During Mass preparation, I help Marcus set out the communion vessels.
His dress shirt sleeves are rolled up, his tattooed forearms flexing as he lifts the chalice, and I catch myself staring at the saints and sinners inked into his olive skin.
He notices, raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Just watches me with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through every defense I’ve built.
“You doing okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
“Fine,” I lie.
His expression says he doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go.
The others have accepted my presence.
Sister Margaret, whose serves and lives here as a nun, distrusts me and was clear about my hesitations of staying, but she couldn’t deny that I was helpful.
Deacon Paul was more accepting, welcoming me but keeping his distance.
That night, my phone rings while I’m stress-baking in my tiny apartment above the rectory. The hospital. My hands shake as I answer, flour dusting the screen.
Grandma Rose’s condition has worsened. They need to run more tests. More specialists. More money I don’t have.
The nurse’s voice is professionally sympathetic as she lists numbers that make my vision blur. Five thousand more. Ten thousand if the tests reveal what they suspect. I thank her, hang up, and stare at the half-mixed dough on my counter.
I need to talk to someone. I need to not be alone with this crushing weight.
Somehow, Adrian has become that person.
I find him in his office near midnight, the rectory quiet around us. He’s still in his cassock, every button fastened, every line crisp.
But his rosary beads are wrapped around his knuckles until they’re white, and there’s something wild in his gray eyes when he looks up at me standing in his doorway.
“Charlie.” My name sounds different in his voice. Rougher. Like it costs him something to say it.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I just…” My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it. “The hospital called.”
He stands immediately, moving around his desk. “Your grandmother?”
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. The office smells like old books and his cologne, something dark and expensive that doesn’t match his vows of poverty.
Something that makes me want to step closer, to breathe him in.
“They need more money. More tests. I don’t know what to do.” The words tumble out in a rush. “I’m working double shifts at the diner, but it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough.”
“Charlie.” He’s closer now, close enough that I can see the stubble shadowing his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls beneath the black fabric. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Will we?” I look up at him, and something in my chest cracks open. “Or will you decide I’m too much trouble and send me away?”
His jaw clenches. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You say that now.” My laugh is bitter. “But you’ll change your mind. They always do. I’m the girl nobody keeps, Father. I’m the mistake people make then spend the rest of their lives trying to forget.”
“Don’t.” His voice drops to something dangerous. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Tears burn my eyes, and I’m so tired of being strong, of pretending I’m not drowning. “Grandma Rose is the only person who ever chose me, and now I’m going to lose her too because I can’t save her. I can’t save anyone. I’m just a wreck who steals from churches and ruins everything she touches.”
“Charlie.” He reaches for me, his hands framing my face, and the touch sends electricity shooting through my entire body. “You’re not ruining anything.”
“Aren’t I?” I stare up at him, at those storm-cloud eyes that see too much. “I see the way you look at me. The way you force yourself to look away. I’m destroying your peace, Father.”
