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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

A vein pulsed in my forehead, coming alive, and I sensed what was in my trunk pulsing too. Like it might call out to the officer.

What would I say to Heather when I got to make a phone call?

Heather, please believe me, I would give anything to take it all back.

God, that was like a bad movie line.

Heather, I’m a liar, right from the fucking start.

That. That was the truth.

“Sir,” the police officer said, back at my door. I turned to her, feeling defeat envelope me like a cold wet towel.

“Yes?”

A truck rolled over metal. Boom. Boom. Highway noise never stopped. “Sir, did you know both your brake lights are out?”

“What?” I’d barely heard her.

“Your brake lights are out. Did you know?”

“What? No. God. I’m sorry. I—oh God, it’s been so hectic. My mom is dying and I’ve been driving in and out of state to work and…”

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rant. I just had no idea.” Probably why the truck was honking.

“I’d like you to put your hazards on, drive to the next exit, and get them fixed right away so you don’t cause an accident. Take the next exit, head west a mile. There’s a Jiffy Lube.” She handed me my license and registration. “You have a clean record. I’m not giving you a ticket, just get them fixed right away. As in, right now. I’ll follow you.”

“Thank you, officer. I’m sorry. Thank you.” I pushed my palm against my eye, wiping away the wetness. Crying? Shit. I puffed my cheeks out and exhaled with force. I jammed my license and registration under the visor clip.

Thank God I wouldn’t have to tell Heather.

44

44

HEATHER

Holly wasn’t willing to entertain the mystical aspect. Father Greg might.

Priests lived upstairs or around back. St. John’s church was a squat building, so I walked around back. Beyond the dumpster, a small building budded from the back of the church like the freshly growing limb of a starfish—stubby and unattractive. One and a half stories tall, few windows, and no walkway leading to a door. An old metal table and chairs sat on a slab of cement porch overlooking three acres of grass, a glimpse of a pond in the distance.

I pressed the doorbell, counted to one hundred twenty, and pressed it again. Counted to sixty, rang it again.

Priests were stubborn. They had to be. Committed and steadfast was part of the gig.

I expected one of three things:

They would call the church receptionist and make her hobble back here to do their dirty work.

They would call the police. An officer would arrive in ten minutes to tell me I was trespassing.

One of these priests would either be pissy enough or relaxed enough to open the damn door.