A Beautiful Sin (23 page)

“He sounds excited,” she said.

“Yeah. But he’s always that way.”

“So, how was your week?”

It was strange to hear her ask me that. No one but my parents ever wanted to know. “It was good. Routine.”

“Routine.” Her face beamed like I was the most fascinating person in the entire world. “Tell me, what’s a day in the life of a priest like?”

I smiled at her question. “I begin with Mass, then depending on how many of our parishioners are in need of our ministering, Father Cernak and I tend to divide that up between us. I visit the hospitals and nursing homes. I teach catechism classes here at the school.” And she stopped me there.

“Aw, I bet those little ones are the cutest things ever.”

“Yeah, they are. Bill and I rotate through all the grades, but I do love the lower grades the best. They really are funny too, trying to grasp everything. One little girl wanted to know if we died and went to Heaven, how we would all fit on one cloud. She had it in her mind that Heaven was one cloud, and no matter what I told her, that was it.”

We both chuckled, but Haven asked, “How did you get her over to your way of thinking?”

“I said that what only appeared to
look
like a cloud was in actuality a vast universe that would fit every person and then some. You should’ve seen her eyes.” I glanced over at Haven and the grin on her face made my heart trip.

“I bet all those little girls have wicked mad crushes on you, Father Canaan.”

My cheeks heated and I wanted them to cool off before she noticed. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I did when I was young. And now you’re the priest that I’m positive all the girls think is hot. Trust me. I’m a girl. I know these things.”

The topic needed changing, so I asked, “So what about your week?”

Her smile instantly drooped. “Jonathon, my sponsor, pissed me off again.” Her hand covered her mouth and she grimaced. “Sorry.”

“Go on.”

“He sold one of my paintings, and it’s the second time he’s pulled this crap on me.”

“What happened?” I prodded.

She reminded me of how he’d sold her mom’s painting. “The thing was, it hurt for a couple of reasons. One, it was my
mom
. Douche-face Kent destroyed everything I had of hers, all my sketches I did when she was still alive, so I’d had to go from memory. And that one I did when I was a lot younger. And you know how your memory dims things? When he sold it, it almost felt like my mom died all over again. And then the second part was that he never asked me.”

Her words put a dent in my heart. My mother was still with me. I couldn’t imagine growing up without her. Haven didn’t have either of her parents and then this person she worked for took the last remaining item, the final tether she had to her mother and callously sold it to someone who didn’t even care. How selfish of him. All I could offer her were a few words. “I feel terrible for you, Haven. That’s not very professional of him not to have consulted you first.”

“It was in my contract, actually,” she explained.

“Hmm. Fine print stuff?”

“Yep.”

“That’s terrible. Did you try to get it back from the buyer?”

“I did and it was a no go. I even offered to paint a similar one and he said no. So I’m out. It gutted me for a while. I was…” She waved her hand in front of her face, as if she were trying to stop her tears. “Sorry, it’s just a bit too emotional for me.”

“It’s okay. You have every right to be emotional about something like that. I feel terrible for you.”

“Thanks. But then he did it again today. He sold a picture I painted of my best friend, Macie, without telling me. He’s an all-about-the-money kind of guy. He crossed all kinds of boundaries on this one.”

“It sounds like he overstepped his authority, too.”

“Oh, he did, and he knows it. Nevertheless, I still have to deal with it.” She waved a hand like she had everything under control. “So tell me something nice. Like what’s a nice priest like you doing on a beautiful day like today?”

If she knew the truth of how mundane my days could be sometimes, she wouldn’t have asked that. I laughed, because her life was so much more exciting than mine. I noticed she rubbed her arms and couldn’t help but see the goosebumps that rose as she shivered.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“No,” she whispered. She was quiet for a minute before shifting topics again. I listened, feeling she needed to get something off her chest. “In New York, I volunteered at a children’s shelter. There were all kinds of kids there from places I could relate to. You know, kids who had lost something that meant everything to them—maybe a parent or sibling. I liked helping them out, even if it was just spending an hour or so, telling stories, reading books, because I didn’t have that after I lost my mom.”

“Yeah, I understand. Listen, not that this will help with you losing your painting or anything, but I volunteer at the local children’s shelter here. They’re always in need of some extra hands. If you ever want to go, let me know. I’m sure they’d love to have an art teacher show up on a Saturday.”

“You seem to gravitate toward kids. Is it because you’d like to be more lighthearted or because you’re really one at heart?”

I thought about it for a second. “Probably both.”

“Ah, serious Canaan wants to kick up his heels a bit.”

“You think I’m too serious?”

“Your picture is next to the word in Merriam and Webster.” Then she spit out laughing. “You should see your face. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Well, I guess I have my moments. But all the time?”

She nodded very slowly.

“Goodness . I’m a grump.”

She chuckled. “No, you’re not. You’re just serious. There’s a big difference between the two. But, Canaan, when you smile, the room lights up.” The way she said it, the way her voice tripped over the words made me feel like I wanted to spike a football. I turned in my seat and grinned. I couldn’t stop had I tried.

She swiveled to look at me.

My heart stammered again as our eyes locked. Her blond hair gleamed, even in the dim light of the church, and her eyes were large—the brightest of blues as they searched mine. My heart skipped over the unspoken need in her eyes. But it was something I couldn’t give.

I watched her throat work as she swallowed, and then she said, “Canaan, I…”

“It might be best if you don’t say anything.”

She nodded, then stood. “I’ll see you next week,” she mumbled as she scooted past me. When she brushed my knees, my body jerked—not in revulsion, as I usually did when touched by someone unexpectedly, but in response to her. I wasn’t sure how long I sat in the church. I only knew when I left the sun had long set.

When I entered the rectory, Bill sat in the small den with a glass of whiskey in his hand. This was strange, for though he liked a drink every now and then, he wasn’t one to drink alone.

“Bill? Is everything okay? Are your parents okay?”

He nodded and waved a hand. “Yeah. All’s well there. But something else happened.”

I took a seat in the chair closest to him. “What’s up?”

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, cupping his glass in both hands. “I had a very disturbing phone call earlier today. With someone needing to talk.”

Bill’s behavior was odd. He was terribly troubled. Usually he was upbeat and positive, and not introspective like this.

“And?”

He blew out a long breath. “The thing is, I’ve been asked not to discuss it, so I’m not able to tell you much. But Canaan, this is weighing heavily on my mind.”

“How can I help?”

Bill tossed back the rest of his whiskey, got up, and refilled his glass. “A parishioner gave me some disturbing news and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“Can you share some of it without breaking their confidence?”

He thought about that for a second.

“This goes back to something Father O’Brien has been accused of.”

As soon as I heard those words, a fine buzzing began in my ears and my heart raced. I followed Bill in that I filled a glass with liquid numbing agent. I briefly reflected on how I’d managed over the years not to become an alcoholic.

Bill’s words floated to me over my dimmed thoughts.

“This could be an issue if someone else makes the same accusations.”

Deep in my soul, I knew I had erred in keeping my silence. Now there were three of us. Had I spoken out, I could’ve saved two others from this pain I had endured.

“I’m not quite sure how to counsel this person.”

“Maybe he needs to see a therapist.”

Bill’s head jerked toward me. “I didn’t say it was a
he
.”

“I know. I just assumed. Maybe you need to talk to the bishop about this if it’s bothering you this much. You don’t have to disclose anything. He may be able to guide you better than I can.”

The truth was, I needed to get away from this conversation and seek repentance, because now my sins had deepened even further.

“Maybe you’re right. This is serious enough that I should consult him. Thank you, Canaan. If for anything, thank you for listening.”

“Isn’t that what we have each other for?”

I said good night and escaped any more conversation. But when I entered my room, the scent of Haven was there, still lingering on my sheets. And it was my fault, my wrongdoing. Because I refused to launder my sheets, refused to wash her scent from my bed. Now my sins were so many, I feared God could never forgive me.

The weather was turning cooler as fall was in the air. The mornings were crisp, but the days were warm and sunny. It was my favorite time of year. My determination to finish my painting of Canaan was in full gear. When I left the church on Saturday, I had the final two images planned out. One was of Canaan the teacher, and the other was of Canaan, shirtless, in the prayer pose. I’d imagined him kneeling in this position before he went to bed at night. Though it was shameless of me, I would paint it nevertheless.

By Wednesday, it was complete, and all I had to do was put on the final touches. I planned on doing it when I got home from work that night.

I was just about to walk out of my room when Macie knocked.

“Yeah?”

She walked in. “Did you ever call that doctor back?”

I plopped my ass on the bed with a huff. “No. I don’t think it would be fair to go out with him. The more I think about it, the more I know it’s a waste of both of our time. He needs to go out with someone who has at least half an interest in him.”

She scowled. “Okay, I might give you a pass on him. What about David? Has he called?”

“He’s not going to call after what happened between us.”

Her scowl deepened. “Maybe you should call him?”

“No. Now will you get off my back?”

“Then call the doctor.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “I’m not going to do that either. You’re the worst, you know?”

She sat down next to me and threw her arm around me. “No, I just worry about you. That’s all.” Then she hugged me and as she was leaving, she caught sight of the painting. “Holy fucking priest.” She swallowed and gawked at it for a full minute. Then her penetrating gaze landed on me. “Oh, honey, you’re wrecked, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Nooo! I’m not wrecked.” Of course, I was in complete and absolute denial. I was crushed to smithereens, beyond hope of ever returning into my pre-Canaan Haven.

Her head oscillated. She never uttered another word, but left my room.

Work was going great. Jonathon was like a woman who’d just purchased a new pair of Christian Louboutins, bouncing all over the place, grinning. My painting of Macie was on display, earning the gallery more interest than ever.

“Haven, be prepared for an onslaught of orders. You may need to consider moving to Chicago.”

“What?” Why did he say that? My life was in New York.

“Think about it. You’ve garnered a lot of business here and it’s only growing. If you stay, it will continue. And down the road, you could even open up your own gallery.”

My head spun. The possibility of something this major had never crossed my mind.

He chuckled. “I can see by your eyes you’re shocked. But the reality is you’re a fabulous artist. And now in high demand. You won’t be able to keep up with your requests and soon you’ll stop taking them and paint for yourself. You’ll establish a price point on things that people will pay, no matter what. Being in Chicago will only help you. Just give it some thought.”

Maybe he was right. I never wanted to come back here because of my past. Kreepy Kent had destroyed any love for this area. But to be perfectly honest, when I was downtown in the apartment I shared with Macie, I rarely thought about him. It was similar to living in New York. He knew I was here and yet he hadn’t come back trying to harass me. Perhaps it could work out and be my dream come true—my own gallery and studio.

I did what any normal girl would do. I picked up my phone and called my bestie.

“Hey, chica. What up?” Macie answered her phone.

“You won’t believe it.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Jonathon wants me to move to Chicago.”

“Wait. You mean you might be my roomie permanently?” she squealed.