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As they got to work on dead-heading roses, Sister Augustine looked at her. ‘So, tell me about it.’
‘About what?’
‘The reason you’re here?’
‘I don’t have a reason, I wanted to see you.’
The nun waited. ‘You always come to me when you’ve got a problem. I don’t mind, I like to be feel needed; think of it as my job.’
‘But you’re not a priest.’
‘More’s the pity.’
Elodie looked up at her shocked.
‘What, you’re the only one affected by sin? Hate to disappoint you.’
Elodie was amazed. ‘So if you could you would have been a priest?’
‘Absolutely. I don’t want to be a man, but it would have been nice to have the same duties of a priest. I think I’d give a good sermon.’
‘I know you would.’
The nun smiled. ‘It’s OK, though. I’m content here with my work, but I do like to help, so feel free to share what’s bothering you.’
Elodie grinned. There was something about Sister Augustine, a sense that she truly wasn’t being judged, that she was allowed to be human, that allowed her to be more honest with her than she was with most.
She told her about her worries for Jacques and his father and her own struggles. ‘I’ve told him that I’m fine with only seeing him two weeks a year – but honestly, the idea makes me feel ill, we already have so little time together.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘I told him I was happy for him and that we’d get through it. He has enough on his plate.’
She nodded. ‘You will get through it.’ Then she picked up an orange. ‘Eat something,’ she said.
Elodie quirked a brow. ‘Priests forget about things like food.’
‘Do they?’
‘Oh yes.’
Elodie had a wedge of orange, and it did somehow make her feel slightly better.
