The Penitent Priest by J. R. Mathis & Susan Mathis

Author:J. R. Mathis & Susan Mathis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mercy and Justice Mysteries
Published: 2020-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

TEN MINUTES INTO LUNCH with Helen, I have the uneasy feeling I’ve made a mistake.

After a somewhat awkward walk from the Rectory to The Bistro where I tried to keep at least six inches between us, we manage to find a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant. Not hidden, exactly, but out of easy sight of anyone who might see us and wonder what a priest is doing having lunch with a single woman.

Or any woman for that matter.

It’s not like I’m doing something that’s forbidden, exactly. We were taught in seminary to be careful with our relationships, to not give any cause for scandal and to avoid the near occasion of sin. But, we were also told we shouldn’t avoid friendships, even with members of the opposite sex. We should just take care that they didn’t develop into . . . more.

And if Helen were just another woman, close to my age, who happened to be a member of my parish, then I’d have no real reason for unease.

Even if she is a beautiful woman.

But Helen’s a beautiful woman who I once loved. Who I was ready to spend the rest of my life with. Who I have very fond memories of, even if how I ended things was horrible.

And she’s sitting three feet away from me, chin resting on her hand, looking at me with azure blue eyes that I so often lost myself in.

Yes. I’m definitely in trouble.

“So,” she says after we order, “I know what happened to Joan. How did you two meet?”

I chuckle. “We met here, on campus.”

“Oh, I know that from interviewing a few people. Your ex-mother-in-law for one.”

“Anna? You interviewed Anna? Why?”

“Just part of the investigation. But don’t worry. She’s a big fan of yours.”

“And I of her,” I say. “She’s been as much of a mom to me as my own Mom—more so, actually.”

“Oh, and how is Nola?” Helen asks sarcastically, no doubt remembering our one trip to visit her in my home town of Bellamy, Florida after our engagement.

“She’s Mom,” I sigh.

“Your sister?”

“The same,” I say. “Mom says she’s been clean and sober for a while, but . . .”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, remember how we met the first time? I was walking along and I ran into you?”

“Yes, I—wait,” she says with a grin, “you’re kidding me!”

I shake my head. “Nope. I was walking along, reading something, and ran right into her. Only instead of a binder, it was her portfolio. We spent about half an hour chasing sketches and watercolors as they blew through the commons. After we gathered them up, I asked her to lunch.”

“Unlike me,” she says, “Joan said yes.”

I nod. “There was a lot about Joan that wasn’t like you.”

“Oh? Did she let you sleep with her before the wedding?”

I stiffen. The words are no sooner out than her hand flies to her mouth, a look of horror in her eyes.

I feel my jaw tighten.

This was a mistake.

“Oh, Tom!” she whispers.

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