to light and guard

chapter forty five

"Have you had any more of those thoughts you experienced? Where you thought you wanted to hurt yourself?"

The scene was the same for Mary Eunice as she sat across from Father Joseph in one of the oversize chairs, sinking into the worn cushion, but for the second time, she wore her day clothes instead of her habit. The spot on her finger where her wedding band had gone didn't ache so much anymore. "No, I... I haven't wanted that again." Her khaki skirt hung past her knees, and she retreated into her turtleneck. "I've been praying, Father, a lot, and I... I believe this might be what God intended for me, now."

A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, concern and sympathy and pity all wrapped up into his expression. "I hope that is the case. I worry about the Monsignor's intentions." Mary Eunice averted her eyes. I don't want to talk about the Monsignor. I don't want to think about him. Goosebumps rose all over her arms and legs. She ignored the feeling of her body hair prickling all over. "I trust your judgment. If you believe that this was meant to be, then I hope you can come to peace with it."

She plucked at the sleeve of her sweater. "If I think it's the will of God," she admitted, "I think I can handle it better. It makes it easier to accept." And I must accept it. I don't have any other choice. "It hurt so much, the first day, the second day—it felt like I would never know anything but that hurt ever again. I felt like God had thrown me away. I thought... I thought, if even God didn't want me, I didn't deserve to live." Her voice trembled. "And I didn't want to burden Lana. She was trying so hard. She was torturing herself, and there was nothing I could do to make her feel better." She wiped under her nose with her index finger, and Father Joseph nudged the box of tissues toward her—a novelty compared to the handkerchief he usually offered her. She took a tissue and blew her nose. "I thought the world would be better without me in it. That—That I had served my purpose, and it was time to quit."

"You're so young," Father Joseph reminded her in a soft voice. "There's still so much good you can do."

Mary Eunice bobbed her head, choking on the lump in her throat as she attempted to stifle it. "My mother was younger than me when she died," she whispered. "I'm—I'll be five years older than my father was in April. That makes it feel so much longer. It puts it out of perspective. I never expected to live to be this age, so each day makes me feel much older than I am." She wiped away her tears with the soft tissue. "That day, I felt—I felt this overwhelming pressure inside of me. Like I couldn't escape. Like I needed somewhere to run, and I couldn't get away. It got worse and worse, this weight on top of me, crushing me, telling me how awful I was."

The wrinkles at the corners of Father Joseph's lips flexed downward. "Was it a voice similar to what you heard before?"

She shook her head. "No—No. I only hear that voice in my nightmares." Her Mary Janes clicked together, the toes bumping against each other. "This voice was my Aunt Celest. She has always been my—my inside talker. My conscience, I guess." That's a little ironic. When she considered it now, she realized possibly the least moral woman she had ever known had become the voice of her self-esteem. "Her voice repeats the things she told me when I was a child when I'm in doubt, or feeling lost or confused. But it was her voice—her voice telling me I was worthless without God." She stared down at the toes of her shoes, which were scuffed. The sight burned inside of her. "Those were the things she told me when I was a girl. Not often, but—often enough. I remember the things she said to me at my lowest points. I don't know why."

"The way we speak to our children becomes their inner voice. She failed you." Mary Eunice shrugged, not contributing anything. "I know you don't like to speak poorly of her. But I think you need to work on reforming that voice. It might sound cheesy, but positive self-talk will get you a long way. And it's hard to uproot those voices. You've spoken to yourself like your aunt since you were a little girl. You'll have to work at replacing that voice with something more positive." Like Lana. Mary Eunice clutched her rosary a little tighter, pinching her eyes tightly closed as she worked actively at forgetting how Lana had kissed the inside of her thigh this morning, how she had kissed places even more intimate. Those weren't things she wanted to think of right now, this close to Father Joseph. Keeping Lana off of her mind was an unending struggle. They hadn't gone a day without making love in a week. Mary Eunice wasn't certain if she was ashamed of that or not. "Are you worried you'll start having those thoughts again?"