“Come on, I’m bored with this place,” Luke says, walking back to his plate and taking one last bite of his sandwich before he heads to the register.
“How did you recognize him? The priest, I mean?” I ask Luke on our walk back home.
“From the pictures in that box at the bottom of your closet,” he replies, scratching his chin.
“Wait a minute,” I say, pulling him to a halt. “What are you doing snooping around in my room?”
I’m angry that he’s admitted to being a snoop, but not angry enough to punish him over it. He’s just a curious child and always has been, though I will have to set some rules for him now apparently.
Luke shrugs and looks down at me. “Sometimes when you’re gone, I miss you and I go into your room because it smells so much like you. I’ll take a nap in your bed or I’ll just look around and see if maybe I can figure out what you were like before you had me. I know it sounds weird, and I’m sorry for poking around in your shit, Mom, but it just makes me feel better until you finally come home.”
I’m taken aback by his explanation. I’ve never known him to have a warm bone in his body for the fifteen years he’s walked on this damn planet, but he always manages to say the sweetest things when it comes to me. It’s almost as if he knows that I need the kind words to keep me going day in and day out.
“Don’t go in my room anymore without my permission, okay?” I say to him, looping my arm back through his.
“Sure thing,” he replies, pulling his arm out from my grip and wrapping it around my shoulder. “You know, I’m not scared of much in this world, but I think the only thing that would do me in is not having you around. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I love you, Mom.”
“Oh honey,” I sigh. “I love you too. You’ve always been the perfect son, in your own way, and I know that we’ll be okay. No matter what happens between us—we’ll be okay.”
The rest of the walk home is silent, and it doesn’t seem to bother him anymore than it does me. Luke will make some woman really happy someday and I can only hope that she’ll treat him the way he deserves.
I didn’t realize I had left the bedroom window open and my room is chillier than the weather outside. I wrap my arms around myself and with a shiver, walk over to that side of the room and lower it until only a small sliver of the breeze can come in.
A heavy sigh escapes me as I turn around and look at my closet. I wonder what Luke was really looking for in there, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it had been some kind of neatly stowed away memory of his father.
It makes me sad to think I don’t have anything I can give to him that would be a token of the man because he seems to becoming more and more interested in as the days go on—even if he doesn’t ask me about him, things like poking around in my room tell me as much.
I decide to not think about it right now, although I make a mental note to try and see if maybe I can find him online tomorrow somehow.
A son should get to know his father and I only hope they both feel the same way.
Tomorrow, I’ll make this right. I don’t care what I have to do, but Luke will know who his dad is and maybe I can convince them to meet up.
I pull my tank top over my head and toss it onto the floor, the sweatpants following shortly thereafter. I have the same feeling washing over me that always does when I think of his father and I don’t have the will to fight the urge tonight.
I walk over to where I left my veil earlier and for the first time in a few months, I place it on my head, pushing my hair beneath the thin fabric. I walk over to the mirror and look at myself.
A woman still lost in the hopes of a young girl’s dreams that were shattered when I broke my sacred vows. But the one thing that will make me feel better is already at the forefront of my thoughts.
I turn to the side and look at my body. Slender, short, and taught—the same way I’ve always been. Mom once told me that if I had long legs, I could have easily been a model, yet as I turn my body back toward the mirror and stare into my cold, blue eyes, I keep telling myself that I’ve done the right thing with my life.
I did what I wanted to do—I joined a convent, I did my best, and some pre-designed plan decided that I was destined to become a mother instead. I have a beautiful, caring son who loves me and would never abandon me like his father did, and I couldn’t ask for anything else.
I let my eyes wander down my reflection as I reach back and unclasp my bra and shrug out of it. Even at my age now, my breasts are still perky and full which makes me smile. It’s one less thing about getting old that I won't have to worry about right now.
My eyes are giving me an accusing stare as I wallow in the pride of my body and I have to look away. Pride is one of the sins that Father Moore always preached vehemently against, and in the quiet moments when I’m pretending to still be a chaste nun, I always manage to fall headlong into that damnable emotion.
It doesn’t matter.
This is about me right now. It’s about how I feel and what I want to do to remember the man that gave me the precious gift that’s more than likely perched in his bedroom window watching the moon slowly drift across the night sky.
I force myself to face my own accusing stare as I reach a hand down and open the top drawer of my vanity. Inside, hidden away in a black felt pouch is one of the only things that really holds meaning to me from my days in the church. I look down as I pull the pouch out and give the drawstring a tug, revealing a set of beads inside.
I pull out the necklace and drop the pouch back into the drawer, slowly pushing it closed as I turn and walk back toward my bed. This was the rosary that Father Moore gave me when I made my vows and just holding it makes things seem as simple as they used to be. I miss those days for the most part, but I wouldn’t trade my son for them if that were the only choice I would be given, and I know it is.
I lay down on my bed and set the rosary on the pillow next to me. For what I’ve done, I already know that my soul is condemned for all eternity, but for what I am about to do, I welcome the Hellfire.
Closing my eyes, I think back to that moment so many years ago when I was in his arms. I think of how his hands gently caressed my skin and how he hungrily reached for my panties, pushing them aside and how he began to rub me.