Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved (28 page)

“That’s funny how we recalled different things about one another. You look different, but I can still see that it was you, you know? You actually look better.”

He felt his face warm with a blush.” Thank you...”

“So you really did recognize me, at the park.” she said, her head slightly tilted.

“You know, you looked familiar to me, but you are even prettier now than you were back then, as if that were even possible.”

“Now you’re just putting me on, Dane.”

“I am not!” he protested, but unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“Well, you look even better, too. I meant it when I said it ...such beautiful eyes,” she said dreamily, then looked away shyly.

“Thank you...”

She turned back toward him and ran her hand over his.
“Now, what about that duet?”

“The duet? Well, I thought...”

She stood and stretched, then looked at her watch. “Oh my God, Dane. Look what time it is! We’ve been talking for hours...you need to get back, don’t you?”

He laughed and slowly stood from the floor.

“It’s not a prison, Rhapsody,” he teased. “I can come and go as I wish. I do have some work in the morning, but I can stay a bit longer. … So, you want to hear my horrible music, huh?” He laughed and made his way over to the piano, felt the cool keys beneath his fingers.

“I know she doesn’t look like much, but my father had bought her for my mother. Their house flooded and she got the bad end of the stick, but was still playable...so, she means something to me and she plays beautifully, actually.”

“What a nice story,” he said, pointing to the bench. “May I take a seat here?”

“Of course.” She bounced over toward him, gleefully sitting beside him. “Now, what are you going to play for me?”

“I thought you said we were doing a duet?”

“Hmmm, maybe, maybe not. Let me hear you first.” Her eyebrow shot up and a mischievous grin creased her expression.

“I don’t get a warm up?” he protested.

“You don’t have time for a warm up. Besides, you never forget.”

Like a kiss...

He took a deep breath and put his fingers over the keys.

Soon, he was playing the Charlie Brown Piano cover, causing a crackling, loud roar of laughter from Rhapsody. She stood and began to clap to the rhythm as he beat the keys with his nimble fingers, then she disappeared suddenly, like a ghost that had evaporated. He wondered where she had run off to, but continued to play. Seconds later, she emerged holding maracas and shaking them to the beat, making the song come alive. It sounded just as it did on television, and she wowed him once again. He continued to play, no longer looking at the keys. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her...

Once the song was over, the last note stayed in the air, until it was gone, forcing them to dance with their own silence until she broke the hush like an arrow through the air...

“You actually aren’t that bad, I think you were being modest. Honestly, Dane? It was pretty good. That isn’t an easy song to play.”

He nodded in appreciation of the compliment, then watched her glide toward him and place the maracas on top of the piano. Scooting over, he gave her room to sit. She gently touched the keys, and closed her eyes. His pulse started to race when he heard the first few notes of the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ by Beethoven.

“Oh my goodness,” he said aloud as he watched her work the keys and the haunting song vibrated through his body. He then realized what it was. Rhapsody didn’t play the piano...the piano became a part of her body, a limb, and she simply twirled with it, dancing, moving inside each beat as her feet worked the pedals and her fingers turned into ebony and ivory keys.

When the song ended, she gently tugged at his shirt collar, ushering him closer to place her lips on his. Too soon, she pulled away with an assessing smile, as if to gauge his reaction, then did it again. A few moments later, they were holding hands, their fingers wrapped around one another’s on top of the black and white keys.

“Five questions before you go,” she said, glancing back at him out the corner of her eye.

“Shoot.”

“Your favorite band, favorite song, biggest mistake, happiest childhood memory and place you want to go that you’ve never been before, and make it fast, damn it. If you stall or take too long I’ll think you’re lying.”

“Led Zeppelin, their song ‘All of My Love’.”

“Okay! Good one!” She gave him a high five.

“You said fast, you interrupted me. Now I can’t remember the third question.” He laughed and bumped his shoulder into hers.

“Biggest mistake and...”

“Okay...”

“Well, hurry up.”

“I will!” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close before looking down at her. She swallowed when he grazed the side of her hip with his fingertips. “I don’t know what my biggest mistake is; I’ll have to live longer to find out. Happiest childhood memory was waking up and having the black Schwinn bike that I wanted in the driveway for my thirteenth birthday, and place I want to go, that I’ve never been before?”

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m not! I’m thinking...
Greece. I’d love to go to Greece.”

“Well done!” She applauded him as he stood and took a capricious bow.

Moments later, he was standing by her front door, trying to collect seconds and turn them into additional minutes. Anything to drag the night out, to make the wonderful time never end. It had been a simple dinner, but he knew in his heart, before he’d arrived, that he was there to settle a score...not with her, but with himself. As she spoke, he bent down and quieted her with a kiss—hard, passionate. In that, he poured all his fiery desire. Then, he took a few steps back from her and opened her front door.

She gaped at him, speechless, then, with a laugh, he practically leapt off her front steps toward his car.

“Call me, let me know you got in okay,” she called out as she waved in his direction.

He turned and blew her a kiss, relishing in the delight of her smiling face. Getting in his car, he started up the engine and drove away, his heart pounding with excitement, marveling in the lack of fear. But after a while, dark thoughts crept in...

What am I going to do? I can’t just pretend this didn’t happen. I’m in love, I’m in a relationship now. Fr. Kirkpatrick was right about that, but...I need to think this through, figure it out...

The parish...my family...my brothers...they will all have something to say if word of this gets out...

A dead weight filled his heart, despite his happiness at finding Rhapsody. In his case, love came with a hefty price. He didn’t regret going to her house because he needed answers. To find out whether his feelings were real—once and for all.

Oh my God, it’s like, it’s like, I’ve been waiting for her my entire life.

As he thought of her dear face, the weight lifted, replaced with emotion. Perhaps he was kidding himself, for a difficult road lay ahead of him. But if God had sent Rhapsody to him, surely, it was meant to be.

She has awakened something in me. Father, please forgive me, but I can’t help myself. I’m in love. God, I’m really in love...

Sweat trickled down her face as she pounded the pavement. The early evening jog felt wonderful, allowing Rhapsody to process better the tapestries of ideas, dilemmas and nuisances that crowded her mind. She’d just finished teaching her class, and all she could think about were the past day’s events. The distractions proved unnerving. Several of the college music students had to repeat their questions as she kept drifting into another world during class.

Oh what a pickle you’ve gotten yourself into, woman...

She rounded the corner, feeling free in her black spandex leggings. She looked down and took notice of her untied Nike sneaker. Sighing, she came to a halt, bent down retied the rebel shoelace. Since the dinner, she and Dane had spoken at least twice a day, and he
typically ended the call with, “I love you.”

Those words kept rolling around in her mind. Words meant something to Rhapsody; she used them to tell the world of things that mattered to her. Married to music, words created miniature realms that she dove into on a daily basis. She’d made a conscious decision, however, to either move forward or jump ship—no more of this back and forth mess.

But, she was struggling.

How does one explain that they’ve fallen in love with a priest?

How does one explain that he loves her, too?

And we kiss...and hold hands...and go out together...to bookstores and movies...and the way he looks at me...Oh God...

The way the man would rest his eyes on her oftentimes sent shivers up her spine. His blue eyes would slightly darken as his brows gathered, and he had a habit of rubbing his jaw before he drew closer to her to embrace...almost as if he were touching himself, to ensure that the situation was real. His body was hard and strong and she’d feel herself tremble and throb as thoughts of their naked bodies lying together, touching, exploring, began to take over her mind...

What would it be like to make love to him?

She struggled sometimes with answering his calls, then other times, she wished he’d call more or resisted the urge to tell him she just wanted to hear his voice. And his kisses...Oh God, his touch...

She wondered if it was the long time he’d endured from extending affection to a woman, or just his natural inclination, but the man was brimming with passion—and when he’d pressed his lips against hers, almost making her jump out of her skin with shock and delight, her nerve endings went on fire. The way he smelled, his gentle yet assertive touch, the way lights hit his hair and eyes, the strong line of his jawbone, the lean, taut muscles, hidden beneath his clothing, the wonderful clean smell of his skin, mixed with a bit of incense residue—all of it would send her over the edge. Dane lit so many candles and incense during prayers, the smell had infused itself in almost everything he wore, a proof of his journey, of his spirituality, and she found it delightful. And, she had to admit it. The bad girl in her got some sort of sick kick out of knowing the man hadn’t been laid in a while. She wanted to see what was simmering underneath, liking to think he’d been saving himself just for her.

She replayed his words about seeing her in school, over and over, like the last record on Earth. They’d grown stronger, the relationship deeper, as each day passed. They shared of themselves, delving into topics that would have been previously seen as taboo. They even discussed religion more now and she soon came to realize, they agreed on many of the same things. He was a bit more liberal than she’d imagined, and she followed more rules than he’d initially surmised. Together, they could learn a lot from one another, and in that, she had a newfound respect for their differences, which made the situation harder to resist.

One of the more recent conversations stuck out in her mind:

“No, I don’t feel that way,” Dane replied. “I think there is room for many thoughts and ideas. I respect that you don’t agree with everything that I do. That reminds me, one of the most beautiful relationships I’ve ever seen was between a Muslim woman and a Hindu man. They were very much in love, and they spoke two different languages. They barely understood each other. They had a cultural, religious and verbal barrier, so do you know what they did?”

“Dane, is this a set up for one of your jokes?”

“No!” He laughed on the other end of the line. “You suspect me all the time now...”

“Because you play too much!”

“Well, I’m not playing now, this is true. This is serious.”

She drew quiet.

“They started to draw things, tiny sketches, while they were trying to communicate to one another. Their only choice. They were both refugees during political upheaval. Every morning, he’d come into the mess hall, and he’d have a drawing of what he wanted. She’d match it with her picture until soon, they were sitting together, drawing places they’d been, people they knew...and all that time, they were falling in love and didn’t even know how to say, ‘I Love You’ in each other’s language. Soon, they learned that though...so I tell you that story, a true story, Rhapsody, because I met them. They are in their eighties now, had nine children and a slew of beautiful grandchildren. This is to let you know that just because we don’t speak the exact same language doesn’t mean this can’t or won’t work. I will never try to make you convert. If you wanted to, of course, I would encourage and teach you, but I would not dare try to make you do something you were staunchly against.”

Rhapsody took a few deep breaths and deliberated.

“What about...kids? What happened to the children of that couple? Did they raise them Buddhist or Hindu?”

“From what I could tell, they let them decide. Now, If I were to ever have children, I’m not going to pretend like I wouldn’t want them raised Catholic. I do, but there comes a time when you have to let a person, regardless of our own personal spiritual beliefs, make their own choices, regardless if they are your child or not. I would take them to church, but if they wanted to attend another church of a different faith as well, then, I would have to accept that. When you mix two different religions, of course, these things come up.”