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The match burned so low it licked her fingertips. She closed her eyes and waved her hand to blow it out.
Had I said something wrong?Of course I had. I’d said at least seventeen things wrong tonight. I’d made it weird. Over and over again. I was so nervous around her. I’d never been nervous around a woman before. But Decca wasn’t just another woman. She was everything.
Tonight, I acted intrusive and gross. I’d come onto her, after I’d told myself I wouldn’t.I’d made her feel my dick.That had definitely not been the plan.
But the way she clung to me. It didn’t feel friendly. The way she kept looking at my mouth like she wanted me to kiss her. The way she blushed, and the way her eyes got all dreamy when we talked about sex, it had been so unexpected.
“You know, most people actually light the fire when they invite someone over for a bonfire.”
“Yeah,” she laughed. “Uh, I’m working up to it. I haven’t lit it since...”
“Granny,” I finished for her.
She nodded.
I stepped closer to her, lifting the box out of her hands before squeezing them gently. “So, we work up to it together. And tonight we watch the moon.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief before taking a deep breath.
“Thank you, Gus. For everything. But mostly, for being gentle with me.”
I didn’t bother with a response. There would come a time—quite soon, if I had my way—where I wouldn’t be so gentle with her. I didn’t want to be thanked yet.
I lowered myself into the big chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. I could see why she liked it out here. Even with the southern summer humidity, everything felt perfect in this overgrown bed of weeds.
“I don’t like to make a big deal out of it,” I said lightly, “but I’m not a big drinker.” Not only did we need a change of subject, but I needed to get us back on the path to understanding one another.
“What? Oh, you mean the wine?” She lowered her own glass from her lips.
“I drink so people see me drinking. I don’t want to give people the impression of moral superiority. I always felt like priests whodrink are regular guys. Easy to talk to. Someone you can bond with. Someone who understands.”
“You don’t feel the need to bond with me?”
“I don’t need alcohol to bond with you.” Her eyes were always doing something big and expressive. This time, when I looked into them across the unlit bonfire, they softened. I cleared my throat. “And I drink to keep up a small tolerance so I don’t get drunk on table wine or with friends. I’m particularly good at nursing the same beer for over an hour without anyone noticing.”
She set her glass down again and clasped her hands in her lap.
“I’m not saying that so you stop. I’m letting you in on my secret, because it’s something a wife should know. I’m not opposed to alcohol. There’s a fully stocked bar in our church hall. Father Vasili shares a six-pack with Dad once a week. I just…” I rubbed the nape of my neck where my hair was getting to that annoying, too-long stage, and itching under my shirt collar. “I don’t entirely trust myself. When I was young, I drank. A lot. I smoked a lot. I did bad things.” My eyes flicked up to hers before I glanced back at the wine. Her expression was tender, waiting. Not pitying, she was giving me the strength to continue. “Well, you know what I did. Everyone knows. But for me, it’s all wrapped up in that same package.”
Her hand rested on my forearm. Squeezing lightly. Telling me it was okay. Except it wasn’t. It would never be okay. How would it ever be okay that I’d fucked my brother’s wife? That he’d had to see it.
No matter how much counseling, no matter how much theoretical forgiveness I received, from priests, from Dad, from George himself, I’d never forgive myself. “In a way, it’s freeing that everyone knows my deepest shame,” I continued quietly. “But I think… there are some sins that never stop chasing you.”
It didn’t even make me emotional anymore. I was resigned to my guilt. I couldn’t do any more work to move past it, so I worked around it. But that left Decca in an impossible position of giving the greatest gift—lifelong companionship—to someone who’d never deserve her.
I could give herso littlein return. There was so little of me left.
“Dec, let’s not do this.”
Her lips parted, unspoken words on her tongue, a flicker of anger in her eyes. “The marriage, you mean.”
She knew I wasn’t talking about the therapy session. She sipped from her glass and lost her focus somewhere in the imaginary flames.
“Look, honey, it was a selfless, compassionate idea, but I can’t do that to you. There’s no out.”
Her eyes darted to me, not quite meeting my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean to me, marriage is for life. Even an arranged marriage. Or whatever you proposed. This isn’t some quick solution—I get something, you get nothing, then we go our separate ways. I’m not saying we can’t get divorced if we end up hating each other, but I’ll definitely lose my job. Priests are rarely allowed to divorce and remain in the priesthood, so if you’re doing this so I can be a priest, it just puts us in an even worse position when, one day, you finally fall in love with the person you should have waited for.”
