“Absolution,” Søren said.

“I’m the grownup version of Melody Flores, aren’t I? We were just the same. A lonely girl with a mom working two jobs and a useless father who comes and goes and never keeps his promises. Then a priest comes along who might as well be God to her, and she trusted him with her life. Just like me. So who could absolve him but her? Or me who was just like her?” She met his eyes. “I would have told him to stop wasting my time and pull the trigger.”

“So it comes at last,” Søren said, nodding. “I’ve been waiting for you to get angry with me. I thought it would be over Fionn. But it’s not. It’s because of us.”

“He was going to destroy her. He had ropes in the car, handcuffs. God, he had lube.” Sickened, she bent over and put her face in hands, breathed deep and long. She sensed Søren kneeling in front of her, close to her, not touching her.

“I never wanted to destroy you. And I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

She raised her face, looked at him. “But you could have. If I’d been any other fifteen-year-old girl…”

“What can I say?” he said, his voice soft. “Do you want me to defend myself? Or do you want me to say what I did to you was wrong and apologize? Tell me anything you want from me. I’ll give it to you if I can.”

“Can you defend yourself? Is there a defense?”

“Several. None adequate on their own. Taken together, possibly. One,” he said, holding up one finger. “You were fifteen, almost sixteen, not eleven. Two: when I offered to help you when you were arrested at fifteen, you wouldn’t agree to accepting my help unless I agreed to have sex with you. I agreed for the sole purpose of your cooperation, in order to save you from years wasted in juvenile detention.”

This was all true. No denying it.

“Then I waited over four years, until you were twenty years old, to keep my end of the bargain. I waited, hoping you would grow out of your crush on me, grow up, forget me, and move on with your life. You didn’t. So I didn’t.”

No, she didn’t. She was more in love with him at twenty than she’d been at fifteen.

“Three requires me to quote Ignatius Loyola—the ends sanctify the means. The means were unholy, yes, but for a holy purpose and a holy end—keeping you out of trouble and saving your life. Do you doubt for one minute if you’d gone to live with your father you would like what your life looks like right now?”

No, she didn’t doubt it. But that wasn’t the only choice, was it?

Søren went on when she didn’t say anything. “Was what I did wrong? Yes. Was it akin to grooming behavior?” He paused, then said, “Yes.”

The “yes” hung in the air like the incense of a holy day—cloying, choking.