In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(34)

“Well, it was nice talking to you.” That’s partly true. Now I know exactly how Kacey’s doing according to her aunt, who sounds pretty damn unsympathetic. I’m guessing she doesn’t mean to be. She just doesn’t know what to do except pray.

I can’t help but wonder, if Kacey had a Dr. Stayner in her life, could she be completely different?

Aunt Darla smiles warmly. “I hope to see you here again, soon. There’s a new, young priest here now. Just started this week.”

“Maybe I’ll be back.”

Maybe Friday.

■ ■ ■

What if Livie knows what I look like?

She probably does. Just because her sister now lives in a world where nothing—and nobody—matters, her younger sister seems stable. And probably curious.

I’ve reminded myself of that on the entire drive here. My second time making this trip this week. And yet I couldn’t stop myself from coming.

I take a seat in a dark corner at the back of the church, hidden from most of the pews and the confessional booths. I don’t know what the hell I think I’m going to accomplish, coming here, besides watching from the shadows. When I spot her long, shiny black hair, my stomach begins to churn.

I’m an idiot.

Her aunt is with her, encouraging her toward the confessional box with a prodding hand against her back and a broad smile. She reminds me a lot of Mrs. Wilcox, who lived down the street from us, growing up. That woman could recite every last line of the Bible and as a result, believed she could do and say no wrong.

The new, young priest excuses himself from his confessional booth with an apology just as Livie steps inside. By the way he’s awkwardly jogging, I assume he needs the can. He reemerges a few minutes later, a bounce in his step. Only, then a woman scurries out from a side door, calling urgently after him.

“Can it wait?” I hear him ask.

Her head shakes in answer. “It’ll only take five minutes. Ten minutes, at most.”

With a frazzled glance at the little booth, he disappears through the door.

I only wanted to catch a glimpse of Livie. But what if I could get more than that? What if I . . .

Darla’s head hangs low as she prays.

It’s now or never.

If I wasn’t going to hell before, I’m definitely going now. But I don’t let that deter me from sliding into the empty booth, keeping the door cracked ever so slightly, a watchful eye on the room where the priest disappeared.

Now what the hell do I do? For as long as it’s been since I’ve gone to mass, it’s been at least that long since I’ve been to confession. Does the priest talk first? The confessor? Shit!

Thankfully, Livie takes care of that. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession.” Her voice is hovering in that in-between stage, where she no longer sounds like a little girl but she’s not really a woman yet.

“Continue.” It’s all I can think of, and then I purse my lips, waiting for her to scream, “Fraud!” That, or this door is about to be thrown open and I’m gonna have to make a run for it.

“Okay, so I’m lying to you already. I’m so sorry. I’m not here for me. I know you’re not supposed to go to confessional for another person, but Father Murray and I had an agreement.” Her words tumble out of her mouth. “I’m here for my sister. She needs all the help that she can get.”

My breath hitches. “Continue.”

She heaves a sigh. “Thank you, Father. So, Kacey is her name. And I’m Livie. Anyway, last weekend she threatened to set fire to the Bible that my aunt keeps leaving on her nightstand.”

I struggle to stifle my chuckle. It’s not funny, really, and yet knowing that Kacey might still have some spunk buried deep inside gives me hope.

Livie doesn’t seem to notice. “And she’s saying all kinds of things about our uncle. Bad things.”

“What kind of bad things?”

“That he’s . . .” She drops her voice. “That he is starting to look at me that way.”

“What way?” I snap, and then check my tone. “I mean, do you see that?”

“No! He’s always been nice to me. Granted, he’s usually drunk.”

Huh. So saintly Aunt Darla doesn’t have such a saintly husband.

“And your sister? Is she drinking? Or hurting herself in any other way?” I know that’s a risky question to ask, but I need to know.

“No, not for over a year now.”

Really? “What made her stop?”

“Me. I think. I mean, I tried not to let it all get to me. Be strong for her, you know? But one night, I was sitting up with her, like usual—”

“You sit up with her?”

“Well, yeah. I used to. I had to. And on this one night she started throwing up in her sleep and then choking on it. If I hadn’t been there . . .”

Livie would have lost her sister.

I would have lost Kacey.

I shake my head, amazed at how strong and smart this little girl seems to be. “And now?”

“Now all she cares about is kickboxing.”

That explains that rock-hard body of hers. A body I shouldn’t be having thoughts about right now, as I pretend to be a priest and pump her little sister for information.