16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

T he church was slowly clearing out. Miriam stood in the back within the light cast by a particularly brilliant stained-glass window. Her generous robes concealed all tattoos, making her look like an almost conventional priest. She shook hands and hugged the occasional old woman as people complimented her on her sermon and exchanged the regular Sunday-morning niceties.

One parishioner had not moved since the final benediction had been read over the congregation. Miriam looked at the messy, coppery bun with waves falling out from every direction. Within the black dress, shoulders slumped in a way that spoke clearly to Miriam. She did not know the details yet, but she did know that her friend was a little bit broken this morning.

Miriam looked down the aisle. Only a half-dozen parishioners to go.

"Good morning, Mother Miriam," a slender older woman said as she walked up to Miriam in a perfectly coordinated Sunday- best outfit. "Do you have plans for lunch? The altar committee is meeting for sandwiches and ice cream in the hall."

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Betty, but I believe my services are needed elsewhere today. Next time, though?"

"That's fine, dear. Have a good week."

It probably wasn't completely fine. She would need to do something to make up her absence to that particular committee.

Thankfully, as she was speaking to Ms. Betty, the last of the parishioners discreetly sneaked out. They were a group who Miriam was quite certain had not enjoyed her sermon this morning. Her commitment to preaching inclusion was not always appreciated by every member. But alas, she hadn't embarked on a career in ministry with the goal of maintaining a hundred percent approval rating. If she had, ministry would have quickly dispelled her of that notion.

Miriam walked over to her friend. Her stole had gone off-kilter in all of the handshaking and hugging. She straightened it, pulled at her collar to give herself some breathing room, lifted the hem of her robe an inch, and took a seat about a foot down the pew from Lucy.

The two friends sat for ten minutes in silence. The steep vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows seemed to sanction the quiet. Who needs to fill a space with chatter when surrounded by such grandiosity?

From the months following Mrs. O'Shields passing, Miriam had learned that Lucy was stoic and quiet when she wrestled with grief. Miriam had never heard a silence so complete as existed in Lucy's apartment the evening after her mother's death. She'd rushed back to Paducah from seminary to be with her friend, and they had sat for hours in Lucy's apartment, the stillness being broken only occasionally by a brief reminiscence or Lucy asking Miriam if she needed something. Miriam had been amazed that Lucy had maintained some level of hostessing even in her grief.

Lucy broke the sacred silence first.

"Forrest's father died." There was a pause, and then, as if to try again, Lucy said, "Mr. Graham died."

"Yes. Forrest called me yesterday. I'll be doing the graveside service on Tuesday."

The silence returned.

Miriam had a feeling that while Lucy was likely quite sad at the passing of Mr. Graham, it did not entirely account for the bags under her eyes or the wadded-up tissue clutched with a white-knuckled grip in her hand.

Five more minutes passed.

Lucy said in a voice so quiet it almost escaped into the rafters, "I slept with Forrest the night before his father died."

"Oh."

Miriam let it sink in for a moment. The more it did, the more she felt a sense of rightness bubble within. But she could tell her friend was drowning. Drowning in... something. She knew she must tread carefully.

"Lucy, Forrest is wonderful. Except for me, he's been your closest friend for years. Why do you look like you've wilted, sweetie?"

At this question, Lucy did something Miriam had not thought possible. She wilted some more. Tears began flowing copiously down Lucy's freckled cheeks, and words finally broke loose.

"Oh, Miri. It was awful! I'm mean, not the sex. The sex wasn't awful. The sex was earth-shattering. But afterwards, when I walked into that hospital room..." A sob escaped. "He said he was sorry, so sorry it had happened. It was like he loathed himself. He said that he’d taken advantage of me, that he cared for me, but that he’d used me. Miriam, what am I going to do? I've ruined everything. I liked my life. I liked going to work and being with Edith and Porter and Dr. Hubert and, oh...and Forrest. I liked that they all needed me, that I could fix all of their problems. But now, now I've destroyed it. I've taken the one thing I've ever been good at, the one place where I've ever belonged, and I've ruined it. How will I ever look at him again? When he looks at me, all he will see is a mistake he made. And a mistake he made on the night his father was dying."

Miriam slid across the foot of pew that separated them, put her arms around her friend, and held her as she sobbed. Lucy's tissue was now hopelessly sodden, so Miriam did what any good priest would do: she handed Lucy the end of her stole and waited quietly as the tears slowed.

"Lucy, you are a lot of things. You are kind and funny and compulsively helpful. You are intelligent and patient and overly sentimental, especially about dogs and romance novels. You are many things, but a mistake you are not.

"I've known Forrest for a while now. I've seen the way he looks at you and the way he treats you, with respect and affection, and I'm certain that he doesn't think you're a mistake, either. Quick side-note, though, if he were the type to think that, I'd tell you he's a worthless piece of shit you should ignore for the rest of your life."

Lucy hiccupped. Miriam breathed deeply.

"But like I said, that isn't Forrest. It isn't who you know him to be. I don't know everything that happened or was said, but I do know that in the space that exists between you and him, there is an abundance of love."

Miriam thought about this love, and how at this very moment, it was pulsing between two hurting people, neither of whom realized they themselves were worthy of the other. She squeezed Lucy's shoulder a little tighter, and settled into the pew. They would be sitting together for a while.