Page 7 of Forgive Me Father

"Sorry, I can’t recall your name, Father," The man hisses, his hand outstretched between us.

I grin, taking his hand and clamping down as hard as I can. He winces as his face reddens with anger.

"Roman Briar, but here you will know me as Father Briar," I boast, watching the man scoff.

"David Faulkner," He snaps, glancing back at his wife. "This is Morgan." The woman’s head barely raises to acknowledge me.

It would seem she probably received an earful for her unabashed stare towards me during Mass.

"Eden and Aiden are yours?" I question, his head glancing around the space.

"Aiden, yes. Eden, regrettably," He sighs, his words making me squeeze his hand just a little tighter.

"And where is the golden boy?" I question, ready to meet the golden child of the Faulkner family.

"He's spending time with his sister at The Overlook. She wasn't feeling too good after Communion," David says, seeming unbothered by the state his daughter might be in or why.

Dropping his hand, I slowly nod, grabbing the list from the altar server. Her name is scrawled at the very bottom of the page.

"And she knows she’s been signed up?" I question, his eyes rolling.

"As if getting her to do anything altruistic is possible. This was the only way," He snaps. His ego is suffocating me.

"Okay, so, she’ll be made aware that serving requires hours outside of Sunday Mass, correct?" I question, his eyes narrowing.

"She won't have a choice in what she does. Father Kevin was hardly able to keep her in line. I'd like to see what you’re capable of."

"I assure you, David," Father Kevin smiles, sensing the tension, "Father Briar will turn your daughter into a woman deserving of being in the Lord's house."

Looking nowhere in particular, I find the sign to the office and politely excuse myself from the conversation.

"I have to finish filling out housing paperwork," I smile, still unsure how eager I am to live on the same grounds as the church.

With a slight nod, Father Kevin dismisses me, continuing to indulge in conversation with the Faulkners.

Tucking the sign-up paper in my pocket, I work my way through the crowd, ignoring people's attempts to speak to me, giving them a large enough smile to satiate their need to be recognized.

When I reach the office, I quickly close and lock the door. Sighing, I make my way to the desk, taking a seat in the polished leather chair behind it.

I flatten the paper on the desk. Feeling for my flask still tucked away in my pocket, I bite back the urge to have a drink as Itake notice of the mandatory hours of training written after each server's name.

Having been in the church for years, Eden has the fewest hours.

Looking at the painting of Mary Magdeline hanging on the wall across from me, I grab a pen, tapping it against the corner of the desk.

"Well, since they think she’s irredeemable," I say, pointing the pen toward the painting, "What's a few more hours?"

Scrawling the most hours required for a server next to Edens's name, I tuck the paper back in my pocket, typing up an email for the church's newsletter to announce the altar server's commitments.

Matthew 6:11-13: "Give us today the food we need, and forgive us our sins, as we have forgiven those who sin against us. And don't let us yield to temptation, but rescue us from the evil one."

Chapter 3

Eden

Tapping my fingers along my steering wheel, I follow the rhythmic tune of The Lumineers, drowning out my spiraling thoughts. The events that unfolded during Mass replay in my mind, the memory of feeling Roman's hand on my face regrettably causing more excitement than it does anger.

Being touched by someone throws me back to that night inhisdorm. The haze from the alcohol blurs his figure, my wrists are raw from restraint, my screams painfully muffled-