And so, even though it might be a mistake, I told him. I told him what I was forced to do, how I didn’t say no. How I didn’t fight, didn’t lift a finger. I didn’t even try to argue with my father when he’d told me what I had to do. I hadn’t been willing, but I also hadn’t done enough to stick up for myself, either.
The story was both ungodly long and not long enough. Too long because it seemed I told Father Charlie my innermost demon, the thing I feared most, and not long enough because, when it was over and I was done speaking, that meant it was his turn to talk—and I didn’t know whether I’d like what he would have to say.
Father Charlie reached up to his neck. His wrinkled fingers worked on his collar, loosening it so he could pull something out from beneath his shirt. Something on a golden chain that was equally as sparkling and yellow, even in the dim light of the church.
“A while back, I went on a pilgrimage of my own. I went to all of the holy sites. Jerusalem, Rome.” As he spoke, his fingers rubbed the golden cross. “I had lost something very important to me, and I was searching for a reason why. If everything is God’s will, why would he do half the things he does? Why let good people die every day while keeping around the men who lie and cheat and abuse?”
“Did you find an answer?”
His lips curled into a sad smile, and in the next moment, he reached behind his neck and undid the clasp on the cross, bringing the fancy piece to his lap. A few inches big, the chain itself was longer than the average necklace, too. It had to weigh heavily on your neck when you wore it. “I did.” He offered nothing else.
So I asked, “And?” Maybe what he found could help me. Maybe whatever answer he found across the seas could shed some light on this shitty life of mine.
“The answer is: there is no answer. There is no reason. Some things simply are, and there is nothing we can do to stop them. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and sometimes good things happen to bad people.”
Well, that was depressing. If he couldn’t find an answer in his God, what hope did I have?
“It is up to us to react accordingly. To always be humble and kind, no matter what the circumstance is. If life gives us a bad hand, deals us a harsh blow, we have to do our best to get right back up,” Father Charlie told me. “I could say God never gives you more than you could handle, but I know how overwhelming life can be. I know how easy it seems to find a way out, but that’s the thing, Giselle: the hardest part of this world is living in it. That much will never change, but that is also why this life is yours for the taking. It is what you make it out to be. You are God’s will.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It just seemed… strange to believe in a God that let such shitty things happen. But it was good to know that even a priest, someone who devoted their whole life to their God, doubted every now and then.
“I got this while I was in Rome, to remind me of my journey,” Father Charlie said. He offered me the cross, the chain dragging across his lap and then hanging between us. “Here. I want you to keep it for a while. Bring it back to me next week. We don’t have to talk again, but if you want to, we can. I mean it when I say I am always here for you, Giselle.”
Well, he was a priest, so he kind of had to say that, didn’t he? Still, I found myself calmed by his story, comforted that even he wondered what the point was to all of this, and I took the cross from him, bringing it onto my lap. I stared down at it, running my thumb over the face of the golden cross, its inlaid jewels sparkling even in the shadows.
It was beautiful, and it had to be real gold. It was heavier than it would be if it was fake. I’d have to hide it from my father, but… but that was all right. I didn’t mind. I’d do exactly as Father Charlie said and bring this cross back to him in a week.
And I did.
And after that, I kept going back. Seeing Father Charlie, talking to him… some days it was all that kept me going, and for that, I could never thank him enough.
“You sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Zander asked, bringing me back to reality.
I looked at him. “No. I just… I want to be alone. Hopefully I won’t be too long.” Even though it was fake, I gave him a smile, and thankfully he didn’t say anything else after that. I got out of the car, clutching a small handbag. Also white, because everything had to be white.
First impressions were everything.
Letting out a short breath, I got out of the car and headed for the church’s doors. Holding my head up high, I walked inside, not sure what I’d see or what I’d find. I wasn’t exactly quiet as I entered the church, which caused a few of the heads sitting in the pews to turn around and glance at me. All older folk, people who had lived their lives and now waited for their God to call them home.
I walked through the church, heading to the front. Thankfully, I didn’t see the priest. Zek, Ezekiel, whatever you wanted to call him, gave me the creeps. Something about him wasn’t right… but maybe I only felt that way because he was a priest and he was not Father Charlie.
Once I reached the front, I slid into one of the pews. No one else was around me, so I reached down and pulled out the small, cushioned kneeler so I could, you know, kneel. It just felt right, even if it was wrong.
Wrong because of why I was here. Wrong because this was me saying goodbye, something I never had the chance of doing before. My hands rested on the wood before me, my clutch tight in my grip. I did not bend my head in prayer; I stared at this church’s statue of Jesus. I found it funny how they were all the same, and yet all slightly different. No two churches were the same.
My eyes tore away from the statue, dropping to my gloved hands. I blinked, and for just the quickest of seconds, I saw red. Blood. Thrown back to that day, when I’d gone to see Father Charlie and found him shot dead in the confessional.
I swallowed, and though it was the hardest thing I’d had to do, I reached inside my clutch and pulled out the golden chain. I’d worn it so much since taking it from that filthy Greenback Serpent, but after a lot of thinking, I knew it wasn’t mine to have. I should’ve put it back on Father Charlie’s body so he could be buried with it. Or cremated with it. Or… whatever. I’d zoned out of reality after that day for a while, and then we’d moved here, so I didn’t know what they did with his body.
This cross wasn’t mine to keep. Try as I might, this religion wasn’t mine to believe. I’d tried, I’d really, really tried all these years in an effort to both be close to my mother and to thank Father Charlie for saving my life, but it wasn’t me. I was Miguel Santos’s daughter, and there would be no salvation for me. No forgiveness for the things I had done and will do. No peace at the end of this. I had resigned myself to that fate, but that was okay.
I was not the girl I was three years ago. I was stronger. I could be more—and I would be, and in order to be the person I wanted to be, I had to say goodbye.
I closed my eyes, bringing the golden cross to my face. I leaned against it, its metal cool on my forehead. Goodbye, Father Charlie. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you in your final moments, if only to hold your hand and tell you everything would be okay, like you did for me that night. I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time to save you like you saved my life three years ago. I lowered the cross to my mouth, placed a soft kiss on it, and then I got up.
The cross was set on the pew I sat in, and after I pushed up the kneeler, I left, abandoning the fancy cross. My heart hurt as I left the church, but I didn’t look back. I didn’t look back, nor did I linger, in case Ezekiel was nearby.
I would not call him Father Ezekiel. There was only one Father to me, and he was dead.