I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2) (11 page)

I glance in the rearview mirror; the iron gate at the cemetery is barely visible now that everything is filling in green. Sarah would want me to live; I know this in my heart. I think of Chase. He clearly wants nothing more than to move on from his past. So why can’t I let mine go?

Maybe I can learn something from this man I misjudged. Maybe it’s time to reconsider this life I am living, let this old life go and start anew. Father Maridale counsels me all the time to make peace with the past, he tells me again and again that there’s nothing wrong with moving forward. He says I have a right to live my life, a duty, in fact.

I long to embrace his words—so much so that it sometimes hurts—but, honestly, I am terrified. What if I can’t move on? What if I try and fail? What if I get close to someone—say, someone like Chase—and everything blows up in my face? What if he gets to know me, maybe even grows to care, and then finds out the truth of what happened the night Sarah died? After my mother, I don’t think I can handle another person turning away.

But life is about taking chances, I remind myself.

I turn the key in the ignition and the Neon comes to life. One thing for certain, Chase has made me feel a lot of things today, things I thought I’d never feel again—excitement, giddiness, lust, possibility. But the most important one—the one I want to cling to like a girl who’s been stumbling around for too long in the dark and has just spotted a sliver of light—is hope.

Chapter Three

Chase

I find Father Maridale in the sacristy, just where Kay said he’d be. But he’s not working on a homily, no. Maybe he was—there is an open Bible on his desk—but, at the moment, the priest who has given me a shot at redemption is leaned back in a swivel chair, talking on a cell.

I hesitate at the open door, fully prepared to turn around, come back later if need be. However, Father Maridale spots me and motions for me to come in. He gestures to a chair situated next to the desk. I don’t want to sit right where I can hear his whole conversation, so I point back toward the nave, and silently mouth, “I’ll wait out there.”

Father nods and I leave him to his call. Once I’m back in the nave, I sit down on one of the pews in the front and stretch out my long legs. The view up here is vastly different from the one I’m accustomed to in the back. Up here, everything seems bigger, more in your face. The altar, the richly colored Holy Trinity fresco—they’re all larger than life.

As I soak it all in, my artistic side takes note of the texture and detail in the fresco, while layered decades of incense and melted candle wax fill my nose. I breathe in deeply, glance around, I think I like it up here. Maybe this is where I should sit next Sunday at Mass. Closer to God, closer to Kay.

Just as I’m seriously considering making the move—like maybe the front is where I’ve belonged all along—a statue of to my left, some saint, catches my eye. I have no clue who the plaster sculpture is supposed to represent, but shit, whoever painted the features did a damn good job. The eyes are remarkably lifelike, disturbingly so, especially since they’re directly trained on me. I know it just looks that way from this angle, but I nevertheless find myself scrubbing a hand down my face, and mumbling, “Not you too.”

I then turn my back on the saint.

Hell, I’ve had enough of real people judging me in this supposedly sacred place; I sure as fuck don’t need statues doing it too. I know it’s my own guilty conscience causing all this grief. My succumbing to carnal weakness last night has apparently made me paranoid.

I remind myself that, at least, I stayed away from the drugs. I just wish I’d stayed away from Missy as well. Not that I feel especially bad about all that occurred. I just wish the person the acts were committed with didn’t attend this church. Does that make me a hypocrite? Yeah, probably.

Suddenly I have a far more disturbing thought. Jesus, I hope to God Missy doesn’t share what happened outside the Anchor Inn with Kay. Surely she wouldn’t mention that she was toting around coke, or that she offered to share, but the messing around part…

Girls and their gossip, I know how that can go. There are more than enough tales still floating around about me and my past, and Kay’s heard too much already. Our discussion today shed light on that unfortunate fact.

Kay Stanton.

I lean back against the hard wooden pew, think about the pretty girl who always sits right about here. I finally know Hot Chick’s name. And I like it, I like
her
. Kay seems, I don’t know, sweet. Something I sometimes forget women can be.

Shit, I have to chuckle a little when I think of how she ran right into me. Talk about serendipity. Sweet girl stumbled a bit and seemed kind of dazed, but thankfully she wasn’t hurt. That had been my first concern. But once I realized she was all right, in the time it took her to recover, I just let myself thoroughly enjoy the view.

Kay is actually much prettier up close, more delicate than I originally thought. Her skin is translucent, creamy and smooth, like its begging to be touched. And from what I saw in those caramel-brown eyes, maybe, just maybe, she’d like to be touched by me.

Speaking of touching… That body, oh, that body. I shift a little and the pew creaks.
Fuck.
The way she felt beneath my hands, tiny and soft, like I could break her in two. And break her I would. There’s not enough good in me for such a gentle soul. Not to mention, it was more than apparent, as our conversation progressed, that Kay’s not ripe for breaking. She’s already been shattered by something.

Sweet girl sure isn’t good at lying, that’s for certain. Well, maybe at first, when I mistakenly thought she didn’t know who I was. That was my error. I should’ve known better. Kay does lives in
this
town, after all. Anyway, when she blurted out that Father Maridale believes in second chances, no matter what a person has done in the past, I knew then and there she’d known all along exactly who she crashed into.

I expected the judging to start. I was ready. That’s why I just cut through the bullshit and put sweet girl on the spot. But then I saw an emotion in those caramel browns that I never would have expected—sadness. And maybe understanding. Did Kay see the same in me? Is she broken and damaged too? Maybe so, based on all her talk of “not judging” and “if only I knew.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? If only I knew
what
?

Not that I expected an answer, and she sure wasn’t volunteering. Kay shut me out. Had sweet girl said too much? The look on her face indicated she had indeed. I say that with certainty since I know that look all too well. I’ve worn it often. It’s a look that says butt the fuck out. So I did just that. I let the whole thing drop.

It doesn’t matter anyway. No secret of Kay’s could ever be as horrific as
any
of the shit I’ve done, most of which is unfortunately public knowledge. That’s why it meant a lot when she actually agreed to give me a chance.

That’s all I’m really asking for from the people in this town. See me as who I am—who I am striving to be—not as who I once was. And if it turns out Kay is the only one willing to do so—besides Father Maridale, of course—then so be it. Acceptance from two people—who, from what I’ve observed, are kind and caring—is good enough for me.

As I sit waiting for Father Maridale to emerge from the back, I come to a conclusion. I
really
like Kay Stanton. And because of this feeling I have for her I care about what she thinks. Additionally, I kind of can’t wait to see her again, which is a weird one for me. I usually don’t give a shit about stuff like that. But damn if lunchtime tomorrow can’t get here soon enough.

But before I have a chance to think about why I feel so strongly for a girl I’ve only just met, Father Maridale emerges from the back.

“I’m sorry, Chase,” he begins, his light brown eyes apologetic as he takes a seat near me on the pew. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for so long.”

I tell him it’s all good, the extra time allowed me time to reflect. He nods approvingly, probably thinking I meant I was praying. Not quite.

Father asks me how I’ve been doing lately and if everything is okay. His expression tells me that what he’s really asking is why I wasn’t in church this morning. Like, is something going on.
Not anything I care to share
, I think in my head. Outwardly, I take a deep breath, apologize, and simply say I overslept.

I don’t think he buys my explanation completely, but he lets it pass. He gives me the key to the school, and we shift gears. We talk a bit about the work he’d like for me to get done during the upcoming week. It’s mostly all painting projects over at the school, but a few repairs too.

Father Maridale tells me he’s already purchased all the paint I’ll need. “The cans are in the hall next to Mr. Kelly’s office,” he explains. “And there are drop cloths and ladders in the storage room a few doors down from there. You can’t miss it, there’s a sign on the door.” He pauses, appears to think for a minute. “Oh, and I also bought some new brushes and rollers. I think that should be everything you need to get started, but if not, let me know.”

It sounds like he has everything covered and whatever he didn’t buy I’m sure I have at home. I assume we’re finished talking, so I stand.

Father Maridale starts to get up too, and as he does, he asks me if I need someone to show me around the school. “I have a few extra minutes,” he says. “I can take you over there now.”

“No,” I reply. “I mean, thanks, but I’m good. Kay Stanton is giving me a tour tomorrow.”

Father relaxes back into the pew. “Oh, you know Kay?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Well, no, not really,” I admit, raking my fingers through my hair. “I mean, I’ve seen her here at church, but I only just now met her.” Father is listening intently, waiting for more I suppose, so I add, “We ran into each other in the parking lot”—I don’t mention that we literally did just that—“and just got started talking.”

Now, Father Maridale looks as if something has been made clear. “Of course, of course,” he muses, staring at the statue that was eyeing me earlier. “The parking lot, yes, Kay would have been coming from the cemetery.”

“Cemetery?” I ask, perplexed.

I haven’t given much thought as to where Kay may have been before she ran into me. I’m aware there’s a small graveyard behind the church—I’ve already cut the grass back there twice—but I can’t imagine why Kay would have been out there in the rain. It was pouring earlier, not an optimum time to be paying one’s respects. Come to think of it, though, her hair did look a little damp. Fantastic and sexy, all wavy and long, but definitely damp.

Father Maridale is giving me a contemplative look, like maybe he’s deciding if I’m worthy to hear whatever story he’s thinking about telling me. And I know there’s a story, because around here there always is. Father motions that I should sit back down. Yeah, just like I thought—a story to be told.

I sit back down on the pew and Father Maridale begins his tale. “You probably don’t know this since you were away, but Kay once had a little sister named Sarah, her only sibling.” He exhales audibly. “Unfortunately, Sarah died…a few years ago.”
Shit.

“Such a tragic accident, the child was only six years old.” I guess I look appropriately aghast—and I am. Father nods his head in shared understanding. “I know, I know, such a terrible loss, one that Kay has had great trouble bearing. She visits her sister’s grave every Sunday after church. I used to hope those visits would help her heal, but now I just don’t know…”

As Father trails off, shaking his head, I think about how I used to visit the grave of someone I lost unexpectedly as well—my father. I went every day for a while, hoping to find solace, maybe some answers. Losing my father was devastating, and I know a part of me will never really heal, but I can’t begin to imagine what it would have been like to lose my baby brother. Sure, Will’s almost fifteen now, hardly a baby—and barely on speaking terms with me at the moment—but that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t clench at the thought of him, well, dying. God, poor Kay. I had no idea.

Father Maridale starts to speak once more, “The loss of Sarah was God’s will. There’s nothing we can do but accept these things when they happen. I’ve told Kay this many times, but she continues to blame herself.”

What?

Before I can think to curb my curiosity—or my language—I blurt out, “Why in the hell would she do that?”

Father gives me an admonishing look for cursing in church, and I mumble a heartfelt apology. Then, I get an explanation.

“Kay was watching her sister one night, babysitting while her parents were out. Kay fell asleep and young Sarah snuck out into the backyard. That little girl loved the water. And, well, there was a swimming pool behind their house.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around where this story is obviously heading. “Tragically, Sarah had not yet learned to swim. Kay woke up when she heard her sister’s cries for help, but by the time she got out to the pool…” Father bows his head, appropriately stricken. “Well, it was just too late to save her.”

I don’t even know what to say. Clearly, this is the root from which Kay’s sadness stems. But she shouldn’t blame herself. It was a tragic accident, just like Father Maridale has just said. Sometimes things happen that you have no control over. It’s a sad fact of life I accepted years ago.

Father is watching me carefully and I have a feeling I know what’s coming next. After all, he’s aware of my reputation.

Sure enough, right on cue, Father says, “Chase, you should know that Kay is fragile. Not only has she lost her sister, but her family has abandoned her as well. And—”

“What? You’re kidding.” Again, I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. Abandoned by her family? I know it’s rude to interrupt like this, but could this story get any worse?

Father frowns at my interruption, but continues, “Sadly, I’m not kidding. Kay’s mother blames Kay for the accident, even after all this time that has passed. I believe this is the main reason why Kay has had such a hard time forgiving herself.” He takes a breath. “Now, I’m not saying to stay away from her.” A hand is waved in the direction of the school. “Take your tour. You two have something in common, both of you share a troubled past. Perhaps a friendship would be beneficial to the both of you. Kay could certainly use a friend; even I can see that. She spends far too much time alone. But, Chase…” He trails off, and I know what’s coming next—the “don’t take advantage” spiel.

Father Maridale is nothing if not realistic, and he probably believes everything he’s heard. Unfortunately, most of the stories
are
true. I’ve done some fucked-up shit, no doubt. I’m more sinner than saint, as last night so clearly illuminated. But I have no intention of hurting Kay in that way, or in any way, really.

I tell Father as much, and I
think
he believes me, although he appears a little wary. He should believe me. I mean, Kay is giving me a chance. Why would I do something stupid, like make a dickhead move on her and fuck everything up?

Curious as to when this tragedy happened, I ask Father, “How long ago did Kay lose her sister?”

“Four years ago this summer, the same summer you lost your way.”

Lost my way? Well, that’s a nice way of putting it. It’s interesting, though, that Kay and I have something else in common. Both of us were dealing with tragedies around the same time, though mine was purely of my own making.

There’s not much else to say, and I sense Father Maridale is readying to go. But I have one more thing to ask, something I’ve been thinking about since coming back. I tell him I would like to rent out the apartment I lived in before I went to prison, the one above the detached garage on the property that I’m still getting used to saying is mine. I could use the extra money, and some company out there in the country might be nice.