The Saint: The Original Sinners Book 5 (9 page)

“It’s good he helped you. You’re here now with me and not in prison.”

“I’d do okay in prison. Helps that I love having sex with women.”

“This isn’t helping my erection,” Nico said.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but you’re too pretty to lie to.”

Nora sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a pin from her now mussed mane of hair. Nico stopped her hand and with a spin of his finger indicated she should turn around. She raised an eyebrow and turned her back to him. One by one, Nico extracted the hairpins and unwound the low knot at the nape of her neck. Then he threaded his fingers through the waves, breaking them apart.

“You said getting arrested brought you and Kingsley and your priest together?” Nico asked as he took the hairbrush from her hand. Nora stiffened. The only man who had ever brushed her hair for her had been Søren. It seemed almost traitorous to let Nico do it. And yet, she couldn’t stop him. She needed the comfort and the contact far too much. Nothing felt more exquisite than the gentle pull of the brush through her hair. If only untangling the knots in her stomach were this easy.

“Yes, it was Kingsley who helped keep me out of juvenile detention. I was sentenced to twelve hundred hours of community service, which I had to complete before I turned eighteen. And here’s the fun part—Kingsley made sure the judge assigned Søren to monitor my community service. Soon I was feeding the hungry and hanging out with the homeless and scrubbing toilets and teaching poor kids how to make tassel bookmarks at summer camp.”

“Better than prison?”

“It was. Until I fucked it up. But that was Kingsley’s fault. He was getting me into trouble before we even met.”

“He’s talented.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What happened?”

Nora turned her head to the side so Nico could reach all her tangles.

“It was June. I was sixteen. And my lawyer had put me under house arrest. She told me I could go to school but nowhere else. Not even church. So the day my community service started was the first time I’d seen Søren in months. Things got weird. Fast.”

Nico gave a low, warm laugh and kissed that sensitive spot on her back between her shoulder blades.

“How weird?”

“The story starts with a stick in the ground and ends with an orgy.”

“As every story should.”

10

Eleanor

AT 9:00 A.M.
sharp the day after school ended for summer break, Eleanor walked into Sacred Heart Catholic Church for the first time since March. She knew she’d be working that day so she’d put on an old white T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts and pulled her hair back in a ponytail.

She went to Søren’s office. Not Søren, she corrected herself. Father Stearns. She said it a few more times in her head. Father. Stearns. Other parishioners hung around the church, and the last thing she wanted to do was slip up and call him by his real first name. People were already going to be suspicious of a teenage girl at the beck and call of a handsome young priest. No reason to make things worse. Father. Stearns. Not. Søren. She could do this.

She knocked on his office door and took a step back. He opened the door.

“Hi, Søren,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I mean, Father Stearns.”

“This is going to be an issue for us, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

He paused a moment before speaking again.

“Come with me. We need to talk.”

She followed him out to the back of the church and onto the shaded lawn. She had to stretch her legs to keep up with his long stride. He led her to a path, which bordered a small public park.

“First, how are you, Eleanor? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Sorry about that. House arrest. But I’m okay. I’m grounded for life.”

“I can’t blame your mother for that decision. But you will start attending church again.”

“Your wish is my command,” she said, stuffing her hands in the back pockets of her shorts.

“A good attitude to adopt. I heard your father was arrested.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, big shock there. He was eight states away by the time they caught that fucker. Sorry.”

“You were arrested, and he ran. You have my permission to call him anything you like.”

“Thank you. I’m sure he was scared, right? That’s why he ran.”

“You deserve better than someone who will abandon you in times of trouble.”

“He’s out on bail now. He’s tried to call a few times.”

“You will not speak to him.”

She stopped and Søren stopped and looked at her.

“He’s my father.”

“The moment he chose to protect himself instead of protecting his daughter is the moment his rights to see you, speak to you or even be in the same room with you ceased to exist. We made a deal, Eleanor. You obey my orders. This is one of them. You understand this?”

She paused before answering. She’d hoped the whole “obeying” thing with Søren would involve orders like “take your clothes off” and “get into my bed.” A deal was a deal, however.

“I understand.”

“Good. Your well-being is my top priority. I’m supervising your community service, which puts you in my hands. I take this responsibility very seriously. There can be no part of your life you keep from me if I’m going to help you find the right path.”

“My lawyer said I’ve got to be here about twenty hours a week. This is my life now.”

“I want more of your time than twenty hours a week. Those hours are for community service. You also need to keep your grades up. When school starts again in the fall, I want you to do your homework here at church so I can help you if necessary.”

“I’m good at school, it’s okay. I’m smarter than I look.”

“There’s nothing unintelligent in your appearance,” he said as they started walking again. Mothers pushing strollers walked past them. They barely noticed her, but every last one of them smiled at Søren. “One failed test, one missed assignment and your grades could drop. If you can’t do the work and keep your grades up, the judge will send you to juvenile detention.”

“I know. I promise I’ll do my homework. These park women are totally checking you out.”

“Eleanor.”

“Sorry.”

“In addition to your community service work, you’ll receive spiritual counseling.”

“Spiritual counseling? Do I even want to know what that is?”

“As a Jesuit, I went through years of spiritual counseling with mentors. All of it was enlightening and edifying. Priests and laypeople alike can benefit from the teachings of Saint Ignatius. I’m certain you will, too.”

Eleanor’s stomach tightened at the prospect of spending so much time with Søren.

“Saint Ignatius? Okay. I can handle that. Anything else?”

“As for your community service, most of it will be performed here at Sacred Heart. As much as I respect Father Gregory, his ministry seemed to focus far more on the spiritual needs of the community rather than the material needs. The church has no food bank, no outreach missions.”

“Is that bad?” As they passed a small tree, Eleanor grabbed the end of a branch and shook it like a hand.

“Prayer is all well and good, but Christ made it abundantly clear we’d be judged by our works far more than our prayers.”

“You’re about to quote a Bible verse at me, aren’t you?”

“I am. Matthew 25: 31–46.”

“The sheep and the goats.” She almost yelled the words. Søren looked at her with his right eyebrow raised. “Sorry. I remembered that one. I got excited.”

“Wonderful to hear such enthusiasm about the Bible. You remember the verses?” As they passed a bush bursting with roses, Søren reached out and stroked the pale pink petals.

“Yeah. Jesus says when he comes back he’ll divide people into two groups—the sheep and the goats.”

“Correct. The sheep, Jesus says, will inherit the kingdom of God because they clothed him when he was naked, fed him when he was hungry, gave him water when he was thirsty and visited him in prison. The sheep will say they do not remember ever doing such things for Jesus. And Jesus answers, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ The goats were the ones who never fed the hungry, gave water to the thirsty.”

“I always liked those verses. We acted them out in Sunday school. We had little sheep ears and goat horns.” She put her hands on her head and mimed horns with her fingers. Søren seemed to be biting back a smile.

“I want you to be counted among the sheep. As part of your community service, you’ll start a food bank at the church. We have a massive kitchen that only seems to get used for wedding receptions or baptisms. You’ll also work at church camp and visit the homeless at the shelter on Sixth Street.”

“Visit the homeless shelter?” She couldn’t quite keep the fear out of her voice. She’d heard bad stories from that shelter. Most of them involving drug addicts or alcoholics. Fights would break out. People would end up in the hospital.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Do you babysit?”

“Sometimes. Kids like me.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.”

She tried not to smile. She failed.

“I’ve spoken several times with your mother. She’ll keep you on your schedule and monitor your grades.”

“You talked to my mom?”

“She loves you. We’re going to work together to keep you out of trouble.”

Eleanor grimaced.

“What was that expression for?” Søren demanded.

“Sorry.” She sighed. “I like trouble.”

They had made one complete loop around the park, a quarter mile according to the sign. Søren led her away from the path and back toward the church. He paused in a clearing about fifteen yards from the back of the church and picked a stick up off the ground. The stick was about two feet tall and two inches thick. Søren shoved it deep into the soft moist soil.

“Your first act of service is this...” Søren said as he stood back up. “Every day for the next six months come rain, shine, snow, sleet, hail or hurricane, you will water this stick.”

Eleanor stared at the dead stick jutting up from the ground.

“It’s a stick.”

“I know it is.”

“It’s dead.”

“I realize that.”

“Watering it isn’t going to bring it back to life.”

“I realize that, as well.”

“But I’m supposed to water it?”

“It’s an order.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It is.”

“Are you going to tell me why I’m watering this stick?”

“I told you why. It’s an order.”

“No other reason?”

Søren stroked his bottom lip with his thumb. She never wanted to be a thumb so much in her life.

“That list of questions you wish to ask me that I can’t answer yet...”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“If you water this stick every single day without fail for six months, I’ll answer your questions.”

“You will? All of them?”

“Any question you have for me, no matter how personal or intrusive, I will answer it in six months if you water the stick every single day.”

Every single question? She couldn’t believe it. If he’d offered her a million dollars or the answers to all her questions, she’d pick the answers, hands down.

“So six months is...”

“The day after Thanksgiving,” Søren said. “Rather fitting. I’m sure you’ll be thankful to have finished your task.”

“Forget the stick, I want answers.”

“You’ll have them if you earn them,” he said.

“How will you know if I watered it or not?”

“I’ll know.”

“When do you think you’ll, you know, want to hold up your end of the bargain?” Eleanor tried to keep the nervousness from her voice. In exchange for her eternal obedience, Søren had promised her “everything.” Two months had passed since she’d spoken to him that night at the police station. Did he remember what he’d promised her?

“We shall discuss that part of our agreement when you’re finished watering the stick.”

“Great. I’ll water it right now.”

“I meant when you’re finished watering it...in six months.”

Søren left her standing there staring at the stick as he walked back to the church.

“Hey!” she shouted after him. “Six months?”

“Do as you’re told and we’ll discuss it in six months.”

Eleanor stared down at the stick and looked back up at Søren’s retreating form.

“I hate you!” she yelled after him.

“That stick won’t water itself,” he called back.

She looked back down at the stick in the ground.

“I hate you, too,” she said to the stick. And for good measure, kicked it.

After replanting and watering the now slightly shorter stick, she returned to the church, where Søren put her to work in the fellowship hall annex scrubbing the kitchen and cleaning out the pantries. He’d told her he would inspect her work when she’d finished. She wanted to make him proud of her.

By five o’clock she’d lost almost all the polish on her fingernails. Her hands were rough and chapped from all the scrubbing. Her back ached from sitting on the floor and bending over so much. Still the pantry did look pretty amazing when she’d finished with it. She stood in the middle of the room, admiring her work, when she heard footsteps behind her.

“Good work,” Søren said as he stood in the doorway.

“I could live in this pantry. You could eat off the floor. Or you could if we had any food in it.”

“That will be your next step. This Sunday at the end of Mass, you’ll announce a food drive.”

“I will?”

“You will.”

“In front of the entire church?”

“You have a fear of public speaking?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I’m sixteen and I’m only doing this because the court is making me. I don’t think anyone is going to listen to me.”

“They’ll listen to you. You’ll be speaking from my pulpit and with my permission and on my authority.”

“I’ll guilt-trip my heart out and their pantries.”

“Good. Now you’re done with work for the day. Let’s go into the sanctuary. We’ll start our Spiritual Exercises.”

“Spiritual Exercises? Does my soul have to do push-ups?” she asked as they entered the sanctuary.

“Can it?”

“I don’t know. Pretty sure it’s never tried.”

“The Spiritual Exercises from Saint Ignatius are something like push-ups. They were created to uplift the people doing the exercise, strengthen them and bring them closer to God.”

“So who was Saint Ignatius? I know he founded the Jesuits, but that’s all I know.”

Søren slipped a finger into his collar and pulled out a silver chain. A saint medal hung from it. Eleanor stepped close to Søren and peered at the face on the medal.

“He’s bald,” she said.

“He shaved the top of his head because he felt his hair acted as a barrier between him and God.”

“Wow. Really?”

“No.”

“Can I punch you in the arm?”

“Yes.”

Eleanor punched him in the upper arm. She hit him hard, but he didn’t seem to feel it.

“Thank you.” She shook her hand out. Did he have steel arms under his clerics? She couldn’t wait to find out. “Now are you going to tell me something real about Saint Ignatius?”

“I will tell you the two most important things you need to know about Saint Ignatius. First, he was a saint.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Søren ignored her.

“And second, of all the saints, he alone has a verifiable criminal record.”

“He does?”

“He does. As a young man, Saint Ignatius, then still Iñigo Lopez de Oñaz y Loyola, was arrested for brawling. A street fight apparently. He had a hot temper, a sword and wasn’t afraid to use either.”

“Sounds so punk.”

“That would be one word for it. He was arrested
and
convicted. So you and the founder of my order have two things in common now. You both have police records. And you both received a second chance to do God’s will.”

Eleanor said nothing as Søren tucked the saint medal back under his collar.

“You know, no offense, but I’m not sure I believe in God.”

Søren shrugged. “Least of our worries. His existence does not depend on your belief.”

“Good news for Him, then.”

“Quite. Now let’s talk about the windows.” He swept his arm to indicate the stained-glass windows that lined each side of the sanctuary.

“Are the windows part of the Spiritual Exercises?”

“Yes and no. I’m interested right now in getting a sense of what parts of the Bible speak to you. Saint Ignatius believed images are powerful tools that lead us to discover what God intends for us.”