I HISS AS SISTER GENEVIEVE APPLIES SALVE TO MY back.
“Careful,” I snap.
“Apologies, Father.”
There isn’t anywhere in the world I want to be less than in the mountains again. The roads are slick and icy, the weather making the trek terrible to drive, and quite honestly, being here when the conditions could turn too rough to get back to town makes me itch.
There’s nothing here except secrets and solitude, both of which I don’t want to have. Being alone gives me time to think. About Amaya. About my wavering loyalty to Him. And those secrets are better left buried where even I can’t find them.
My heart pangs, and I grind my teeth to drown it out. This ridiculous feeling in my chest is why I went so hard with the discipline last night, hoping the physical pain would numb the one ripping through my chest.
I told myself that I wasn’t going to think of her anymore.
That I would do what needed to be done. We said our goodbyes, so it’s time for my world to stop revolving around her like she’s my sun. I have to leave Festivalé, I tell myself again.
“What could you possibly have done that requires this level of beating?” Sister Genevieve asks as she bandages the wounds.
“I’m not here for idle chatter, Sister.”
She hums, her knees cracking as she stands and starts packing up the first aid kit. “I’m not as innocent as you may think.”
I tilt my head, watching her. “No? Yet you’re here as a nun.”
Her lips thin, her green eyes narrowing. “God forgives.”
I nod. “That He does.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks, already making her way into the kitchen.
I sigh, leaning back and staring out the small windows that frame either side of the small fireplace. I shouldn’t stay. The snow is coming in thicker flurries, and the roads are surely only going to get worse, but if I go back, I’ll have to put on a show.
And here, at least, Sister Genevieve doesn’t make me hide.
Besides, my mind needs the distraction so I don’t do something wild like think about where Amaya is right now, who she’s with.
What she’s doing.
It’s not my problem.
Not anymore.
Sister Genevieve walks back in with two cups of tea and hands me one before sitting down on the couch.
“Have you ever been in love, Sister?” I ask, slipping back on my shirt.
She laughs. “Several times, unfortunately.”
“Oh?” My brows rise, surprised by her answer.
She smirks at me. “I wasn’t always a nun the same way you weren’t always a priest. It took many years of my life to figure out this was where I’m meant to be.”
“Did any of them ever love you back?”
She takes a sip of her tea. “Are you in love, Father?”
I scoff. “It’s a theoretical question.”
“Hmm,” she hums, taking another drink. “Well, if you were, theoretically, I’d say it isn’t worth it. Matters of the heart rarely are.”
I’m not sure why her answer sends a spark of something dark through my chest, especially when she’s right.
Besides, what I feel for Amaya is beyond love. It’s incomparable. And it’s clear that whatever Sister Genevieve has felt in her lifetime hasn’t come close to anything near that, because if it had, I doubt she’d be here with me.
I leave not long after, and while the wounds on my back feel better, the ache in my heart feels worse.
A week passes, and Amaya is like a ghost. If I didn’t have my memories and this obnoxious longing gnawing at my nerves like an addict without their fix, it would be as though she never existed.
But where I had hoped to regain focus, instead, everything seems to have lost its color.
I’m living somewhere between simply existing while I wait to hear back from Bishop Lamont, who I’ve requested a transfer with, and seeking her out in every face that passes by. And that’s the reason I give myself for why I’m constantly strolling into the rehearsal space for Louis Elementary’s play, always looking to see her show up, but only seeing Quinten’s aide instead.
I know she’s avoiding me.
So it’s with an anxious type of energy that I get ready for Christmas Mass. Parker will undoubtedly be in attendance, and I can’t imagine she wouldn’t be here with him. I don my garb, repeating the prayers I have so many times before, only this time it feels numb. Where before I’d always feel purpose, now I just feel a hollow silence. It’s off-putting and makes me question everything I’ve ever believed in.
I don’t see her right away during service, but like a fallen angel, there she is, wearing a gorgeous red long-sleeve dress, her dark hair swept off her neck and a brand-new emerald necklace dangling from around her neck.
My stomach twists every time the jewel sparkles, and I want to rip it off her throat and shove it down Parker’s greasy mouth instead.
My addiction comes roaring back into focus, scratching at my skin with nails as sharp as talons.
I try my best to ignore it because today is a holy day.
Somehow, I make it through the entire service, even though my eyes keep straying toward her hand tangled with Parker’s, and as soon as it’s over, I bolt, everything in me begging to turn around just to be near her. To steal her away and scrub her clean of him.
Instead, I go into my cottage, drop to my knees, and pray.
Two days later, I can’t help but stroll by Louis Elementary’s play rehearsal again. They’re in the sanctuary today, because that’s where they’ll be putting on the actual play, and my eyes scan for Quinten, hoping that if I get a glimpse of him, maybe it will be enough to sate the urge of wanting to see his sister.
I find him over by the votive candles, taking the unlit ones from their storage and lining them up in a row. There’s no one else near him, and I glance around, wondering why he’s over here by himself and whether it’s by choice or because they placed him here.
The woman I’ve seen by Quinten before is across the room talking with the art director, Mr. Anderson, and in the aisle between the pews stand Florence Gammond and Principal Lee, looking like two peas in a pod with their heads bent close together.
There’s a small group of children on the dais, holding papers and reciting lines, and another small huddle off in the corner laughing quietly, occasionally looking over to Quinten. But no one makes a move to actually include him in anything that’s going on.
My feet are moving before I consciously make the decision, taking me toward him. I make sure he can see me before I sit down on the floor, pushing over the storage box that holds the unlit candles. I draw my legs up, resting my elbows on my knees as I lean back against the wall and stare at him.
He keeps inspecting each candle, one by one, before lining them up, and when I look closer, I realize he’s also gotten small figurines from the nativity scene we had on display in the front.
I sit with him in silence, watching him work, just keeping him company until he tells me to leave. For the first time in weeks, I feel at peace.
Eventually, he glances up at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. His eyes are the same shade as Amaya’s, bright green with splashes of yellow, and a weird feeling of déjà vu fogs up my brain.
“You like dinos,” Quinten states.
A small grin breaks out on my face, a little flattered that he remembers me, even though running into them at the grocery store and talking about dinosaurs feels like a lifetime ago.
“That’s right.” I point to myself. “Cade, remember?”
“Cade,” he repeats, rocking his body back and forth and placing another candle down at the end of his line. “Hi, Cade.”
“Hello, mon petit.” I glance to the dais and back, briefly noting that Florence has her gaze locked on the two of us. What is she even doing here? “How come you’re over here by yourself?”
Quinten blinks and gets a concentrated look on his face, like he’s taking apart my words and reforming them to fit in his brain. He turns to look at everyone on the other side of the room. “I’ll stay out of the way, over here.”
“Over here?” I point to where we are.
“Stay right here.” He repeats my pointing.
“Do you like being over here?”
He watches me carefully again, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “No.”
It’s only one word, but it’s the most direct answer he’s given me so far, and it’s pretty clear what’s happening.
This boy has no one here who is in his corner. No one here who gives a damn.
Amaya trusts these people to take care of her brother when she’s not around, and this is what they do?
Anger races through me as I remember my talk with Principal Lee back when I saw Quinten being shoved around in the halls, and I should have seen this coming. I should have done more to ensure he wasn’t going to be treated this way after making her include him. But back then, I was still convinced the extreme emotion I felt for Amaya was nothing more than my monster wanting to see her dead.
“Hey, you want to come hang out in my office for a bit?” I ask him. “We can do whatever you want.”
He cocks his head before nodding. “Okay.”
I smile. “Okay. Let’s go.”
