Page 1 of Holly Jolly Heresy
Chapter one
December 21st
It is a truth universally acknowledged that high school teachers are in need of a good hiding place the day before Christmas break. Even if that Christmas break might be their last.
For Caleb West, there was no better hiding place than the confessional booth in St. Anthony High School’s chapel. The final Mass of the term had ended hours before and even the most faithful students in the small Rhode Island school had long since abandoned the space. In a few hours, the halls of the school would be empty, too, as students, bundled against the harsh New England wind, left for two weeks of break.
But Caleb couldn’t wait a few hours to read the email waiting for him on his laptop. The notification had startled him as he’dfinished lecturing in his last sophomore religion class for the term. He’d been unable to stop thinking about it ever since, his hands shaking as he’d methodically erased the whiteboard and closed down his classroom for the term.
True, he could have read the message on his phone, but this wasn’t a phone email. This was a big screen email. An email that required time to read properly, carefully, and the space to let the words rattle around in his brain uninterrupted.
Caleb moved through the aisles hung with swags of itchy fake greenery and slipped into the priest’s side of the confessional booth. He closed the door softly behind him, gripped his laptop tightly in his free hand, and sat on the hard bench. The familiar smell of old wood and incense did little to calm his racing pulse.
Dear Father West,
I understand the predicament you face. Indeed, many priests at one time or another question their vocation. I have attached the paperwork you requested, but I once again urge you to consider a transfer to a different parish rather than pursuing laicization. A new assignment could allow for a fresh start, away from this crisis of conscience, as you’ve called it. Surely the inconvenience of relocating is worth the spiritual guidance you could provide a new community.
I urge you to seek counsel from your confessor, and we can discuss the matter further after Christmas...
Caleb slammed his laptop closed and let his head drop back against the wooden wall behind him. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy—not that leaving the priesthood would beeasy, but he wasn’t sure staying was possible either. A new parish could be the answer, far from his friends and family, far from his hometown of Aster Bay.
Far fromher.
Molly Proulx.
The prettiest temptation he’d ever run across in his twenty-five years as a priest. The one temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist for much longer.
But maybe this was a sign. As it was, he’d struggled to even type out the request to the Diocese. He’d been in counseling with the Bishop and his confessor for months now, but that hadn’t made it any easier to admit he didn’t just want a new assignment—he wanted a new life. But maybe the Bishop had a point. Besides, what would he even do if he wasn’t a priest?
He scrubbed his hand over his face, breathing out the guilt twining itself around his bones and breathing in the deep, rich scent of the frankincense and myrrh from the morning’s Mass. This would be an ideal time to pray, to ask God for guidance, for strength to forget about the high school English teacher invading his every thought—but no words came. Just as no words had come to him for weeks now.
Because you don’t want to pray. You don’t want to remove the temptation from your thoughts.
Reassignment would be the easiest solution. He’d go somewhere far away and forget all about Molly Proulx and the maddening way she challenged him and her whiskey-colored eyes. Maybe then he wouldn’t be questioning everything he thought he knew about the Church, about himself. Maybe then the doubts that kept him awake well past midnight each night would finally let him be.
From the other side of the confessional booth, a creak cut through Caleb’s existential crisis as the door opened and someone slid inside. The door closed behind them with a soft snick. He held his breath as Molly’s soft sigh filled the space, the spicy citrus scent curling under his nose as though he’d summoned her with his thoughts.Cinnamon and bergamot.
Shuffling on the other side, his view obscured by the screen between their booths, and then the click of Tupperware opening, the unmistakable crunch of chewing. Caleb pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had discovered the virtues of hiding in a confessional.
“Ms. Proulx?” he asked softly.
She yelped in surprise, the sharp sound followed by a muttered curse and more shuffling. “Father West? What are you doing here?”
“Are you really asking what a priest is doing in a confessional?” He grinned despite himself.
“Shit—I mean, sorry, Father, are you…holding office hours or something?”
“Office hours?” he snorted.
“Or whatever it’s called when you hang out in there and wait for people to come tell you their sins.”
“It’s called confession.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was looking for a place to eat where Mr. Day couldn’t commandeer my lunch break.”
More shuffling, as though she was gathering her things to leave. But Caleb couldn’t very well send her back out there to contend with the overzealous principal. She should be able to eat her salad in peace.
“You’re not interrupting. Stay.”
