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The priest smiled. “You may call me Father Alberto. What seems to be your trouble tonight?”
“Nothing. No trouble. I just . . .” Carmine wasn’t sure what to say. I just really kinda sorta fucked up my life and thought my uncle was about to kill me for it? “. . . I need a phone. You wouldn’t know where I could borrow one, would you? I mean, I know you wouldn’t have one, but maybe you know someone who does?”
Father Alberto raised his eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t I have one?”
“I don’t know. I guess because you’re one of those old school religious guys.”
The priest let out a hearty laugh. “I’m Catholic, son, not Amish. I have no aversion to technology. Come, you can use my phone.”
Motioning for him to follow, Father Alberto headed inside. Carmine hesitated before stepping into the church, his eyes darting around cautiously. The place was dim with a golden glow that was strangely warm and inviting. Carmine’s nerves instantly eased a bit. At least, he thought, his uncle wouldn’t kill him there.
He followed the priest to a small office in the back with a wooden desk taking up most of the space. An old white telephone sat on the corner, the twisty cord tangled. Picking it up, Carmine dialed Celia’s number as the priest took a seat behind the desk. Carmine leaned against it, waiting as the phone rang.
The answering machine picked up on the fifth ring, and her cell phone went straight to voicemail. He tried them both twice before giving up.
“No answer?” the priest asked.
“No.”
“Well, take a seat then.” Father Alberto motioned toward a chair in front of his desk. “We’ll chat while you wait. You can try your calls again later.”
Carmine debated for a moment before plopping down in the chair. It wasn’t as if he really had another option. With no money and no friends, it was either wait or start walking, and he was too damn exhausted for the second choice.
“Thanks,” Carmine said. “For the phone and the seat.”
“You’re welcome. It is what we old school religious guys do, after all.”
His voice was lighthearted and Carmine chuckled. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know. I’ve never been into the whole church thing.”
“Why not?”
Carmine shrugged. “Not really my scene.”
Father Alberto stared at him peculiarly. “Do you believe in God?”
A question Carmine dreaded, especially coming from a priest. He briefly considered lying to placate the man but thought better of it, considering he was sitting in the middle of a church. He had evaded death twice that week. Something told him he wouldn’t be so lucky the third time if lightning struck. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe? But I’ve seen some bad shi—uh, stuff, in my life that makes me doubt anyone gives a fu—uh, damn, about us.” Carmine’s eyes widened when he realized, despite his best effort, he still cursed. “Shit. Sorry, Father. It’s been a bad night.”
Carmine was half expecting to be kicked out, but Father Alberto merely smiled. “You aren’t the first to utter those words within these walls, and I’m certain you won’t be the last. I’m more concerned by your negativity than your profanity.”
“Well, you have a better chance of getting me to stop cursing than you do of changing the way I see things. It’s hard to believe there’s someone watching over us when so many good people get fucked over every day.”
“Ah, that’s an argument I hear often,” Father Alberto said. “How can a God exist when it seems so many have been forsaken? But you fail to realize, son, without the bad we can’t truly appreciate the good. Suffering teaches us to be better people. What we do in bad times measures how good of a person we really are.”
Carmine let out a bitter laugh, slouching in the chair as he thought about how he had adapted. “I must not be a very good man, then.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that.”
“That’s because you don’t know me. You don’t know the things I’ve done.”
“Then tell me,” the priest challenged. “Change my mind.”
Carmine scoffed. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Are you ashamed?”
“No.” Carmine hesitated. “Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”
“That is the point,” the priest said. “This is a safe place. Anything you say within these walls stays within these walls. The only thing keeping you from confessing your sins is your own reluctance to admit them.”
