Chapter 1: Fall From Grace
Sister Caroline was troubled. It was late Friday night, and she lay in bed, unable to shake the multitude of thoughts running through her head. She had been a nun, and a teacher, for fourteen years now, and until recently it was all she ever wanted to be. She loved the church. She loved the children she taught at St. Mathews. Lately though, she began to think she had missed something.
Six months earlier, as she sat in her favorite coffee shop as she did every Saturday morning, she met a man whom she recognized from the parish. He had approached her, and asked if she could spare him a few moments of her morning. His marriage was failing, and he needed someone to talk to. He had already spoken to his priest, a counselor, and sought the advice of close friends. She could tell he extremely depressed, and she listened to him it was apparent that he truly loved his wife. He told her of the advice that others had given him, that nothing he tried seem to work. They talked for an hour, and she give him the best advice she could. As they parted company, he thanked her for listening to him, and asked if it would be possible for him to meet her the following Saturday. "It would be better if you made an appointment at the parish," she told him. He had replied that he would be much more comfortable meeting her at the coffee shop.
"I don't want Father O' Brian to think that I couldn't talk to him," he had said. "His advice to me was to pray, and to have more faith in God. That isn't working, and I find it much easier speaking with you," he had continued.
Not thinking that it would lead to anything more than counseling sessions, she agreed to let him meet her at the coffee shop. They met for the next few weeks, and the conversation had always been about his marriage. Slowly, over the next couple of months, that began to change. They talked more and more about local current events, the Red Sox and their chances at a World Series win, the Patriots upcoming season, or just how their week was. Soon there were phone calls during the week. After a while the subject of his marriage didn't even come up. She even began to look forward to their Saturday morning talks.
She finally drifted off to a restless sleep. Saturday morning when was at the coffee shop as usual. He usually showed up about twenty minutes after her. Today was different. He wasn't there. She waited for him, well after the hour or two they regularly sat and talked. When morning became afternoon she became very concerned. When she returned to her residence at the parish she would call him. Just make sure he was okay, or so she told herself. She called, only to here his phone ring over and over. She was worried, but there nothing else she could do. She tried calling during the week, only to here the same ring.
Saturday morning finally arrived, and she was the coffee shop earlier than her norm. She waited anxiously for his time to arrive. He arrived at his usual time, looking exhausted and haggard. "My God, what happened to you?", she asked as he approached their booth. "I was so worried when you didn't show up last week!" He sat down heavily in the both across from her. Bloodshot eyes, a weeks worth of growth on his face, and smelling like a bar.
He sat and looked at her, and began sobbing. "She's gone. She took everything and left," he said through his tears. "I couldn't stand to be in the house alone, not with all the memories." He put his head down on the table and cried. She took both his hands in hers to comfort him. When her hands held his, she felt something go through her. Something she never felt before. She tried to speak, but was unable to find her voice. She sat there looking at him, his hands cupped under hers. After what seemed like an eternity she was finally able to speak. "We need to get you home and cleaned up," she said. "Let's go now, and after you have a hot shower and shave we can talk."
"I can't go back to that house," he cried, "it's too painful, too much to take."
"Where have you been all week?" she asked, "Have you got a friend to stay with?"
"I've been staying on a motel off the highway," he replied, "my things are still there."