There’s a brief silence, the only noise coming from the few churchgoers present right now. Andrew doesn’t say anything, so I finally take a deep breath and admit the final flaw within me.
“Recently, I’ve been struggling with myself. I fell in love. Head over heels in love and I feel that is the biggest cross I could ever bear. I’ve tried to shake it, tried to kill what I feel, but with every action, he loves me more. He stands by me, saves me, supports me, loves me, and I feel like I’m going to be the one thing that kills him. I pray every day that his love for me isn’t the thing that kills him. I cannot survive losing him and my selfishness makes me more immoral for feeling like that. I love him and that’s the bottom line. Everything that comes from that one sentiment is everything I have dreamed, of everything I wanted. He’s my savior, my hero, my...” I pause to hiccup on a sob. “He’s my knight in blood caked armor.” I bow my head, allowing my tears to fall in ribbon melodies across my cheeks. “But I feel I don’t truly deserve the love he has to give and I cannot enjoy it until I start to forgive myself. My brother was right to bring me here. I want to love Zane with my entire heart. I don’t want to conflict any of my emotions anymore. I want to love him and live with him and finally have the life I’ve been denied.” I take a shaky breath. “This is where it all begins.”
A tense moment resumes between us. I’ve nothing left to say, so I leave it to Andrew to condemn me how he sees fit.
“I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and of Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Father Andrew’s voice replies and the silence resumes for a moment. "Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."
"For His mercy endures forever."
As he leaves, I remain seated, trying to garner some courage to confront the man. Examining my own conscience, it’s a shocking revelation to see that most of my woes stem from the death of my mother. I have disappointed her legacy in the wake of my father’s dominance. She died and he killed not only her but also every single ounce of goodness she filled our home and family with.
Or so I make myself believe.
We may all be corrupt from original sin, but I know my father didn’t help aid our abilities to resist. If anything, he played with the weakness we all have within us and, like his father before him, wanted a horde of morally corrupt, dutiful members for the Dio Lavoro. We’re not a true family, we are not a clan. We are, for the most part, strangers struggling to survive. I have come to realize that my real family is small and special and full of people with a conscience that shines so bright we all have a divine hope to make it through this.
I finally set the bible down, stand, and leave my spot in the booth. What I find is Father Andrew waiting with a smile on his face. The notion in itself causes me to feel uncomfortable, and if anything else, anxious.
“You did really well,” he comforts me, stepping forward. “I wasn’t going to overwhelm you with all the prayers. You looked like you needed a sounding board for the things that are tying you down and you were able to do that.” His smile broadens, his eyes sparkle with honesty, and I see the opposite of the shame I truly thought he would denounce me with. “Don’t worry, Amelia, you aren’t alone in believing that you deserve no redemption, but believe me, the conviction you carry is enough to see you through this. This is your home here; feel free to come here and speak to me, or God, whenever you need to. As for your mother, I’m sure she would be blessed to know you have the strength to redeem yourself.”
“Just a little too late,” I mumble, hugging myself out of insecurity.
“Never too late,” he replies, offering a smile. “Let’s go find your brothers, shall we?”
We walk through the church, passed the few people praying, and head out to a side door. Andrew opens the door and we leave to enter the backyard of the church. Immediately, I’m overwhelmed by the loud roar of children’s laughter that fills the Manhattan air. As Father Andrew moves out of the way, I’m met with what must be a church run daycare and in the thick of it all are my brothers. They run around, enjoying some time with the children, making their playtime all the more exciting.
“They come here three times a week to help out,” he says, his gaze captivated on the group of happily playing children.
“They do?” I ask, my heart swelling. “I never knew.”