Still in her car, she
looked up the concrete steps leading to the worn double doors of the
church. The building probably dated back to the twenties, or even
earlier. Somehow, the church's weathered stones and slightly rundown
appearance made it
seem more inviting. No imposing gothic cathedral,
this. But today it loomed taller than before. She gulped
in a deep breath and forced herself to stop stalling.
Still in
her car, she looked up the concrete steps leading to the worn double
doors of the church. The building probably dated back to the twenties,
or even earlier. Somehow, the church's weathered stones and slightly
rundown appearance made it seem more inviting. No imposing gothic
cathedral, this. But today it loomed taller than before. She gulped
in a deep breath and forced herself to stop stalling.
Meg opened the
door and got out, sliding her growing stomach carefully out from under
the steering wheel. Funny, finding a parking space right in front
of the church during confession time. There must be a parking lot
behind the building, but this spot offered a quick exit. It might
come in handy.
At the top of the stairs, Meg took another shaky breath,
pulled open one of the wooden doors, and entered foreign territory.
It was so quiet. Directly ahead of her was another set of dark wood
double doors, beautifully carved with intricate scrollwork. Undoubtedly,
they led into the church's main sanctuary. She was pretty sure confession
wouldn't be done in there, so she turned down a hallway to her right.
There they were. She recognized the confessionals from the movies
-- those little booths with a separate door on each side. She came
to one with a door closed on one side; she detected the sound of movement
behind it. One more deep breath, and Meg ducked into the other half
before she lost her courage.
"Hello?" came a male voice from the other
side.
She didn't allow herself to breathe this time. She began, the
way she'd seen in the movies: "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned...."
# # #
On the other side of the confessional, Craig Stovall nearly
dropped his screwdriver.
He stared at the wall between the two sides
of the little booth. Well, it wasn't a vandal, that was for sure.
But it was definitely someone who didn't know the church was closed
for renovations. He’d come in without his crew today, just to finish
up on the hinges.
He opened his mouth to explain, but no words came
out.
The earnest woman's voice rushed on, unprompted. "It's been --
oh, what am I talking about? I've never been to confession, Father.
I'm not even Catholic."
That's okay. Neither am I. No, not the right
thing to say. Craig fumbled for something better.
"I guess I just
wanted someone to talk to," she went on. "I haven't been to church
since I found out I was pregnant...."
This was getting too personal,
too fast. Craig cleared his throat. “You – this –” The words came
out half-strangled.
Maybe that was why she didn’t seem to hear him.
"It was bad enough after my husband died. I mean, everyone at the
church was so nice, but -- every time they looked at me, I knew they
were seeing the noble widow. And it's not like that." Her voice was
getting more emotional, her words more rushed. "We had a fight the
day before he died --"
Craig squirmed. He felt like a peeping Tom.
But he couldn't see any way to cut her off now. He'd already let it
go on too far.
"He didn't want the baby."
She crammed the words into
the smallest space possible. It made the silence that followed seem
that much bigger.
# # #
"A compassionate romance…. Sierra Donovan
creatively composed a fresh story line that will capture your heart
strings."
- Donna Zapf, CataRomance
