Chapter 18
I’ve been on sabbatical for almost two months now. I spoke to the bishop about wanting to leave the church, but after many talks and counsel, he offered to let me take sabbatical for personal renewal and study.
New priests don’t typically get that offer, but Bishop Charles is a kind man who says he sees something in me. He’d probably think differently if I told him the real reason behind wanting to leave.
Instead of telling him I let a criminal flog me until I came in my pants, I told him I was questioning my place in the priesthood. Which is still true.
The shame and embarrassment still cling to me, and every day I attempt to wash it away with prayer, but until I can bring myself to confess to another priest, I’m afraid I’ll never rest easy.
What’s worse is that when I’m not drowning in shame, I’m swimming through lustful thoughts and wanton desires.
Sometimes, alone in bed with nothing but darkness around me, I imagine what it would be like to do more.
And now that I’m not actively working in the church, I find myself excusing it.
Yes, I’m still ordained, but I’m not donning the clothes and spreading the word of God as a hypocrite.
Isn’t this the time for me to actually see what it is I want to do for the rest of my life? How would I know if I didn’t experiment?
The problem with that is that Javier has gone MIA.
I haven’t seen him since that night. And while it was appreciated at first, I’m starting to wonder why he disappeared on me.
He did say he wanted to see if he could get a priest to break, so maybe he got the ego stroke he desired and now he’s no longer interested.
My phone rings from my nightstand, jolting me upright. I look at the time before answering. It’s nearly midnight.
A quick glance at the screen tells me it’s my dad.
It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him.
After our conversation in his office that ended in an awkward hug, I talked to him once on the phone, but it wasn’t about anything of importance.
I’ve gone years actively avoiding news about the crime families and what’s going on between them, but sometimes, if the story is big enough, something comes on TV.
Last I heard, the Mancini family’s hitman was arrested. They say they could convict him of one murder that happened twelve years ago, which is surprising, since I’m sure he’s done a hell of a lot more.
There has to be fear he’ll turn and start working with the cops.
The Esposito family would not be happy if that happened, because they’ve worked with the Mancini family to bring down members of the Bonetti family.
I bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I’m met with a dial tone.
I think to call him back, but figure he’ll call again. Someone probably interrupted him.
When I lay back down and close my eyes, I try my best to keep from thinking about Javier. Just when I think I’m successful, he meets me in my dreams.
I’m jolted awake with the blaring of my phone. With my eyes still closed, I reach over and grab it, squinting just enough to see the green button.
“Hello?” My voice is scratchy and rough with sleep.
“Hello, this is a prepaid call from an inmate at South Bay Correctional Institute. To accept the call and charges, press one. If you don’t wish to accept, hang up now.”
I sit up straight, my eyes cutting to the clock on my nightstand. It’s five past eight in the morning. It could be my dad. What was he calling me for last night? I quickly press one and wait.
“Hello?” the voice says.
My brows knit in confusion when it’s not my dad’s voice. “Hello?”
“Hello, Father.”
The familiar tone of Javier’s voice hits my ears. I forget to breathe for a second while I try to wrap my head around who is calling and from where.
“What’s going on?”
“Ah, you know. The usual.” His tone is light and unbothered, which is strange since he’s in prison.
“Yeah? Is this your typical weekend getaway?”
He snorts. “I’m allowed a visit by a priest, you know.”
My pulse spikes. “You want me to visit you?”
“Well, only if you want to.”
“How long will you be there?”
“Mmm. Not too sure.”
“Why are you there?” I question.
“Just a little scuffle.”
“Hmm.”
“I might have some confessing to do.”
“I’m on sabbatical.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
He chuckles, and the deep sound gives me goosebumps. “Have I made you turn your back on Jesus? You want to worship me now, is that it? I haven’t even given you the good stuff yet.”
I feel my face flush, and I’m glad he can’t see me, but my mind remains focused on one word. Yet. “It’s just a small break. To reassess and—”
“Come visit me,” he says, cutting me off. “Wear your collar. Priests can visit us in our cell, or in a designated room. We don’t have to be separated by glass.”
“When?” I ask, and I wonder if he heard how breathy my voice was.
“Today. Tomorrow. Whenever.”
“You have one minute remaining,” an automated voice says.
“How’d you get my number?” I question, realizing I never gave it to him.
“I have ways. I’ll see you soon.”
The call ends, and instead of feeling too much conflict over what I’m planning on doing, I find myself more excited than anything. This trip feels…thrilling. I know it’s something I shouldn’t do, but I know I’m going to do it anyway.