Page 65 of Priestly Sins

“Think what, baby?”

“That I don’t want you.”

“Okay, and…”

“You’re not a goon. There’s just stuff you don’t know.”

“Will you tell me? Can you trust me?”

She looks into my eyes and nods.

* * *

Our drive takesus past Clifden to the Atlantic Ocean. It’s ridiculously cold. The wind whipping off the water is icy and its gusts would have us running for cover if it weren’t for the four additional “picnic” blankets we packed.

Clara decided Boxing Day picnic lunch meant we should eat food from boxes, so we have an interesting assortment of non-congruous foods. Luckily exceptions were made for thermoses of coffee and cocoa.

I sit facing the ocean, legs wide, knees up. Sirona sits with her back to my chest, resting her arms on my knees.

Clara is on a mission, wandering the cliffs, wearing enough layers to look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Watching her walk and try to function should be enough humor for the day.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me now?”

I feel her nod. “See that precious little girl out there?”

I have no idea where this is going, but I want to honor her courage.

“Yeah.”

“She’s the most important thing in my world. No, sheismy world. She’s my greatest accomplishment, my biggest weakness. All my joys, all my dreams, and all my fears are wrapped up into a brilliant, funny, wonderful package.”

She pauses, but I don’t speak.

“She’s everything to me,” she whispers fiercely.

“I understand that, as much as I can, not being her mother.”

“You’re missing it.”

“What am I missing, baby?”

“I trust you with my world.”

My body goes still.

She continues, “I trust you with my everything. I got on a plane and flew across the world and trusted that you would protect her and bring her home to me. I trusted you with the only thing that would crush me to lose, the only thing that would derail my life. I trust you with my Clara”

I want to snapshot this almost-holy moment.

“Thank you, baby,” I whisper while kissing her neck in one of the few non-bundled areas.

“You’re not just somebody. You’re more. And I’ve never had more. Ever.” She leans back into me, giving me some of her weight. Her pause is so long I think maybe our conversation is over. Just when I wonder whether I should interject, she states, “Clara wasn’t conceived in the best situation, and that’s an understatement in every sense of the word.”

That makes me fight to not physically react in any way. Not soften, not stiffen, not allow my breathing to change.