Beauty and the Blitz (28 page)

“Your voice is such a blessing. You need to praise Him with it.”

“I haven’t sung in a long time, Mom,” I said.

“I know. Not since his funeral.”

I flinched. Mom had a tendency to over-share, especially since the program encouraged her to expose, reveal, and accept all that had happened prior to her recovery. She gripped my hand. The wedding ring pressed into my knuckle. It wasn’t hers. She’d sold her jewelry to buy the pills she used to make it through his funeral.

Now she wore Dad’s ring, fitted to her finger by wrapping string around the base. The twine was dirty and tattered, but Dad’s ring shined bright and gold. I’d kept it hidden in my room until Mom was sober enough to realize that it was the last treasure of his we had and couldn’t be pawned.

“My little Honor couldn’t finish the song during his service.” She explained the situation to the group, though no one had asked about anything so personal. So painful. “But I know her daddy would have been pleased to hear her sing.”

I doubted she remembered the day. Other people must have told her what happened when I ran from the dais mid-song. Father Falconi tended to me then—cold, informal, and offering platitudes that didn’t ease the pain of watching strangers take my father’s casket away because Mom’s addiction had alienated most of our friends and family. At least Dad had
us
at the gravesite, even if I couldn’t finish the hymn.

“Join the choir. It’d be good for you.” Mom stroked a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s a fresh, new start for both of us here, back home where we belong.”

“Right,” I whispered.

I gracefully ducked away as Judy cleared her throat. Again. Alyssa and Samantha took the seats next to me. The older women frowned as they crossed their legs at the knees and adjusted their skirts so just
enough
of their thighs showed.

“Well, it is nice to see a new face in our little group.” Judy tilted her head, though the motion was lost amid the waves of her scarlet hair. “Honor, welcome back to the St. Cecilia’s Women’s Group. Second week in a row.”

Mom beamed, wrapping me in a hug. “She is
thrilled
to be a permanent member.”

I nodded, accepting the well-wishing from the others in the group, from the elderly to the newly married and freshly pregnant. They thanked me for the cookies—chocolate chip and shame did pair well together.

“I do apologize,” Judy said. “We didn’t get to talk to you last time, what with that crisis with the pierogi freezer. We’ll take the opportunity to get to know you now, Honor Thomas.”

I didn’t speak.

His voice struck through the meeting room, a low hum of absolute confidence, authority, and warmth. I stiffened, drawing my gaze to the priest poised in the doorway.

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Father Raphael’s presence filled the room. The women greeted him with beaming smiles. “I know Honor is a woman of many virtues. She should share them with our parish.”

Did he do it to be cruel?

To watch me stiffen, shudder, and silence before him?

Father Raphael didn’t need the white collar or black cassock. When he spoke, he earned respect. When he listened, he honored those speaking.

And when his dark eyes narrowed upon me and the curl of his lips pressed into a secret smile, he controlled me in a way I should have feared.

Why was it so exciting?

And why couldn’t I catch my breath?

I didn’t look away from him, trapped in the intensity of his gaze—so unrelenting it’d have seemed inappropriate if it weren’t a holy man studying my every quiver. “There’s not much to talk about.”

“That’s not true.” Mom was the first to rescue me, except she popped me in the spotlight instead of allowing me a graceful escape. “Honor is an absolute dream. She’s a stellar student. Always helps her community. She’s studying to be a social worker, so she can start and manage her own charity one day. I know she’ll bring pride and faith to this parish.”

“Thanks…Mom.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s good.”

She wasn’t done yet.

“When I needed help, Honor came to my aid.”

“That’s sweet.” I squeezed her hand. “But
really
, we don’t have to talk about it—”

“I lost myself in a world of drugs and alcohol for sixteen
years
.” Mom spoke even as the women stared with wide eyes. “Sin and vice stole me. I bankrupted my family. I ruined my marriage. And I nearly lost my baby girl twice.”

I tried to stop her. “You never lost me.”

“No,
literally
.” She met the stunned gazes of the women’s group head-on. “My addictions were so bad, CPS nearly took my baby.”

This was a new—and horrifying—revelation. “
What
?”

“You were too young to remember, but you’re old enough now to hear the truth.”

Obviously not!

Oh, God. Mom didn’t do benders anymore unless it was spouting family problems that should have stayed within our home. It didn’t matter to her. Through a court-ordered sobriety class—and a renewed faith—she came to terms with her problems…and she ensured everyone else understood them too.

Alyssa and Samantha covered their mouths, and the older women shifted uncomfortably in their seats. To them, Mom was a Pablo Escabar in a world of Betty Crocker, and nothing I could do would save her reputation. My stomach twisted.

“But this girl is worth fighting for,” Mom continued. “She will be an asset to this church. Father Rafe, you’ll see. She’s a damn fine Catholic.” She flinched. “Darn. Forgive me.”

Father Raphael’s smile eased the tension in the room. “Then she is welcomed to my flock.”

Humiliation and shivers didn’t blend well. I scrunched in my seat as Alyssa and Samantha slowly uncrossed and re-crossed their legs, knowing full-well just what they exposed as they did it.

Father Raphael didn’t look.

He only watched me.

“Well…” Judy stared at her clipboard and awkwardly massaged her temple. “I honestly have no idea where we were in the agenda…so…we’ll get right to the announcements before we do a little bible study.”

And I had forgotten my Bible at home. Granted, I had the app on my phone, but the last thing I wanted was for Father Raphael to think even less of me. Then again, his opinion couldn’t possibly get any worse.

It must have been why his gaze sliced through me, trying to discover every secret and sin that tempted us.

I licked my lip. Why was I breathing so hard?

Why did I like how intently he stared at me?

“Our St. Cecilia Festival needs more volunteers…” Judy wagged a sign-up sheet. “We’re looking for organizers, decorators, people to work the concession stand, someone to help organize the vendors…”

Judy waited. The room was silent.

His voice lowered. “Come on, ladies. Don’t make me beg.”

Alyssa and Samantha shared a glance before both of their arms shot into the air.

Judy grimaced. “Yes…I’ll mark your names down, girls.” She tapped her pen in an impatient, staccato rhythm before I finally glanced up. “Honor?”

“The festival?” I hesitated. If I volunteered, it meant working with Father Raphael. Together. Through the summer. Potentially
alone
. I swallowed. “I don’t know if I’ll have the time.”

“Nonsense!” Mom laughed. “You’ll have plenty of time.”

I gritted my teeth. This was not the place to discuss my plans for the summer, but I turned to Mom, speaking low.

“Mom, I have to find another summer job...” Or else we weren’t going to eat.

“Oh, you’ll have time. You need these extracurriculars.” Mom waved to Judy. “Put her name down.”

“We should talk about this at home.”

“It’ll build your resume. You want to do social work in the diocese after you graduate?” She pointed to Father Raphael with a wink. “He’s your man. Work the festival, and I bet he’ll give you a good recommendation after you finish this last semester.”

I doubted that.

Father Raphael folded his hands in his lap. I wished I hadn’t stared at where they dropped. “I’ll make it fun, Honor. Promise.”

I didn’t trust what I thought was fun with him. Stolen conversations. Nighttime confessions.

Dark and twisted and
wonderful
fantasies.

Alyssa answered for me. “She’ll do it. She’ll be there anyway. She’s singing in the choir with us, Father. We convinced her to try out for the Battle of the Choirs group.”

Father Raphael’s smile turned victorious. “Wonderful. I’m so glad you’re that…persuasive.”

This was a bad idea, made worse by the shiver of excitement that threaded through my mind. The wicked seed sprouted from a forlorn hope that maybe, somehow, I’d find a way to speak with him again. I could be near him once more, and I’d indulge that craving to be close with him.

I stayed silent as the other announcements were read, and Father Raphael offered an opening prayer and blessing. My fingers quivered as I crossed myself, but nothing eased me.

Especially the bible verse chosen for our meeting.

Father Raphael read it, commanding and warm. His attention focused on me, not even reading from his Bible. I wished I hadn’t ached for the attention.

“
For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God
,” he said. “Romans 3:23. This is true of every man, every woman…every priest.”

I held my breath, though the room quieted, ready for Father Raphael to lead the study.

Mom stood instead.

“Mm,
mm
. This is too true.” She wagged a soulful finger. “Now I know a lot about sinning…probably more than most of you here.”

This was the first time Mom probably overestimated her past, especially in comparison to the sins I had just committed. I tugged on her sleeve, but she shrugged me away.

Judy folded her hands and forced a shrug. “How…illuminating.”

“I’ve done too many bad things to too many good people,” Mom said. “The drugs and the drinking…you don’t know sin until your husband wakes you up, half-naked at a truck-stop after you took the car with an expired license to get cigarettes.”

This wasn’t happening. I faked a chuckle and called to her. “Mom, we should keep reading the verse—”

“When my little girl was fifteen? Her grandma sent her a cross, little thing with a real diamond in the middle.” Mom gazed down at me. I didn’t have time to prepare for this truth bomb. “I’m sorry, baby. I pawned it and bought a bottle of Oxy instead.”

My heart sunk.

I remembered that moment. It wasn’t just any cross. It was the necklace Granddad bought to
propose
to Grandma. She was crushed when I said I’d never received it.

That was the day an eighty-year-old woman cried in her granddaughter’s arms.

And now was when I realized it wasn’t for the lost necklace. She had cried over her lost daughter.

If only she lived a while longer. Now Mom was sober, healthy, and reliving her past with shattered pride and humility.

Except I wasn’t ready to share in that moment. My stomach turned, and the memory shattered too much inside me. The group looked to Father Raphael to steal back the spotlight.

Judy hummed. “Right. Sins like…those. They’re all forgiven, right, Father?”

I couldn’t handle their stares or Mom’s pinching grip on my hand. I stood, murmuring enough to convince people I needed to use the restroom.

Father Raphael watched me go, his voice low and graveled with sincerity.

“Yes. All is forgiven.”

M
y angel believed
she’d fallen from grace.

But I knew she had been sent to grant that grace to me.

It was my place to attend the bible study, guiding the women of my parish as they debated and researched their role in the church and community. Usually, I served them well. Tonight, my thoughts drifted.

Dark. Dangerous.

Sinful.

Honor looked beautiful.

I no longer focused on the Bible in my hand. The conversation discussed one of the most important quotes and aspects of our faith, but I didn’t hear it. I stared at Honor’s empty seat and counted the seconds, breaths, aching pulses of my heart until she returned.

The confessional still haunted her, just as it moved me. I’d never purge the thoughts from my mind, but I longed for the torment of her soft whimper. I knew it was wrong to indulge in a moment of that agonizing perfection, but I still took satisfaction from knowing the truth.

She’d orgasmed at my command.

I read the quote again, memorized it, recited it to myself in English and Latin.

For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.

Some sinned willingly. Others reluctantly. And some fell because they had no defense against the darkness poised to steal their soul in the easiest, most sensual deceit.

My lust wasn’t about pleasure. I was tempted to wield
power
.

I wanted to control her.

The minutes passed, and I drove my nails into the Bible’s leather cover like it was tender flesh. My impatience scarred the book. It had been a gift from Benjamin, and I should have read the words until the urge to see her passed.

I failed once more.

“I think you have this well in hand.” I stood and glanced over the group. “Excuse me for a few minutes. Keep the discussion going. I’ll be back to talk about what you think.”

The two trouble-makers, Alyssa and Samantha, crossed and re-crossed their legs. They offered me a glimpse of what was unshielded beneath.

Lust was a powerful tormentor…but these corruptible women did not interest me.

So why did Honor pain me with such desires? It was simple. She lived a life of virtue, honesty, and integrity. It made her sin all the more meaningful.

Irresistible.

I should have returned to my office. Or I should have left the church for the rectory and prayed.

But the heart wanted what the heart wanted. If only I listened to it and not what lechery hardened between my legs.

Honor hid within the adoration chapel—a quiet room of medication and prayer separate from the nave. The lights were dimmed so she might have lit a prayer candle if she wished. Instead, she let the glow of her cell phone illuminate the room.

She wasn’t crying, but I didn’t need tears to recognize when someone was lost.

Vulnerable.

My greatest temptation wasn’t a woman whispering my name as she sated her desires. I resisted then, but I couldn’t resist what called to me now. A beautiful woman who needed my help.

She suffered alone, frightened and confused. And somehow she made me more aware of the man beneath the collar than any challenge yet to my ordination.

I should have left her—recommended another priest to guide her through these feelings. But those emotions and desires, wantings and memories were mine and mine alone.

It wasn’t temptation to desire her. It was an obsession that would bind her to me—physically, emotionally…spiritually.

And no matter what I did, what comfort I gave, or how honestly I denied my own attraction, I lost a piece of my soul when I surrendered to her in that mutual destruction.

I hesitated in the entry and bowed to the monstrance, the displayed body of Christ nestled within a golden vessel. The communion wafer, consecrated, tucked safely within the glass for the pious to view and adore.

Please forgive this weakness.

“Honor.”

She stood, her hands tangling in her skirt, checking to ensure it was proper and modest.

If only she realized how the motion drew more attention to the heavenly softness of her dark curves.

“Father Rafe…Raphael.”

Any name or title rolled from her lips as sweet as sugar.

“You left the meeting,” I said.

“Yeah. I needed…to think.”

“Can I help?”

“You?” She shook her head. Dancing curls cascaded over her face. She tucked them behind her ear. “No, Father. I doubt you can help.”

“May I try?”

Honor crossed her arms as if it would hide her. “No. I shouldn’t speak with you.”

“Why?”

“Because, right now? What I need most is for you to be just a priest again.”

The implication stung. I gritted my teeth. “I
am
a priest, Honor.”

She shifted. Awkward. Frightened?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate…” She shook her head. “After what happened between us, I’m not sure what to think.”

“It was just a mistake.”

“I don’t believe that. Mistakes are accidental. This was…”

She quieted and clutched her phone. I practically felt her prayer. She must have begged for a text or call to buzz the iPhone so she’d have an excuse to run.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said. “I can’t be with you, Father. We can’t pretend this is innocent now.”

And I doubted it’d ever be innocent again.

But Honor needed me. No one in my congregation deserved to be without hope.

I folded my hands, catching the beads of my rosaries between my fingers. “Do you know…I’ve been with this parish for three years?”

She wasn’t ready for this impromptu lesson. I’d deliver it anyway.

“During my time here, I’ve organized new groups. I’ve led prayers. I’ve helped with the charities.” I gestured to the hall, back to the women’s group. “For three years, I’ve tried to lead this congregation and introduce to them a sense of community and selflessness and faith.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She must have recognized the
fatigue
in my voice. Not surrender, but certainly not optimism. I sighed. “Do you know what I learned, after all those hours and plans and dreams for this parish?”

Honor shrugged. “That…you could lead a horse to holy water, but…”

“Exactly.” I smiled. “I wanted this congregation to examine themselves—to find reason in their faith as well as their failings. Even the women’s group has spent weeks reading and debating and researching every unique way they can serve the church. Leadership, the ideals of femininity, rectifying church misogyny, motherhood, healing, teaching, education, charity…”

“It’s noble,” she said.

“Maybe. For three years, I believed I was a positive influence on this church.”

“You don’t think you’re doing a good job?”

Not anymore. “I failed. Momentarily, I assure you. I don’t tolerate failure in myself.”

“But you haven’t failed, Father.”

“Of course I have. I’ve preached values and I’ve warned of vices, but I learned something in these past few days.” I held her gaze. “I haven’t instilled a sense of
humility
in my flock.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she warned. “Please. Don’t try to comfort me.”

“No one is alone in this world, my angel.”

“Father—”

“No one is without sin, just as no one is unforgiveable. You do not suffer from temptations now, but an excess of pride.
Everyone
sins, and I won’t allow any of my flock to doubt themselves or their worth. No matter the cause.”

Even if it was my own doing.

I gestured to the pew. Honor hesitantly sat, her fingers tapping the wooden bench. Even in uncertainty, this woman embodied innocence, elegance, and gentleness. She swept her hair from her face, and a slight, grateful smile graced her lips.

It was enough to damn me.

I wanted this woman. To touch. To protect.

To possess.

The cassock covered most of me, but I wasn’t comfortable standing before this angelic woman with her almond eyes and honey-sweet lips.

She’d ruin me. At least if my heart stopped, if it finally ceased its rapid punishment against my chest, my final moments would be blessed by her beauty.

“May I sit?” I asked.

Neither of us knew which answer was right. Refusing would admit prior guilt. Accepting would welcome new.

She nodded.

I sat, placing an imaginary Bible length between us. Her hands pressed against the wooden bench. Flat. Still trembling.

Little novice. When confronted with sin, it was best to wield a weapon. I carried rosaries.

If only I might have felt her warm hand instead of the cold beads.

“Do you really want to listen?” she asked. “Do you really want to know what made me leave the meeting?”

“More than anything.”

She hesitated until the sigh wove over her. “Then you have to know. First and foremost, my mother isn’t a bad person.”

She spoke it like a confession. No—she whispered as if she didn’t believe it herself.

She looked away. It might’ve made it easier to minister to her then, but it didn’t ease my breathing…or my conscience.

She smelled of candied apples, and her teeth nibbled on a plumb bottom lip. I wondered if she ached for the sting of a bite or the soft caress of a kiss.

I forced myself to speak. “I understand.”

“Even when she was sick—” Her gaze slipped to mine for the briefest of moments. “That’s what my Dad called it, when she wasn’t sober.
Sick
.”

“It’s true.”

“The pain killers and the alcohol made her a bad person.” She frowned. “No. It made her a
reckless
person.”

“Addiction is a serious illness…” I edged closer, shielding her from grief and yet savoring her warmth, her scent, her
beauty
. “Addiction affects more people than the one suffering from it.”

Didn’t I know it?

Couldn’t I feel it?

Every second I
strained
at her side. I prayed in silence and sang with the melody of her voice. My gaze should have remained on the monstrance, the foundation of our church. Instead I imagined the softness of her legs, her arms, that hand so near to mine.

Addiction. Temptation. Sin. It was real.

And my desire trapped Honor in the middle of my battles. Man against faith. Reason against passion. Need against vows.

“My mom’s been sober for a year now.” Honor opened more and more. “And I hate to say it, but it’s…strange. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t popping pills or drinking. My mother is gone. Now she’s this…entirely different person. Someone
new
.”

“It’s a good thing,” I said.

“I know. She’s trying so hard to stay on the right path.”

“And you are good to help her.”

She leaned against the pew, her hands slipping, inching towards mine. “I’m not that good. I don’t know how to help her. I left my college and lost my credits, but we don’t have the money for a full-time tuition. I’ll be a part-time student for my senior year while I find a better paying side job because…well, Mom can’t really start a career. She…doesn’t have the right set of skills or references.”

She meant no one would hire a woman with such a tragic, complicated history. “The church is helping her.”

Honor didn’t want to hear it. “No. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure we don’t need the charity. I don’t mind working extra jobs.”

“Honor, the programs exist to help women in her position.”

“I know. We won’t need them.”

I frowned. “But you’re studying to do social work. You, above all, should understand how much these programs could help.”

“I do, Father. Believe me. But we won’t accept it.”

“Why?”

“I can take care of my mother. The charities should save their resources for others.”

It wasn’t a completely honest answer, but I didn’t press any further. She shifted. Her fingers accidentally grazed mine.

She stilled. So did I.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she whispered.

“You’re home. You’re helping your mother. You’re serving your community.”

“Father—”

“You are doing what’s
right
. Honor thy mother—it’s so important you were named for it.”

“It’s hard to honor someone who hadn’t honored themselves for sixteen years.” Her voice dropped, and my heart stilled with it. She edged closer.

This wasn’t a moment of truth, but a feat of strength.

Was it wrong to take her hand? To hold it? To feel her warmth surge through me?

Honor needed that comfort. In any other case, with any other person, I’d have given all of me to ease the burdens of their heart. It made no difference if she was a stranger or…

If she were my angel.

I took her hand, and the mistake burned through me.

Her breathing shuddered, but she said nothing. That made it worse. My blood boiled, raged, and plummeted from my head and into the wickedness below.

I truly was a monster.

Her lips trembled, parted. The timid pink of her tongue gently licked her bottom lip—not in crass seduction, but in soft nervousness.

The things I would have done to that lip, her tongue, the fears and burdens she hid. Honor deserved nothing but pleasured bliss and quivering breath.

I wasn’t the man to give it, but if I wasn’t careful, I’d be the one who took it.

Honor squeezed my fingers, staring at our entwined hands. Light against dark. Right against wrong.

Man and woman.

Priest and flock.

Honor’s eyes fluttered shut, and I was helpless to resist the only urge I trusted. I had to touch the silken skin of her cheek.

But I couldn’t do it. Instead, I palmed the back of her hand. Her own fingers caressed her cheek, and I pressed through her, envious of her touch. Her hand acted as a barrier, but I could feel her trembling. Sense her warmth.

I stared at her lips.

This was not a terrible and vile seduction. Not all of it. Soft words. Confessed feelings. It jeopardized my collar, my vows, my everything, but she opened to me, and I understood her.

Honor met my gaze. She whispered her fears, worries, burdens to me.

Should I have felt so proud?

So
fortunate
?