Chapter Text
The confessional box was old and built of red oak, its wooden walls soaked with decades of absolved sins and contrition; of prayer and of cleansing incense that, at one point in time, would have brought Father Hal great comfort. But now the smoky fragrance only served to remind him of how low he had fallen, of how far from God he had strayed. His thoughts alone were sinful, but the more he tried to ignore them, the more he tried to resist, the deeper he fell.
He should have been the one on the other side of the box, where the sinners and penitents knelt and prayed for forgiveness, for how could he offer the absolution of sin when he himself drowned in it?
It was a question that had plagued him nearly every day for the past three months, ever since that one rainy Sunday in June when his eyes had first beheld her. In a nave packed shoulder to shoulder with polished parishioners, she had stood out, and never had he seen someone so radiant exude such sadness, as if life itself had pressed its weight upon her soul. And he knew immediately that he had never seen her before. He’d have remembered her if he had, what with those blue eyes and her rain-soaked hair sticking to her pale neck.
Shaking his head, he tried to force her from his mind, but the power she held over him was warping into something unholy. She had become a regular parishioner since June, and every interaction between them, whether it be outside on the stone steps after Sunday mass or in the frozen food aisle of the local store, was filled with banter that straddled the line between friendly small-talk and innocent flirtation.
But there was no such thing as innocent flirtation, was there? At least not for him. She was becoming an obsession, a distraction he knew he couldn’t afford, but yet every Sunday, he still found himself looking for her amongst the crowd. And he knew, of course, that it was naive to think himself above carnal desires. He was a man, after all, born a sinner like all the rest, but he had accepted his role long ago, had forsaken his old life and promised himself to God. He was a leader now, an absolver of sins. He hadn’t the time to daydream about sinfully petite blondes, regardless of how tempting it was.
Beyond the small wooden box, the nave was empty and quiet, and pulling up the cuff sleeve of his black shirt, Father Hal checked his watch. He squinted in the dark, the soft light filtering through the latticed screen barely enough for him to see. There were only five or so minutes left before the evening confessional hour ended. The chance of a last minute parishioner coming in for Reconciliation was slim, but just as he began to get up, he heard the sound of the large church door opening. And as a swath of cool autumn air flooded into the nave, Father Hal resettled himself with a sigh.
He waited as the parishioner entered the box, the door closing as they knelt atop the padded hassock, and the moment her unique perfume slipped across the barrier, he knew.
Galadriel.
Christ, help me. A genuine prayer.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been.. far too long since my last confession.”
Her voice was soft, a near whisper from across the wooden screen, and though he couldn’t see her, he heard a hint of recognition, as though she could sense it was him and not one of the other priests. Shifting in his seat, Father Hal cleared his throat.
“Speak, my child. Tell me your sins, and let them be forgiven in the eyes of God.”
There was a pause, a heavy silence filling the cramped space that made it difficult for him to breathe. He struggled to inhale against the press of her impending confession, and when at last she spoke, he felt the pulse of his own sin within his gut.
“I.. I guess I don’t quite know where to start,” she said slowly. “If I’m being honest, it feels strange talking to a wall.”
And despite his discomfort, Father Hal smiled.
“The confessional serves the purpose of anonymity,” he replied. “It’s to your benefit.”
“Even though you already know who I am?”
“I do?”
He imagined her rolling those blue eyes of hers, and her soft chuckle all but lifted the weight of apprehension from his chest.
“Would you prefer to receive the sacrament outside of the confessional?” he asked, ignoring the frantic beat of his heart. “It’s your choice.”
Another pause. Then, finally:
“Yeah, that may help.”
He listened as she stood and exited the confessional before following her lead. And despite the dimmed lights, her long hair was still aglow, the silky strands caressing her spine through the fabric of her emerald sweater. He ushered her to the first row of pews, and taking his seat beside her, he was mindful to leave a healthy, reasonable distance between them. But it made little difference. The moment she turned to face him, she lifted one leg to rest it atop the wooden pew, allowing her knee to graze against his outer thigh.
“This is much better,” she said, smiling.
She looked so relaxed and so beautiful, her features softening beneath his gaze, that Father Hal had to resist the urge to lean closer. Before him was not the look of someone wanting to confess their sins. On the contrary, she looked rather pleased with herself as she rested her arm over the back of the pew and cleared her throat.
“I do have a confession to make,” she explained. “But it’s that I didn’t come here to confess any sins. If I’m being honest, I was just hoping we could talk.”
There was a melancholic cadence to her voice, and though his better judgement pleaded against it, Father Hal leaned forward.
“Is something troubling you?”
“Well, yes and no. I’ve met a few people since moving here, but it’s only been small-talk. Nothing really substantial. I don’t know. It’s all just gotten a bit lonely, I guess.”
“Ouch. Sounds like I might need to up my small-talk game,” Father Hal quipped.
Laughing, she playfully pushed at his arm. “I’m not talking about you. If anything, you’re the only person I’ve met so far where talking doesn’t feel like a chore. It’s refreshing.”
“Remind me where you moved from?”
He had overheard her once while standing on the church steps one Sunday morning after service. She had been speaking to another parishioner, chatting about her long solo-drive to the Southlands, but he never caught from where.
“Lindon,” she said. “But I spent most summers in Eregion. I have a lot of family there.”
“And what brought you he-”
“I just needed a fresh start. Someplace new.”
Father Hal nodded, and not wanting to prod too much, turned his gaze to the altar in front of them. He allowed himself to relax, his full weight sinking back into the pew.
“It gets easier,” he said after a moment. “All the small-talk, I mean, and everything that comes with being the new guy in town.”
“Talking from experience, I take it?
“I’ve been here just over six years, but before that, I was moved around from one congregation to the next.”
From outside came the muffled toll of the church bells - six echoing strikes, one for each hour. Still, Father Hal pulled back his sleeve and checked his wrist-watch.
“I won’t keep you,” she said quickly. “But I did want to ask -” The knee resting beside his thigh slid off the pew, and with both of her feet now on the floor, he quietly mourned the loss of her touch. Standing, she continued: “Would you like to grab coffee sometime?”
It was an innocent question, one that Father Hal wouldn’t think twice about had it come from anyone else, but from her? His brain stuttered at the idea, conflicted between what he should say and what he wanted to say. Because of course he’d like to grab coffee. Of course he’d love to see her again. And if he were being honest, the deepest, most sinful part of him would love even more than that.
Feeling a flush in his cheeks, he ran a hand across his bearded mouth as he spoke: “I, uh.. I would love to, but I.. I’m not sure if it’s, um..”
“What is it?” she laughed. “Priests aren’t allowed to have friends?”
“It’s not that. It’s just -”
Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck. Fuck it. Surely there would be no harm, no sinful transgressions, simply by being friends, and it was only coffee, right?
“You know what? Let’s do it,” he said, standing. “Have you been to Southtown Brew?”
Her smile right then was so radiant that he was sure God himself would have fallen to His knees in reverence.
“Is that the cafe on the corner at that four-way stop?” Galadriel asked. Her phone was now in her hand, her long fingers scrolling through the colorful collection of icons before hitting the map app.
“That’s the one. It’s easily the best coffee within a hundred miles. When would you -”
“Maybe tomorrow? After the 9:00am mass? We could walk over together. If you want to, that is.”
There was no chance of him denying her now, and the mere thought of anyone ever saying no to this woman seemed impossible.
“That sounds great,” he said.
And it did. It really did.