They’re not what Jesus taught. And now…now I don’t know what to believe.”
Part of me expects him to ask what I’ve been taught. Maybe if I were raised Baptist he could convert me to Catholicism. Instead he sighs, studying the golden cross with rheumy eyes. “A crisis of faith. Is that right?”
“Yes, Father.” So punish me, punish me. Make me hurt.
“Sometimes I wonder whether I’ve followed the right path.”
Surprise jolts me out of the past. “You do?”
“That’s the lovely thing about faith. There’s no science to prove it. No numbers to define it. We can’t touch it or taste it. We’re supposed to question it. That’s what makes it faith.”
“Then how do you decide what to believe?”
“I think about what will help me the most, what will help my flock the most. And I try not to judge other people for their beliefs. But most of all…most of all I try to forgive.”
My breath comes faster. How could a woman of sin, proud and serene, come to the same conclusion as a man of God? “What if I can’t forgive?”
The things Leader Allen did to me, I’ll never really let them go.
“Then he must not deserve forgiveness,” the priest says gravely. “But remember, you are not bound by anyone else’s faith but your own. You can take what resonates with you and leave the rest. You can use what works for you. That’s the beauty of faith.”
I bow my head. “Thank you, Father.”
We’re silent a moment, communing in the acknowledgment of our mutual frailty, our fallibility in faith—but if I understand him, then it’s supposed to be fallible. It’s supposed to be frail. That’s what makes it a miracle.
My knees are stiff by the time I stand. The priest still prays one row behind me.
I head down the aisle and look back. “Father?”
“Yes, my child.”
“Why do you think Eve took a bite of the apple?”
He gives me a small smile. “You’re asking about temptation.”
“I’m asking about sin.”
“I think she took a bite of the apple for the same reason you’re asking me these questions. Do you call it disobedience? Or do you call it a crisis of faith? I call it yearning for knowledge. God gave you that curiosity, child.”
It’s a different interpretation of the Adam and Eve story I’ve been shamed with my whole life—a brighter one. Because God gave me this curiosity. He gave me the apple.
“Thank you, Father.”
I turn to the back of the church, expecting West to be gone, half thinking he was some handsome fever dream my mind made up. He’s standing as still as a statue, head bowed as if in prayer. I approach him quietly, not wanting to interfere.
He smiles gently. “Ready?”
“Completely.”
I’m ready for knowledge, for sin. Two sides of the same coin. I want to know him in every way possible, including carnal intimacy. When this is over, I’m going to tell Luca how I feel. I’m going to ask him to stay with us, wherever we end up going. Because I’m curious about what we can become together. And I’m strong enough to find out.
Except as we pass the rows of candles, some lit and some not, the candle for St. Francis isn’t burning anymore. A coincidence in a drafty old church?
Or was it snuffed out by someone watching me?
Chapter Nineteen
“The fight’s about to start.” Allie yells to be heard over the roar of the crowd. The fight hasn’t started yet, but half the people here seem drunk. They’re screaming at each other, at the empty cage in the middle of the warehouse.
West and the man guarding Allie push through the crowd, making barely enough room for us to squeeze through. Our seats are near the front, which is a relief. I’m only steps away from the emergency exit. If I were in the center of the stands, I’m not sure I could breathe.
Of course this means I have a close-up view of the ring.
The warehouse has been transformed from a crude gym into some kind of party. The lights are dim, with colorful spotlights flashing over
Part of me expects him to ask what I’ve been taught. Maybe if I were raised Baptist he could convert me to Catholicism. Instead he sighs, studying the golden cross with rheumy eyes. “A crisis of faith. Is that right?”
“Yes, Father.” So punish me, punish me. Make me hurt.
“Sometimes I wonder whether I’ve followed the right path.”
Surprise jolts me out of the past. “You do?”
“That’s the lovely thing about faith. There’s no science to prove it. No numbers to define it. We can’t touch it or taste it. We’re supposed to question it. That’s what makes it faith.”
“Then how do you decide what to believe?”
“I think about what will help me the most, what will help my flock the most. And I try not to judge other people for their beliefs. But most of all…most of all I try to forgive.”
My breath comes faster. How could a woman of sin, proud and serene, come to the same conclusion as a man of God? “What if I can’t forgive?”
The things Leader Allen did to me, I’ll never really let them go.
“Then he must not deserve forgiveness,” the priest says gravely. “But remember, you are not bound by anyone else’s faith but your own. You can take what resonates with you and leave the rest. You can use what works for you. That’s the beauty of faith.”
I bow my head. “Thank you, Father.”
We’re silent a moment, communing in the acknowledgment of our mutual frailty, our fallibility in faith—but if I understand him, then it’s supposed to be fallible. It’s supposed to be frail. That’s what makes it a miracle.
My knees are stiff by the time I stand. The priest still prays one row behind me.
I head down the aisle and look back. “Father?”
“Yes, my child.”
“Why do you think Eve took a bite of the apple?”
He gives me a small smile. “You’re asking about temptation.”
“I’m asking about sin.”
“I think she took a bite of the apple for the same reason you’re asking me these questions. Do you call it disobedience? Or do you call it a crisis of faith? I call it yearning for knowledge. God gave you that curiosity, child.”
It’s a different interpretation of the Adam and Eve story I’ve been shamed with my whole life—a brighter one. Because God gave me this curiosity. He gave me the apple.
“Thank you, Father.”
I turn to the back of the church, expecting West to be gone, half thinking he was some handsome fever dream my mind made up. He’s standing as still as a statue, head bowed as if in prayer. I approach him quietly, not wanting to interfere.
He smiles gently. “Ready?”
“Completely.”
I’m ready for knowledge, for sin. Two sides of the same coin. I want to know him in every way possible, including carnal intimacy. When this is over, I’m going to tell Luca how I feel. I’m going to ask him to stay with us, wherever we end up going. Because I’m curious about what we can become together. And I’m strong enough to find out.
Except as we pass the rows of candles, some lit and some not, the candle for St. Francis isn’t burning anymore. A coincidence in a drafty old church?
Or was it snuffed out by someone watching me?
Chapter Nineteen
“The fight’s about to start.” Allie yells to be heard over the roar of the crowd. The fight hasn’t started yet, but half the people here seem drunk. They’re screaming at each other, at the empty cage in the middle of the warehouse.
West and the man guarding Allie push through the crowd, making barely enough room for us to squeeze through. Our seats are near the front, which is a relief. I’m only steps away from the emergency exit. If I were in the center of the stands, I’m not sure I could breathe.
Of course this means I have a close-up view of the ring.
The warehouse has been transformed from a crude gym into some kind of party. The lights are dim, with colorful spotlights flashing over
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