Cantrell
“But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed.”
- James 1:14 KJV
The bishop arrived later in the month than anticipated, and with his arrival came a long list of responsibilities that mimicked that of an office secretary. Organizing and prepping meetings, sectioning off time to allow for visits to Saint Anthony’s, relaying messages, and marking a day that was exclusively for meeting with the parish staff (elected congregation members who met whenever the bishop was in town). On the surface it didn’t seem like much, but with the bishop only being in town for a week due to his late arrival, Cantrell was drowning. Rier only piled more on by shoving his responsibilities onto Cantrell as well.
Between Revived Faith, the bishop secretarial duties, and managing Saint Anthony’s, Cantrell had no time to think about anything else. Which, on one hand he was thankful for as it meant his focus was solely on what it should be on. On the other hand, it also meant that when he was unable to sleep, his mind drifted to what it shouldn’t.
Sleep became harder and harder to come by; his mind entangled with his night with Illias and every small encounter they shared since. Somewhere between their brief conversations in person and short text messages, Cantrell’s thoughts about Illias shifted. Went from lustful to tender intimacy. Carnal to domestic. There was no reason behind the change. No indication from Illias that he saw their arrangement as anything more than a means to an end. A distraction from his troubles. Still, there was a tug at Cantrell’s core toknowIllias, to hear each and every story behind the ink on his skin. Learn his ins and outs, and what made him the man he was. Cantrell wanted to know him biblically. Wholly and without barriers. Like he knew Zoe before his greed drove her away, before he stumbled and fell and decided that laying on the ground was better than trying to walk again. But he was no longer the man he was back then, insatiable for all that he could squeeze out of life. Just having Illias would be enough. He had already took residency in the empty parts of Cantrell’s chest that Zoe left.
“Father Cantrell,” Illias’ voice rang from the parking lot.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Cantrell thought, looking up from the steps he was sweeping.
“Enjoying the sunshine?”
Illias’ hair was pulled back in a low ponytail with a few loose strands framing his face. Exhaustion etched dark circles beneath his eyes but he maintained a half-smile that looked natural. Cantrell, despite his worry for Illias’ wellbeing, mimicked his smile. “Lovely day, isn’t it? How are you doing?”
“I’m doing well besides wanting to rip the sleeves off this shirt,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“I would imagine so, it is rather hot.” Cantrell felt sweat slide down his back. His clerical blacks only attracted the sun’s heat.
“I can make it even hotter.” Illias winked.
“Watch your mouth,” he warned. “What brings you by?”
“Oh, I, uh, I went to a”—Illias fiddled with the button on his sleeve cuff—“fancy company lunch for Henry’s twenty-third year of working at his company. He’s apparently one of the head honchos or something. Thought I would swing by,” he said while rolling up his sleeve.
Cantrell approached his next question with caution, knowing the relationship between Illias and Henry was rather volatile. “How did it go?”
Illias shrugged, rolling up the other sleeve. “Okay, I guess. We didn’t fight, which is nice. A little awkward though.” He popped open a few of the top buttons. “But it made Mom happy, which is what matters to me anyways.”
Cantrell failed to keep from staring. “I’m happy to hear it went well then.” Cantrell shifted the broom between his hands and adjusted his weight to avoid hip pain later. “Are you still visiting Saint Anthony’s on your days off?”
“I am.” Illias straightened his spine, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Charity asked if I would start on this garden idea she has. I don’t have a green thumb worth a damn, but she asked if I would build a few raised garden beds for her, so I’ve been working on that.” Illias glanced over Cantrell’s shoulder then looked back at him. “Planning on visiting Nirvana’s tonight?”
Based on Illias’ question, Cantrell assumed he could answer more freely than he typically would. “The bishop is in this week. Afraid I have to be on my best behavior.”
Illias laughed and Cantrell wanted to bottle the sound up to listen to over and over again. “If you change your mind aboutthat,” Illias drummed his fingers on his pocket where his phone must be, “you know how to reach me. I’ll see you around, Father.”
“Sunday,” Cantrell said, looking at him expectedly.
“Yes, sir,” Illias said, with a two-finger salute.
Cantrell wished Illias a goodnight and watched him walk back to his car, waiting until the little coupe pulled out of the parking lot before going back to sweeping the steps—which felt like such a meaningless task now that he thought about it—and tried to quell his racing heart.Was this what it was like with Zoe?Heart racing from the slightest conversation, palms sweating just from a simple glance?He couldn’t remember clearly what it had been like prior to her leaving. All her memories were murky, like viewing them through the bottom of a brown bottle. He knew one thing for certain though. His memories of Illias would never share the same fate.
Sunday Mass came and went with no sign of Illias among the congregation. Cantrell carried on as normal. Took confession for those that requested it. Held a small prayer circle for a family going through difficult times. Cleaned and prepared the sacristy for Wednesday. Organized the upstairs spare supplies closet. Ignored the pit of his stomach hinting that something was wrong and played his part as the dutiful priest.
It wasn’t until late into the evening that Cantrell had a moment to sit in his office away from scrutinizing eyes. He removed his phone from the top drawer where he kept it during Sunday. No new notifications lit up his screen. Praying for the best, Cantrell went to his messages and sent a text to Illias.
Cantrell
You were missed at service today. I hope you’re well.
HIM
Slept in, super late night Saturday.
