Page 37 of Holly Jolly Heresy
Just after midnight
Caleb held Molly as she slept, her soft exhalations warm against his chest and throat. Sometimes, deep in a dream, her nose would scrunch up and she’d make a little whimpering sound that damn near broke his heart. He pressed his lips to her temple, stroked her hair, whispered that he was there, she wasn’t alone, she was safe. He’d keep her safe.
It’s not too late to choose a different life.
The first time he’d broached the idea of leaving the priesthood with his confessor was about a year earlier. It had taken days towork up the courage, to carefully script the things he’d say—he was having doubts about the Church, he was disconnected from God, he’d starting having these thoughts about Molly he couldn’t quite shake. Father Raymond had an answer for every one of Caleb’s reasons—doubt was normal, his relationship with God was evolving, temptation was a test of faith. Father Raymond had encouraged him to pray on it some more, not to make any rash decisions, and to return when he was ready.
He’d jettisoned the idea to the back of his mind and hadn’t brought it up again until last May, the morning after that night in the hall when he’d almost kissed her. This time, he’d gone straight to the Bishop, aware that if Father Raymond told him to reconsider, he would. But the Bishop hadn’t been any more eager to see him laicized. The Catholic Church, it turned out, wasn’t in the habit of encouraging priests to resign.
Then, a few days ago, after months of conversations, he’d sent off a desperate request to the Diocese for the formal paperwork. Molly had worn a dress with black tights to school. He’d spent the entire morning Mass wondering how easily those tights would rip, how hard he could fuck her on the altar before someone heard them. And yet, when the Bishop had sent his reply and asked him to consider reassignment, it had seemed like a viable option. Maybe leaving Aster Bay—leaving her—would be enough.
He knew better now.
Watching Molly sleep, cherishing the weight of her in his arms and begging time to slow down, he knew simple reassignment would never be enough. Because he didn’t want to go back to a life where he couldn’t touch her or kiss her whenever he wanted to. A life where they had no future.
I’d stay here forever with you too.
What if Gavin was right? What if God had been sending him signs all along and he’d been too blind to notice? What if thiswasn’t merely an unexpected snowstorm, but was God’s way of forcing Caleb to confront his true feelings head on?
He loved her.
Now, in this moment, certainly, but perhaps for months before.
He was in love with her.
How had it taken him so long to see? Maybe because he’d never been in love before, he’d expected it to arrive with a bang, some life altering thunderclap that could be unmistakably identified. He hadn’t expected the slow build, the way his thoughts always turned to her, how he found her in any room no matter how crowded, the strange sense of calm that stole over him each time they were close. He hadn’t known loving her could feel like peace and hope and a joy so profound he was almost afraid to feel it fully. And now that he did know, how could he ever go back?
You can’t.
Molly sighed happily in her sleep and rolled over, her back to him. He traced her silhouette in the darkness, his palm sliding from rib cage to waist to hip. There was no decision to be made. He’d made it the second he let himself touch her, and he’d make it again a thousand times over.
And now that he’d made it, he didn’t want to waste another moment.
Caleb brushed his lips over her shoulder and climbed out of the bed, careful not to wake her. On his way out of the room, he grabbed his glasses and clicked on the small lamp on the bedside table so she wouldn’t be alone in the dark. The door closed behind him with a soft snick.
On the opposite side of the hall, he pushed into the small study he’d found earlier in the day. One wall was lined with half-filled bookshelves, a single strand of Christmas garland hanging from a shelf halfway up. The large, floor-to-ceilingwindow overlooked the motel, beyond which he could see the roads already cleared of snow despite the few flakes continuing to fall. He sank into the burgundy leather wingback chair at the sleek, modern desk and reached for one of the yellow legal pads stacked in the corner. Filing the forms for laicization with the Diocese wouldn’t be enough; he’d need to declare his intention to leave the priesthood publicly, in front of enough people the Bishop wouldn’t try to change his mind. In front of enough people there would be no taking it back.
Caleb’s Christmas Eve homily had been written weeks ago, a cliché message on the blessing of new beginnings and the hope the season offered. Now he knew what was missing: the announcement of his own new beginning. An expression of his gratitude for his parishioners’ faith in him, for their grace now as he left them. With each word scribbled on the pad, page after page, he felt lighter, his mind clearer. He promised to continue to pray for his parishioners—asked that they pray for him as well—and, with his pen hovering over the paper, the last words of the homily that would end his career flowing out onto the paper, he felt it.
He closed his eyes, the sensation of warmth and light washing over him, a peace so deep he knew it could only have come from God. He sent up a silent prayer of gratitude—for sending him Molly, for showing him another life, and for releasing him. When the warmth receded, it didn’t feel like a loss, but a benediction.
Molly stood in the doorway to the office when he opened his eyes, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and the fur trim on the tiny Santa dress barely brushing the tops of her thighs. “Are you alright?” she asked, her brow drawn low in confusion.
“Better than I’ve been in years.” He set his glasses aside and reached out a hand to her, unable to hold back his smile whenshe took it. He pulled her close, bringing her to stand between his thighs, holding her at the waist and resting his face against her belly. She smelled like sex and gingerbread.
She raked her hands through his hair. “What are you working on?”
“My homily for Christmas Eve Mass.” He lifted his eyes to hers, arms wrapping around her lower back. “It’s going to be my last one.”
Confusion clouded her face. “Your last what?”
“My last homily. My last Mass.”
She blinked, confusion giving way to uncertainty. “Caleb, are you— What are you saying?”
“I’m leaving the priesthood.” He exhaled a chuckle. “That feels good to say out loud.”
“Are you sure?”
