Page 15 of Sinner
The knock, when it comes, is so soft I almost miss it beneath the roar of thunder. I open my office door expecting Sister Agnes with more coffee, or perhaps Mrs. Abernathy about the charity drive.
Instead, I find Caterina.
She stands in the hallway, drenched and shivering. Her dark hair hangs in wet ropes around her pale face, mascarasmudged beneath her eyes. Her blouse clings to her skin, nearly transparent.
“Cat.” Her nickname slips out before I can stop it. I haven’t called her that since before—before everything changed.
“I was at the library,” she says, voice barely audible above the storm. “It’s flooded. The subway’s shut down. I didn’t know where else to go.”
I should send her away. I should call her a cab, give her money for a hotel, anything but invite her in. Instead, I step aside.
“Come in before you catch pneumonia.”
She hesitates, then crosses the threshold. Water puddles at her feet on the worn carpet. Up close, I can see she’s trembling violently.
“You need dry clothes,” I say, professional concern overriding everything else. “Wait here.”
I hurry to my quarters, returning with a clean towel and one of my sweatshirts—Columbia University, from my graduate studies in theology. It will swallow her petite frame, but it’s better than her wet clothes.
“The bathroom is down the hall,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. “You can change there. I’ll make tea.”
She takes the items without meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
While she’s gone, I busy myself in the small kitchenette adjacent to my office. The ritual of heating water, measuring loose tea into the infuser, setting out cups—it steadies my hands, gives me something to focus on besides the memory of her lips against mine.
When she returns, my sweatshirt hangs to her mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up several times. She’s removed her wet skirt; her bare legs emerge from beneath the hem of the sweatshirt. Her feet are bare, toenails painted a deep burgundy. Such a small, feminine detail—it undoes me.
I clear my throat. “The tea is ready.”
We sit across from each other, the small desk between us like a shield. Steam rises from our cups, fogging the window behind me. Neither of us speaks.
“About last night—” she begins.
“We shouldn’t,” I cut her off. “It was a mistake.”
Pain flashes across her face. “A mistake,” she repeats, the same bitter tone from the night before.
“I took advantage of your vulnerability,” I say. “You were upset about the wedding, about Anthony?—”
“Don’t.” Her voice hardens. “Don’t diminish what happened. Don’t make it something it wasn’t.”
I set my cup down, tea sloshing over the rim. “What do you want me to say, Caterina? That I’ve betrayed everything I believe in? That I’ve broken vows I made before God?”
“I want you to be honest!” Her eyes flash. “Just once, be honest about what you feel.”
The thunder crashes directly overhead, making the windows rattle in their frames. The lights flicker once, twice, then plunge us into darkness.
“Perfect,” I mutter, rising to find candles. “Stay here.”
I fumble my way to the supply closet, retrieving emergency candles and matches. When I return, the office is empty.
“Caterina?”
Silence answers me. Unease prickles along my spine.
I light a candle, its glow casting long shadows as I move through the darkened rectory. “Caterina?”
The door to my private quarters stands ajar. I push it open slowly, candlelight spilling into the room.
