Page 42 of Heathens
My eyes scan the rest of the office—the place I've spent most of my time, besides my workroom. An hourglass sits to my right, the sand pouring through in a thin line, making a perfect pile on the bottom. I wonder what he's timing.
To my left is his beloved plant collection.Good for the soul, he always says.
One of his many sayings.
He’s always been a person first, a mentor—and a priest second. I could relate to him. I could talk to him about sex, drugs, sin, without feeling dirty afterward. He’s very open about his past, though oddly tight-lipped about the death of his wife and his children. I know he struggled with a pornography addiction, drugs in college, drinking. He admitted once that he’d harmed another human being, and I never pried. We all have secrets, parts of our past we’d rather not relive after we confess it all to God. I can relate. I’d forgiven him, and he’d forgiven me. We had an understanding.
But...
I lean forward and place my face in my hands.
Maybe I am just naïve.
Maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough, wasn’t paying enough attention...
“Salem,” Father Monsignor booms, entering his office with the same swagger as usual. He sits at his desk across from me. “Thanks for seeing me today.”
“Of course.” So official.
“As I mentioned in my phone call last night, I want to talk to you about your future with the church.“
Swallowing, I nod. “Okay. Shoot.”
He sighs and studies me for a minute. And at that moment—whether it be the dark gleam in his eyes, or the coincidences all coming together too easily in my mind—I see it.
The man who took Lily and Evelyn.
My blood boils, and I grip the handles of the chair.
“Are you okay, Salem? You look ill.”
Auguste.
His name is Auguste Martin.
“I’m fine. Go on.” I give him a small smile and lean back, hoping I can pass as tired. I need evidence. I need to be sure.
“As I was saying...“ he trails off and sighs. “I know some people in Monaco who are building a modern cathedral, and they're looking for good, honest people to help run it. I put your name in the running.“
I still, waiting for him to go on. He doesn’t. “Monaco.” Not a question.
Nodding, he grimaces. “I know it's a long way away from your family“—he always considers them— “but it's a great opportunity.“ I open my mouth to respond, but he continues. “Unless... your heart no longer lies with God.“
Well, I wasn’t expecting to havethisconversation.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound innocent.
I haven’t done anything unforgivable. Yet.
“Lillian is her name, right?”
I stiffen. “Lilith.” I could never lie to him.
“Maybe, as I mentioned before, your calling isn't with God.“
I furrow my brows. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Father Monsignor looks at me with a pained expression. “What I am about to tell you stays in this room. Do you understand?”
