James 4:10
Monday 29th October: "It's three in the morning."
"You said I could phone anytime - day or night."
Seb recognised the voice. Pretty Trish Hartnett. Poor woman.
"You spoke to Sean?" Her tone was ice brittle.
"He spoke to me."
Her tone softened a little. "Same thing."
"Not quite. He came to me of his own volition. I didn't ask him to."
"And he told you everything? About him and that man? That bishop?" She spat out the last word with venom. Seb could visualise her contorted face.
"We should meet. Brunch tomorrow? Partners?"
"Now." The voice was edged with panick. "I want to see you now."
And Father Sebastian looked back to the bed. The bed where Angie had spent time with him in their shared brokenness. And he didn't want to see Trish Hartnett in this apartment. Not now.
"Can I come to you?"
Trish laughed, her laughter as frank and unexpected as snow in summer.
"Are you afraid I might come over and compromise you with the neighbors? My-oh-my. I'm flattered Seb."
He laughed with her. And even as he laughed he was put in mind of a discussion he had had years ago at seminary. Every complex situation, every problem, had a gift in its hands, something that could be salvaged from the mess. But a measure of spiritual discernment was necessary; only then could you perceive whether a situation was divinely or diabolically inspired. And you didn't need to be a prophet to be sure that this was not God's hand at play.
Not that that should make a difference. It was Sean's duty to help. But he should be cautious. And he had his rules about meeting women alone. But was he beyond that now? He was already compromised way past anything in Trish Hartnett's imagining. What did it matter? His eyes ached and his head was heavy with tirdeness but even so he felt the tension ease as he made his decision.
"Yes," he said, "Of course. Come over."
No comments:
Post a Comment