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He’s been throwing himself into work, more charity, more confessions, more more more. Anything that’ll take her off his mind, but she’s there. Always, lingering like sin itself. It’s why when he sees her at Saint Mary’s handing out little deserts he thinks he’s imagining it for a moment.
He stands there, sweating beneath the warm summer sun as the commotion of the community cookout continues around him and he stares. She doesn’t disappear and he doesn’t move. For a long moment he watches, stunned and delighted and terrified all at once because it’s been months since he last saw her.
He doesn’t know how much time passes before she finally turns his way and startles, her eyes going wide. “Christ, how long have you been standing there?”
He can’t stop the twitch of his mouth as it fights to smile. “Not long— three seconds really.” A lie but who has to know other than him and the lord?
She places a hand over her heart like it’s beating too fast. “You really should wear a bell father.”
“I would but I’m, we’ll I’m a little worried the foxes would find me faster,” he admits, sweeping a quick look around the grounds before settling his gaze back on her.
There. A smile, wide and wickedly amused. “You know,” she tells him lightly, “one followed you home that night.”
She doesn’t have to say which night. They both know what night she’s talking about. Five months ago, a poorly lit bus stop, a heaviness in his heart. And, apparently, a fox.
“I didn’t see it, perhaps I was given a break.” He coughs debates on moving closer, and decides to even though he knows it’s a terrible idea. “What are you doing here? Not trying to seduce another priest are you?”
She nods. “You caught me, Father Maywood is just really my type you know.” Together they look over at the old man, tiny and hunched and blissfully unaware of anyone around him as he lounges in a good out chair. “I find the burgeoning senility adds a bit of spice all my other relationships were lacking.”
He looks back to her and finds her eyes already on him. She winks, hand doing a little shooting motion that he knows she regrets doing when she wrinkles her nose and briefly disappears into that mysterious part of her brain.
God he’s fucking missed her. Missed this. The easy conversation, the understanding that only someone as messy and unpredictable as you could bring to the table.
She pushes at her fringe, revealing and then hiding her birthmark again. He wants to grab her wrist, wants to tuck her hair behind her ear, wants to cup her chin and make her look at him until he—
“Father?” There’s a knowing quick to her mouth.
She’s knows him. Knows that he finds her tempting. She exhales heavily, smile dying a little around the edges as she takes a small step back putting a little space between them.
“I attend church here,” she says into the silence between them. “I found god. Or he found me. Or maybe we’re two strangers on a train at midnight. Who knows. It’s surprisingly not as bad as I thought it would be.”
He’s surprised. “You attend? Regularly?”
“Every Sunday,” she nods. “And sometimes I don’t even fall asleep in the pews.”
“Good. I’m— I’m glad.” And he is but, “why?”
“Why?” She repeats. Because she hates answering questions. He knows that.
“You didn’t believe before, what changed?”
“Nothing, I still don’t believe, not really anyway,” She confirms with a little wave of her hand. “I’m hopeful though because if He exists then there’s reason for it all, a real reason.”
For what? For her mothers death? For whatever happened between her and her friend? For him choosing God over her.
She looks down at the table again and gestures. “Look at that, out of canapés— excuse me father.” She pauses, adds, “it was good to see you.”
And then she’s leaving and he wonders if she felt the way he does now all those months ago as he watches her back. It’s not a good feeling. She slips between the fundraiser tables and into the community center building. He doesn’t follow her but oh how he wants to.
Scrubbing at his face he turns back to the rest of the food tables laid out and stumbles back when he sees Father Maywood just beside him, “Jesus fucking holy mother—“
“Father,” Father Maywood says only a little admonishing.
“You know father,” he tells father Maywood, “Bells are something we really should discuss with the Vatican.”
Father Maywood arches a bushy brow but says nothing.
He coughs and gives his best charming smile. “Anything I can help with?”
“You know our newest member,” Father Maywood asks giving a little nod towards the community kitchen.
“Ah, yes, we… I was the officiant at her fathers wedding.”
“I see,” Father Maywood hums. He’s silent for a moment, one that drags into the territory of awkwardness before finally speaking again. “You know, God is always there. From your first breath to your very last and every breath in between.”
“I know.”
“Then you know his love is eternal. And that it does not end from a single broken promise. It does not judge without the prospect of forgiveness.”
“I do… Pardon me, Father, but is there a point to this sermon?” He asks with a laugh.
“The point is what is not eternal. Do you know what that is?” When he says nothing, Father Maywood continues. “Our time on this earth with the people we love.”
The old man gives him a significant look.
He’s surprised. “How did you…” but before he can finish the question he has his answer. The confessionals. She’ll have confessed as a regular member of the church about them to this priest.
“You know that’s supposed to be confidential.”
Father Maywood huffs. “I am merely giving advice as God would to one of his many children.” He heaves a heavy sigh and lands an aging hand on his shoulder. “She was a mess when she joined all those months ago. Still is really, don’t think that’ll change even with His help.”
He laughs because if anyone knows that it’s him. If anyone loves her for that it’s him.
“But she’s better. She smiles more now. Laughs. Mingles with the congressional and they like her. She’s funny. It’s taken a lot of work for her to get there. Do not mess it up.” It’s a croaky threat but a threat all the same.
“I won’t father,” he says seriously.
“Good boy.” Father Maywood pays him a few more times on the shoulder before he hobbled away.
There is enough time to love god. More than enough. But he realizes there will never be enough to love her. He pulls at his collar and heads for the community kitchen.