A Beautiful Sin (5 page)

“Aww. I love you too, Have. But like you said, it is early in the morning, so talk.”

“Fine.” I laughed but got right to the story. “Well, a friend of mine was selling her jewelry in Central Park, and she asked me if she could take a few pieces of mine to spruce up her little booth. So I said yeah and while she was there, this rich guy approached her and asked about them, then gave her his card and said he was an art broker.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Turns out he’s this broker named Jonathon Houston, who’s a pretty big deal in the art world. So I called him and he told me about this gig he’s setting up in Chicago. I have to do this, Mace. It’s all about the new breed of artist breaking out. I met with him and showed him my work. He was, or acted like he was, totally into it. He says I’m that blend of impressionist and eclectic. Whatever the hell that means. I just paint what I want to paint.” I didn’t have a degree in art but worked with whatever talent I was born with. “I don’t have a particular style and I told him that. But he said that I didn’t see what he did. So I’m coming. I have to see where this can take me. It could be my big break. Plus, he’s giving me an advance because he thinks my work is going to really sell. Like big time. And I can use the money.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?”

“I don’t know. I guess it still hasn’t really sunk in.”

“Jeez, this could totally be your ticket. But you love New York. This would mean leaving it all behind.”

“It’s just temporary right now. The show runs for six months. And then it’s back to reality and New York. Who knows if this is the catalyst for my career and I won’t have to be that proverbial starving artist. Besides, I could work anywhere if I chose to stay in Chicago longer, and travel back and forth when necessary.”

“Oh my God, this is so fucking cool. Okay, I am so on board with you coming back here. I have to admit I was going to try and talk you out of it, but after hearing this, you’re right. This could bust your career wide ass open. Your room is ready for you. And you haven’t mentioned, is this Jonathon hot?”

I laughed. “He’s okay. Not really my type. He’s all starched shirts and suits. I’d never fit in his world. Besides, he had a ring on his finger. Anyway, it’ll be a couple more weeks before I come. I have to close up shop here since I’ll be gone for six months and that’s a long time. You haven’t had a roommate for quite a while. You’re sure about this?”

“Totally sure. I have everything. All you need are your clothes and stuff.”

“Thanks, Macie, you really are the best friend anyone could ask for. I wouldn’t be here today without you.”

“Hey, remember our pact? We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

“I’d fist bump you if I could.” I could see her putting her fist in the air.

“After all this great news, I think it’s safe to say I’m going to sleep well and not worry about you now. You almost gave me a heart attack earlier.”

“I almost gave
me
a heart attack earlier. Thanks for talking me off the ledge, again.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“Good night. I’ll call you tomorrow.” As I curled up around my pillow, I thanked God for her again. I closed my eyes and hoped sleep claimed me for the few hours that it normally did. Only I woke up covered in sweat. The fear that consumed my unconscious mind pulled me out of bed and into my spare room where I worked out all the hurt and pain of the past on a blank canvas. Art was still and always had been my escape, my therapy. If not for it, I was pretty damn sure my mind would’ve cracked by now. Well, art and Macie.

A fine sheen of moisture covered my skin as I jackknifed up in bed. The dream resurfaced from time to time. I shouldn’t have been surprised by its reappearance. His voice rang in my ear, as it had been then, only now it was a whisper. I blinked away the memories and prayed that I hadn’t called out and awakened Bill. He would only ask questions I had no answers for.

The dawning day meant I would be forced to face my demons in that room of Hell. I searched for the instrument I needed to pay my toll of penance. I found the stretch of leather that was worn with age and teeth marks. I stared at it with despair, remembering. Then I removed my robe before I whipped my arm over my shoulder and let the sharp sting take me away. One day, the sinner inside me would be purged, or so I prayed. One day, I would be cleansed and worthy of God’s love.

Much later and after showering, I found my way to the kitchen for a small breakfast. Stomaching any more wasn’t possible if I were to face that room.

“Good morning, Canaan. I hope you slept well in your new room.” Bill’s cheery greeting reminded me to turn my frown into a smile.

Hoping my fudging the truth some sounded sincere, I said, “I did, thank you. And good morning to you.”

“Excellent. I see you’ve already eaten. So how about we take our tour of the church then?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, my guts clenching in protest. I swallowed back the miniscule breakfast that tried to bully its way back up my esophagus. My sweaty palms felt like they oozed moisture so I rubbed them on my pants, hoping they didn’t leave dark streaks behind.

Following Bill’s long strides, we left the rectory and followed the walkway that circled the parking lot, then entered the church through the side door. It was early, only six a.m. There would be an eight o’clock mass that morning Bill would conduct, but currently the church was dark and empty. He flicked on some lights, casting the altar in a heavenly glow.

“Look the same as you remember?” His voice came from my left. I looked at the scene, remembering how I served here all those years ago.

“It does. I always thought the wood carvings in the front were something else. Even as a kid I used to stare at them.”

“The altar you mean?”

“Yeah.” It was hand-carved and made out of oak, or so I’d been told many years ago by one of the nuns.

“I think it came from Italy,” Bill said.

“I think so, too. We’re lucky to have it here.”

“Yes, we are. So, the tabernacle is the same, I’m sure.”

I walked up the steps and moved behind the altar, opening the doors of the tabernacle, the small enclosure that held the chalices of hosts and wine. Of course now it was empty.

“It is.” I smiled. “As is everything else, it appears.”

“Good. All the books, missals, and so on, are too. So you should be fine. Just like an adult altar boy.”

Like a fist to the diaphragm, all the air expelled from my body, and I felt punctured in the worst way. What should’ve been a glorious moment was instantly sullied and turned to something dirty and shameful. I quickly turned away to hide my face. There wasn’t a way to cover up my emotions, so the only thing to do was hide myself.

“Ready to move on?” Bill asked, unaware of my turmoil.

“Uh huh.”

He led the way to the room where the altar servers changed. It was nothing more than an area where a series of multi-sized long red and black cassocks and white surplices hung. There were also hooded albs with several colors of cinctures, which could be coordinated with the colors of the priest’s vestments.

“I remember wearing these,” I said.

“I remember wearing similar ones in the parish I grew up in,” Bill added. “We ask the servers to arrive thirty minutes early and we have a lead server. Is that how it was when you served?”

I nodded.

“Good. Then shall we continue? By the way, you were educated here, too, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

The school was connected to the church. The server’s room had a dual exit. One went to the school, and the other to the church. It was designed for the students so after mass on school mornings, they could scoot right into the school.

“I bet you have some stories.”

“Not me. I was the good kid, the one who wanted to be the priest, the nerdy one.”

Bill stopped and looked at me. “So you knew that young, huh?”

“Yeah. And you?”

“Not until college, actually. I saw everyone around me going to parties and chasing girls, and I wanted to connect with Jesus. I became the nerdy guy then.”

“We all find our way, I guess.”

“On to the sacristy.”

His words chilled me. I rubbed my arms as if that would somehow help, left with no choice other than to follow him. My eyes stayed trained on the grain of the wooden planks on the floor, reminding me of the marks I had embedded into my own back as my discipline. I clenched my fists so hard that even my short nails made their way into the flesh of my palms. When the dark wooden door loomed before us, I shuddered, praying Bill didn’t notice. Thankfully, I stood behind him. He unlocked the door and walked through as though he didn’t have a care in the world. And why should he? The room wasn’t Hell for everyone. It was mine and mine alone.

Bill’s voice faded as my eidetic memory brought forth image after image of Father O’Brien. Even with my eyes open, a playback of what had happened in there continued in my head. Searing pain, not just physical but psychological, gripped me, forcing my feet back toward the door. Tremors racked my body, and I knew I needed to get control of myself, or Bill would soon discover my secret. I slumped against the wall I’d backed into and mopped my brow with the back of my arm. Bill turned when he heard the sound.

“Canaan, are you all right?”

A lie buried in truth erupted from my mouth. “My stomach.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not feeling well. I need the bathroom.” I clamped a hand over my mouth as breakfast made its way to the back of my throat. His arm shot out in the direction I already knew in which to go.

Slamming the door behind me, I made it to the counter and gripped the edges to stop myself from collapsing. I hung my head over the sink half bent over. The past I thought I could bury forced its way front and center.

My knuckles tightened around the edge as the memory of the stench of his skin punched into me along with his grunts as he held me prisoner. Instead of the basin, I saw the wine stain that had become my only focus, my pinpoint of sanity during that first time.

I panted as I did my best to wash the pictures out of my head. As I stared, drops of my own sweat trickled down the drain. Hauling in air through my nose, control slowly came back to me. 

Bill’s voice came through the door. “Canaan, are you okay in there?”

Clearing my throat to make way for some air, I said, “Getting there.”

“Do you need to go rest?”

“Maybe. Give me a few more minutes.” I flushed the toilet for effect. Then I flushed it again.

Running the cold water, I splashed my face until it felt chilled, and I was finally able to breathe easier. The question would be whether that debacle would recur once I left the safety of the bathroom. I had no choice but to see.

When I walked out, I felt guilty for the concern that was imprinted in Bill’s face. “Son, are you feeling better? You gave me a bit of a scare.”

“I’m not sure, to be honest.” I allowed myself to gaze around the room. When no further video replay threatened to undermine my ability to carry on a normal conversation, I said, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure? We can do this later.”

“No, let’s go on.”

He looked skeptical, but nodded. “This is where we keep all the vestments. Someone, either Sister Grace or one of the women from the Altar Guild, will have your vestments laid out for you before mass. It was something Father O’Brien always insisted upon. Since the Guild has taken it up as one of their duties, I think we should continue. Are you good with this?”

“Yes, that’s fine. As long as they don’t mind doing it.”

“They’ve indicated to me they enjoy it. I think it makes them feel a bit more needed around here.”

I glanced at the table upon which the vestments would be set out and my guts twisted.
The table.
It was his favorite place of administering penance. I couldn’t prevent the shudder that ripped through me.

Bill saw it. “Still okay there?”

“I guess I’m not as good as I thought.” I wiped a layer of sweat off my forehead. I hoped it got easier being in here because if it didn’t, my life would be its own Hell on Earth.

“We’re almost finished, and then I think you may need to go rest.” He showed me the closet where all the chalices, cruets, communion wafers, and everything else needed for Mass were stored. And then finally, he showed me the padded kneeler where I could pray before or after Mass, if I wanted. With a jolt, another memory crashed into me. That kneeler was used for many things by Father O’Brien, none of them being prayer. I didn’t want Bill to see me make a fool out of myself, so I made a flimsy excuse and bolted out the door.

Only when I opened it, a woman with haunted faint blue eyes stood on the other side. I was shocked considering the early hour. So we stared at each other for a moment.

“Can you help me?”

Her words triggered a faint memory. But it fled as fast as it came, leaving behind the ever-present need to run.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said, rushing off.

When I got to my bathroom in my quarters, the meager breakfast I’d eaten earlier finally succeeded in making its reappearance. My declaration of not feeling well came to life. I was sick. Truly sick. I only hoped and prayed that I could turn things around and become the associate pastor Bill believed I could be. Right then, I wasn’t so sure I had it in me.