It was scary. But it felt powerful too.
Pastor squinted his eyes in the dark, trying to read my expression. My mood. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”
I bowed my head. “I think it’s important for all of us. Embrace the sinner, right?”
Pastor Carter was quiet for a few moments. Considering. Contemplating.
“Will his sins ever be cleansed?” he asked, his eyes piercing, reading me too easily. I felt naked in front of him. Vulnerable.
I swallowed thickly, feeling the tension in the air. This was a moment of absolute change. Everything hinged on what I said next. Was I being stupid in championing this stranger?
Was it what God wanted?
“If he follows the path, he will be called home,” I finally answered; my words barely above a whisper.
Pastor narrowed his eyes. His hand tightened on my arm. It hurt.
Then without another word he pulled the remote from his pocket and pushed a button. The gate slowly opened again.
Bastian hurried forward. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Pastor,” he gushed. He met my eyes and they burned there. Hot and dangerous. “Thank you too, Sara.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest and I was finding it hard to breathe. This felt wrong.
But it also felt right.
It was confusing.
Pastor Carter’s mouth was set in a rigid line, his lips thin, his brow furrowed. “The Retreat is our sanctuary. We take our mission seriously. None of us will tolerate betrayal.”
His words were threatening. The intent clear.
Bastian had to be on his best behavior. He needed to devote himself to the path. Or he would be forced out. It was that simple.
Bastian nodded. “Of course. I want to be here. I want to learn—”
“We’ll see,” Pastor Carter interrupted. He let go of my arm and I felt a sting of relief. Then guilt.
Always the guilt.
“Sara, can the two of you walk back to The Retreat? We don’t have room in the cab of the truck.”
Walk?
It was over two miles away. And it was cold. And it was dark. And we’d have to walk through the woods.
And I’d be with a stranger.
I glanced at Bastian out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t look happy at the suggestion.
“We can ride in the bed of the truck. It’s late. And I’m sure Sara here doesn’t want to walk all that way,” he piped up.
“It’s fine.I’mfine. Really—” I began to say.
“It’s really not. I’m not sure how far away this retreat is, but it’s cold and it looks like the only way anywhere is up a mountain. Plus, it’s starting to rain,” Bastian cut in.
He was right. The humidity had broken and we were being pelted with heavy drops of rain.
“Fine, ride in the back,” Pastor barked, his annoyance showing.
