Page 21 of Property of The Grump

“What did you say in the letter?”

“I told him it was over. I told him to leave me alone, and that I’d call a lawyer and get a restraining order if I had to.”

“That seems pretty clear.”

“Yeah, but his family… they’ll do whatever it takes to guard his reputation. They have big dreams for him beyond mayor. They’re talking governor and possibly president. They don’t want anything to tarnish the boy next door image they’ve created for him.” She takes a deep, centering breath. “I don’t know if you know much about Zane, but his dad was governor of Colorado,and he made his daughter disappear because she was into drugs. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t love her. Ultimately, he felt he couldn’t do anything but push her away and pretend she didn’t exist.”

I nod slowly, the thought of my own sister’s memory filling my mind. “That’s awful. You think she’s still alive?”

“Don’t know.” Wren shrugs. “They’re awful, weird people, and I don’t know how to get away from them.”

I glance down at the bruises on her arm again. They’re dark and purple, the edges frayed with yellow. “How long has he been hurting you like this?”

She shrugs against my chest as I stroke my hand down over the side of her arm. “The last year has been the worst of it. It’s so stupid that I let it go on for as long as I did, but I blamed myself.” She scoffs as she says, “I still do, like I’m the reason he gets so mad. That if I could change what I need, somehow he’d stop reacting the way he does, and he’d love me. It’s a stupid girl thought, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” I say, brushing my lips against the top of her head without thought. “It’s normal. I’ve talked to a few women whose husbands have been abusive, and they all say the same thing. They believed they were the problem.”

“And do you hold all the women in your parish when they come in crying late at night?”

“No,” I groan. “This is a first.”

“Well, thank you. I was really feeling lost tonight. I knew I couldn’t use credit cards for a hotel, and he’d look for me with my parents or my friend. This felt like safety for some reason.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” I hold her tighter. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“I won’t stay long. If I could just maybe sleep on the floor here tonight or maybe stretch out on a pew, I think I’ll be okay. I doubt he’d think I’d come here, and if he did think I was here, hewouldn’t destroy a holy place to get to me. There’s way too much publicity in that.” She lifts her head from my chest and stares toward me. “What am I doing?”

“You’re making a change,” I say, wrapping her tiny hand in mine as I lead her up from the pew and toward the rectory. “You’re here with me because that’s where you feel safe. I’m going to make the bed for you, and you’re going to rest your head.”

I’m leading her to the back door, through my office, and toward my sleeping quarters as I realize that no one but me has slept in the rectory since I took over the church twenty years ago.

“This is a house too,” she says, her hand still tucked in mine. “I didn’t know that.”

“Sort of. I have a small kitchen, this bedroom, and that attached bath. It’s plenty for me, but I apologize if it feels a little cramped for you. I’m sure you’re used to much larger, finer things.”

There’s a brief pause before she speaks again, the only sound coming from the water dripping from the faucet. “I’m not used to finer things. Trust me, I was born and raised in the woods. I’m most comfortable when I’m around rednecks doing redneck things. Also, I can’t take your bed.”

“I insist. You’ve had a long night,” I say as I tear the sticky sheets off the mattress and pull a new set from the closet in the bathroom. “What kind of man would I be if I let you go back out into the world exhausted, bruised, and alone? That wouldn’t be very godly of me.”

Here I go again, saying shit I should say while meaning something far more devious than how I’m saying them. Of course I want this woman to stay. Of course I want her safe and protected next to me, but I’d be a liar if I ignored the fact that I want to watch her sleep and memorize the number of breaths she takes in a minute, cataloguing the way each one sounds.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing an old band T-shirt from my bottom drawer. “Change into this if you’d like, and I’ll turn back the sheets for you.”

“But I can’t take your bed. At least sleep next to me. We’re two adults, and you’re a priest. I trust you.”

A lump lodges in my throat as I let my mind wander to the weight of her body lying next to me all night.

I’d probably come on her fucking back in my sleep.

“No, thank you. I’ll sleep in the recliner there in the corner. It’s oddly very comfortable, and I’ll be right here to keep an eye on you if you need anything.”

“But—”

“No more buts. This is what I’m doing. Go get changed.”

She holds her gaze with mine as the command sits in the air, and I wonder for a second if she’ll follow it.

She does, and I’m thankful. I’m thankful because I have to pray. I have to pray for forgiveness, for guidance, for a path. The right path. The path that allows me to help this girl without ulterior motives. The path that allows me to be the priest to her I’m able to be to everyone else.