I climbed the porch, clutching the flowers tight as I walked towards the back door.
You have captivated my heart, my bride. You have captivated my heart with one glance of your eyes…
I murmured the other verses to myself as I got ready to open the door. Maybe I would murmur them to her later, maybe I would trace them with my fingers on her naked back.
The door was unlocked, and I stepped inside her house, smelling the lavender smell that was all hers but not seeing her in the kitchen or the living room. She must be in her bedroom or the shower, although I hoped she was still in that pretty mint dress. I wanted to peel it off of her later, expose inches and inches of ivory flesh as she murmured yes to me over and over again. I wanted to kick it away from our feet as I took her in my arms and finally made love to her as a free man.
I took a deep breath as I rounded the corner into the hallway, about to announce my presence, and then something made me freeze—instinct maybe, or God himself—but whatever it was, I hesitated, my breath catching in my throat, and that’s when I heard it.
A laugh.
Poppy’s laugh.
It wasn’t just any laugh either. It was low and breathy and a little nervous.
And then a man said, “Poppy, come on. You know you want to.”
I knew that man’s voice. I’d only heard it once before, but I knew it immediately, as if I’d heard it every day of my life, and when I took another step into the hallway, I could finally see into her bedroom, and the entire scene was laid bare.
Sterling. Sterling was here, here in Poppy’s house, here in her bedroom, his suit jacket thrown carelessly over the bed and his tie loosened.
And Poppy was there too, still in that mint dress, but with her shoes off and two spots of color high in her cheeks.
Sterling and Poppy.
Sterling and Poppy together; and now he was gathering Poppy in his arms, his face bending to hers, her hands on his chest.
Push him away, a desperate voice pleaded inside me. Push him away.
And there was a moment where I thought she would, where her face tilted away and she took a single step back. But then something passed over her face—determination maybe or resignation—I couldn’t tell because then the back of his perfectly groomed head was in the way.
And he kissed her. He kissed and she let him. She not only let him, but she kissed him back, parting those sweet vermillion lips, and I was Jonah swallowed by the whale, I was Jonah after the worm had eaten his shade plant—
No, I was Job, Job after he had lost everything and everyone, and there was nothing left for me ever again, because then her hand slid behind his neck, and she sighed into his mouth, and he chuckled a victory chuckle, pressing her into the wall behind them.
And I could taste ashes in my mouth.
The flowers must have fallen from my hand, because when I made it back to the rectory, I didn’t have them, and I didn’t know whether they had fallen inside her house or in her garden or on my way back through the park, I didn’t know because I couldn’t remember a single goddamned detail about how I got back home, whether I was loud when I left, whether they noticed me, whether my lifeblood was actually bleeding out of my chest or whether it only felt that way.
What I did remember was that it had started raining again, a steady sweeping rain, October rain, and I was only able to recall this because I was wet and chilled when I came to myself, standing numbly in my dim kitchen.
I should have been furious in that moment. I should have been devastated. I’ve read the novels, I’ve seen the movies, and this is the moment where the camera would zoom in on my tortured expression, where a two-minute montage would have stood in for months of heartbreak. But I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing, except wet and cold.
I was on the highway.
I wasn’t precisely sure what constellation of decisions had led to this, except the storm had grown stronger and there had been thunder, and all of sudden my kitchen had felt so much like my parent’s garage, which was the first and only other place my life had crumbled into ash.
Except Lizzy’s death had made me angry at God, and I wasn’t angry at God now, I was only desolate and alone, because I had given up everything—my vows, my vocation, my mission in my sister’s name—and it had been repaid with the worst faithlessness, and you know what? I deserved it. If I was being punished, I had deserved it. I had earned every hollow second of blank pain, had earned it with all those stolen seconds of sharp, sweaty pleasure…
Is this how Adam felt? Driven from the garden to the cold, stony soil of an uncaring world, and all because he couldn’t resist following Eve until the last?
I drove down to Kansas City, and once there, I drove around for hours. Going nowhere, looking at nothing. Feeling the full weight of Poppy’s betrayal of me, the full weight of my betrayal of my vows, and worst of all, feeling the end of something that had meant everything to me, even if it was only for a short amount of time.
I didn’t have my phone, and I couldn’t remember if that was an intentional decision or not, whether I’d decided to trade radio silence on her terms for radio silence on my terms—because I knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t text me or call me, she never had when we’d fought, and I also knew I would make myself miserable with the constant checking, the disappointment when there was nothing on my screen but the time.
And when I pounded at Jordan’s door at midnight, and he opened the door to me and the relentless rain, he didn’t turn me away like he had done last time. He gave me long look—piercing, but not ungentle—and then nodded.
“Come in.”
I confessed right there in Jordan’s living room. It was fucking miserable.
Unsure of where to start or how to explain it all, I simply told him about the first day I’d met Poppy. The day I’d only heard her voice. How breathy it was, how layered with uncertainty and pain. And then the story unspooled from there—all the lust, all the guilt, all the thousands of tiny ways I’d fallen in love, and all the thousands of tiny ways I’d crept away from being a priest. I told him about calling Bishop Bove, about my handmade bouquet. And then I told him about Sterling and the kiss, and how it was as if every fear and paranoia I’d ever had about them had been birthed into something monstrous and snarling. Infidelity was terrible, but how much worse was infidelity when you’d suspected all along that there was something between the two parties? My brain wouldn’t stop screaming at me that I should have known better, I should have known, and what had I expected to happen? Had I really expected a happy ending? No relationship with such a sinful start could lead to happiness. That much I knew now.
Jordan listened patiently the entire time, his face devoid of any judgment or disgust. Sometimes his eyes were closed, and I wondered what else he was hearing besides my voice—who else, rather—but I found I no longer had the energy to care about anything, even my own story, which ground to a slow, painful halt after I got to the part where I found Sterling and Poppy. What else was there for me to say? What else was there for me to feel?
I buried my head in my hands, but not to cry—anger and grief still hovered elusively out of reach—there was only shock and emptiness, the blank stunned feeling one might have after stumbling out of a war zone.
I breathed in and out through my palms, and Jordan’s voice drifted in, like it was coming from someplace remote, even though we were sitting close enough that our knees touched.
“Do you truly love her?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said into my hands.
“And do you think it’s over between you?”
I took a moment to answer, not because I didn’t know, but because the words were so hard to speak. “I don’t see how it can’t be. She wants to be with Sterling. She’s made that abundantly clear.” Of course, if she showed up on Jordan’s doorstep, I’d take her into my arms without a single word.
Less the unconditional love of God than the keening need of an addict.
“Without her…” Jordan met my eyes. “Do you think you still want to leave the priesthood?”
Jordan’s question hit me with the force of a cannon. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted now. I mean, I’d never wanted to be with a woman rather than be a priest, I’d wanted to be with Poppy rather than be a priest. I didn’t want the freedom to fuck, I wanted the freedom to fuck her. I didn’t want a family, I wanted a family with her.
And if I couldn’t have her, then I didn’t want this other life. I wanted God, and I wanted things the way they were.
I supposed I could call the bishop and explain and hope that he would allow me to stay in the clergy. It would be hard to stay in Weston, knowing Poppy was there too, seeing all the places we’d been together, but then again, at least I’d have my parish and my missions to fill my time. The more I thought about it, the better it sounded—at least I could keep a sliver of my life the way it was. I could keep my vocation, even if I lost my heart.
“I don’t think I still want to leave,” I answered.
Jordan was quiet for a minute. “Are you ready for your penance?”
I nodded, still not bothering to lift my head.
“You will offer God one day in its entirety, a day of complete and utter companionship with him. He wants to talk with you, Tyler. He wants to be with you in this time of suffering and confusion, and you should not shut Him out in your grief.”
“No,” I mumbled. “That penance isn’t enough. I need something more—I deserve something harder, something worse…”
“Like what? A hair shirt? Walking barefoot for three months? A thorough self-scourging?”
I looked up, so I could glare at him. “I’m not being funny.”
“Neither am I. You came to me for absolution and I’m giving it—along with God’s message for you. In fact, this day of penance should be tomorrow. Stay here with me tonight, and no matter what happens, you spend tomorrow here. You’ll have the church to yourself after the morning Mass, so plenty of time and space to pray.”
Jordan’s face was as it always was—calm and beatific at the same time—and I knew without a doubt that he was right. A day of reflection after the heady exhilaration of the past three months was no small thing for me to muster, and it was also the exact thing I needed. It would be painful, to spend hours examining myself honestly and conversing openly with God, but necessary things are often painful.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “Okay.”
Jordan nodded, and he said a quiet prayer of absolution, and then we sat in silence for a few minutes. Most people were uncomfortable with silence, but Jordan wasn’t—he was at home in it. At home with himself. And that made it slightly easier to be with myself, even with all the unfelt feelings still looming above me.
At least until the phone rang.