“Thank you for listening, Father.”
I had one hand on the door when he stopped me. “Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“That first act of forgiveness should be easy. You haven’t done anything wrong. You need to forgive yourself.”
After I said my prayers, I returned to my car. It wasn’t until I was halfway home that something dawned on me. I hadn’t told him my name, yet the priest had called me Rachel.
On the way back, I did a lot of thinking. I decided to stop in at O’Leary’s and ask for a few days off. My head wasn’t in a good place, and I really needed to work on my thesis anyway. It was late afternoon, and the bar was quiet, with just a few ex-cop regulars hanging around with Charlie.
“Hey, Charlie. You have a minute?”
“Sure, sweetheart. You’re a heck of a lot more pleasant to look at than these two old guys.” He thumbed his finger at his buddies with a smile.
I took a seat at the other end of the bar, and Charlie filled a glass with Diet Coke before coming to talk to me.
“Would it be okay if I took a few days off? I can ask Ava to cover me.”
“Everything okay?”
“I just need to get caught up on some schoolwork.”
“Sure. Of course. And don’t worry about getting Ava to cover you. I’ll cover your shifts.”
“Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, by the way.” He walked to the register and lifted the money tray, removing an envelope from underneath. “Glad you and that professor broke up. I ran him. He’s got a record.”
“You ran him?”
He tossed the envelope on the counter. “Yeah. Told you I was going to check out the guys sniffing around you girls from now on. Guy’s got a record for assault. It’s old, and it was sealed because he was a juvie. But not too many criminals change their stripes.”
Rather than attempt to explain anything, I just said thank you. It was a fitting end to the day I’d had. When a few new patrons came in, Charlie went to make some wings, and I decided to open the envelope.
It was surreal to read a police report that involved Caine and Benny. The top half was all informational—name, date, location, time of incident. At the bottom of the page was a section labeled Narrative of Incident, and a paragraph had been written in an officer’s chicken-scratch handwriting:
On 8-3-02 at 15:35 hours, suspect committed an act of assault on an unrelated thirty-nine-year-old man. There were no witnesses to the attack, but when I arrived on the scene, the suspect was standing over the victim, who was unconscious. I observed cuts and blood on the suspect’s knuckles, consistent with the victim’s assault. Ambulance number 4631 was dispatched and arrived on the scene at 15:48 hours. The victim regained consciousness during the time the paramedics were treating him. The suspect admitted he had assaulted the victim but refused to give a statement other than requesting that police and social services be sent to 3361 Robbins Lane within the town of Pleasantville. Units were dispatched to the address to investigate. The suspect was searched and cuffed and placed into the back of the squad car while the scene was secured. He remained there until 16:50 when he was transported to the 33rd precinct for processing of charges on second-degree assault.
While I’d already known everything I read, somehow seeing it all on paper hit me. Caine had put my sister and me before himself, making sure we got the attention we needed before even considering what might happen to him. He’d done the same thing again a few weeks ago—or, at least he thought he had—choosing to sacrifice his own happiness for mine when he’d broken things off to avoid dredging up the past.
I closed my eyes. The memory of my mom that had come back today as I sat in the church once again flooded my thoughts. She’d told me to come to the church if I ever needed to talk, and God would listen.
“What if He’s busy?”
She leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Then one of His angels will be listening.”
Suddenly everything was clear. It wasn’t Caine I needed to forgive. He’d never done anything but try to protect me. I needed to forgive myself in order to accept him into my heart. I could run the other way, but it was too late, he already had my heart.
Charlie must have noticed me in deep thought and mistook that for being upset.
“You okay?” He pointed to the ripped envelope on the bar and the papers I’d been reading.
“I am now. Thanks, Charlie.”
Caine
Rachel’s text was the last thing I expected. I read back through the ambiguous exchange from an hour ago.
Rachel: Could we talk tomorrow after class?
Caine: Of course. Is everything okay?
Rachel: Yes. Everything is fine.
Caine: Do you want to discuss something related to school or your thesis?
Rachel: No.
I knew she generally ran off to work on Tuesdays after class.
Caine: Don’t you have to work after class?
Rachel: No. I took a week off.
There was no damn way I was going to get any sleep tonight. I was too anxious. Of course, my mind started to screw with me, imagining all sorts of shit—like why she’d taken a week off. I pictured her sitting on a plane, heading to some exotic destination with that Davis tool. Even though a chunk of time had passed since our last text, I picked up the phone in an attempt to find out something that might help me relax.
Caine: Are you going somewhere?
She typed back a few minutes later.
Rachel: No. Not going anywhere.
Further attempts to relax after that were just as futile. Eventually I grabbed my keys and decided tomorrow was way too long to wait to hear what Rachel had to say. I’d given her the space she’d asked for, but if she was finally ready to talk, I had a lot I needed to say, too.
After I got to her place, I realized it was pretty late. Not wanting to scare her by buzzing the door at almost eleven, I decided to text first.
Caine: Are you awake?
The dots started to jump around. That answered that question.
Rachel: Yes.
Caine: Think we can do a little earlier than after class tomorrow?
Rachel: Sure. What time?
Caine: Right now.
Rachel: I think it’s better if we speak in person.
Caine: Me too. I’m downstairs. Can I come up?