Part 21 (1/2)
I breathed in and out through my palms, and Jordan's voice drifted in, like it was coming from someplace remote, even though we were sitting close enough that our knees touched.
”Do you truly love her?” he asked.
”Yes,” I said into my hands.
”And do you think it's over between you?”
I took a moment to answer, not because I didn't know, but because the words were so hard to speak. ”I don't see how it can't be. She wants to be with Sterling. She's made that abundantly clear.” Of course, if she showed up on Jordan's doorstep, I'd take her into my arms without a single word.
Less the unconditional love of G.o.d than the keening need of an addict.
”Without her...” Jordan met my eyes. ”Do you think you still want to leave the priesthood?”
Jordan's question hit me with the force of a cannon. I honestly didn't know what I wanted now. I mean, I'd never wanted to be with a woman rather than be a priest, I'd wanted to be with Poppy rather than be a priest. I didn't want the freedom to f.u.c.k, I wanted the freedom to f.u.c.k her. I didn't want a family, I wanted a family with her.
And if I couldn't have her, then I didn't want this other life. I wanted G.o.d, and I wanted things the way they were.
I supposed I could call the bishop and explain and hope that he would allow me to stay in the clergy. It would be hard to stay in Weston, knowing Poppy was there too, seeing all the places we'd been together, but then again, at least I'd have my parish and my missions to fill my time. The more I thought about it, the better it sounded-at least I could keep a sliver of my life the way it was. I could keep my vocation, even if I lost my heart.
”I don't think I still want to leave,” I answered.
Jordan was quiet for a minute. ”Are you ready for your penance?”
I nodded, still not bothering to lift my head.
”You will offer G.o.d one day in its entirety, a day of complete and utter companions.h.i.+p with him. He wants to talk with you, Tyler. He wants to be with you in this time of suffering and confusion, and you should not shut Him out in your grief.”
”No,” I mumbled. ”That penance isn't enough. I need something more-I deserve something harder, something worse...”
”Like what? A hair s.h.i.+rt? Walking barefoot for three months? A thorough self-scourging?”
I looked up, so I could glare at him. ”I'm not being funny.”
”Neither am I. You came to me for absolution and I'm giving it-along with G.o.d's message for you. In fact, this day of penance should be tomorrow. Stay here with me tonight, and no matter what happens, you spend tomorrow here. You'll have the church to yourself after the morning Ma.s.s, so plenty of time and s.p.a.ce to pray.”
Jordan's face was as it always was-calm and beatific at the same time-and I knew without a doubt that he was right. A day of reflection after the heady exhilaration of the past three months was no small thing for me to muster, and it was also the exact thing I needed. It would be painful, to spend hours examining myself honestly and conversing openly with G.o.d, but necessary things are often painful.
”You're right,” I conceded. ”Okay.”
Jordan nodded, and he said a quiet prayer of absolution, and then we sat in silence for a few minutes. Most people were uncomfortable with silence, but Jordan wasn't-he was at home in it. At home with himself. And that made it slightly easier to be with myself, even with all the unfelt feelings still looming above me.
At least until the phone rang.
Jarred out of our reverie, we both stared at Jordan's phone on his kitchen counter. By this point, it was almost two in the morning, and Jordan stood quickly, because phone calls at this time of night were generally of the bad kind-car crashes, unexpected turns for the worse, hospice patients finally gasping their last breaths. The kinds of things where people needed their priest by their side.
I watched him answer the phone, silently saying a prayer that n.o.body was seriously hurt-a prayer purely out of habit, words spoken from rote-and then watched as his eyes flicked over to me.
”Yes, he's with me,” Jordan said quietly, and my heart started beating in erratic staccato thumps, because it couldn't be Poppy, it couldn't be, but what if it was?
Oh G.o.d, what I would give if it were.
”Of course, just a moment,” Jordan said and handed the phone to me. ”It's the bishop,” he whispered.
My heart stopped beating then, plummeting down into my stomach. The bishop at two in the morning?
”h.e.l.lo?” I said into the phone.
”Tyler,” and all it took was that one word for me to know that something was deeply, troublingly wrong, because I had never heard my mentor sound this upset. Could it simply be about me quitting?
”About that voicemail,” I said, ”I'm so sorry for not waiting to speak to you properly. And now that I've had some time to think, I'm not sure that I do want to leave the clergy. I understand that I have a lot to explain and a lot to atone for, but things have changed for me today, and-”
The bishop's voice was heavy as he interrupted me. ”Unfortunately, I'm afraid that some other things have come to light...rather publicly, I'm afraid.”
s.h.i.+t. ”What things?”
”I tried calling you all day, and I called your parents and some of your paris.h.i.+oners, but no one knew where you were, and it wasn't until tonight that I thought you might have gone to your confessor.”
It felt like he was stalling, like he was hesitant to tell me about whatever happened, but I had to know. ”Bishop, please.”
He sighed. ”Some pictures were released. On social media. You and a woman-your paris.h.i.+oner, I believe, Poppy Danforth.”
The pictures. The ones Sterling had blackmailed me with.
I knew that I was in serious trouble, that Sterling had made good on his promise and burned my life down, but at the moment, the chief thing that stuck out was the sound of Poppy's name on someone else's lips, as if her name spoken aloud was an incantation, and it was that incantation that finally ripped me open, punched a hole in my chest like bullet going through a pop can.
Tears started rolling down my face, hot and fast, but I managed to keep my voice steady. ”Okay.”
”Okay, as in you already know about these pictures?”
”Yes,” I managed.
”Dammit, Tyler,” the bishop swore. ”Just-dammit.”
”I know.” I was actively crying now and then something was nudged into my hand. A tumbler of Scotch, amber-colored and with a single spherical ice cube in the middle. Jordan was standing over me, and he nodded his head at the gla.s.s.
Things were bad indeed if Jordan Brady was giving me a drink. I wouldn't have even guessed he owned a single bottle of liquor to begin with.
”Tyler...” the bishop said ”...I don't want to have to fire you.”
His meaning was clear. He wanted me to quit. It will be that much cleaner for the press releases, I thought. The repentant priest who had already turned himself in made a much better byline than the s.e.xually rapacious priest who had to be fired.
”Are those my only two choices? Quit or be fired?”
”I suppose...if the relations.h.i.+p were over-”
”It is.”
”-there would have to be discipline and definitely relocation-”
I'd expected this, but the confirmation gutted me. I'd have to move. A new parish, new faces, all while the old parish had to sort through a rumor-cloud of my sins. No matter what, no matter if everything else went perfectly, I'd still lost this. My parish. My people.