Page 81 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“Back to work then?” I ask. I let Kelsey’s chatter about the upcoming dive she has scheduled, the immense amount of data she still has to analyze before she leaves for it, the theatre plans she and Adrienne have with Logan and Silas, wash over me. I might call Micah when Kelsey and I get off the phone.
Or I might wait until the last minute to decide. Tomorrow.
“You okay, Daddy?”
“Hmm?” I focus back on my daughter. “I’m fine, hon.”
“Okay, well, Adrienne and I are about to head out for brunch. I called Dad to see if he wanted to join us, but he’s going to confession after Mass today.”
“He’s what?” I wince at the sharpness in my tone. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.
“Going to confession after Mass,” Kelsey repeats. “It’s not like that’s unusual for him.”
“No,” I say. “Yeah, of course.”
There’s a brief silence. “You know I’d invite you to brunch if you were in town. Wait, are you in town?”
“Yeah,” I say distractedly. “I got in Friday morning.”
What does Jason going to confession three weeks after Costa Rica mean? Does he regret what we did? Is he promising God and his priest this time to resist the temptation to sin again? Maybe I’ve only ever been a temptation to him. Something to confess and be absolved of. Something to repent.
Fifteen years ago, I told myself the same thing. Apparently, I never learn.
Kelsey’s voice shakes me out of these thoughts. “Why didn’t you call?”
“Oh, I had an appointment Friday afternoon and then some things to deal with.”
Or avoid dealing with.
Another brief silence and then Kelsey says, “Daddy? Is everything okay?”
“Sure, hon,” I say automatically. “Listen, I gotta run, Kels. I’ll talk to you later.”
I end the call, sit for a minute holding my phone, then grab my coat and leave the apartment. I’m done waiting. Whatever’s going on in Jason’s head, whatever he feels about me, I need to know what it is.
Forty
Jason
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” I do some quick calculations in my head. “Three months since my last confession.”
Between the wedding preparations, travel planning, and getting my assistant director up to speed to substitute for me while I was away, I haven’t been to confession since the last week of Advent, just before the madness of the Christmas season started. I also haven’t been since I got back from Costa Rica. Not even on Ash Wednesday.
“Go ahead, my son,” Father Gabriel murmurs. He’s a shadowy figure behind the screened window between us, and I’m grateful that he can’t see my face for this. And that I won’t be able to see his face.
“I’ve had sexual relations with a man.” Might as well get the big one out straightaway. I’ll save the small stuff for later—the unkind thoughts about certain choir members, the white lies I’ve told Mrs. Kowalski to keep her from setting me up with her divorced daughter, the number of times I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain—all these sins pale in comparison.
Father Gabriel blows out a puff of breath I swear I can feel even through the rough mesh screen. “Ah.”
There’s a faint whiff of coffee and suddenly I wish I were having brunch with Kelsey and Adrienne instead of parking myself in the confessional booth after eleven-thirty Mass.
Father Gabriel is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. His silences are a well-known tactic. He’s waiting to see if I’ll add any more details. The number of times I’ve committed this sin, for example, which I do not want to confess.
Or a rambling justification for my behavior, of which I have none.
“And who is this man?”
But I’m not expecting this question, and it throws me for a few seconds. “Um…”
