Dirty Dessert: A Second Helpings Short Story

  Copyright © 2018 by Dori Lavelle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  My knees press into the wooden floor next to my single bed, my eyes close, and my hands come together in prayer.

  As a novice in the enclosed monastic Order of Saint Rosalia, frequent prayer is expected of me. In prayer I get the opportunity to deepen my relationship with God, especially now that I’ll soon be taking the vows that will enable me to become a full-professed nun.

  On Thanksgiving, I send up an additional secret prayer, a prayer of strength.

  For two years I have been fighting memories from my past, but they overwhelm me every Thanksgiving.

  After my prayer, I draw in a calming breath. If only the smells of clean linen and a burning candle could melt away my discomfort.

  I pull myself to my feet and run my hands over my habit to smooth out the wrinkles. I leave the room still feeling uneasy and unsure how to shake the feeling.

  On my way to the dining hall, I bump into Sister Anna, the head of our community.

  “Sister Leah. Please hurry to the dining hall. The visitors are trickling in. The hotels have blessed us with plenty of food this year.” Sister Anna hurries off, her habit swishing with each movement.

  Thanksgiving to us is a time to give to those who have nothing. The goal is to give the homeless and hungry a reason to give thanks to God. We feed the hungry who live on the streets of Misty Cove, Florida. Other times of the year, the doors to our community are closed to the outside world.

  Sister Anna Lyn was right. The hall is buzzing with activity as people flood in to get a share of the available food. For a moment I watch my other sisters happily distributing the food. Sometimes I envy them for their strength to let go of their past lives while I still struggle sometimes.

  I turn away and disappear into the kitchen. I’m on turkey duty this year.

  Sister Esther, a novice like myself, points to the table laden with five huge turkeys.

  “We have plenty of food to give away this Thanksgiving. I’ll help you carve them, if you like.”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.” I take my place next to her.

  Once one of the turkeys is carved and arranged on a wooden platter with a green salad around it, I carry it to the dining hall, where everyone is waiting in line.

  I place myself at the end of the long wooden table next to Sister Amelia, and get to work. The turkey disappears fast, but Sister Esther brings the second before it’s all gone.

  Just as I serve the last of the first turkey, inhaling the aroma of meat mixed in with the smells of stale cigarette, sweat, and unwashed bodies, the hairs at the back of my neck rise and bristle. Something forces me to look up. When I do, my gaze meets that of a man standing in line behind a boy with hair in a Mohawk.

  Unlike the others, the man staring at me is wearing much cleaner-looking clothes. When his lips curl into a dimpled smile, my body tenses.

  “No.” I blink several times. He’s not real. My mind has to be playing tricks on me.

  “Sister,” the homeless man in front of me calls, pushing his plate under my nose.

  “Sorry.” I shake my head, and serve him his turkey. “Happy thanksgiving. God bless you.” My voice is shaking as much as my hands, my heart thumping out of control.

  The homeless man hurries off without responding, his eyes on his plate of mashed potatoes, turkey, and vegetables.

  My gaze returns to the man who was staring at me. His eyes are still on my face. As our eyes lock, it’s almost as if no one else is present in the room. He’s slimmer than I remember him, and his chestnut hair is much shorter, but it’s Ernest Ressler. Or is it?

  This is so wrong.

  I clutch the edge of the table when he moves forward in line. He’ll be in front of me soon. There are only four people ahead of him now.

  Before he can make it to me, the fork and knife I’m holding clatter to the wooden tray. Sweat pushes through my forehead as my knees threaten to give way.

  Breathless, I turn to a Sister Amelia. “Can you serve the turkey? I’m not feeling well. I’ll go outside for some air.”

  Before she responds, I stumble out of the dining hall and burst into the long, dim hallway that would take me to my room, my hands clenched tight at my sides.

  I don’t get far before hearing my name carried on the wings of a voice that’s all too familiar. I come to a halt. I can no longer pretend he’s not real. He’s back.

  I suck in a breath, hold it, and turn to face my past. His bottle green eyes, strong, square jaw, and chiseled features arrest my heart just as they used to years ago. He should be thirty years old now. “Ernest.”

  He gives me that smile, the one that used to knock the wind from my lungs. I’m unable to move as he closes the distance between us, a distance formed by over two years of separation, two years of pain, disappointment, and betrayal.

  I want to say more, but my tongue is glued to my palate. Walking away would be the right thing to do, but I’m frozen in place.

  When I finally blow out the air trapped inside my lungs and inhale deeply, his bergamot and lavender cologne fills my nostrils. My stomach twists. He still prefers the scent of the cologne I bought him years ago.

  “Hello, Leah.”

  “I’m Sister... I’m Sister Leah now.” My voice finally forces its way through my tight throat.

  “Not to me,” he says and brings his hand to my cheek. “To me you’ll always be Leah Sherman, my Leah.”

  I turn away from him and his warm hand leaves my cheek. “You can’t be here.” I peer past his shoulders, expecting one of my sisters to show up.

  “Then let’s get out of here. Let’s talk outside.” His smooth, velvet voice hasn’t changed at all.

  “I don’t—” I shake my head. “I don’t know. You should leave.” I drop my gaze in time to watch a teardrop plop onto my hand.

  He tips up my chin with a finger so I can look into his eyes. “Please, Leah. Give me just ten minutes. Then I’ll leave... if that’s what you really want.”

  If he’s still the same man I fell in love with in high school, he won’t go away until he gets what he wants.

  In his unexpected presence, my heart is conflicted. I feel as though I’m sinning just standing here with him. But I nod my head and show him a way out of the building before someone comes looking for me.

  Ernest showing up out of the blue could ruin everything for me.

  “Let’s talk in my car,” he says once we’re out in the balmy evening air with stars twinkling overhead.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I twist my hands together. “It’s not right.”

  He takes hold of my arm, but I pull away, and throw a quick glance behind me to see the homeless disappear into the building. If my sisters were not so busy serving meals, I’d be caught.

  Ernest pushes his hands into his pockets. “I know you’re angry, after what I did, but please let me explain.” He pauses. “Come with me to my car.”

  My fear of getting caught forces me to follow him until we’re outside the gates, where more homeless people are gathered. Inside the walls of the convent I was cut off from the outside world. I was safe from my past and the heartache it brought with it. Now the memories have come back to haunt me, to complicate my new life. I thought walking away from a life that let me down would change me. I thought it did. Now I realize I had been lying to myself all along. I’m still
the same person.

  His car is parked underneath one of the two sycamore trees outside the gates. I get into the backseat of the Honda Civic, afraid to get too close. I clasp my hands in my lap, guilt gnawing at my insides.

  He says nothing as he gets behind the wheel and starts the car and drives off with a screech of tires.

  My breath catches inside my throat. “Ernest, what are you doing?”

  “We can’t talk here.” He takes us away from the place that I’ve called home for two years.

  “I can’t leave.” I look behind me at the convent, watching darkness swallowing up the building I now call home. “I’m not allowed to.”

  “I’ll bring you back, I promise.” He doesn’t even look back at me.

  With me begging him to stop, he finally comes to a halt at the side of the road, far enough from the convent.

  “I didn’t want you to get in trouble with the nuns.” He gets out of the car and joins me in the backseat.

  I swallow hard. “I’m one of them, Ernest.” Sudden anger scorches the back of my throat. “What are you even doing here? How did you know—”

  “My dad told me. I was shocked to hear that you chose the life of—” He stops talking and just stares at me for a long time. Then he hangs his head. “I know I hurt you—”

  “You hurt me?” My voice rises. “You disappeared a week before our wedding. No explanation, no goodbye.” Tears flood my eyes. The last time I saw him was when he was leaving for Vegas to celebrate his bachelor party. His friends came back, but he didn’t. No one knew where he was.

  “I didn’t want to. I never wanted to leave you. I wanted you for the rest my life. You have to believe me.” He tries to touch my face, but I move out of his reach.

  “I’m finding it very hard to. All I know is that you walked away from a life with me. You shredded my heart, Ernest. You humiliated me.” The pain I thought had gone away has now returned full force, ripping open unhealed wounds. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  “I had to.” He looks up again and turns my head to face him. “Listen to me. If I had a choice, I would never have left you. I loved you so much. I still do.”

  Fresh tears flood my eyes and I feel myself come apart all over again. “Don’t.” I shake my head, tears splashing everywhere. I turn my head away again, breaking off eye contact.

  “I was in witness protection,” he says. “At the hotel were staying in Vegas, I witnessed the murder of a hotel maid. The cops told me it was the work of a serial killer they had been chasing for months. They said I was in danger. I was a key witness. They offered me protection. I had no choice but to accept the offer.”

  I turn to look at his damp eyes. I’ve always known when he was telling the truth, and he is.

  “Why?” I blink away tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was not allowed to get in touch with anyone, not even my family. I didn’t want to put you in danger.” He blows out a breath. “They sent me to a town in Utah. I had a new identity and everything.” He tips his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. “It was hard not getting in touch with you, not being able to hold you, to kiss you.” He opens his eyes again and pulls me into his arms.

  For a moment I tense up. I should pull back, push him away. A lot has changed since he left. I’m not the woman he left behind. I vowed to live for God. But why can’t I move? Why am I clutching onto him as if it’s still yesterday? Why do I suddenly feel like the woman he left behind?

  We’re both crying now, breaking apart in each other’s arms. As I bury my face into his neck, I’m ridden with various shades of guilt. I hate myself for hating him so much when he left, the things I’d said and the thoughts that had polluted my mind during my period of depression. I also hate myself for being weak as his lips meet mine, for not being able to stop myself from kissing him back. As if I’m hypnotized, I ignore the voice inside my head that shouts for me to stop:

  What are you doing?

  But I can’t. His confession has changed everything.

  He pulls away and removes my head-covering, to reveal my strawberry-blonde hair. “You’re still so beautiful.”

  Finally I push him away. “I can’t. This is wrong. I have to get back.” I snatch a breath and grab my head-covering from his hand. I attempt to wear it again, but he stops me.

  “You don’t have to. I’m back now, and I still love you. You became a nun because you thought I threw us away. Now you know the truth. Stay with me. Let me love you, Leah.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Let me remind you how good we are together.” He puts a hand behind my neck and pulls me closer. Our lips meet again, this time in a hungry, desperate kiss that makes me forget everything. It may be wrong, but it feels so right.

  I can’t stop him from slipping his hands inside my habit, skimming my bare side. I can’t stop him from lowering me onto the seat and kissing every inch of my stomach. For a moment, he just keeps his lips there, his warm breath stroking my skin.

  I’m here and not here at the same time. My mind has completely shut out the outside world. It doesn’t feel as though anything has changed. Right now in my mind, he didn’t go away, and I didn’t hide my pain behind a nun’s clothing.

  “I missed you more than you can ever imagine.” His hand moves from my stomach to my breasts, to my shoulders, before he buries it into my hair and comes back up to kiss me hard, his tongue starting a slow, passionate dance with mine. How could I ever have thought I could live without this, without this man?

  When he moves his mouth to my neck, kissing his way across my boiling skin, and his hand slides into my underwear, a soft moan escapes my lips followed by sounds I never thought I’d be able to make again.

  I become his all over again as his fingers take control of me. He still knows my body by heart. He knows how to set it on fire.

  My eyes fall shut, and my spine curves as a familiar and delicious sensations sweeps through me, as his fingers explore the depths of me until I completely forget who I am, what I had been working toward.

  My fingers are gripping his shirt now, pulling him on top of me, my legs spreading so he settles with ease between my thighs. It should be uncomfortable, but the overwhelming desire coursing through my veins makes everything pleasurable.

  My breath is coming in short, desperate gasps and his breath is hot against my ear as he unzips his pants. He gazes into my eyes, ready to transport us back to the past, to the good times, his muscular arms on both sides of me. I can already feel him at my entrance. One push and he will be inside.

  “Let me have all of you, please. I miss—”

  I swallow hard and block out any grain of guilt forming inside my mind. Before I know what I’m doing, before the guilt becomes overwhelming, I give a small nod.

  The moment he enters me, I’m back home. He’s back home. We’re back where it all began. My legs wrap around his waist to bring him closer, deeper, until he fills the empty space inside me. This is dirty and so wrong. But I’m too hungry for him to stop this thing we started.

  Our eyes are on each other the entire time he slides in and out of me. His jaw is tight, his brow glistening with sweat, his hands hiding in my hair, massaging my scalp.

  I suck in the smell of him, leather and sex. I hold on tight as wave after wave of bittersweet sensations wash over me.

  Suddenly, his breath quickens and his movements become more urgent. I wish this would never stop. I wish he could stay inside me forever. I want to stretch the moment for as long as it would go. But the sensation building up in my belly is too strong for me to ignore. My body shudders beneath his touch. His hands grip my hair tighter at the same time he closes his eyes again, face turned upward. One more thrust tips me over the edge. Another sends him crashing on top of me with a guttural roar.

  As we lay in each other’s arms panting and sweating, a sudden flash of light startles us, followed by an urgent knocking on the window.

  We both look up to see a cop peering into the vehicle, the li
ght of his flashlight blinding us.

  “Fuck,” he says.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper and the reality of what I’ve done slams into my chest.

  “It’s all right, baby,” Ernest says, quickly helping me cover my nakedness.

  “No,” I respond. “No, it’s not.”

  I’m about to be punished for the sin I knowingly committed? What would my sisters think when they learn that I did not only neglect my duties, but ran off with a man to have sex in his car?

  “Please exit the vehicle with your arms where I can see them,” the cop says. We do as we’re told.

  I’m in a cell with four other women. Ernest’s cell is right next to it. This is a small town and the tiny jail reflects it.

  Since we got arrested, Ernest has been trying to make me feel better about the situation.

  “This is really humiliating for me.” I glance back at one of my cellmates, a woman with a toothless grin. It’s obvious she finds it quite amusing to share a cell with a nun. If only they knew what I was in for.

  “Don’t worry,” Ernest says, pacing. “We won’t spend the night in here. My father is on his way.”

  Ernest’s father had been the chief of police for years. He retired shortly before Ernest disappeared. I’m sure he’ll be able to pull strings that will help us get released.

  I nod without making eye contact with him. Everything that happened tonight has left me shaken to the core. I’ve also made a call to Sister Anna at the convent. As expected, she was horrified to hear about where I am, what I did. We ended the call without me knowing whether she will come and see me or not. I would have called my mother, but she lives outside Misty Cove with her new husband. Like most people, she had not been amused with the idea of me becoming a nun.

  We have not spoken for years. Our relationship broke the day she married my stepfather, only six months after my father died.

  “Why a nun?” Ernest comes to stand at the bars separating us. I hesitate before moving closer. I don’t want everyone to hear our conversation.