Page 84 of Priestly Sins

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We sitaround the dinner table. Sirona is fidgeting. Clara is none the wiser. I ask if she’s heard they’re makingFrozen IIand that alone gets us through dinner.

At some point, I reach for Sirona’s restless hand. She practically jumps when I touch her and the fear in her eyes cuts me deep.

“Calm, love. It’s okay.”

She jerks a harsh nod but leaves the table, clearing plates. She’s jittery and it highlights my utter stillness.

Clara has carried the conversation and saved us from what could have been an even more awkward dinner.

“Go help your mom with dishes?”

“But—” She stares around, looking for any excuse.

“Do it, pretty girl. I’m going to help.”

“Okay.” She looks dejected as she slowly slides off her chair and trudges to the kitchen, head down.

“Clara?”

“Yeah?”

“After dishes, let’s see what we can find out aboutFrozen II.”

And with a spring in her step, she flounces toward the kitchen, yelling to her mom about our evening plans.

Later that night, I offer my hand to Sirona. She accepts it and nods solemnly and we leave the living room, turning off the lights as we go. She closes the door behind us in our room and attempts to sit on the bed. I shake my head and put my fingers over my lips and tilt my head to the bathroom.

I go in, start the water and strip, climbing under the spray.

“You’re insatiable.” She sounds jovial as she joins me but the look on my face must tamp down her good humor.

“Wish that were the case. I always want you, baby, but this is serious.” My face must say what my voice refuses, because she becomes smaller, folding into herself. I haven’t seen that from her since before we left Louisiana and I don’t like it one bit.

“You’re scaring me, Sean.” She reaches for me but must think better of it, so we stand there, facing each other, not touching.

“Not meaning to, baby, but this won’t be pretty.”

I inhale huge and, with the exhale, I begin. And the plain truth might as well be razors on my tongue. “Enzo Calabrese killed my mother. I saw him leave her house and I found her body.”

Her gasp could derail me, but I continue, “He was small-time then, an enforcer for Salvatore Gambisi, and was an up-and-coming hitman. I was fifteen and spent my summers with Ma in New Orleans. I’ve wanted him dead since that night. My father paid for the hit.”

Her throat bobs and she nods, all the while keeping my gaze.

“I killed him between the time you left town and the time that Clara and I did. There’s no way he survived.”

Her eyes round like saucers and the blood drains from her face but she says nothing.

“He didn’t leave a pink daisy on my mom’s body.”

Her confused look says I’ve lost her.

“Hate to bring it up, Sirona, and I mean I hate it, but did he leave one on your dad’s body?”

A swift shake tells me no. “I don’t understand.”

“The arson investigator at my house found a pink daisy.”