“Ha-ware-ya, son?”
It took me a minute to realize he had an Irish brogue and had just asked how are you?
I smiled. “I’m good. I hope it’s okay to be in here.”
“No locks on these doors. We’re very lucky. Very few churches can say that anymore. Great community here. You can come whenever you want.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You sure? I’m known as a pretty good listener.”
“No offense, Father, but it’s a woman—not sure that’s your area of expertise.”
The priest smiled warmly and took a seat in the row in front of me. Turning to the side, he lifted a knee onto the seat and slung one arm over the back of the pew to face me.
“I might be married to the Lord, but I got a mother and four sisters.” He held up four fingers. “Four sisters. None of the bunch ever shut the hell up, so I know a lot about women.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a priest say hell unless he was referring to eternal damnation.”
He smiled. “It’s the new millennium, son. I have to keep up with the times. Even watch some of those Real Housewives shows when I go over to my sister Mary’s place. She’s addicted to that stuff.’”
“That sounds like a penance.”
“Yeah, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“That I can wholeheartedly agree with.”
“So what brings you out this fine evening? Don’t think I’ve seen you around at any of the masses. Are you new to the area?”
“No, actually I grew up here. St. Killian’s was my church when I was a kid.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “You back in town visiting family, then?”
“No. Dad passed away years ago. Mom doesn’t live here anymore. I just…I was…” No use lying to a priest. “Thought I’d go for a drive to clear my head, and somehow I found myself here.”
“Sometimes the path is created for us, and we can only follow.”
“I suppose…”
“So tell me about your girl. What’s her name?”
“Rachel.”
He nodded. “From the book of Genesis.”
“If you say so.”
“What’s been going on with Rachel that has you lost?”
“It’s a long story, Father.”
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
“You won’t like it very much. I haven’t honored the church too well. Or priests for that matter.”
His smile was inviting and nonjudgmental, even after I’d warned him off. “We all make mistakes, son. Sometimes getting it off your chest helps.”
There was nothing to lose, except his respect. I already had none for myself. Maybe a real confession was a long time coming.
So, I took a deep breath. “Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The priest took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Well, that was a doozy indeed, son.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. What you did all those years ago…while it might’ve begun for the wrong reasons—you skipping out on working, hiding in the confessional—you came back even after you didn’t have to be here anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, why did you keep coming back each week?”
“I knew something was off. The little girl…Rachel, I mean. She was scared. She seemed like she really needed someone to talk to about whatever was going on.”
“So you wanted to help her?”
“Yeah.” That was the truth. I had wanted to help. “But I didn’t go about it the right way. I should have told someone on day one, involved the police when I had my suspicions. Instead I played detective and got her hurt.”
The priest contemplated for a moment. “Why didn’t you go to an adult? There must have been a reason.”
“She was scared, skittish almost. I wasn’t sure what I suspected was right. I was afraid I’d scare her off and she’d trust no one after that.”
“Perhaps if you’d run off and informed the police after the first time you spoke to her, Rachel and her sister would’ve been too scared to admit the truth and denied anything was going on.”
I shook my head. “Maybe they would have told the truth and been taken out of that hell sooner.”
“Sometimes in life, pain is unavoidable, son. We do the best we can. It seems to me that you brought the situation to an end. Had you not come back that next week, it could have gone on for years. Many teenage boys wouldn’t have given up their Saturday afternoons to befriend a young girl.”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know.”
“Do you believe in God, son?”
It had been a long time since I walked into church, but that didn’t change my faith. As miserable as I was, and as screwed up as my connection to the church was, I still believed in a higher power.
“I do.”
“That’s good. You need to heed the destiny He has chosen for you. And the only way to honor that is to accept it and embrace it with truth.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“There is no such thing as coincidence. Coincidence appears to be a remarkable concurrence of events that have no plausible connection. But there is always a connection. God is always the connection.”
I was skeptical. “So you think God put us both in that confessional at the same time?”
“I do.” He was steadfast in his answer. “And even more importantly, I believe God brought you back together again for a reason.”
“And what’s that reason?”
“That.” He pointed a finger at me. “Is for you to figure out. It appears He’s giving you a second chance. What you do with it is up to you.”
I shook my head. Maybe he was right. Maybe we were back together for me to come clean with Rachel, or maybe this second chance was about something more. But doing the right thing by her was fifteen years in the making.
“Thanks, Father.”
He reached over and extended a hand to me. “I’ll give you some space so you can do what you came here to do—think.”
We shook. “Thank you.”
He stepped out of the pew, took a few steps toward the altar, and then turned back to me. “Four Hail Marys, two Our Fathers, and an act of faith.” Seeing the look on my face, he explained. “Your penance. I don’t believe in just saying prayers to atone for your sins. Sometimes I give an act of virtue of some sort as part of your contrition—an act of charity, an act of hope... I’m going easy on the prayers for you, but I want the act of faith to be significant.”
I sat alone in the back of the church for almost another hour, thinking. Eventually I decided it was time to go. But as I headed out, I couldn’t resist taking a look, returning to the scene of the crime.