He glanced over the rim of his glasses. A blurred outline of Rier stood in front of him.
“Have you prepared the sacristy and the rectory office for the bishop’s arrival?”
Cantrell dropped his eyes back to the same page in his book that he had been staring at for the past hour. “I have.”
“And what of the candles in the nave?”
Cantrell sighed, leaning against the stiff-backed office chair. He removed his glasses and picked up the cleaning cloth on his desk. “What of them, Rier?”
“They’re low. I would like you to replace them.”
“I replaced them on Wednesday after Mass.” Cantrell inspected his lenses in the light of his desk lamp. “If they’re low, it would be because you did not snuff them when I left for Saint Anthony’s.”
Rier bristled, straightening his spine as though he was an animal trying to appear larger. More intimidating. “The candles are your responsibility, Cantrell. Had you not left in a hurry—”
“I told you I received a call—”
“From one of your volunteers, yes, I’m aware. But had you simply taken the time to complete your tasks here then there wouldn’t be an issue. You didn’t and so now you must.” Rier regarded Cantrell with ill-disguised disgust. “I advise you to rememberwhothe head priest is, Cantrell. I’d hate to call for your dismissal for lack of responsibility.”
Cantrell clamped his tongue between his teeth, holding back a smart comment that would have only resulted in an argument. Rier must’ve taken Cantrell’s silence for compliance and left his office to do only God knows what. Cantrell sighed, knowing that trying to read again would be meaningless. He dog-eared the page then tossed the book on to his desk.Maybe a walk will help calm my nerves, he thought. Cantrell lifted himself from the chair, knees cracking in protest from sitting for so long, and headed down to the nave.
He was startled by Illias sitting in the pews, head down and dark curls hiding his face. Cantrell approached with caution until he heard a faint sniffle. All hesitancy left his body and he moved across the nave with a calm urgency.
“Illias,” he greeted, voice soft enough that it didn’t spread across the nave.
Illias sniffed hard, fixing his posture and wiping aggressively at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry, I, um, I didn’t realize anyone was here.” His voice was rough and thick. He had been crying for some time.
“No need to apologize.” Cantrell slid into the pew. “Would you like to talk about what’s bothering you?”
“God, where do I even start?” Illias ran his fingers through his hair. “My mom invited me over for brunch a few weeks ago. I, um, didn’t want to go at first because every time I’m around Henry we fight. But I’m trying to be a better person and do right by my mom, you know?”
“You agreed to go over?” Cantrell sensed a familiar pattern between the Kollers.
“Yeah, and, um, Henry apologized to me. Like actually fucking apologized, can you believe that?” Illias let out a watery laugh. “He couldn’t muster a single sorry my entire childhood but after I hit him, he decides he wants tomake things right.” He shook his head. “It’s unbelievable.” He glanced at Cantrell. “Do you know what it’s like to be made to feel like absolute shit by a man that claims to love you like hisown son?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t say I do. I lost my father when I was very young. But my mother was not an affectionate woman.” He recalled how distant his mother was after his father passed. “Before she passed, she called me her sweet boy. I was thirty at the time, far from a boy, but on her deathbed, she saw me as nothing more than the baby she brought into this world.” He tilted his head to gaze at Illias. “Sometimes it takes extremes for people to realize their mistakes.”
“I’m just so tired of being angry all the fucking time,” he admitted, hands dropping between his legs. “And when I get the one thing that I thought would make it better, it doesn’t. And my mom is being so nice and understanding about the whole thing but I just…I don’t feel like his apologymeantanything.” Illias looked at him with fresh tears soaking his lashes and trailing down his cheeks. “Is there something wrong with me?”
Cantrell reached for Illias on instinct. Placed a hand on his rough jaw and swiped away the tears that stained his skin.“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve held on to this anger for so long that letting go of it means truly acknowledging whathurts.”
“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he whispered. “I’m so sick and fucking tired of feeling like this.”
Cantrell brushed his thumb along Illias’ cheekbone, catching another tear before it fell. The urge to lean forward and capture Illias’ lips in a gentle kiss tugged at the base of Cantrell’s spine. Shame, cold and gripping, coursed through his veins. How could he think of doing such a thing when the poor man was clearly distraught? However, Cantrell’s self-criticism halted the minute Illias moved forward as if going to close the distance between them. Cantrell’s hands flew to Illias’ shoulders. Cantrell pushed Illias away.
“I’m sorry—I don’t know why I just tried to—I’ll go. I’m sorry.”
Illias stood. Cantrell grabbed Illias hand. “Don’t go.”What am I doing?“Sit, talk.”It’s not a conversation he wants.
Illias hesitated but settled back into the pew. Cantrell released his hand and threw a nervous look around the nave but Rier was nowhere to be seen.
“Illias, what is it that you’re after here?” Cantrell asked softly, praying Rier would remain upstairs out of ear shot.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Have you—” Cantrell rolled the words around in his mouth, considering the weight behind them before he spoke. “Are you looking for an outlet? Something to distract you from dealing with what’s truly bothering you?”
Illias kept his eyes trained on his hands as he twisted the ring on his left hand. “I’m not used to being on my own this long.” His voice was barely loud enough to be heard. “I’ve always had someone, and I know that I have Charity, but it’s not the same. I still feel soalone. Ever since moving back.”
