Anna

I will not think about Wes masturbating. I will not think about Wes masturbating.

My cheeks burn as I remember last night. Reading that sexy book made my body thrum with desire. But knowing Wes was reading the same words I was reading turned that desire into an inferno of want.

After a while, my brain replaced the heroine and hero with me and Wes, and those thoughts made me lose my mind. So much that I found myself reaching into my underwear to touch my throbbing clit. Once I touched it, I couldn’t stop. It felt too good. I rubbed and rubbed, one hand down my underwear, the other hand holding up my Kindle to keep reading the words. When I came, I swore I heard a groan on the other side of the wall.

I have no idea if I made any noises. I mean, I think I was quiet. But there was a moment when I was lost to the fantasy of me and Wes together when it’s possible I might have moaned. But I can’t say for sure. What if he heard me like I heard him?

A knock interrupts my thoughts.

“Anna? You want to run this morning?”

Be cool. No blushing.

I get up and open the door to face Wes. Blue-gray eyes meet mine, and I can’t tell if he heard me last night.

I paste a smile on my face. “A run sounds perfect.”

On the weekends, Neil joins us. The timing doesn’t work out during the week because he usually runs once Wes and I are at work. But I’ve gotten to know Neil a bit from our weekend runs. At first, it was a bit…awkward, hanging around a priest. But, after a few minutes, he made it really easy to forget he was a priest at all. I’m glad Wes has him in his life.

The three of us find our stride, settling into the run in comfortable silence. I’m proud to say I can now keep up with these two without slowing them down.

My thoughts wander when I run. I think of Wes. He’s making his dream come true, and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

That makes me think about my dreams.

What are my dreams?

I used to dream of being an obstetrician. But that was before.

I haven’t wanted to be a doctor for a long time now, and while I love working at the bookstore, it doesn’t make me feel like I’m…making a difference in anyone’s life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I always liked the idea of helping people. Now, I can help someone find a good book, which is satisfying. But…I can’t deny that it feels like something is missing.

“Anna, I’ve been meaning to ask you for a favor,” Neil interrupts my thoughts.

“What’s up?”

“Do you ever have any extra books from the bookstore?”

“What kind of books?”

“Any kind really. I stop by the children’s hospital on Thursdays, and they’re always in need of more books for the kids. But I also volunteer at different prisons, and the supply there is not good.”

His words punch me in the gut. I sent so many books to Wes while he was in prison, but I never stopped to think about everyone else there…and the kids. Story time was my favorite as a child, and my love of books never died…obviously. I can’t imagine being in the hospital as a young child or teen. A story might help entertain them for a little while.

“When are you going on Thursday?” I don’t even know what excess stock we have at the store, but I don’t care. I’ll buy some books myself if I have to.

“Mid-morning.”

“I’ll have something for you.”

He smiles and nods. “Thank you.”

The whole rest of the run, I think of the kids in the hospital. Would Neil read to them? Or does he just go there to pray with the really sick kids? Do they only get to read books in a shared room, or does each room have a collection of books?

We slow down as we approach the church.

Neil turns to Wes. “Oh, I meant to ask if you have time to help me. One of the lightbulbs burned out in the church, but it’s up too high for me to replace by myself, and the maintenance guy is out of town this weekend.”

Wes nods. “Sure, no problem.”

“Plus, I have that table I told you about. Maybe you can bring that back with you?”

“A table?” I ask.

“Parishioners like to donate all kinds of things to me and to the church. Let’s just say, this table has seen better days. Wes said he could fix it up for me.”

“Anna, would you mind meeting me back here with the truck in a half hour?”

“No problem.”

The guys head off to the church, and I run the couple of blocks back to John’s by myself, my mind still stuck on the kids at hospital. The house is empty when I return, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

That niggling feeling is hard to ignore, so I decide to just call the hospital.

The pediatric center is huge with all kinds of specialties ranging from oncology to burns to recovery from surgery and medical procedures. A friendly woman named Kara, the volunteer coordinator, tells me that they would love to receive books, that Father Neil makes rounds to the families that request his services throughout the whole center, and that they don’t currently have anyone to read books to the kids in the recovery unit for story time.

Before I know it, I’ve requested an application to volunteer. My heart pounds a steady beat, and my gut is full of anxiety but also…excitement. Not a minute later, my phone pings with a new email, and the application is attached.

I look at the clock. Shit! I need to go get Wes.

I park in St. Christine’s parking lot and look up at the church. It’s pretty. Not a huge church, but not a tiny one either. But the tall peak in the front has pretty stained-glass windows, and the late morning light is hitting the colors just right. My palms sweat at the thought of going inside. My family is Catholic but not practicing. John and I made our first communion and confirmation, and we used to go to church on Easter and Christmas as a family, but I haven’t been since…well, since before. I didn’t feel like I could go after I did what I did. I didn’t feel like I belonged.

I shake it off. Wes and Neil are in there. And it’s just a building. I pull the large, heavy door open and step inside. The space is quiet, and I look for them, but it’s empty.

“Wes? Neil?” I call hesitantly.

Nothing.

I pull out my cell and text Wes.

Okay. Five minutes. I debate on going back out to the car, but it’s nice and cool in here. And…peaceful. I decide to wait in here and take a seat in one of the pews.

The sun is in just the right spot to shine the colors from the stained-glass windows onto the altar, and I marvel at just how beautiful it looks. The wooden altar is decorated with deep blues, dark purples, and shades of maroon. Above the altar is the crucifix, the cross with Jesus nailed to it, looking up to the heavens, a crown of thorns upon his head. Whoever painted this crucifix was highly talented, as Jesus looks to be in so much pain, blood dripping from where the thorns pierce his forehead and from where the nails impale his hands. His expression is resigned but pleading, as if he knows he has to suffer but wants to plead for relief just the same. Somehow, in all of his suffering, he’s beautiful.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I jump at the sound of Neil’s voice, my heart catapulting into my throat.

“Sorry”—his hand squeezes my shoulder—“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. I zoned out I guess.”

“Wes is almost done. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” I wipe my palms on my pants and shift on the hard wooden pew.

He smiles kindly at me. “Thank you again for donating books. The children will love them.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m glad you asked.”

He nods and sits back, staring at the altar.

I try my hardest not to fidget and to relax my heart rate, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Neil and I have become friends, and I don’t want him to know how nervous I am, being in here.

A minute slowly ticks by.

Where is Wes?

“You know, you could come with me,” Neil says softly. “To the hospital.”

That nervous zing flips my stomach again. “Maybe I will.”

“Wes told me you wanted to be a doctor once upon a time.”

My eyes shoot to his. He can’t possibly know about the abortion, but my pulse kicks up just the same. “I did.”

He meets my gaze, and his eyes are full of understanding, as if he can see through my bravado and knows I sit here, burdened with the sins of my past.

“I didn’t grow up, thinking I wanted to be a priest.” He shrugs. “Sometimes, the journey might not be what we expect, but the destination is that much sweeter, for how hard we had to fight to get there.”

I can see why he makes such a good priest because the urge to tell him all of my sins is strong. Looking down, I swallow thickly and notice he’s fingering a card in his hands. It’s the size of a business card but laminated with writing printed on it. I realize it’s a prayer card.

He notices me looking at it and hands it to me.

It’s warm from his grip and weathered from being handled. “Here, this is for you. It’s my favorite.”

“Oh, I can’t take your favorite—”

“Please take it. I have extras.” He closes my hand around it and stands. “I’ll see what’s holding Wes up.” His warm fingers squeeze briefly, then let go, and he makes his way behind the altar.

The front of the card has a picture of a body of water on it with seagulls flying in the sky. I flip it over and see it’s the Serenity Prayer.

I read it.

Then, I read it again.

Then, a third time.

This was always my favorite prayer. How did he know?

The words are never more meaningful than they are now.

I can’t change what I did in the past. But I’m in complete control of my life right now.

Finally, in the poignant silence of this church, with the hard pew beneath me and the beautiful colors of the stained-glass windows sparkling over the wooden altar, I take a deep breath and…forgive myself.

I chose what I did at the time. Was it the right choice? I don’t know.

But it’s done. And I’m still alive.

I need to let it go and start looking forward to the future. To making choices I’m proud of. And to stop hating myself for the past.

I want to be happy. Whole.

“Hey,” Wes says, walking up to me.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and smile up at him. Wes makes me feel whole.

He notices my tears and frowns. “You okay?”

“Yes”—I flash him a watery smile—“I’m great.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yes.”