“You should know,” Enzo begins to state, and it unnerves me at how bashful he’s become. “Carlo and I come here to help out. We help the church give more to those who need it. Money, food drives, charity runs, you name it.”
“You and Carlo?” I ask, feeling my brain fog with confusion.
Father begins to laugh. “I swear Carlo almost lives here.”
“He does,” Enzo agrees, chuckling himself. “Andrew, I thought my sister could do with some time in the confessional.”
No.
Now, I feel stricken. How do I open up to a stranger? Even worse, how do I open up to a God loving man who has the right to condemn me? It’s one thing to confess things to my brother who lives the life I do with me and another coming clean to Zane, but to a Father who’s taken oaths and pledges to do God’s work on Earth?
“Andrew used to work for Carmello,” Enzo suddenly interjects. “He knows all about what we have to do.”
“It’s why I became a Father. I wanted out of that lifestyle, and I wanted a way to give back. After all the things I witnessed, I wanted to be someone people could find solace in. I want you to know there is a life after and we are all allowed to find some peace from our suffering. In God, I found forgiveness, so I know others can if they give a little of themselves up.” His persona is comforting, not like the other Father who used to work here. “Here we believe wholly in redemptive suffering. We are all worthy of lessening our penalty for our sins. Looking for forgiveness is a good start.”
“Lia, you don’t have to become some religious freak, but just truly opening up and letting someone else in, who isn’t family. Someone almost impartial.”
“Whatever you tell me will stay within the ways of this church,” Father Andrew adds, trying hard to ease my mind. “You don’t have to be in there long. You confess for however long you want to.”
I close my eyes as I finally cave. “Okay.”
“I’ll find something to do while I wait,” Enzo comments, backing away from us, clearly knowing if he stays I will back out.
“You know what to do, don’t you, Amelia?” Father Andrew asks and I bite my lip not wanting to seem ignorant. “You prayer to the Holy Spirit first, and then, you wait in the confessional booth.” He begins to lead me over to a row of pews just right of the booth. “Carlo’s out back,” Father tells Enzo as he starts to guide me closer to the confessional booth. Stereotypically, they’re wooden boxes with red curtains and I can only imagine that once I’m inside, Father Andrew and I will be separated by a slim piece of wood, made to distort vision, but not sound. “Settle here and I’ll show Enzo where Carlo is, and then, I’ll be back.”
“Okay,” I whisper, slipping into the pews.
I watch my brother begin to walk away, and for the first time in years, I clasp my hands together in prayer and close my eyes. I haven’t spoken to a higher deity in so long, but the moment I do, a calm aura overtakes me and I allow myself to speak freely, hoping someone, somewhere will hear my mental prayer.
Please, give me the strength I need to seek the forgiveness I strive for. Give me the light to repent and shed myself of the guilt I carry around. Give me the strength and grace my brothers possess and the valor my mother fought every day for. Give me the fearlessness to admit that I am allowed to repent and seek freedom.
I used to remember sitting beside my mother as she prayed, hearing her mumbled begs for someone to overlook my father and keep me and my brothers safe. She used to strive for strength, for grace, for the ability to make my man a better version of him and to keep herself from the corruption. If anything, I’ve taken her words and found myself needing them.
Feeling happy with myself, I begin to move. I prepare to strive for the goodness my mother instilled in our house. If Enzo and Carlo can do it, I can start. I want an end to the madness and if this is something that I have to try, then I will.
Approaching the booth, I take a calming breath before opening the door and entering. I sit on my side, wondering if this is just to get me on edge. I have all these dastard images of an impostor sitting on the other side, recording everything, and waiting for me to say one thing that will hang the entire Abbiati clan. When I push that idea away, it’s now that I really reflect on what it is that I regret the most – is it the murder? No. The deceit, the lies, and the troublesome lifestyle we lead? No. What I regret most in this world swirls to life from a pool of grief in me.
I notice a bible setting before me on the ledge. Reaching up, I take the black, leather bound book and open it. I find myself with a list of what to expect from confessional, and the book has been stickered throughout. As I flick through pages, I realize there are notes on sin, salvation, and ultimate redemption.