and the Johnathan Kellerman book he’s been reading.
“I love you, Gabe,” I whisper.
But he pretends not to hear me.
He gives each of the girls a big hug, biting back tears. He tells them he’ll come and get them this weekend. They’ll do something fun, he promises.
“You’re leaving me the girls next Sunday,” he says. It’s not so much a question, as it is a statement.
“If there’s an emergency or if they want to talk to me, you can reach me on my cell,” he adds, his tone formal, business-like.
“Where are you staying?” I ask, desperate to know.
He doesn’t quite look at me. He stares at the wall, fiddling with the cross hanging at the end of his silver chain. “I’m staying at Bridget’s.”
Suddenly, everything hurts; my throat, my lungs, and stomach. He can’t be running to her. They can’t be doing this. This is my worst nightmare.
My voice cracks as I say, “Oh… o-okay.”
He slams the door behind him.
And I fall to my knees.
CHAPTER TEN
Do you have a death wish?
I follow the crowd up the steps. The faces are all unfamiliar. I haven’t been here in ages. As I enter the beautiful Church, I’m brought back to the last time I was here — Claire’s baptism.
My perfect family was so beautiful that day. Claire in her pretty little frilly baptismal gown, a few golden curls escaping at the edges of her bonnet. She clung to her father. At nearly six months, she was very weary of strangers and all the attention and unwanted kisses. Gabe was the proud papa. He had even dressed up for the occasion. He wore a crisp white shirt and beige chinos. He looked as beautiful as his daughter. And Chloe was precious in a pretty yellow summer dress. I can’t quite remember what I wore that day.
I spot a free space on one of the pews at the back. I don’t want to sit at the front and bring attention to myself. Bashful, I sit next to a beautiful family of five. I smile at them, envious — they look so happy, so perfect. The two tiny brunettes make faces at their little brother, a mischievous boy with a head of golden curls. I can tell he’s the trouble maker of the bunch.
That was us two years ago. Before we messed it up all up. Before I messed it all up.
I turn my gaze away and take in the beauty of the Church, the dark woods, the stunning stain glass windows, and the faint smell of incense. A long time ago, I turned my back on all this. Life got busy. I came less and less. A walk to the park, a new book, a visit at a friend’s — anything was preferable to this, and the tedious hour long service. Gabe and I both made excuses. Yes, we were married in the Church, and we had our daughters baptized here. And then, we both turned our backs on the Church.
And we are sinners in so many ways. As I press on the folds of my white skirt, I stare down at my feet as Father Anthony gives his service. I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t even dare look up at him.
I’ve come here to speak to God, to get some guidance, some help. I’ve considered seeking therapy like Weston has done, but I know I’m too far gone for that. I know exactly what a therapist would tell me, and I think it’s too late for me. Therapy would have been helpful in my teen years, but I’m afraid I’m wrecked beyond repair. I am desperate. And this is why I turn to God. And I know this in itself is a sin, to reach out to someone only when you need help.
As the parishioners all stand to their feet, readying to receive Communion, I remain seated. I have not been here in ages, and I have sinned. I don’t deserve to receive the Body of Christ. I don’t deserve penance or absolution either.
I kneel down, press my hands together and close my eyes. I thank Him for my health and the beautiful family he has given me. I don’t confess my sins or ask for forgiveness, for what I’ve done is unforgivable. I don’t ask him to fix all my problems. I ask him to lead me onto the right path, to clear the way and make it visible to me. I ask him to watch over my family, and to watch over