The Consequence of Secrets - Part Two: A Priest Romance by Eve Cates Page B

side of the confessional window as she recites a prayer of contrition. I've just spent the last ten minutes listening to her go on about the petty war that has become between her and her neighbor that started over something as simple as an overgrown tree. Most people's problems seem so trivial to me when I know that there are far worse things going on in this world. On most days, people come to confession to unburden themselves over the most ridiculous of thing – they ate too much, they took a penny and didn't put one back, they're having indecent feelings toward the postman. They find guilt in the most trivial of circumstances, and even as a priest who believes in the church’s cleansing of the soul, I feel that confession should be for the big things – the things we can’t even forgive ourselves. I don’t know, I suppose I’m just becoming doubtful as each day, I feel my own secret and my own indecent thoughts gnawing at my insides. Even I don't confess. I don't see the point. God can see into my heart and he knows that I'm not sorry. I’d kiss her again in a heartbeat.
    Waving my hand in the sign of the cross, I absolve the woman of her sins, the words falling off my tongue by rote. “…May God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son...” I do everything I’m supposed to do, and when she responds with ‘Amen’, I remind her to let God guide her and teach her to show compassion, and then she leaves.
    I breathe a sigh of relief then look at my watch – fifteen minutes left – I hit the switch on the wall to turn the exterior light green.
    Within seconds, the confessional door opens and closes, and I hear the shift of fabric as someone bends to the kneeler then taps on the window.
    As I open my side, I say the right words, and go through the right motions, but I’m too trapped in my own thoughts to truly pay attention to yet another parishioner. It’s wrong of me, I know, and it’s something I’ll need to confess myself and seek forgiveness for, but these days, I’m really struggling. I say a silent prayer asking for guidance and strength to follow the Lord’s path.
    I turn to window, and I can see the outline of the person on the other side, but they don’t speak. Suddenly, I’m one hundred percent here as all of my senses come to life – that scent…that feeling… “Do you have anything to confess?" I ask, moving closer to the woven cane partition, peering through the tiny holes.
    “Does it even make a difference?" The beautifully familiar voice says from the other side. “Aren't we all sinners, father?"
    “Yes, Emma, I do believe we are," I respond, my voice hushed as my heart beats solidly against my rib cage.
    “I wanted to talk to you in private. Is this OK?  I can come back if it isn't," she whispers, leaning close to the window and pressing her fingers against the cane so I can see the pads of her fingers through the tiny holes. I place my hand against hers, closing my eyes as I feel a sense of relief flooding my body.
    "I haven't heard from you in over a week. I've been worried.  Are you OK?" My words come out in a whispered rush, feeling as though I need to get it all out before its too late and she's gone again.
    "I’m fine, father d– … Braden. I’m fine. I wanted to apologize for somehow getting you mixed up in my mess of a life. I want you to know that was never my intention.”
    “Don’t be sorry, Emma. I’m fairly sure that I pushed my way in, and I’m glad I did. You need to get away from him. Have you thought about what I said at all? I can get you out of there. I know people who can protect you – keep you safe.”
    “I have thought about it, and I’ve thought about you, a lot, and… and what happened between us.” She lets out a sigh that makes my insides tighten as the memory of her lips on mine flashes through my mind. My only wish in this moment is that the wall separating us was gone so I could