

  “Thank you.”

  His proffered hand was an invitation. And though I didn’t want to accept it, I did. Macie, however, noticed all as discerning eyes narrowed on me as I passed by.

  “Later,” I said, feigning a grin.

  She didn’t smile back.

  And the truth was, the handsome man before me wasn’t enough to change the course of my heart. My childish crush fulfilled in a stupid kiss bulldozed over my beliefs that I would never want a man for more than a quick one-night stand.

  The evening was spent with my attention pinballing whenever a man with the slightest resemblance to Canaan crossed my path.

  The good doctor either didn’t notice or he chose to ignore it. I should have invited him in for a night of pleasure that would surely have cleansed my spirit. Instead, I found myself on a train and bus to stand in front of the rectory. We couldn’t be together, that was clear. But what was even more frightening was I found myself headed down a path that led to the impossible…a bridge to nowhere. Because if Canaan felt the same way I did, we wouldn’t want to be apart either. The idea was as far-fetched as it was ridiculous.

  The door to his office was halfway open. The blinds weren’t closed, so I spied on him like a peeping Tom through his window. His head was bent over a book as he examined it with a single-minded purpose. The man was beautiful and I was royally fucked for thinking so. I took a quick look around and made a hasty decision. It was dark, but I turned the flashlight in my phone on and found a few pebbles. I threw one at his window. The damn man was so engrossed in his book, he didn’t notice. The next one I tossed a bit harder, hoping it wouldn’t crack the glass. That one grabbed his attention. When he finally opened the window, I was able to speak.

  “Unlock the office door.”

  “What?” Clearly he was nonplussed. I was actually shocked when he left the room.

  Walking to the office entrance, I met him there and grabbed his arm, not stopping until we reached his office. I shoved the door open and barged into his personal study, dragging him behind me.

  Then I let him go. “I know you said we couldn’t see each other.”

  His head jerked and his eyes widened as if he saw the anti-Christ himself. And maybe that’s what I was. Because this shit was crazy as hell. I knew better, but Satan himself couldn’t stop me from my path.

  “Haven—”

  I cut him off because he’d said his piece. It was my turn.

  “I spent the entire night unable to enjoy my date because everywhere I looked I saw you. And I get it. So don’t get on your high horse and spout off all the reasons this is wrong because I know.”

  His eyes darted to the open door.

  “Please,” he began.

  I shut the door and lowered my voice.

  “I’m not here to strip the cloth from you, Father. But I am here to tell you I’m not going anywhere. There is no reason we can’t be friends.”

  “And where did friendship get us?”

  His voice was wrapped in despair and sealed with a bow of regret.

  “We weren’t friends. We were more like a bad ending to a Lifetime movie.”

  I almost laughed at his confusion. “Basically, I’m saying I never tried to be your friend. You were my broken childhood crush turned enemy and then you were a step toward forgiveness. And I let the confusion between the two turn your kindness into desire.”

  The seconds ticked by as he studied my face, and I tried my damnedest not to investigate his mouth.

  “You are not alone. We are sinners on some level. And as much as I would like to be your friend, it would be counterproductive. I can only serve you under the strict formalities of t
he priesthood. And as you’ve made it clear you are no longer an active member of this parish, there is nothing I can offer you.”

  “Is that a challenge?” I asked, getting to my feet.

  “It is simply the truth.”

  I walked to the door, but before I left I added one more thing, “Well, then, I guess I’ll see you at Church next Sunday.”

  The hint of a smile on his lips lightened my steps as I vacated the office. I saw our potential friendship as the only way to quiet the lust-filled thoughts I had about Father Sullivan.

  Friday afternoon, I dodged traffic on the expressway leading into town. Frustration with the sluggish flow of cars had me asking God for patience. The L would have been a better choice, but hindsight was always clearest. Locating my destination, it took me another twenty minutes to find parking. One more reason I should’ve taken the L. Once my car was situated, I had to jog to make it on time. The late summer day was hot and humid, as can sometimes be the case in early September in Chicago. With dismay, I noticed the sweat marks on my T-shirt. Too late to worry about it now. At least I wasn’t wearing my collar. It would’ve been worse. I opened the doors and the dark coolness was a welcome change to the outside heat. I walked with a solid purpose, as I knew I had no choice, opened the next door, and knelt. Words poured from my mouth. The dam had burst.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was six days ago.” I heard the priest say a few words and then I launched into my disclosure. “I have committed a grave transgression in the eyes of our Lord God, Jesus Christ. I have had lustful thoughts about a woman. And these thoughts have plagued me for days and nights, interfering with my duties and obligations.”

  “My son,” the priest began, “it is not uncommon for a man to have thoughts such as yours.”

  “Father, these thoughts are wrong, and to take them further, I kissed this woman.”

  “Have you had sex with her outside of marriage?”

  “No, Father. But you don’t understand. That would never be possible because I have received the Sacrament of Holy Orders. I am an ordained priest.”