Page 102 of Crossed

“What could you possibly have done that requires this level of beating?” Sister Genevieve asks as she bandages the wounds.

“I’m not here for idle chatter, Sister.”

She hums, her knees cracking as she stands and starts packing up the first aid kit. “I’m not as innocent as you may think.”

I tilt my head, watching her. “No? Yet you’re here as a nun.”

Her lips thin, her green eyes narrowing. “God forgives.”

I nod. “That He does.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks, already making her way into the kitchen.

I sigh, leaning back and staring out the small windows that frame either side of the small fireplace. I shouldn’t stay. The snow is coming in thicker flurries, and the roads are surely only going to get worse, but if I go back, I’ll have to put on a show.

And here, at least, Sister Genevieve doesn’t make me hide.

Besides, my mind needs the distraction so I don’t do something wild like think about where Amaya is right now,whoshe’s with.

What she’s doing.

It’s not my problem.

Not anymore.

Sister Genevieve walks back in with two cups of tea and hands me one before sitting down on the couch.

“Have you ever been in love, Sister?” I ask, slipping back on my shirt.

She laughs. “Several times, unfortunately.”

“Oh?” My brows rise, surprised by her answer.

She smirks at me. “I wasn’t always a nun the same way you weren’t always a priest. It took many years of my life to figure out this was where I’m meant to be.”

“Did any of them ever love you back?”

She takes a sip of her tea. “Are you in love, Father?”

I scoff. “It’s a theoretical question.”

“Hmm,” she hums, taking another drink. “Well, if you were,theoretically, I’d say it isn’t worth it. Matters of the heart rarely are.”

I’m not sure why her answer sends a spark of something dark through my chest, especially when she’s right.

Besides, what I feel for Amaya is beyond love. It’s incomparable. And it’s clear that whatever Sister Genevieve has felt in her lifetime hasn’t come close to anything near that, because if it had, I doubt she’d be here with me.

I leave not long after, and while the wounds on my back feel better, the ache in my heart feels worse.

A week passes, and Amaya is like a ghost. If I didn’t have my memories and this obnoxious longing gnawing at my nerves like an addict without their fix, it would be as though she never existed.

But where I had hoped to regain focus, instead, everything seems to have lost its color.

I’m living somewhere between simply existing while I wait to hear back from Bishop Lamont, who I’ve requested a transfer with, and seeking her out in every face that passes by. And that’s the reason I give myself for why I’m constantly strolling into the rehearsal space for Louis Elementary’s play, always looking to see her show up, but only seeing Quinten’s aide instead.

I know she’s avoiding me.

So it’s with an anxious type of energy that I get ready for Christmas Mass. Parker will undoubtedly be in attendance, and I can’t imagine shewouldn’tbe here with him. I don my garb, repeating the prayers I have so many times before, only this time it feels numb. Where before I’d always feel purpose, now I just feel a hollow silence. It’s off-putting and makes me question everything I’ve ever believed in.