The Confessions(20)

“It hurts,” she said, nodding.

“You had a gap in your knowledge of him. And that must have hurt because surely after so many years together you would know his soul by heart. But you don’t know everything there is to know about him. You learned he had a side of himself he never shared with you.”

“I thought I knew everything. I thought we’d reached that point where we were honest with each other, truly honest. After all we’ve been through—”

“After all you two have been through, it’s a miracle you can even be in the same room together, much less still in love with each other. Devotedly and passionately in love.”

She gave him a wan smile. Such a pretty girl. No wonder Marcus couldn’t get enough of her even after decades of loving her.

“I have to remember I’m his lover, not his confessor,” she said.

“I am his confessor, lass. Even I don’t know all his secrets. And I don’t want to know them. You see all this gray hair? Each strand is one of his bloody secrets.”

She smiled again, but didn’t laugh. He could tell she wasn’t quite ready to laugh yet. But they were getting there.

“How do you think you sinned here?” he asked her. “Do you think it’s a sin for a woman to not want children?”

“I spent a year in a convent with women who didn’t want children, and they were some of the godliest women I’ve ever known.”

“Do you think it’s a sin that a tiny part of you wishes you could have been everything to him?”

“Yes, I think that is a sin,” she said. “Pride. Thinking I’m enough to be everything to him. And I’m not. I already knew that because of Kingsley, but I’ve known about Kingsley for decades. Kingsley was S?ren’s first love, and I respect his primacy. But this is different.”

“It is different. Kingsley is a man,” Stuart continued. “He can’t have children. You’re a woman. You can. And you chose not to, and now he’s had a child with someone else. You love the woman. You love the child. You love him. But…”

“But.” She squeezed his hands in hers. The girl had a strong grip. Lots of hidden strengths in this lady. No wonder she’d survived so long with Marcus. “Once upon a time I said something breathtakingly cruel to S?ren.”

“What did you say?”

“We were standing in his church and we…we’d been broken up for a few years by then. There were children everywhere, all around us. They were doing something—practicing for the Easter pageant, I think. Anyway, here we were, broken up and he wanted me back, a very vulnerable, horrible, hard place for anyone to be in. And while we were there surrounded by dozens of kids, I said, ‘I wanted to have your children once.’ ”

“That was cruel, wasn’t it?”

“Unconscionably cruel and the worst part is that I knew it. I said it to hurt him, and I knew it would hurt. And he responded…not very well.”

“I can imagine.”

“When I was 17, I decided what sort of life I wanted and that life didn’t include having children. But if that’s what he wanted, if what’s in that photograph was something he dreamed of, something he desired, he should have told me. He had a thousand chances to tell me, to ask me, to share his heart with me. You know what it is? It’s not jealousy right here.” She tapped her breast again. “It’s anger. I am angry at him for not telling me how much he wanted that. He should have told me. Even if it meant putting our relationship through another trial, he should have told me. I’m furious at him for not trusting that our love was strong enough to go through that together. That’s what hurts. That’s why it stings. Because I wanted to know that. Because that’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it? That there’s this part of him that desires fatherhood and to sit in a chair in front of the mother of his child and watch while she nurses their son? That’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s something special, something beautiful. It’s a diamond in his heart, and he kept that diamond hidden from me. And he shouldn’t have kept it hidden. He didn’t have to give me that diamond. He just had to show it to me. Because it’s so…f*cking…sweet. Isn’t it?”

Her tears came then, big ones to wet the shoulder of his cassock all the way to his skin. Stuart held her against him, her arms around his neck and her head on his arm. And she cried like a baby and he rocked her like a baby because she was a baby. God’s child, right here in his arms. God’s little girl. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” Psalm 38. And here was a brokenhearted child of God right in his arms. What a blessing to be a priest with tenderhearted sinners like this in the world.

“It’s very sweet,” he whispered. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you about it. He’s not a very sweet man, is he? A real arsehole most of the time.”

She shuddered in his arms with tears and laughter.

“Can’t stand him myself,” Stuart continued. “Big blond brute strutting around with all his height and his massive brain and his handsome face—and he’s getting too old to still be that handsome. You better believe I resent the hell out of it.”

“Tell me about it,” she groaned. “He’s prettier now than he was twenty years ago. I hate him.”