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“I merely wondered if he intended to take you with him when he returned to his life, as I had no doubt at all he would do, because that is what men like him are put on this earth to do.”
“That was never something we discussed.”
But she didn’t know if she was saying that to protect him or herself, because while it was true, it was also true that there had been an understanding between them. Or she never would have participated in herdespoiling,a word she might have found entertaining in other circumstances. When, for example, herdespoilerwas in distant cities the way he was supposed to be instead of holed up in the abbey clinicright this moment.
Cecilia wasn’t finding any of this entertaining at all.
And Mother Superior was watching her face as if she could read all of this right there on Cecilia’s cheeks. That she likely could only made it worse. “What I know about you, child, is that you are not a casual woman,” Mother Superior said. “You never have been. You do not give yourself to anything unless you plan to do so with your whole heart and soul for the remainder of your days. It is what would have made you such an excellent nun, if that had been your path. And it is what makes you such a marvelous mother.”
And how was she supposed to summon up any self-righteous indignation now? When she said something like that? This was why Mother Superior terrified everyone who came into contact with her—and they thanked her for it.
“I can’t… I mean I don’t believe…” Cecilia put her hands to her face then, to cover up all the reading material she was broadcasting around the abbey kitchen. And she couldn’t tell if she was trembling, or her hands were trembling, or if the earth beneath her feet was rocking and rolling. “Why did you never tell me this?”
“What would have been the point?” Mother Superior asked as if she was genuinely curious. “He left.”
“Yes, but…”
And that ache in her was too big. Too vast. She felt as if she was nothing but earthquakes and aftershocks, and beneath it all, there was only the ash and ruin of her first love. Heartbreak masquerading as anger when what she wanted to feel for Pascal and their past was nothing. Not regret, not fury—nothing at all.
How had she managed to convince herself that she could be indifferent to any part of this, much less Pascal himself?
“Do you want me to tell you that he wavered?” Mother Superior asked when the silence only stretched out between them. “Because he did. He argued, and he was torn. But in the end, he left. And yes, I chose to protect you from that. What difference would it make to you that it was difficult for him?”
“I don’t know. But it would have, surely.”
Because it made a difference now. It seemed to coil inside her, warming her. And the warmth made her feel steadier. It helped her breathe.
“Would it?” Mother Superior smiled faintly. “First you thought you would rededicate yourself to your faith. And then it turned out you were pregnant, and you had to wrestle with whether or not to keep the baby or give it over to adoption. Would his wavering have helped you learn how to be strong enough to grapple with these decisions?”
“I’m not sure it was your call to make.” Cecilia’s voice was harsher than she’d intended, and it made her stomach hurt. Because she had never spoken to Mother Superior before like that. Never.
She rather expected the ancient abbey to come tumbling down all around them at her impertinence, but it remained solid. The walls did not so much as shiver in response.
Worse, Mother Superior only smiled a little more deeply.
“I’m not sure it was, either,” she replied, which made all the emotion inside Cecilia feel heavier. Thicker. Because it was hard to focus on blame and fury when the other woman wasn’t defending herself. “That is my weight to carry. What you must decide is what you plan to do about it now.”
Cecilia turned back to the sink, blinking back the obnoxious sting of moisture in her eyes that she told herself was blame and fury in spades, no matter how heavy it felt. It was still a betrayal, and from the least likely source imaginable. It was far too muchemotion, with nowhere to go. No outlet at all.
Only the seismic shifts inside her.
“I plan to do exactly what I’ve been doing,” she said, and she was proud that her voice didn’t shake. And that she wasn’t gritting out her words through her teeth. “My life may not be what I planned it to be when I was twenty, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s full. I’m proud of it. I don’t need him.”
“And your son?”
“Dantecertainlydoesn’t need him.” And she found that she was gritting her teeth after all.
“Does he not?” Mother Superior made a clicking noise with her tongue. “It was my impression that children bloomed in the presence of both their parents, should they have that as an option.”
“I had neither parent,” Cecilia shot back at her. Or to the bottom of the sink anyway. “And I’m perfectly fine.”
“You had an entire abbey, child. You still do.”
“And so does Dante.”
“Cecilia,” Mother Superior said in that particularly gentle way of hers that was nothing but iron beneath. “There’s a difference between accepting a circumstance, even thriving in it, when you have no other choice. You have done so admirably. You always have. But Dante has choices you did not. Will you let your personal feelings about his father dictate those choices?”
Cecilia’s eyes were blurry now, and she didn’t turn back around because she didn’t want Mother Superior to see it. Though she suspected the old woman could see straight through her, either way.
