Chapter 12
TWELVE
JUDE
When I recovered enough from my meltdown after Ethan kicked me out, I had only one thought in mind.
Run. Sitting at my desk in the parish office, I had to compose three letters.
Before I began typing, I brought up mental images of my confession to Bishop Sanchez.
After the fiasco at the communion rail with Ethan, I had phoned the bishop, telling him that I had an emergency and needed to confess what had taken place during mass.
Upon entering the bishop’s home, I immediately sensed his usual friendly demeanor was replaced with a silent anger, given his straight-lipped mouth and clipped speech.
He’d led me to an intimate meditation room with an altar filled with religious articles.
A pair of straight-back chairs parallel to each other were in the corner of the room, divided by a privacy screen.
The bishop had gestured for me to sit on a chair.
It had a small round table in front of it upon which lie a lit candle and a Bible.
He'd made the sign of the cross and I was so anxious that I just spilled everything out, forgetting about decorum. The bishop’s disgust was obvious as he struggled to keep his voice down despite his face turning so red, I thought he might have a heart attack.
“You will cease all communication with the man.”
“He’s a parishioner,” I had argued. “What happens when he shows up at the confessional?”
The bishop scowled. “You are on suspension starting now, Father Jude. You will not be hearing confessions nor giving out communion. Father Greg will be taking over your clerical duties while you sit in prayer and beg for God’s forgiveness.”
At that moment, I knew that I was going to run. So, I played the part of the repentant sinner, which softened the bishop’s demeanor. When I left his house, I assured him that I’d do what was right. The older man had patted me on the shoulder. “That’s good to hear, Father.” And then I left.
Now, in front of my laptop, I started a document with Dear Bishop Sanchez. The letter was brief, merely notifying him that I left the Church. I assured him that the only things I took were my personal belongings. Lastly, I typed that I was doing what was best for me.
The second letter was to Father Matthew, saying much the same.
The third letter, to my parents, was the hardest. I began by saying how sorry I was but as soon as I read over what I’d written, the words sounded wrong.
I wasn’t sorry, and maybe for the first time in my life, I wanted to be honest. Instead, I explained that the bishop denied my petition to laicize and the fact of never being free made me certain that I needed to leave.
Obviously, I said nothing about Ethan or what I’d done.
When I wrote that I wasn’t sure where I was heading to, I was telling the truth.
I told them not to worry and that I’d be in touch when I settled somewhere. I ended the letter by confirming how much I loved them but that I needed some time alone.
I heaved a long sigh of relief after I printed the pages, signed my signature in ink, and folded the letters neatly into envelopes.
Then I addressed each one but when I left the letters on Inés’ desk, I realized that I needed to write something to her as well.
Rummaging through the stationery drawer where she stored cards for every occasion, I found a blank thank-you note with kittens on the front.
I began by apologizing for leaving so abruptly.
And I told her how much I appreciated her friendship.
When I removed my clerical collar and placed it on top of the small pile of letters, I asked myself aloud, “Am I really doing this?” In answer, my stomach clenched with fear.
I went back into my office, where I packed up my laptop and accessories.
Scanning the room, I sadly came to the realization that nothing around me held meaning.
I hurried out with a mix of anxiety and excitement.
Now that I was on this path, I couldn’t wait to be packed and away from there.
An hour later, my belongings were stowed and I drove to La Quinta Inn, one of a string of chain hotels near the Long Beach airport.
I felt safe that no one would recognize me, since I was far enough away from downtown Long Beach or the church and in a busy location off the interstate, with travelers coming in and out at all hours.
Initially, I thought I should go far away but the thought of leaving Long Beach before I spoke to Ethan left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Even if Ethan refused my efforts to talk to him, I had to try.
With that in mind, I checked into the hotel for one week.
Over the last eight years, I’d accumulated a good amount of savings, since I’d only touched my salary to buy food and cell phone service.
Stipends for performing baptisms, weddings, and funerals had paid for personal extras.
I wasn’t sure what would happen next regarding another job with a master’s degree in theology.
But I was giving myself one week before I thought about future plans.
Once in my room, I unpacked and hung up the few pants and shirts I owned.
I definitely needed to update my wardrobe, since I’d mostly worn church-issued clothing.
And I definitely would stay away from black for a while.
In the meantime, I had jeans, causal button-ups, and T-shirts.
But fashion floated to the back of my mind when the room was organized and my suitcase was in the closet.
The clock next to the bed read ten thirty.
Would Ethan be up? Or on a Saturday night, would he be out?
I pondered if I should text him, which didn’t take long because I desperately wanted him to know that I’d left the Church.
Me: You probably don’t want to hear from me yet. But I needed you to know that I took off. Wrote resignation letters and walked out
I was stunned when I saw the three moving dots and knew Ethan was replying.
Ethan: Is that what you meant when you said you were leaving?
Me: In truth, not in the moment. It was when the bishop forbade me from having any contact with you. He also put me on suspension so I wouldn’t see you in confession or at Mass
Ethan: Where are you?
Me: In Long Beach but I won’t tell you where. We need to talk things out. I don’t know what got over me when I assaulted you. The thought of never seeing you again even in the confessional sent me into a tailspin
Ethan: Your behavior triggered me into having a PTSD episode. It took me back to Napa and the rape, which I’ve never talked about yet
Me: I am so sorry, Ethan
I waited for Ethan to respond and when he didn’t after ten minutes, I figured…
well, I didn’t know what his silence meant.
Finally, after another ten minutes, I kept on my tee but exchanged jeans for sleep pants.
I slipped on flip-flops and taking my phone and key card, I went to where I’d seen a vending machine.
Inserting my credit card, I made my selections for two granola bars, a bag of chips, and a diet cola.
Taking the snacks back to my room, I’d just unwrapped one of the bars when my phone dinged and my heart felt like it beat double-time.
Ethan: What happens when the church or your family come looking for you and pressure you into returning?
Me: I have to believe if I have a reason, I can stay strong
Ethan: Jude, that reason cannot be me
I debated what to say because I’d hoped the reason was him. I also understood Ethan’s meaning.
Me: When I removed the clerical collar and placed it on my secretary’s desk, I was reeling with a sense of freedom missing for 8 years. I’d like for you to be part of the reason but if we don’t work out, I still have to stay strong—for me
Ethan: I feel like we’re back in the confessional, confiding to each other
I was overcome with emotion that Ethan was allowing me back into his life, into the bubble we’d created.
Me: Feels that way, doesn’t it?
Me: Is it asking too much to video chat tomorrow? In the confessional, we were able to look at each other
Ethan: Yeah, that’s fine
Ethan: I’ll call when I get home from Mamma’s house
Me: Mamma?
Ethan: Frank’s wife. Her family calls her Mamma and she insists that I do the same
Ethan: Jude, I’m glad you decided to stay in town
Me: Me, too. Good night, Ethan
Ethan: Good night
When the call disconnected, I couldn’t explain the genuine joy that surged through my body, igniting all my nerves like a summer thunderstorm.
Ethan had accepted my apology, despite the fact that my horrible behavior triggered a PTSD episode.
I wanted to know more about the time in Ethan’s life that still tormented him so many years later.
There were so many questions I had for him.
In addition to learning more about his life with his parents and his work…
there were also the small things. How did he take his coffee?
Did he cook? Had he decided to be the sperm donor?
That was the first thing I wanted to know.
Because without even knowing Ethan at all, really, the way he’d reacted to me contacting him was so gracious. He was forgiving… loving.
What made me currently wanting to chew my fingernails was Ethan’s mention of my parents.
Would I be able to stand my ground with them?
I could against Father Matthew. Regarding Bishop Sanchez, he had the authority to laicize me, which is what I wanted anyway.
The bishop also had the authority to have me excommunicated, but I didn’t think he’d go that far.
Either way, I believed that God knew what was in my heart and wouldn’t fault me for executing my right to find happiness and love in my life.
I laid down on the bed and told myself to forget about everything for a few hours.
The morning would come soon enough, when Inés would go into the office and discover my collar and the letters.
Actually, my only regret was not saying goodbye to her in person.
But maybe when everything calmed down, I’d get in touch.
For now, I’d think about Ethan and our planned video chat the following day.