Priest_by_Sierra_Simone 3

week when the woman returned to my confessional.
Rowan had just left, and I was also getting ready to stand and leave when I
heard the other door open and someone slide into the booth. I thought maybe
it was Rowan again—it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d doubled back
because he’d remembered some new menial sin that he’d forgotten to tell me
about.
But no. It was that husky, knowing voice, the voice that had inspired my
extra rosaries last week.
“It’s me again,” the woman said, with a nervous laugh. “Um, the non-
Catholic?”
My words came out deeper than I’d meant them to, more clipped. A tone I
hadn’t taken with a woman in a long time. “I remember you.”
“Oh,” she said. She sounded a little surprised, as if she hadn’t actually
expected me to remember her. “Good. I guess.”
She shifted a bit, and through the screen I saw hints of the woman behind
—dark hair, white skin, a flash of red lipstick.
I shifted a bit too, unconsciously, my body suddenly aware of everything.
The custom-tailored slacks (a gift from my businessmen brothers), the hard
wood of the bench, the collar that all of a sudden was too tight, much too
tight.
“You’re Father Bell, right?” she asked.
“That’s me.”
“I saw your picture on the website. After last week, I thought maybe it
would be easier if I knew what your name was and what you looked like.
You know, more like I was talking to a person and not to a wall.”
“And is it easier?”
She hesitated. “Not really.” But she didn’t elaborate and I didn’t press,
mostly because I was trying to coach myself away from the host of
implausible desires that crowded my mind.
No, you can’t ask her name.
No, you can’t go open the door to see what she looks like.
No, you can’t request that she only tell you about her carnal sins.
“Are you ready to begin?” I asked, trying to redirect my thoughts back to
the matter at hand, the confession.
Follow the script, Tyler.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’m ready.”