Light and Wine Read Online Free

desperate gentleness. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay.”
    Withdrawing carefully, keeping her skin touching mine everywhere else, I gathered her into my arms and sat up. Little tremors joined little cries, baby pink rosary beads rolling against my skin as she let me rock her for a few breaths.
    Then she steadied herself.
    Pulling her arms from mine and rubbing tears away with the back of her hand, she placed her feet flat on the floor.
    “I should go.”
    “Don’t—”
    “It’s not …” She sighed, standing and smoothing her skirt before bending to bring black lace up her legs as I stood.
    “It’s getting late. I need to finish packing.”
    With a quickness that stung, she was dressed and stepping back into her shoes.
    “I’ll see you.”
    “Lacie, wait.”
    Eager fingers paused on the doorknob. She turned to me as I crossed the room to stand between her and the door. Tilting my head to look into her downcast eyes, I found them and the need to run I could read there pitted the sting I was already feeling deeper.
    I should have told her.
    I should have said anything.
    I shouldn’t have let her go.
    “It’s fine,” she insisted, rubbing the corners of cry-pink eyelids with the heel of her hand. “I’m fine. We’re okay. I’ll see you next week.”

Meeting my eyes for a shadow of a beat, she tried to smile, and then she left, and I let her.
    I should have reached out.

I should have kept her in my arms.
    I shouldn’t have let us go as far as we did.

But how could I not?
    The love we carry flows with His divinity. It’s a gift and it’s more than strong. It’s tempting.

I knew she wouldn’t be in school the next day. She and her mother had been planning ten days of college visits for a month, but there were no words for the sore worry that cut through me with her absence. After years of cautioning her not to run in the hallways and tucking her hair into her bicycle helmet after school, reminding her to look both ways when she crossed the street and helping her through every struggle with fear and faith, it pained me to think I’d failed her when she needed protection from her own needs.
    I prayed and prayed. I confessed to God, and clung to fleeting comfort in knowing His will be done, but I remained scared of all the ways I might have ruined the most special gift He’d ever bestowed to me.

Lacie.
    Long days passed, punctured with sunrises that twisted my stomach and nights of sleepless concern. The sun rose and set, and I heard nothing from her.   It was one thing to go. I understood that she had to, but to not even take her phone?
    I tried to distract myself in daily routines and was successful for moments at a time, but the hours were littered with helpless longing and the awful anxiety of not knowing anything of her whereabouts or well-being. Even Monsignor noted that I seemed distraught, and offered me some time off.
    I declined.
    I wanted to teach. I wanted the diversion. The last thing I needed was the single bed and empty walls of my room echoing with the confusion in her voice, the rustle of her clothes as she dressed in haste, and all the memories of love that I knew was mine, opened too early.
    On the fourth evening, I answered the rectory phone’s shrill ring with hands red from the hot water of dishes that’d I’d taken to washing manually because it took longer.
    “Saint Casilda of Toledo’s Rectory, Father Reston speaking.”
    “Hi.”
    My knees nearly buckled with relief.

“I have to be quiet. My mom’s asleep in the next room, but … I wanted to call …”

Closing my eyes and leaning back against the wall , I slid to the floor where I stood.
    “I know it’s kind of late … Is this okay?”

“Of course.” My voice was weak from unuse. I cleared my throat and pushed my free hand through my hair. “Of course. How are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, yeah. Everything’s okay. Sarah Lawrence was okay, but RISD was great.   So great I