The Saint
“I did not and will not ever forget about you. I was coming back to Wakefield tonight and leaving to visit my sister tomorrow morning. I know your mother works late on Friday nights. I thought we’d have more than enough time to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
Søren sighed and sat back on the bench seat. He turned his head and stared at the frozen city that surrounded them.
“What you saw tonight—” he began.
“Stop,” she said. “I told you I’d be pissed if you ever talked to me like I was a child. If you’re going to pull that ‘ignore the man behind the curtain’ bullshit, let me out of the car right now.”
“I would never speak to you like a child. Even when you’re acting like one.”
Eleanor couldn’t meet his eyes when she asked the question she didn’t want to ask.
“Did you have sex with her?”
“Did you have sex with Lachlan?”
“That’s none of your business. I’m not your daughter, and I’m not your girlfriend.”
“But it’s your concern what I did tonight?”
“You’re a priest. You have vows—”
“Vows you’ve been trying to get me to break with you for months.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because it’s me,” she said, anguished. “Because you promised.”
Tears ran down her face, tears of jealousy and shame and fury.
She wanted to argue with him, but couldn’t. So instead she pulled off his coat, threw it at him and curled up in the seat, her arms around her legs for warmth. Søren sighed as he folded his coat and placed it on the seat next to him.
They left the city and she recognized they were on the road back to Wakefield. She wanted to ask him why they were in a Rolls-Royce, who was driving, what would happen to his Ducati back at that house and a million other questions. But instead she punished him with her silence. Half an hour passed without them saying a word to each other. She could tell he waited for her to speak. Fine. He could wait all damn night if he wanted. She wasn’t going to say another word to him.
Søren reached out and took her hand again. She felt her resolve to hate him melting.
“Little One, I didn’t have sex with her,” he said softly. “And you have a very large bite mark on your neck. If he hurt you in a way you didn’t like, I need you to tell me.”
“No,” she whispered and met his eyes for one second. “I liked it.”
“I see,” he said and she thought she heard something strange his voice. Something like pain.
“Jealous?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She hadn’t expected that answer and her astonishment must have shown.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Søren said. “I wish I could give you everything you wanted. But even a good gift is a bad gift if given at the wrong time.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means one wouldn’t buy a new car for an eight-year-old.”
“Nice,” she said, and nodded. “Now I’m an eight-year-old. What’s the car? Sex with you? You’re saying I’m too young to drive your ride?”
“Age is only a number. Maturity—or a striking lack thereof—is your issue,” Søren added, seemingly oblivious to how much his words hurt her. “You’re not ready to have an adult relationship. No amount of wishing on either of our parts will make it so. And I care about you too much to take you anywhere you’re not yet ready to go.”
“Do you have any idea how condescending that sounds? I want you. You promised—”
“I will not f**k a teenage girl in my congregation, Eleanor.”
Eleanor gaped at him.
“Did you say f**k? You never swear.”
“I needed your attention. I’m pleased to see I have it now.”
“You were supposed to answer my questions tonight,” she finally said.
“Do you have your list?”
“Never leave home without it,” she said, and pulled the folded sheet of paper from her back pocket.
Søren tilted the list toward the light. As he read, she heard nothing but the sound of her own breathing.
“We need to work on your question-asking skills,” Søren finally said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re hamstringing yourself with some of the wording. Never ask a yes or no question when you can asked an open-ended one. Your question ‘why will your friend help me?’ is a good question—it will lead to a long answer. Your question ‘are you a virgin?’ can be answered with a simple yes or no. I’m assuming you want a more thorough answer than that.”
“What should I ask?”
“You could ask ‘when was the last time you had sex?’ which would reveal not only whether or not I’ve had it, but also when the last occasion of it took place. A far better question than that would be ‘what is your sexual history?’ A bit clinical, but it would do the trick.”
“I can rewrite my list.”
“Too late. It’s in my hands now. Did you water the stick today?”
“No. I was going to do it when I got home.”
“Look at your watch.”
She pulled back her sleeve. It was 12:07 a.m. She’d missed the last day of watering.