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jessicagreer · 6 months ago

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It wasn't a rarity to spend time with him. He was the father of the church, her lifelong friend, university partner, but it was a rarity to spend time like this. Without the pressure of the collar around his neck, the world of the bible tugging him into position. Or the eyes of the town trailing them if they walked together. His life was for the Church: and as much as he tried, he couldn't make his sermon's shorter (even if she'd begged once or twice.) And no, that wasn't a joke. It was fact, and Jessica Greer always dealt with fact, unless it came to her faith. Over the years, her faith had become somewhat skewed based on the life choices she'd made, but her repentance had always been a big part of her relationship with God. Parents of Irish Catholic heritage had meant that she'd spent all her life under the watchful eye of the almighty.

And while she liked to think she was a well-rounded Catholic, she was pretty sure that her lord and saviour might have a different set of words that he'd use. Even as they strolled side by side, the weight of Daniel was in her arms. An unwed, single mother. What a sin she'd brought to her church, and yet, there wasn't a single thing she'd change — but it was often a battle. Nothing was ever that easy. She didn't hold animosity for the life Adam — father Matthews (Although she only called him that in company) had decided to lead. There were some things that were bigger than her, but when her eyes cascaded down to the boy that half of her, and half of Adam, she did wonder sometimes how anything could be bigger than him. Selfish thoughts, she knew, and it was why she never voiced them. Some conversations would remain between her and god for all of eternity.

And it would stay that way.

Adam's running snapped Jessica out of her momentary trance. A beautiful sight, indeed. She knew days like this were limited. A smile breaking out, teeth and all — she wished she could capture it on an old disposable camera. Freeze time, just for a while longer. One day Daniel would start asking questions, bigger ones that she was sure she knew how to answer without lying. And that sin, well, she'd committed enough to land her downstairs. But if there was one thing Jessica did fear about the afterlife? It was that she wouldn't be with Adam. They crafted the story well. A small place like St. Mary's Wells. Nothing stayed quiet for long. Rumours flew about his 'father'. Still, some whispered, assuming the worst of her, even if they smiled when she walked past. Their idea of what Daniel's father was like was imaginary, just as much as he was.

Because the real one was there all along, illuminated by the light of God.

Once home, the day went quickly, as it always did with a child of that age. Adam's departure had seen a wave over her shoulder, because being a mother was a full-time job in itself — and then she had a real one on top of that. The Belmont School for Girls was a beautiful place to work, and something she thoroughly enjoyed, but my goodness, was it hard work?

Seven dresses, two pairs of heels and four coats later: she was ready. Thankful that Daniel would be in the hands of the family meant that she could fully relax — the only people who knew the truth. And that was what tonight was about. In the car, the rolling sound of tires against tarmac and gravel had her wondering what it would be like to step back in time. Sometimes, she forgot what it was like to not be a mother. Especially now that she sat next to Adam — who she spent a lot of time with, in a confined space...she wished for things that she shouldn't, that she often felt...and her attempt to squash it was futile as it flourished in her chest, as she began gnawing at her bottom lip, centering herself with a quick prayer to forgive her trespasses.

Her thoughts were unclean.

Her palms sweat the whole way, like a girl on a first date. But she reminded herself that this was not the path that he had chosen, as she did every day. His path led him to the righteous, to healing. So when they stepped into the Grove, falling into old patterns, former selves, she found herself pretending that all was right. Even if their distance spoke volumes, even if she graved his affections more than anything else.

To see everyone was a blessing. Conversations of old and new. Even if her gaze was spent on Adam for most of the night, laughing at every word, and hanging on like she was a teenager in secondary school. Her old friends had so many stories that it was hard to keep up, all so successful. There hadn't been a chance of it being any different. Everyone had been destined for greatness, even...she wouldn't think of her name as she slid a small smile to Harry before returning to the conversation.

Jessica found herself outside, some time later, with the rest. A giggle on her lips, she felt lighter than she had in a long time. Always together in some kind of group, as she joked lightly with Will and Katya about nothing of importance — until she found herself snapped to the present.

Like a cold slap back to reality. Sinners, all of them. It was a shock they hadn't been smite down yet for their actions. And each one came flooding back as Harry spoke.

Jessica watched, as she often did from a distance: and while she might've been airy and light, just like a flower...sometimes she wilted under pressure. Not academically, no, never. But socially? More than she cared to let on. She often said people shouldn't let her sunny disposition fool them. Which was more often than not brushed off: a laugh there, or a joke here. But all it took was one look towards Harry, and she could feel it unravel as if it was taking root inside of her. The loss of hope, or faith, maybe even kind, was disastrous for one's soul. Her hands shook, eyes darting around her friends.

Lord have mercy on his soul.

His outburst echoed to the old guilt that she'd long thought about. They'd all be a part of it. All to blame.

The Harry she'd known at Rose, this charming, quick-witted man who had always been the life of their life since they'd vowed their secret oaths, was now but a whisper of his former self. It'd slipped past her at the beginning of the night, the entanglement of guilt staring her square in the face — had she been blind or ignored it completely? Preoccupied with their own lives, their own plight. How could they, friends who'd known each other for so many years, have not seen what was directly in front of them? It didn't help when her eye caught Adams, a mirror of her own, concern etched into her delicate features as they furrowed and unfurrowed.

Her pang of longing for Adam — she couldn't even begin to imagine how Harry's must've felt. Jessica always tried to keep her emotions...controlled. Happiness had long been one of the things that she knew weren't going to be like the fairytales she span in the church. There were nights where she wanted nothing more than Adam to offer her something...but once again, selfish thoughts like that were sinful. Did that mean she didn't still long for fleeting touches, or...longer ones? She knew he'd offered all that he could, but she still...with a sigh, she finished her drink in one fell swoop.

Jessica was unsure how to respond to such unbridled pain. All-consuming.

"He needs to go to confession," Jessica said under her breath.

It all happened so fast, the conversation, the group dispersing as Jessica found herself nodding. A man who didn't want to be found wouldn't be. It was a heavy thought, and one that weighed on her mind on the journey back. In the dark, passing street lights every few meters, she allowed herself to look at his features. Shadows painting pictures on his skin. Adam had originally offered to drive Harry home. Jessica had felt a surge at the time, almost ready to jump into action if Adam asked but — but she knew he wouldn't. Adam's presence was a comfort, whether it was religious or not: his steady hand, that all too familiar calm saved lives. Not physically like a doctor, but with his words and faith. But she that faith meant another evening apart from each other, another night where they couldn't be the family they longed to be.

Once upon a time, Jessica had hoped Adam would never have to carry such burdens that his innocence would remain unscathed for as long as possible. But life came for them all, eventually. "I'm worried about him, I mean..." she blew out a long breath. "Everyone else...it looks like they have someone." Even if their paths had diverged as they'd grown, there had always been pairs.

And Harry didn't have his anymore. What would Abigail think of them for how long they'd left him unchecked? Before they'd bothered to check in. "I should call on him tomorrow, after work. Just to check in." and as she placed her forehead against the window, no longer able to watch Adam's face as the night passed by in a blur — she prayed.

Prayed for Harry, for her friends, and for forgiveness.

Sometimes, though, not all prayers could be answered.

The string unwound slowly as Adam walked back, Jessica by his side, their son cradled in her arms. "Are you ready, Daniel?" he asked. Their nearly three-year-old son looked up, curiosity and amusement flickering in his eyes. Each time he looked at Daniel and Jessica, the familiar choke of his collar tightened, a relentless reminder of his self-imposed penance. The ache to openly embrace them both gnawed at him, but he knew such desires were beyond his reach. What he had done could not go unpunished. He had forfeited the family, the wife, and the children he had always yearned for, fully aware that his actions had irrevocably stolen those same dreams from someone else. A friend.

Ahead, the priest—sans collar today—smiled and broke into a run. His laughter rang through the air as the kite they had crafted together, painted in Daniel's chosen colours of "red like fast, father," caught the wind and soared. The fabric danced against the breeze, and for a fleeting moment, Adam felt a sense of freedom as pure as the kite’s. But kites were never truly free, were they? He glanced down at his hands, the string taut and the spool of wire unraveling, only granting the illusion of freedom. He was time to get back.

Once back at Jessica's, Adam slipped out the back door, promising to return as soon as her parents arrived to watch over Daniel. At home, he changed out of his grass-stained pants, the remnants of their afternoon in the hemlock grove—a hidden sanctuary away from the town's scrutiny. He then took the Parish car, a stark reminder of his dual existence, and drove back to pick up Jessica. They were the last to arrive at the Grove, where their old friends had already gathered.

They squeezed into the same side of the booth, and Adam, for a moment, struggled with the urge to let his hand fall naturally on Jessica’s leg. The old, forbidden intimacy tempted him, but he knew better. Instead, he clenched his hands into a tight ball on the table, feeling the weight of nostalgia turn against him tonight. It was all too difficult now that he was here, slipping back into old routines without the collar to remind him of his vows.

As the night wore on, Adam found it surprisingly effortless to shed his priestly mantle, joking and reminiscing about old pranks. It was almost too easy to forget his constraints, the rules that kept his body from pressing too close to Jessica's. By the time everyone drifted out to join the others on the patio, Adam felt like a reflection of his past self, unburdened by the collar that usually anchored him. His hand found Jessica's wrist, holding her back just long enough to retrieve a piece of sea salt—a remnant from earlier when his enthusiasm had tipped the shaker over. "Snow salt," he said with a mischievous grin.

But Harry's words shattered the fragile mirage. Concern etched itself deeply onto Adam's face as he listened, his own guilt clawing its way back to the surface, gnawing at him from the inside out. He knew they'd turn to him first, expecting some sage advice, hoping he could talk Harry down from the not-so-metaphorical ledge he'd just climbed onto. But Adam understood Harry. Religion had never resonated with him, and if there was one lesson Adam had learned since pressing his face to cold tile and lying prostrate before God, it was that people who aren't religious don't want religion thrust upon them. It doesn't help; it only fuels their anger.

So, he waited, watching as Harry poured out his soul in a raw confession, needing no booth for his catharsis. When it seemed Harry had finally exhausted himself, Adam stepped forward. "I'll drive you home," he said quietly, placing a steady hand on Harry's shoulder. "This isn't the place to talk about these things. Not now." He knew the futility in waiting for the right time, a moment that always seemed to stretch endlessly into the future, never fully arriving for any of them.

He turned, offering his own goodbyes to everyone else, accepting that the night had come to an end. Glancing over at Jessica, he realized in the flurry of farewells that Harry had slipped away. There was no time to search for him; he needed to get Jessica back to St. Mary's before her mother started to worry. "Come on," he urged gently, "we're not going to find him. He doesn't want to be found." As they made their way out, Adam couldn't help but wonder if this was for the best, if some things were meant to remain unresolved.

#i: persephone's zemblanity #feat. orson marlowe #feat. charlotte hastings #feat. donaghy langford #feat. william hamstead #feat. xavier peanud #feat. sophie dlamini #feat. harry lyndon #location: the grove #location: london

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