Page 5 of Priestly Sins

“Sorry,” says Henry, sounding as if all the fight has gone out of him. “Just needed a break.”

“You’re welcome anytime. Now, do you need to confess anything?”

“Nah, not this time. Maybe another time, okay?”

“Always here for you. Go in peace.”

The wooden door creaks open and the latch clicks as it’s pressed back home. I’m glad for the moment between penitents for two reasons — one to replay that conversation and singe it into my brain, and two, to calm my anger that threatens to boil over.

Henry’s father has been a fuckface too long. Beating his wife and kids ends now.

* * *

“Forgive me,Father, for I have sinned.”

I’m not alone as I thought I was and I don’t know how long she’s been sitting there. I sit up straighter and listen to the small breaths and the hesitancy in the words that stutter from her lips.

“When was your last confession?”

“Oh, well, the last time was the first time. I became Catholic when I married my husband and had to convert.”

“So, how long has that been?”

“Three years.”

“What made you come today?”

“I’ve been lying.” She drags in a huge breath. “Lying to my husband.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I, uh… Well, he wants children. And I’m making sure we don’t have them.”

“So, you’re deceiving him and you plan to continue doing so?”

She gasps and then stutters as she says, “Um… yes.”

“What’s going on?”

“He’s not a good man. I don’t trust him. It’s hard to put my finger on, even harder to articulate, but it’s not safe.”

“For you or for children?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice drops as she continues, “At least, I think I’m fine. Enzo isn’t violent.”

My spine stiffens.

This is Zera Calabrese, Enzo’s wife.

* * *

Twenty-seven confessions later,and after pre-marriage counseling for my soon-to-be-wed parishioners, I pour two fingers of Kilbeggan and slide into my red leather recliner. It’s my only possession—only thing in this world I take with me. It’s old and worn-in. I moved it from Boston to South Bend and from there to the seminary in Mundelein and then to Chicago. Now it sits in New Orleans in this rectory fully furnished with fine luxuries.

I sit here to think.

I sit here to remember.

I sit here to plan.