I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(30)

Now, Father Maridale looks as if something has been made clear. “Of course, of course,” he muses, staring at the statue that was eyeing me earlier. “The parking lot, yes, Kay would have been coming from the cemetery.”

“Cemetery?” I ask, perplexed.

I haven’t given much thought as to where Kay may have been before she ran into me. I’m aware there’s a small graveyard behind the church—I’ve already cut the grass back there twice—but I can’t imagine why Kay would have been out there in the rain. It was pouring earlier, not an optimum time to be paying one’s respects. Come to think of it, though, her hair did look a little damp. Fantastic and sexy, all wavy and long, but definitely damp.

Father Maridale is giving me a contemplative look, like maybe he’s deciding if I’m worthy to hear whatever story he’s thinking about telling me. And I know there’s a story, because around here there always is. Father motions that I should sit back down. Yeah, just like I thought—a story to be told.

I sit back down on the pew and Father Maridale begins his tale. “You probably don’t know this since you were away, but Kay once had a little sister named Sarah, her only sibling.” He exhales audibly. “Unfortunately, Sarah died…a few years ago.” Shit.

“Such a tragic accident, the child was only six years old.” I guess I look appropriately aghast—and I am. Father nods his head in shared understanding. “I know, I know, such a terrible loss, one that Kay has had great trouble bearing. She visits her sister’s grave every Sunday after church. I used to hope those visits would help her heal, but now I just don’t know…”

As Father trails off, shaking his head, I think about how I used to visit the grave of someone I lost unexpectedly as well—my father. I went every day for a while, hoping to find solace, maybe some answers. Losing my father was devastating, and I know a part of me will never really heal, but I can’t begin to imagine what it would have been like to lose my baby brother. Sure, Will’s almost fifteen now, hardly a baby—and barely on speaking terms with me at the moment—but that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t clench at the thought of him, well, dying. God, poor Kay. I had no idea.

Father Maridale starts to speak once more, “The loss of Sarah was God’s will. There’s nothing we can do but accept these things when they happen. I’ve told Kay this many times, but she continues to blame herself.”

What?

Before I can think to curb my curiosity—or my language—I blurt out, “Why in the hell would she do that?”

Father gives me an admonishing look for cursing in church, and I mumble a heartfelt apology. Then, I get an explanation.

“Kay was watching her sister one night, babysitting while her parents were out. Kay fell asleep and young Sarah snuck out into the backyard. That little girl loved the water. And, well, there was a swimming pool behind their house.” I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around where this story is obviously heading. “Tragically, Sarah had not yet learned to swim. Kay woke up when she heard her sister’s cries for help, but by the time she got out to the pool…” Father bows his head, appropriately stricken. “Well, it was just too late to save her.”

I don’t even know what to say. Clearly, this is the root from which Kay’s sadness stems. But she shouldn’t blame herself. It was a tragic accident, just like Father Maridale has just said. Sometimes things happen that you have no control over. It’s a sad fact of life I accepted years ago.

Father is watching me carefully and I have a feeling I know what’s coming next. After all, he’s aware of my reputation.

Sure enough, right on cue, Father says, “Chase, you should know that Kay is fragile. Not only has she lost her sister, but her family has abandoned her as well. And—”

“What? You’re kidding.” Again, I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. Abandoned by her family? I know it’s rude to interrupt like this, but could this story get any worse?

Father frowns at my interruption, but continues, “Sadly, I’m not kidding. Kay’s mother blames Kay for the accident, even after all this time that has passed. I believe this is the main reason why Kay has had such a hard time forgiving herself.” He takes a breath. “Now, I’m not saying to stay away from her.” A hand is waved in the direction of the school. “Take your tour. You two have something in common, both of you share a troubled past. Perhaps a friendship would be beneficial to the both of you. Kay could certainly use a friend; even I can see that. She spends far too much time alone. But, Chase…” He trails off, and I know what’s coming next—the “don’t take advantage” spiel.

Father Maridale is nothing if not realistic, and he probably believes everything he’s heard. Unfortunately, most of the stories are true. I’ve done some f*cked-up shit, no doubt. I’m more sinner than saint, as last night so clearly illuminated. But I have no intention of hurting Kay in that way, or in any way, really.

I tell Father as much, and I think he believes me, although he appears a little wary. He should believe me. I mean, Kay is giving me a chance. Why would I do something stupid, like make a dickhead move on her and f*ck everything up?

Curious as to when this tragedy happened, I ask Father, “How long ago did Kay lose her sister?”

“Four years ago this summer, the same summer you lost your way.”