Bruce waits for me to contact him, which I do. I don't want to play games in the temple of God. We hold hands, and I feel a weight descend from my throat into my stomach.
His long fingers grip my palm firmly, but also with an impressive gentleness. The heavens will hate me, but I imagine it touches other parts of me. I imagine his strong touch and his eyes fixed on mine, sensing my every reaction, knowing exactly how I feel. I shake my head to dismiss the thought, which I don't even know where it came from.
- You are shaking - he points out.
The whole church begins to pray. The buzz surrounds us, but Bruce remains with his eyes open, staring at the image on the altar.
- Aren't you praying? - I ask.
- Not out loud.
- Are you a religious man?
- Only when I'm not sinning - his answer makes me smile, because he seems like the kind of man who lives by sin. In fact, it seems that sins only existed after him.
I don't have time to say a decent prayer, because soon the priest starts mass. We sit down, however, instead of letting go of my hand, Bruce squeezes it tighter. He places our joined hands on the exposed part of my leg. I don't want to look scared and pulling my hand would mean I care. And no, I don't care about him. With Bruce, it's all about mind games and physical attraction.
- Thursday in the Bronx, Friday at the church. You are a balanced woman - he comments, and I don't know if he is joking or scolding. Either way, your grip becomes tighter.
- I prefer church.
- So last night must have generated a lot of regrets.
Mass proceeds quietly, as usual. Father Bee talks about the importance of being transparent with God. Well, that's all I try to be.
But being transparent is being honest. And if I'm being honest, I don't regret last night. I dare say I would do it again. That's why I pray to heaven that I never have this opportunity again. Elliot has enough problems already, he doesn't need to deal with a scandal.
- The next mass will take place on Sunday afternoon. The confessional will be open today and tomorrow - and with Father's last words, Mass ends.
I didn't forget for a second that Bruce's warm, strong hand was gripping mine, which had felt tiny all this time. However, when the mass ends, I withdraw my hand.
The few people begin to leave the church. I wait for Bruce to leave so I can do the same, but he stays and just gets up, then turns back to me.
- Angelica - he begins - About the Bronx, stay away from this place.
- If the place is really so dangerous, why were you there? - retaliation - By the way, I can guess. I heard that men like you like to be involved with drug dealers.
It's no news that America's cream of the crop likes to get involved in illegalities to triple their fortunes. And while I don't know where Bruce is really from, I can bet he's no different.
- Are you asking for me? Bruce raises an eyebrow.
- Mr. Campbell, I know you're not up to anything good - I take a step closer - I feel like I should stay away. I don't know what I was doing in the Bronx, but it felt like home, enough is enough.
- Do you think you should stay away? - he gets closer, enough for me to feel his warmth - I don't see her avoiding me - he whispers.
- Why...
- Because? - Bruce insists.
“I didn't realize I had to stay away, but now I'm sure. He looks me in the eye, and we're so close I have nowhere to look. I have to get out of here as soon as possible - Excuse me - I ask.
Bruce waves, then walks away from the church. He leaves, but his scent stays with me. Maybe that never crossed my mind, by the way.
I lean against the nearest bench and take several deep breaths. I stare at my hand, which has spent the last twenty minutes holding hers. Who gave you the power to do this to me? He arrives and suddenly everything around him becomes uncomparable. Bruce is not like the kids I know, nor like the senator's son. He is so much more.
The priest descends from the altar. The church is already partly empty. All have left, with the exception of the ladies disciples of Father Abeille who will stay to go to confession. The rest of the women will certainly be here at the next Mass, looking for a chance to see something beyond their husbands.
- Are you going to confess, madam? Donnelly? - it's not a question, he knows it.
When you walk into the confessional knowing that you will have to reveal your sins and expect punishment, it's not like God is punishing you. It's like the world. God has already forgiven him, but the priest has not done so yet. The priest should say you made a mistake, as if he had never made a mistake himself.
Yes, I will admit. And God forgive me, but I won't tell the truth. Father Bee is a good man, but I can't trust him to keep my secrets.
- Yes father.