“Kissing is no sin.”
He let out a breath. “I think this one was.” He knew it was. Lupita deserved better than a kiss that was meant for her dead sister.
After a long pause, Padre spoke. “Did you ask her forgiveness?”
Oscar couldn’t answer past the lump in his throat. He’d left her there, under the tree, without a word. He’d been disgusted with himself, afraid to even look at her, sure she knew what—who—he’d been thinking about.
Padre took the meaning in his silence. “Does this have to do with the woman that you have taken into your home?”
Oscar jerked on the hard kneeler. “How do you know about her?” Was it impossible to keep a secret in thiscolonia?
“You’re not the only one confessing this morning.”
Miércoles!Had his mother told anyone else? “It has nothing to do with her.” It didn’t. It was just Max, bringing up old memories. “She is... nothing like Lupita. She’s anamericana, Padre. And she’ll be gone today.” He knew his voice held all the disgust he felt for her and her kind.
Padre Ramirez sighed—a frustrated sound Oscar had heard many times. “For your penance, I give two things. Forgive Max, Oscar. You have held your anger long enough. As for this woman—” He held up his hand, a shadow on the screen as Oscar tried to speak. “Show her mercy. Treat her with the same respect as you would—as you must—give to Lupita.”
Oscar had never had a penance more than a few Hail Marys. Once an entire rosary, but that one was also Max’s fault. “But how do I do that?”
“You’ll know.” Padre Ramirez’s voice was stern.
Oscar frowned. “But you don’t understand—”
“That is your penance.” The matter was finished.
Oscar bowed his head. “Sí, Padre.”
The priest went on with the prayers of absolution, but instead of the easing of his guilt, Oscar only felt more confused. Mercy? What about justice? This girl might not be guilty of murder, but she wasn’t innocent, either. He’d kept her from the police. Wasn’t that enough?
As he made the sign of the cross, Oscar breathed a prayer that he would find a way to fulfill his penance and then get that red-haired woman and Max out of his life for good. “Amen.”
“And Oscar?” Padre poked his head around the confessional screen to look him in the face. “Meet Max at Teatro Hidalgo at noon. And he said to come alone.”
Oscar stared at him. “How—What?”
“As I said, you’re not the only one who has been to confession this morning.”
Oscar left the confessional and sat beside Mamá and Angel in their regular pew. No Roman, of course—the kid was probably keeping company with the good-for-nothing Alonso. Oscar had more to worry about than his brother missing Wednesday confession. He waited for Mass to start, his thoughts spinning. Meet Max at noon? He was supposed to be reporting to Brody then.
Oscar said the responses automatically and hardly listened to the Scripture readings. When Padre Ramirez began to speak on loving your neighbor, Oscar felt the old anger welling up. Love his neighbor?
Yes, some people deserved love. His family. His people in thecolonia. But what about those who deserved justice? Like the police, who rounded up his people for deportation because “real Americans” wanted their jobs.
A haze of incense clouded the bright colors of the stained glass.He knelt as Padre switched from Spanish to Latin for the consecration. When would God hear the prayers of parents with hollow-cheeked children and not enough blankets for winter nights? The prayers of the sick who could not work, the elderly with nothing to live on, the children taken out of school too soon?
He found himself kneeling at the Communion rail and realized he’d heard nothing of the Mass, hadn’t uttered a word of real prayer. Shame filled him as he filed back into the pew behind Mamá.
And what about Max? Did he deserve this love Padre spoke of?
Max, who’d been like a brother to him all those years, had left his family without looking back. At least that’s what he’d always thought. He wished Padre Ramirez hadn’t told him anything. What was he supposed to do now that he knew Max had been helping them all along? Thank him on bended knee? Never.
He left the church and hurried toward home, leaving Mamá and Angel lingering in the courtyard. His mother and the other women would sweep floors and polish candlesticks as they did every Wednesday morning. Padre and Angel would talk of theology.
He slowed, his thoughts catching up to him. He had promised during the sacrament of confession to try to forgive Max. To show Minerva mercy. He must at least try, even if neither of them deserved it. He had to meet Max and get the girl off his hands, but it would make him late to meet Brody at the diner. The ache in his head became a pounding.
As he turned onto his own street, the first thing he noticed was the silence. Usually boys played on the street, girls sat in the shade, women called to each other from their shanty houses and washed clothes in tubs. Not this morning.
He looked to his own home and his heart plummeted to his knees.
