Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Cantrell
“As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.”
Cantrell rose from the floor with a pained grunt, knees crying out in protest after spending an hour removing hardened wax from the carpet in the nave.
He leaned against the pew closest to him, curling his fingers around its edges in an attempt to distract himself from the pain.
Taking a slow, steady breath, he examined the spot on the carpet with a small frown.
While he was able to remove a majority of the wax from the carpet, there was a small blackened area from where the candle singed the fabric.
Two small children had bumped the candle racks while roughhousing, causing one to fall.
Thankfully, Cantrell was close by when it happened and was able to keep the damage to a minimum and, surprisingly, his temper at bay.
The mother, who was speaking with Rier about baptism arrangements prior to the incident, apologized profusely while wrangling the still tussling siblings.
Rier escorted the trio out while assuring the mother all would be fine and it was something that could be easily fixed.
Damned kids, Cantrell thought, massaging his right knee. The pain lessened to a dull throb. He sighed, bowing his head. Forgive me, he prayed, I am tired and weak.
“Were you able to remove the wax?” Rier asked, walking back into the nave.
Cantrell carefully maneuvered between the pews and met Rier in the middle aisle. “Yes, I believe so. We will have to get someone out to patch the carpet,” he said, adjusting his glasses further up his nose.
Rier sighed. “I will let the bishop know.”
Cantrell nodded and yawned. “Excuse me,” he said, covering his mouth. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Rier’s eyes narrowed as he eyed Cantrell. “Are you not sleeping?”
“I’m fine,” Cantrell said dismissively. “Just the usual worries keeping me up. Besides,” he added, removing his glasses to clean them and giving a small shrug, “I rarely sleep well.”
“Hmm, perhaps you should take some time away from Saint Anthony’s,” Rier suggested.
“Realign yourself with your true responsibilities here at the church. After all”—he looked down his nose at Cantrell— “the church should be your one and only focus. Unless there is something, or rather someone, that’s become more important. ”
Fear, icy cold and sharp, clung to the nape of Cantrell’s neck. Mouth full of sand, he cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back. “If there is something you would like to accuse me of, do so plainly. I am too old for games, Rier.”
“I am not accusing you of anything, brother,” Rier responded quickly, looking Cantrell dead in the eyes. “But, if I were, it would be that you let that heathen Koller boy lead you astray.”
Cantrell’s eyes hardened. “For you to say such a thing, to imply that I am involved in some sort of scandal,” even if it may hold a shred of truth, “is despicable. I may have come from a past that, in your eyes, does not deserve redemption, but I”—Cantrell pointed at himself— “have dedicated years of my life to making amends for the life I lived before I found Christ. Only He reserves the right to cast judgement on me.”
Wrath stirring low in his gut like a pot beginning to boil, Cantrell turned sharply, ramming his shoulder directly into Rier’s. Rier’s gaze burned into Cantrell’s back but he kept his head high as he headed towards the front doors of the church.
“You can’t run away, Cantrell!” Rier called after him. Cantrell pushed forward, heart hammering against his sternum. “You can’t hide from the truth,” Rier continued. “God sees all, knows all. He will bring your sins to light, He always does!”
His words rang in Cantrell’s ears well after the door to the church closed behind him.
Rier never cared for him, so it was more likely that Rier was assuming the worst. From the beginning, he looked at Cantrell with disgust and disapproval.
Especially after learning of Cantrell’s background.
For Rier to assume Cantrell lost his way, fell off Christ’s path, was unsurprising.
The hurt—the fear—ran deep nonetheless, since allegations like the one Rier voiced were enough to call for an investigation from the bishop, possibly even Cantrell’s departure from the church.
“Shit,” he whispered beneath his breath, slamming his car door shut. “Shit!”
He had been nothing but careful since the very beginning.
Cautious of his surroundings when they interacted, hiding from prying eyes whenever they texted, keeping his voice low at night when they called, never seeing Illias in broad daylight.
Treated him like a dirty secret because that was what their relationship was.
Illias was forbidden fruit. Cantrell’s personal apple from the Tree of Knowledge.
And he was forsaken the moment he let his wandering eye get the better of him when Illias walked into Nirvana’s that very first night.
Cantrell lifted his left hip and removed his phone from his back pocket.
Unlocking the phone, he called the only person he knew to.
His heart sank to his feet when it went to voicemail.
Doing all he could to keep his panic at bay, he tossed his phone on the passenger side seat then started the car.
As he prepared to put it into gear his phone lit up, and he snatched the device from where it lay.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Illias asked, concern evident even through the static.
“I think—” Cantrell swallowed. “I think Rier suspects something,” he confessed.
“Oh, fuck.” Illias’ quiet whisper was barely audible through the speaker.
“Okay, okay, well, fuck, okay. Uh—Jesus Christ, not right now Jasmine, I’m—fuck off.
” Muffled voices continued on the other line for a minute before Illias spoke into the phone again.
“Sorry, I’m at work—as you probably guessed—but you are more than welcome to come here and wait for me to get off, or you can go to my place until then.
I can text you where I keep the emergency key. ”
Cantrell’s heart fluttered in his chest at the prospect of being in Illias’ home without him in it. Such a harmless yet deeply intimate offer. “I think coming to Nirvana’s may do me some good,” he said, craving a hint of normalcy. “Take my mind off things.”
“I’ll see you soon then,” Illias said, sounding just as pleased as he would if Cantrell had chosen the other option. “Jasmine, fuck o—”
The line died, cutting off Illias’ protest of what Cantrell could only assume was Jasmine’s desperate attempt to know who Illias was talking to. On any other night, Cantrell probably would have smiled, but tonight, his stomach contorted at the thought of someone knowing about him and Illias.
Nirvana’s parking lot was nearly full when Cantrell pulled into his usual spot—the far end where the light didn’t quite reach.
What little light managed to touch that part of the parking lot seeped through the windows, bathing him in soft neon blue.
Cantrell sat in silence, listening to the faint sounds of traffic and nature blending together, contemplating if he was making the right decision.
If there was such a thing, when no matter what he chose to do resulted in him losing something.
Choosing Illias meant Cantrell would lose not only his income but Saint Anthony’s.
His ability to help others, see them prosper and grow into their full potential.
But if he chose the church, he would lose that which gave him back his life.
That showed him he deserved to enjoy being alive.
I’m tired, Cantrell tore the Roman collar from his neck, of being consumed by guilt and doubt.
He held the starched linen insert in a tight fist. Pulse audible in his ears.
Chest bound in shame. Gingerly, he uncurled his fingers.
Stared at the wrinkled, bent insert. I’m sorry.
He placed the insert carefully on the dashboard as if it was a fragile, glass item.
Forgive me, he looked at his air freshener, at Mother Mary’s kind yet placid face, but I have to choose myself.
Tucking his rosary beneath his shirt, Cantrell exited the safety of his car. With every step towards Nirvana’s, he moved further away from the path he chose years ago. Moved closer towards a past he tried to hide from, a life he forgot existed, a love he didn’t want to lose.
Inside Nirvana’s, the sounds of country music mixed with the clacking of pool balls and chitchat filled the air.
The air was warm and smelt of greasy foods with an undertone of body odor.
People stood around pool tables, huddled together at high tops, sat at booths, and hovered by the bar’s edge.
Each and every one of them occupied by their own little piece of life.
Still wary of being seen, Cantrell did his best to weave through the crowd without bumping into anyone or having to speak.
Though, he was fairly positive the crowd that frequented Nirvana’s wasn’t the same crowd that sat in the pews on Sunday.
Cantrell peered through the gaps in the crowd towards the bar, searching to see who was behind the counter.
Illias and Jasmine worked in tandem, dancing around each other like they were putting on a show for the customers’ amusement.
Cantrell paused to watch them, soaking in how at ease Illias looked behind the counter.
How effortlessly he balanced drink making with conversation.
Transformed simple service into an artform.
Midway through making a drink, Illias’ attention turned towards the crowd, his eyes finding Cantrell’s almost instantly.
Illias’ smile widened, crinkling the corners of his sparkling eyes.
They darted towards the end of the bar, silently directing Cantrell where to go.
Cantrell forced his feet to move and sat at the end of the bar furthest from the entry.
He glanced out across the floor, eyes jumping from person to person.
Scanning for familiar faces, members of the congregation, friends of Rier.
Anyone who may have noticed Cantrell at the bar more than usual.
Seen the way he looked at Illias. Overheard their conversations.
“Hey,” Illias’ voice startled Cantrell, making him jump. Illias snorted. “Looks like you’re not the only one that can sneak up on people.”
“You shouldn’t scare the elderly. My heart could’ve given out.” Cantrell retorted, easing into playful banter in hopes it would settle his nerves.
“Sorry,” Illias replied, an honest concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Cantrell resisted the urge to reach for Illias hand, instead he folded his arms on top of the counter. “I’m fine, only teasing. I’m not that old.”
From behind the bar, Illias leaned with his back to the counter, polishing the inside of a cup. “I don’t know, Cantrell,” he said cheekily, looking over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, “those gray hairs would like to disagree.”
“Someone’s feeling a little bold tonight,” Cantrell noted, a darker part of him itching for an outlet.
Illias twisted around, a coy smile on his face that screamed trouble. “You did say you wanted to take your mind off things.” He leaned across the counter, pretending to wipe the space next to Cantrell. “And I know you can’t resist a brat.”
Cantrell watched his fingers tap against the table. “Do you have toys at home?”
Illias stilled. “I might…why?”
Cantrell kept his expression neutral and shrugged. “No reason. Just curious. Now,” he looked over the top of his glasses at Illias, “be a good boy and go tend to your customers.”
On cue, a customer called Illias’ name. He pointed at Cantrell and said, “We’re not done here.”
Illias pushed off the counter to tend to the customer sitting in the middle section of the bar.
Engrossed in watching him in his natural habitat, Cantrell didn’t notice someone slide into the stool next to him until they cleared their throat.
He flinched, and a modicum of relief ran through his veins when he saw Maverick.
“You and Illias seem to have gotten pretty friendly,” Maverick said, not looking directly at Cantrell.
Cantrell’s blood went cold. “I suppose you could say that. I’ve been mentoring him for a few months now.”
“Oh please,” Maverick chuckled, shaking his head. “With all due respect, Father, I can tell when someone’s flirting with my staff.”
“I don’t—you’re mistaken—I—” Cantrell stammered, head growing light.
“Look, what the two of you do in your spare time is none of my business. Y’all are grown. Just be careful, alright?” Maverick tilted his head to the side and looked at Cantrell with genuine worry. “You’re a good man, Cantrell. I don’t want to see you down bad.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Cantrell said earnestly. “It means a lot.”
Maverick sat up and slapped Cantrell’s shoulder. “We old timers have to stick together,” he said, squeezing Cantrell’s shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know.”
Cantrell thanked him again, and Maverick gave a curt nod then left the bar.
To do what exactly, Cantrell wasn’t sure.
He watched Maverick until he was lost in the crowd.
With a small sigh, Cantrell turned his attention back to what was happening behind the bar, only to be met with the sight of Illias flirting with another man.