Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
I spent a lot of time the following week talking to God and praying for guidance and forgiveness. I also spent a lot of time convincing myself that there was absolutely no way that a parish priest got drunk in a local bar and had sex with a stranger. No way. Carla was right and I was letting my imagination take hold.
By the end of that second week, I was okay with myself and able to look in the mirror. I had to accept that God didn’t expect me to be perfect and everyone makes mistakes. I knew that, for the most part, I was a good person, and I felt good about myself most of the time.
I had to decide to file the night of drunken sex with the super-hot stranger under “bad decisions that I definitely shouldn’t repeat.” I wasn’t going to beat myself up over it anymore. I also decided to file the sound of the priest’s voice in the confessional underneath, “coincidence.” That one was harder to do, but it had to be…didn’t it?
I slept in a little bit on Sunday morning since it turned out to be my only day off. Mass didn’t begin until 11, so I got up around 8:30 and had my coffee on the little balcony of my new apartment. It was my favorite part of my new home, and the weather was perfect.
There are two things that renew me when I’m feeling stressed out or overwhelmed. One of them is church and the other is nature. I love to be outside, and since I hadn't had a lot of time to go for my evening walks or just explore the new city, the balcony was a Godsend.
After I finished my coffee and bagel, I went inside and soaked for a bit in the tub. By the time I pulled on my dress and tights and fixed my long hair in a twisty side ponytail for church, I felt good.
I love the church building here. It’s all old stone and stained glass; just walking inside gives me a sense of peace. The air is tinctured with the scent of incense and candles. I imagined that I could smell the musty prayer books…or maybe I really could. As I dipped my fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross, I breathed it in and let it fill me with grace.
I made my way down the brightly-lit passage with the polished wood floors and colorfully-painted walls that ran along the east-end of the church. Back there, I passed the little vestry and next to it a small kitchen where the Fathers and the Sisters often prepared and ate their meals.
As I pushed through the heavy oak doors of the inner sanctum, I could hear the singing of the choir as it echoed off of the masonry and wafted up into the rafters. I found a pew near the front and lost myself in the sweet song that reminded me of the innocence of youth; it soothed my spirit and allowed me to imagine a beautiful life stretched out before me.
When the choir finished, the lector came out. I’d only been to that church twice since I had moved there, but the Father had already announced his exit and said good-bye. The lector was there to announce and introduce the new parish priest. I knew a lot of parishioners got nervous when their old priest left them for a new post. I was so new there that it didn’t really matter to me.
They were especially anxious because their old priest of 15 years had just up and vanished. It had been months and still no one knew where he’d gone. Father Byrnes had done a great job of filling in, though, and the congregation had grown close with and accustomed to him. I didn’t know him well enough to form an opinion. The only thing I was interested in was finally seeing the new priest’s face so that I could convince myself once and for all that he wasn’t the man I slept with.
“Welcome, everyone. It’s so nice to see that we have a full house today. I hope you all had a chance to see Father Byrne off and thank him for visiting here with us. He did an amazing job and we’ll miss him.
“But, when God closes one chapter of our books, he opens another. We have the honor now of having our very own priest that we can hopefully hang onto for a long time: Father Jace. He was here last week and he’s been hearing confessions, but for those of you who haven’t had a chance to be here, I’d like to re-introduce Father Jace O’Doyle.
“He’ll be walking in through the back there today where you can all see him. Feel free to stand now and welcome him one more time for all of you who didn’t make it last week.”
I stood up along with everyone else. The church was so full that for several minutes, I couldn’t see over the top of other heads to get a glimpse. I held my breath, just knowing in my heart that it couldn’t possibly be him, but oh my! Was I ever wrong!
For the first time in my life, a cuss word escaped my mouth in church as the man who I’d had a drunken one-night stand with passed by my pew dressed in his black cassock and white collar. I’ve committed a mortal sin.
I could feel the sweat beginning to form itself under my arms and around my neck. My face was on fire. My stomach was churning. I didn't know what to do. Should I leave?
I was in such a panic mode that I didn’t realize at first that everyone was sitting now and I was still standing up. I sat down quickly and knew that if I got up and left now, it would draw more attention to me than if I just stuck it out. I sunk down in the pew and cursed the fact that I picked a seat so close to the altar. I usually had nothing to hide…but oh, I certainly did now — so much.
Maybe I should still leave. Maybe I should find another church and confess to another priest what I’ve done. I could feel the bile rising up in the back of my throat. It burned hot like acid, and I was aching to at least get up and rid my stomach of its contents. I couldn't risk it, though. Any motion might have caused me to lose control and that would make a scene. If I made a scene…then what?
I glanced around me. There were a lot of people there. Maybe he wouldn't notice me; he’d been speaking for close to 10 minutes already and I hadn't processed a word that he had said. How can he stand up there and recite mass, knowing what he’s done? If I could ask him one question, that would be it.
I wondered what he would say, or do, if I stayed after mass and tried to talk to him. He was obviously worried that I was going to tell someone. His question in the confessional convinced me of that. Could I bring myself to face him, though?
In my defense, he wasn’t wearing his collar when I met him in the bar. I had no idea that he was a priest. But he knew…so did that make his sin greater? Of course, it does. He took vows. He not only broke that sacrament, but he allowed me to commit a grievous sin without any warning. I was not sure what God was thinking about it, but in my head, “Father” Jace had a lot more to answer for than I did.
I shuddered at the thought of how he’d just thrown away his purity that night and wondered if he’d done it before. He sure seemed to know what he was doing.
I took a chance and glanced up towards the altar. He was blessing the Eucharist and not looking at me. Will the body and blood of Christ still be as holy after being blessed by a fallen priest?
I stared at his handsome face and wondered, if he was so willing to throw away his relationship with God by having illicit, drunken sex, what else might he be willing to do? What might he be willing to do in order to keep it a secret? I shivered again and then immediately chastised myself for those impure thoughts. Sex is a far stretch from murder.
I stuck out the mass until it was time to receive the Eucharist. The church was a large one so there were three lines. Father Jace was giving his out on the far right. I chose the line on the far left. After I received my communion, I stepped to the side, crossed myself and knelt quickly with a word of thanks to God our Savior; then, I slipped out the side door. I could finally breathe.