Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“You’re sure?” I ask.
He looks at me, then smiles. “I’ve known Santos for a decade now. He’s stayed here more than a dozen times. I think he comes to clear his head. Process. And he walks. A lot.”
“He trusts you.”
“I hope so.”
I follow Father Michael into the kitchen where our plates from dinner are still on the table.
“How was it?” he asks kindly, with no judgment about the mess we left.
“Delicious,” I say, and I start cleaning up.
Father Michael opens a cabinet to take out a large stove-top espresso maker and, after adding ground coffee and water, he sets it on the stove and helps me clear the table.
“I’ll do the dishes,” I tell him when he begins to roll up his sleeves.
“Then I’ll set the table for the cinnamon rolls if you promise to save me one. I have to say mass before breakfast,” he adds, checking his watch.
“You’re confident it’s where he went?” I ask as I finish washing the few dishes we had used.
“I’m confident. He needs space, but he also needs home. And I don’t think he’s had much of the latter.” He studies me. “I think you’ll change that, Madelena. I’ll see you after mass, unless you’d like to hear it too?”
“Um, I think I’ll wait here for Santos. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you, Father.”
He leaves, and I look out the window over the sink as I wait for the coffee to brew. Once it does, I pour myself a mug and put on my coat and shoes. I walk out of the house and onto the dunes to the beach. It’s icy cold, and I wrap my hands around the mug, looking in the direction of the town. It’s got to be five or six miles to walk. Did he walk it in the dark? What was he thinking?
Finding a bench that is at least partially sheltered from the wind, I sit, and I wait for him.
22
SANTOS
Organ music from Father Michael’s morning mass carries on the wind as I approach the small cottage. I stop to take it in, the sound a comfort. All the years I’ve been coming here, it’s been the same. Even as incense clung to the stone of the walls, the wood of the pews. Even as I watched fingers counting out bead after bead as the devout prayed, being here, hearing mass here, was a comfort. One I did not deserve.
That had everything to do with Father Michael. He’s a good man. He never asked any questions, not once. He simply took me in and took care of me.
The first morning, I’d crept out early in the morning, my head throbbing, sick to my stomach with the amount of alcohol I’d drunk… and the memory of what I’d tried to do. It was after that I started cutting the lines into my skin to remember the dead—to remember that they were dead because of me.
Father Michael had saved my life, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t because God had intervened to save my soul. No. I lived because I didn’t deserve to die. Those days, death would have been a mercy.
Suffering is for the living. So, I marked my skin with each innocent life I took.
It took three years for me to confess my sins to him. I expected him to look at me in horror, to turn me out. But all I saw in his eyes was kindness, even after he heard my confession. Knowing what I’d done, and what I was, he only looked at me with kindness. Not pity. Never that. Only gentle acceptance.
Being here now has the same feeling as then. It is a safe haven.
As I approach the entrance of the cottage, the door opens, and I see Madelena looking at me with worry. The sight of her makes me stop. She is the only person in my life whom I’ve brought here, who even knows the existence of this place or its meaning to me.
“Madelena.”
I go to her, hug her to me, and push away the image of her face in my dream as she fell.
She resists at first, then lets herself melt into me. “You were gone.”
Drawing back, I look at her. “You were worried?”
“Of course. I woke up and the bed was empty. No note, no nothing. Of course, I was worried.”
I usher her inside, smell coffee, see the fire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I had a bad dream and needed to clear my head.”
She studies me, and I remember what she told me Thiago said to her that night at the lighthouse.
In his veins is the blood of a monster.
Thiago knew about Caius. He knew they were half-brothers. I am sure of it. Thiago considered the blood in his own veins that of a monster. I’m sure he felt the same about Caius. But was he referring to Caius when he said those words to Madelena?