Page 52 of Sacred

Chapter Fourteen

Then — After

Two months after Ward leaves, I find myself sitting in an Episcopal church not far from my office during my lunch break.

Just sitting there, by myself, staring at the cross.

Praying.

God, if you won’t give him the sense or strength to come back to me, please give me the sense and strength to figure out how to move on without him.

I have to figure out a way through this. If Ward doesn’t want to be a part of my life, that’s his decision. I still have a life to live.

I’ve tried pretending he died but, honestly? As horrible as it sounds, that would’ve been easier to deal with than…this.

This limbo.

The not knowing why is what eats me up. Did I do or say something wrong? Why didn’t he feel he could say no to me in person?

Why did he feel his only option was to bail and ghost me?

Did he lie to me all those years?

Seven.

Fucking.

Years.

I bow my head, close my eyes, and not a single damn prayer comes to mind. I sit there for several minutes when I hear a noise. Looking up, I see Reverend Rawley walking through the side door at the front of the sanctuary. I’ve attended several services here over the past weeks, but I doubt he knows my face. I enjoy his sermons and his kind demeanor. He’s probably in his early sixties, and his wife is always smiling and talking with people after services. They bring a friendly energy to the congregation that I enjoy, even if I don’t partake of it up close.

He walks over, stopping a few pews away and offering me a kind smile. “Did you wish some company, or want to talk?”

I take a deep breath and stare at the cross again. “How are you with exorcising ghosts?”

He sits in the pew in front of me, turned to the side so he can talk with me. “Metaphorical ones?”

I nod.

“Can you talk about it, son?”

I think about my promise to never out Ward, to never tell anyone about my relationship with him unless or until he was ready to do it.

But didn’t he break his promise to me by the way he left?

Still, I pride myself on being a man of my word.

“Most of it, no. I can’t.” I don’t want to cry but find myself blinking back tears. “How do you say good-bye and move on when you’ve had no closure?”

“Not a literal death, I take it?”

I shake my head.

“A less than ideal parting of the ways with a loved one?”

I nod. That’s close enough.

“We don’t always get to say good-bye the way we wish. You might try writing them a letter and then not sending it. Some people rip it up or burn it or flush it down the toilet.”