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He parked outside the main church entrance and walked in just before four thirty that afternoon. The church was quiet, smelled faintly of incense. Many churches had given up prayer candles, but St. Dominic’s had an alcove just inside the main church doors with rows of candles, some lit. Peter walked over, put a dollar in the box, and lit a candle.
Bring Annie home to me.
He stared at the flickering flame but instead of finding peace, grew angry. Annie had used the church against him, her husband. She’d come here and a priest—a man who should know better—had helped her leave her husband. That was a greater sin than anything Peter had done, was it not? The priest had interfered with their sacrament of marriage, and damn him, he would make it right.
There were three confessionals against the eastern wall. One had a green light over the door. Peter walked over and opened the door, hit the switch that said occupied, and knelt by the thick screen. He couldn’t see Father Morales on the other side, but he saw his shape, heard him breathe.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Peter said. He hadn’t been to confession in...a long time. Since before he married Annie. “It has been more than seven years since my last confession.”
“It is good that you have sought to ease your burden. God knows our fears and our sins.”
“I have been angry on the job. I am a police officer and people make me so angry. They’re stupid and make poor decisions. Driving drunk, killing people. Last year I was the first responder to a scene on the highway, up north of Black Canyon City on 17, a wrong-way driver. Drunk as sin, hit a family. Killed everyone inside—mother, father, three kids in the back. Drunk driver survived. I wanted to kill him. I didn’t. Sometimes I think I should have.”
“Vengeance is mine, says the Lord our God,” the priest said. “Your job is stressful. Attending Mass regularly may help you find the peace you need.”
“I have not been a perfect husband,” Peter said, ignoring the priest. “I have a tough job, and my home is my sanctuary. My wife left me, took my children, and I was so angry.”
“In times of stress, anger is a common reaction. How we channel that anger is important. We can give our pain, our stress, our anger to Jesus, who died for our sins.”
“I’ve been thinking of what I might have done to deserve this.”
The priest didn’t say anything, and Peter continued. “I provided for my family. Gave them a good home, stability. I expected my wife to appreciate me. When she said no in our marital bed, I hurt her.”
“We often say cruel things to the people we love the most. Asking God to forgive these words is a good step, provided you truly seek to curb the anger and avoid repeating the sin.”
“I made love to her because she is my wife and she must submit. I didn’t want to hurt her. For that I am sorry.”
Silence again. What did a priest know about marriage and sex? He was celibate. He couldn’t understand Peter’s deep needs.
“I am sorry I hurt my wife. I didn’t want to. I never want to, but she makes me so angry when she refuses, so I taught her she cannot refuse. When she refuses, there is punishment, because a wife must submit to her husband.”
The priest said, “‘Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her.’”
“No one loves his wife more than I love mine,” Peter said emphatically. “When I found out she left, I wanted to kill her. I wanted to put my hands around her neck until she couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t...” He stopped. “But I didn’t. I am sorry for those bad thoughts. I would never kill my wife.”
“Evil thoughts are the first step to evil acts. Do you know the Act of Contrition?”
“Most of it.” He shrugged. Did it matter?
The priest started off, and Peter mumbled the prayer. How was this going to bring Annie back? Wasn’t confession supposed to make you feel better? He’d thought about what to say while driving here. Okay, he could admit that he had scared Annie, and maybe that was wrong. But dammit, why did she make it so hard on him? He didn’t want to hurt her—so yeah, he could confess that he might have hurt her, but he didn’t mean to! She was his wife and she shouldn’t make him jump through hoops for sex, for dinner on time, for her attention and her affection. It was her duty.
This wasn’t helping. This wasn’t bringing Annie back. This wasn’t giving him peace of mind.
“The Act of Contrition is important,” the priest said. “You must believe in your heart and your soul that you did wrong, in thoughts and words, in what you have done and what you have not done. You should reflect on the circumstances that have led you here today. Part of absolution is prayer, and in prayer comes reflection and grace. The church is open. Stay here as long as you need, say five decades of the rosary and reflect on the love God has for you, for your wife and children, and how you can show your love to God. I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
“You said you would mediate between me and Annie.”
“Yes. Stay here, pray, and when you’re done, your sins will be forgiven and you can come to me with a clean heart.”
“She’s not here.”
“I have not seen her yet.”
Peter got up and left. He almost ran out of the church, but he stopped at the prayer candles. Stared at them. Knelt.
He didn’t say the Rosary, or even one Hail Mary. He knelt and begged God to bring Annie back.
Bring her back or I will go get her. Your priest knows where she is. Make him tell me the truth.
