The Saint. Tiffany Reisz
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know you.”
Eleanor started to enter the office.
“What do you mean you know me?” she asked, but when she crossed the threshold, he held up a hand.
“Out.”
“Out?”
“Out of my office.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Eleanor took a step back into the hallway.
“I’m not allowed in your office?”
“No one under the age of sixteen is allowed in my office without a parent present. No one over sixteen is allowed alone in my office unless the door is open. These are my rules.”
“That’s kind of strict.”
“I’m strict.”
He pulled a book off the shelf and added it to a pile on the desk.
“Why are you so strict?”
He paused while removing another book from the shelf and gave her a searching look.
“Can I talk to you like an adult?” he asked, shifting books on the shelf.
“I’d be pissed if you talked to me like a child.”
He glanced at her as he put an empty file box on the desk and one by one started piling books inside.
“Last year an exposé was released regarding child sex abuse by Catholic priests and the churchwide cover-up by the bishops, the archbishops and even the Curia.”
“Mom says those people, the victims, they’re after the church’s money.”
“Your mother is wrong.”
“So the sex abuse is as bad as they say?”
“Eleanor, do you know why I’m here?” Søren asked.
“I know Father Greg is retiring, and there’s a priest shortage in the diocese so they had to call the Jesuits for a loaner. You’re the loaner.”
“It isn’t as simple as that. Recently, I returned to my community after my ordination. Things were tense. A Jesuit in our province had recently been convicted on sex abuse charges stemming from his assignment at an inner-city school.”
A chill passed through her body.
“He was messing with kids?”
“Rumors circulated that one of the school officials, another Jesuit, was attempting to hide documents from the plaintiff’s attorney, who was suing the school and others in civil court.”
“What happened?”
“I called the attorney and told them everything I knew, everything I’d heard and everything to ask for during the discovery process.”
“You ratted out another Jesuit to lawyers? Jesus Christ, how big are your balls?” Her father had “friends” who got themselves killed talking to cops or lawyers.
Søren laughed softly.
“I believe those were the exact words my superior said to me. But he didn’t smile when he said it like you did. I’m not telling you this story to impress you or shock you. I’m telling you this so you know why I’m here. I was to spend two weeks in New York visiting friends and family before being sent to India. Instead I’m here at this tiny parish in a tiny town in Connecticut.”
“Oh, shit. You got in trouble.”
“Me being here is the Catholic equivalent of ‘go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done.’”
“So you’re not letting kids in your office because—”
“Of St. Paul and First Thessalonians 5:22. ‘Abstain from every appearance of evil.’”
“I guess having kids in the office could look bad.”
Søren rearranged some books in the box to make room for two more.
“It could. I’m afraid Father Gregory was slightly lax in those areas. Of course, from everything I’ve heard of him, he was a good and gentle man.”
“He was.”
“I’m an unknown integer here, however. Being alone with a seventy-year-old priest and a twenty-nine-year-old priest give two entirely different appearances.”
“Doesn’t help that you’re like the hottest priest on the planet.”
Søren looked up sharply at her. Eleanor went pale.
“I said that out loud.”
“Should I pretend I didn’t hear it?”
Eleanor thought about his offer as the blush stared to fade from her cheeks.
“I said it. I’ll go say some Hail Marys.”
“Finding another person attractive isn’t a sin.”
“It isn’t?”
“Desire is not a sin,” Søren said, sitting on his desk and facing her. “Fantasy is not a sin. Sins are acts of commission or omission. Either you do some act you’re not supposed to do. For example, shooting someone. Or you fail to do an act you should do. For example, not giving alms to the poor. Finding someone attractive is no more a sin than standing on a balcony and enjoying a lovely view of the ocean.”
“What’s lust, then?”
“You ask excellent questions. These are the questions of a young woman who is not of the lip-biting variety.”
“I’m going to bite my lip out of spite from now on.”
“That is exactly what I knew you would do. Would you like me to answer your question?”
“About lust? Yeah.”
“Let’s go into the sanctuary. You can sit down there.”
“I don’t mind standing.”
“You’re wearing combat boots.”
“They’re comfy.”
“Where does a young lady in Wakefield, Connecticut, purchase combat boots?”
“Goodwill,” she said.
“You’re wearing Goodwill combat boots?”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations, Eleanor. Your footwear has achieved irony.”
Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he stepped past her. She spun around on the heel of her Goodwill combat boots and followed Søren to the sanctuary. He opened the doors, putting the stoppers down to keep them open.
“You’re really into this ‘avoiding any appearance of evil’ thing, aren’t you?”
“I am. I wouldn’t want either of us accused of anything we hadn’t done.”
“What if it’s something we have done?” she asked, kneeling backward on one of the pews to face Søren, who was seated in the row behind her.
“That’s an entirely different situation. But we’re talking lust.”
“I’m lusting for your answer.”
“You aren’t, actually.” He gave her a steady gaze with his unyielding eyes. “You’re simply desiring my answer. Lust is overwhelming or uncontrollable desire that leads to sin. A man might desire another man’s wife. It happens. The question he has to ask himself is, given the chance, will he act on his desires? Will he try to seduce her the first time they’re alone? Will he attack her? If she came on to him, would he give in? Or would he honor her marital state, politely tell her no and suggest she and her husband go to counseling?”