Penance

Freshly shaved and showered, he padded into his room to ready himself for the ceremony. His cassock-alb and chasuble hung neatly from the wardrobe. He ran his fingers down the chasuble, admiring the way the silky green material slid through his fingers, remembering the last time he wore it while wedding this couple. He hoped that the next ten years would be markedly different from the last. Better. Happier. 

But that wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t stop acting like the knobbiest knob that ever knobbed. He had spent the rest of the afternoon terrified that he had already ruined any chance of being with Emma by being so bloody impatient. He had fully intended to give her the time she requested but then she’d kissed him and his brain had melted and he’d spent the night...remembering. In technicolor. Then he literally ran into her that morning and he’d had to exert every ounce of willpower he’d spent these long years building just to stop himself from grabbing her, kissing her breathless, and trying to convince her to run away with him. 

He wouldn’t say he’d been pining for ten years. Maybe some oaking or perhaps a tad bit of yewing. He hadn’t actually believed she would stay away, even though he had asked her to. It was long enough ago now that he could admit to himself that he had hoped she would try to see him again. She had said she loved him. If she had shown up at his door again, he would have left with her and damn the consequences. But she hadn’t. 

At first, he’d tried to convince himself that she hadn’t loved him after all, as a defense mechanism. Then, a few months later, he’d run into her sister at the Waitrose he’d taken to shopping at, certain that he’d never see Emma there. Claire had taken one look at him and her entire body shifted from her usual stand-off-don’t-touch-me air to primed for a fight. The look in her eyes had caused him to take a step back and assess possible escape routes. 

“You.”

“Hi Claire!  Hi!  How have you been?”

“How. Have. I. Been?” she bit out. “How have I been?” She began stalking towards him and he suddenly knew, on a primal level, what prey animals felt like when they’d been spotted by a hunter. 

She stopped, inches from him, face a mask of un-Claire-like rage. “I’ve spent the last three months cleaning up your mess,” she hissed. 

“My mess?” he repeated, confused. 

Her eyes widened and her hands balled up into fists. That was obviously the wrong question. 

“Your mess.”  She took a half-step back and gave him a full once-over, head to toe. He felt exposed and vulnerable and he’d give anything to be able to leave this conversation. 

Whatever she saw didn’t please her, exactly, but it did seem to calm her a bit. “You look like shit.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“Look. I don’t know what happened between you and my sister,” her hand shot up to forestall the words he was about to utter. “And I don’t care. It’s obvious that you’re hurting, too, otherwise there would be consequences.” He shuddered a bit at the dark glint in her eyes. “But whatever happened did hurt her. She hasn’t done her usual sex and alcohol spiral, but she isn’t herself. In some ways this is worse. She’s withdrawn into herself and completely thrown herself into the café. She’s dead on her feet at the end of the day. All she does is work and sleep. I can’t even get her to go for a drink with me. That’s not normal.”

He gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry. I want to help, but I can’t. I can’t...I can’t...see her. Talk to her. I can’t.”

Claire continued looking at him for a minute and it felt like his soul was laid bare, all of his sins highlighted for her to see. Coming to some unknown decision, she nodded once, briskly. “I understand. Goodbye, Father.”

He couldn’t lie to himself after that. She did love him. She loved him so much that she was honoring his request to stay away, even though he was dead sure her contrary nature was urging her to see him. Maybe working herself half to death was the only way she could stay away. He pressed his hand to his heart, touched and heart broken at the same time. 

It was at that point that he resolved to live a life worthy of their sacrifice. He’d had other temptations over the years, of course. He was only human. But no one could ever compare to her and if he couldn’t have what they had had...well, what was the point? Over time, she became a beloved memory that he revisited on his loneliest nights. 

When Caroline called to ask him to preside over her vow renewal, the love he’d thought he’d buried through time and neglect had come roaring to life and he jumped at the chance to see Emma again. So much had changed and maybe this time...

Now, preparing to come full circle, he smoothed the imperceptible wrinkles in his chasuble and ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it just so in the way he knew drove women wild. Seeing her, touching her...he felt like a teenager again. 

She, of course, looked just as lovely as ever. The laugh lines around her mouth and eyes soothed his conscience. He hadn’t wanted her to have spent all this time apart miserable and pining for him. He flushed and glanced heaven-ward. Okay. Maybe a little bit. But You know it was only a little bit. I really did hope she was happy.   All those feelings they’d shared came rushing back the second he laid eyes on her. Once he’d ascertained that she wasn’t with anyone, he thought that of course they would pick up where they’d left off. See? Total knob. 

And now here he was, getting himself worked into a state, all because he couldn’t behave himself when he was around her. Heaven help him!

A tap at the door jolted him out of his thoughts. 

“Father James?”

“Yes?”

A small blonde head peeked through the door.  It was Claire’s oldest, Clarice. 

“Caroline sent me up to tell you she’s ready for you in the garden.” Message delivered, Clarice turned and dashed down the hall to rejoin the festivities. 

He wasn’t surprised that Caroline didn’t want to be labeled as “grandmother” or some variant. He was sure that anything hinting at something as prosaic as age wouldn’t be chic enough for her. He chuckled to himself as he made his way downstairs. He ought to be grateful for her horrendous lack of perception and staggering self-centredness. Anyone else likely would have realized something had happened between their priest and goddaughter and found another officiant for the vow renewal. Hm. He grinned. He’d have to say a special prayer of thanksgiving just for her. 

***

The vow renewal ran smoothly and there was only one moment when he thought he’d lose it and that was when Emma first appeared, reprising her role as escort to her father. She was dressed in red again, but this time it was a mid-calf crimson 50’s retro number nipped in at the waist that made her look like a vintage pin-up girl. She wore her signature red lipstick and her hair was pulled back in a loose chignon. She was so lovely he thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest.  She held his gaze all the way down the aisle and he wondered if the little smile she wore was for him or for her father. 

He stuck to the traditional homily this time; there was nothing but hope in his heart. Nothing to rage at. His eyes might have strayed to her a time or two. She was keeping Clare’s youngest occupied and he planned to shamelessly use the boy as an excuse if anyone asked why he kept looking in that direction. 

He’d made his rounds with the guests and now, with evening falling and the garden lit by fairy lights, he was hoping to find Emma. Maybe ask her for a dance. 

“That was a lovely speech, Father.  Not nearly as terrifying as last time. Been practicing?”

He turned towards her voice and spotted her in the shadows of the nearby statuary. He forced himself to walk over slowly instead of sprinting like the lovestruck fool he was. 

“A bit,” he grinned. “Hiding out?”

“The Horde is on a rampage. Pretty sure someone forgot to guard the sweeties and they’re riding an epic sugar high.”

He leaned in next to her, bumping her shoulder playfully. “Aw, is Aunt Emma scared?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re awfully smug for a man who’s never experienced the terrors of sugared up children.”

“Who says I haven’t?” he scoffed. “I’ve had a lot more experience with kids since we last met.”

“And did those kids have Clare for a mother? Clare who insists on no fizzy drinks, diluted juices, fruit instead of sweets, and muesli or porridge for breakfast? Did you meet those kids of sugared up kids?”

His eyes were as wide as saucers by the time she finished. “Sweet Jesus, we have to get out of here before they set the house on fire!”

“Nah. I told them I stashed treasure around the garden. Should keep them busy for at least twenty minutes.”

“Diabolical.”

“I try.”

They fell silent for a moment, but it was a comfortable silence. 

He turned his head, mouth inches away from her ear. Her neck. Her jaw. Her lips. 

He quickly stepped away and faced her, hand extended, before he did something foolish. “Care to dance?”

She regarded him solemnly with those huge expressive eyes that seemed to see right to his soul. She took his hand. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grinned and waltzed her over to the dance floor.