4. Chapter 4
Kingsley
My heart jackhammered against my rib cage as I fumbled for words to explain Father Cruz why I was sneaking around with a woman at dawn. What even could I say? I’d been caught in flagrante delicto. Me, a monk only months away from becoming a priest.
I groaned inwardly. Could this get any worse?
“I’m all ears.” Father Cruz smiled, but his voice betrayed subtle concern.
My chest constricted. An abbot couldn’t get more laid-back than this man. As a former member of a Mexican cartel, there wasn’t much that could faze him. Apparently my actions did.
I looked at Harley for permission, but before I could get a word out, she cut in.
“Brother Samuel did nothing wrong.” Still sitting in the driver’s seat of her VW Beetle, she gripped the steering wheel. “In fact, he helped me. I was in danger.”
Father Cruz glanced at me with an unreadable expression, then back at Harley. “Danger?”
The word had me scanning the jungle surrounding us and the road leading down the mountain. The clear sky slowly brightened with the rising sun, birds welcoming the new day all around us. No signs of anything alarming.
“It’s nothing.” Harley gave a forced smile. “I was just about to leave.”
“I think it’s better if you stay,” I blurted.
This earned me more scrutiny from Father Cruz. His brown eyes pinned me for an unbearable moment. “Brother Samuel, can I have a word?”
Cold sweat broke out down my back. “Yes, Father.”
We moved under the banyan tree out of Harley’s earshot, but I kept my eyes on her VW. Didn’t want her to leave. Not if she was obviously still in danger.
“Would you like to explain to me what’s going on?” Father Cruz asked.
I fingered the beads on my rosary, once again trying to figure out how to best word what’d happened.
“I was doing a midnight prayer walk when she showed up out of nowhere. Must’ve climbed the walls.
” How, though, I still didn’t know. “She was terrified, so I offered her to stay at the guesthouse. I would’ve told you, but I didn’t want to wake you. And she didn’t want me to tell anyone.”
Father Cruz’s forehead wrinkled under his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. “Do you think she’s in danger?”
“I do. I wouldn’t have done it if not. I couldn’t just let her—”
He held up a hand. “You did the right thing.”
The tension tightening my shoulders slowly seeped out. “No discipline?”
“Of course not.”
I almost wet my habit with relief. Father Cruz was like a father to me. A whole lot more than my own had ever been. The thought of disappointing him . . .
“You need to stop looking everywhere for punishment, Brother Samuel.” Father Cruz placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I would’ve expected nothing less of you than to protect this young woman.”
I gritted my teeth. Nodded. It had been nine years since I left my family to join the monastic community of Saint James, yet I was still scared to make mistakes and suffer the consequences. Would I ever be able to cut the ties?
“How about you set her up in the guesthouse and tell her the rules? After Mass, that is.”
“Of course.” Which meant she would be joining us for Vigils, Angelus, Lauds, and Mass. “For how long?”
“However long she needs to stay.”
“What about clothes? I doubt she has any in her car.”
Father Cruz ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “Can you go with her and grab some from her home?”
“I can . . .” I balled my hand into a fist. The idea of being alone with this woman didn’t sit well with me.
A heavy clang, clang, clang came from beyond the walls. The bell. It was time for Vigils.
Father Cruz gave me a nod, and I mirrored his gesture. Then he turned and walked back to the main entrance of the monastery.
I took a deep breath and returned to Harley. She still sat in her Beetle, chewing on her fingernails. Only now she wore a colorful crocheted cardigan. The hippie-dippie style suited what I’d learned from her so far.
“What did he say?”
The way she blurted it made me grin. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but there are rules.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“All right, come on.” I stepped out of the way so she could get out, then shut the door for her.
“Guests are required to attend all services,” I began as we walked to the back entrance.
“And you need to wear clothes that fully cover you and aren’t too tight.
” I glanced at her, grateful she’d put that cardigan on.
Not that her T-shirt was necessarily revealing, but my brain had ended up in the gutter one too many times in the past couple of months.
Hence I tried to avoid everything that could steer my thoughts even remotely on the wrong path.
She looked up at me. “I don’t have anything here besides what I’m wearing.”
“No worries, I’ll escort you to your home to grab what you need.” We’d reached the back entrance, and I gestured for her to go ahead.
Harley stood there, staring at me.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Um . . .” She rubbed her arms. “No.” Something akin to nervousness flashed in her eyes, but she moved past me. “How many people live here?”
I followed her back into the monastery and bolted the iron door. Prayed this would give her a sense of safety.
“Seven. We’re six monks and two priests.
” A hundred yards of grass stretched between us and the two-story stone building close to the main entrance.
I pointed at it. “We monks live in there. The rectory behind it is Father Cruz’s home.
He’s also the abbot. Father Andrew lives down the mountain with his daughter.
He became a priest after his wife passed.
You’ll get to meet everyone in a minute. ”
Ten minutes later we were assembled in the cathedral outside the monastery.
My fellow brothers and Father Andrew gave Harley a warm welcome when Father Cruz announced that she was a guest for the next couple of days.
She must’ve shed her fear somewhere along the way, because she greeted everyone with a surprising confidence as she stood next to me in the pew.
The domed ceiling arched high above us, candlelight flickering on the stone walls.
Soon, the sun would shine through the mosaic windows and cast the most beautiful colors on the marble floor.
As we sang some of the Psalms that expressed our need for God, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at Harley.
Her lips remained closed, but so were her eyes as she swayed to our voices.
Even when we prayed silently for thirty minutes I had to force myself to refocus several times.
Same during Lauds, the morning praise. I was glad when we finally headed back over to the monastery for breakfast.
“The chanting was incredible.” Walking next to me, Harley’s eyes glowed. She shuddered. “So much that it gave me goosebumps. I’ve never heard anything like it.” She searched my gaze. “Your voice stood out especially—deep and rich.”
Not sure what to make of this comment—or compliment?—I said nothing. Thank God Father Cruz came over and pulled her aside.
“Who is she?” Brother Matthew—I called him Matt whenever it was just the two of us—whispered.
At twenty-two, he was the youngest of us and the only one who had yet to take the Solemn Vows.
He’d grown up on the north shore, the so-called ghetto of the island, and after having a near-death experience, decided to become a monk.
His parents, Indian and Hindus, had disowned him for his conversion to Christianity.
“Name’s Harley. That’s all I know.” I once again found myself glancing at her. The first beams of the sun rising over the ocean in the east hit her hair, making the red even more vibrant.
“She’s gorgeous,” Matt mumbled, staring at her like he’d never seen a woman in his life.
I looped my arm around his neck and pulled him into headlock. “Keep those thoughts in check, Brother Matthew.”
“I do, I do,” he croaked. His golden-brown skin turned into an unhealthy crimson.
I let him go. “I’m counting on it. She’s staying a couple of days.
I expect you to behave.” For some reason I saw it as my duty to keep him in check.
I had a strong connection with all of the brothers here, but the one I had with Matt was on a whole different level.
Maybe because growing up my four older brothers had always had my back.
Even Kimball had been more of a mother to me than the Dragon, my siblings’ name for our mother.
I never called her that, but neither did I call her mom or whatever. She was Regina to me.
Matt’s face lit up. “She is staying a couple of days?”
I smacked his head, which caused him to jerk away.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“You know exactly what.”
Grinning sheepishly, he rubbed his scalp. “I was joking. I’ll behave.”
“Good.”
We ate breakfast in silence, then listened to Brother Aurelius as he read from the Rule of Saint Benedict. I couldn’t help but notice how Harley never wandered too far from me. Apparently she felt comfortable by my side.
Which made me uncomfortable. As a teen I somehow had constantly garnered girls’ attention, which had made me nervous.
That wasn’t any different now. I hardly ever got in touch with the opposite sex.
Thursday evenings, when Matt and I played soccer with a group of teenagers, was pretty much the only exception. And those girls still found men gross.
At eight-thirty we headed back over to the cathedral for Mass. The closer the time came to go on that drive with Harley, the more my habit stuck to my sweating back and chest. Why had I told Father Cruz that it wasn’t a problem to escort her to her home? It was one. A big one.
After Mass, as we stepped into the fresh air, I was sweating more than I did while chopping wood on a hot day. Father Cruz stopped me and Harley on the sun-bathed stone steps.
“Make sure you’re back for Midday Prayer.”
I nodded. Sure hoped it wouldn’t take us that long. Harley had mentioned something about living just outside Glam City, which meant about an hour drive. Ten minutes of packing, then a one-hour drive back.
“And work extra hard in the afternoon to make up for what you missed this morning. The grass won’t cut itself.” He winked, then ambled off.
“Do you mind driving? I’m . . . exhausted.” Harley shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at me. “Wait, can you even drive?”
“I’m a monk, not a monkey.”
That elicited a chuckle from her. She dug in her jeans and held up the key fob of her VW.
“We’ll take the pickup.” I pointed at the monastery’s 1996 Ford F-150 parked in the gravel lot. My driver’s license and everything I needed was in there.
“Okay. I just need to grab something from my car.”
Gravel crunched under our shoes when we walked to it in silence.
The view from up here was probably the most beautiful on the island.
Rugged, lush mountains rose behind the monastery and cathedral, jungle surrounding us and stretching all the way down to civilization and the ocean.
Glam City wasn’t for me, but the way its skyscrapers glittered in the dark at night was nothing short of breathtaking.
A moment later, Harley and I were on the windy road down the mountain. Thank God she sat as far against the door as possible. The cab in itself felt crowded enough as it was.
“Can we turn on the radio?” she asked.
“It’s broken.” We’d never bothered fixing it, and I didn’t mind.
Secular media was something I tried to avoid as much as possible.
Anything secular, really. As long as I was inside the monastery, it wasn’t an issue.
But as soon as I left—which happened a lot because I currently attended seminary at Darkwater Refuge University—there was no way around it.
It was a good preparation for when I became a priest. Father Cruz and Father Andrew both left Saint James almost daily.
Not even ten minutes had passed—we were still carving one sharp turn after another—when Harley nodded off, her head resting against the window. The relief that flooded me was ridiculous. There was no reason to be so wound up. She was just a woman who needed help, and my job was to provide it.
For the remainder of the drive, I prayed protection over Harley. Thank God traffic wasn’t too heavy.
Just outside Glam City, I reached over and nudged Harley for the second time today because my voice alone didn’t stir her. “We’re almost here.”
And for the second time, she jerked upright, then deflated. The directions she gave me led us to a lower middle-class neighborhood with several apartment buildings. I parked along the curb and got out to get her door.
“Thanks.” Smiling at me, she stuffed something into the back of her jeans and pulled her cardigan over it. I didn’t even want to know what that was.
She scanned our surroundings like a hawk—much like Wentworth would—when we ascended the outdoor stairs leading to the second floor of the four-story building. Cataloging threats. Her hands trembled when she stopped in front of the second door and unlocked it.
“Ignore the mess.” She entered the short hallway with vinyl floor and beige-painted walls.
I followed her inside, the smell of artificial citrus filling my nostrils. Something else hung in the air I couldn’t identify. It was too subtle. Aftershave, maybe? “Do you want me to close my eyes?”
She chuckled. “If you don’t mind?”
Shoes were piled up carelessly next to a wooden dresser, an open wall closet revealing jackets of all kinds.
We passed a tiny bathroom sitting in the dark, then a closed door.
Had to be the bedroom, because the hallway ended in a living room right after it.
Again, small but cozy, with an orange tweed sofa, a glass coffee table, and a bookshelf stuffed with thrillers. No TV.
“How about you make yourself comfortable while I grab my things?” Harley gestured at the sofa. “Can I get you a coffee or anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I sank into the soft cushions, tracking her with my gaze as she crossed the small space to an opening on the other side. The kitchen, if the fridge I could see from here was any indication.
She entered—and froze.
“Hello, Harley.”
The deep, raspy voice had me on my feet in a split second.
Three quick strides brought me up behind Harley in the narrow kitchen.
A beefy guy wearing dark jeans and a blue Hawaiian shirt lounged on a chair, hands folded on the small, round kitchen table.
A 9mm pistol was holstered at his hip next to a Darkwater Refuge Police Department badge.
It wasn’t just any badge—the guy was a detective.
Detective or not, something about him raised the little hairs on the back of my neck.
And Harley’s rigid posture spoke volumes. No surprise she hadn’t wanted me to call the cops.
The law itself was the threat.