Fiona parks her car outside the church, what she knows to be her son’s former Pawn Shop. She enters the sanctuary, striding down the center aisle with purpose, her grey pumps clacking on the stone floor. Halfway down she turns in the cross aisle and pauses, staring at the double sided booth with red velvet curtain. She can see his black shoes in the space at the bottom, turned sideways, one farther forward than the other. She shakes her head disapprovingly, sighs, and presses forward. Stepping into the booth on the left, she abruptly pulls the curtain closed behind her and sits down.
Father MacAvoy sits in the confessional. Well, it’s more of a reclined position, legs stretched out as he leans onto the dividing wall between the booths, sleeping off a bit of whisky. It’s confession hours, which usually means nap time as confessions are few and far between these days. The sound of the curtain closing and the vibration of someone moving in the compartment on his right do little to rouse him. It’s the clearing of a throat and a woman starting in with her confession that startle him awake. His eyes pop open and then close again as he squints against even the little amount of light entering the confessional. He hopes he hadn’t been snoring. “Bless me father for I have sinned, It’s been…ages since my last confession.” She knew from the position of his feet before she entered that he was sleeping. From inside she can tell why - the entire confessional reeks of whisky. MacAvoy scrubs his hands across his face trying to wake up, taking in a few deep breaths and clears his own throat before still speaking sleepily. “Yes, my child? I’m listening.” Fiona squints her eyes at the irony, he’s HER child. “I’m having an affair with a married man.” She blurts out. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I even make up reasons to be alone with him.” Fiona continues on, sounding lovesick. Of all the days to get a real confession, someone has to pick a time when he can’t even think straight. His head is pounding to boot. “I see. How long has this been going on?” He’s really trying to muster up brain power. “Does it matter? He’s taken solemn vows to forsake all others.” Her tone starts to sound annoyed. Father MacAvoy notices the change of tone. She sounds angry that the man has taken vows but at the same time like she WANTS her paint her sins in the worst possible light.
“Yes, you are right, his marriage vows are sacred. You knew of his marriage when you began the relationship?” He is trying to understand why she seems to feel so betrayed.
“Well yes of course! It was obvious, that big white collar right under his face!”
…
There is a long period silence while MacAvoy tries to figure out if he heard that correctly. Then he speaks hesitantly. “A ring. Don’t you mean a ring? O-on his l-left hand?” It must be his guilty conscience and the whisky that made him hear it wrong.
“No, I mean the white collar that denotes you are a priest! What are you doing traipsing around town with a woman? Kissing in the church no less! You’ve broken your vows, to the Church, to God himself, and disrespecting the memory of your son, Balefire, in the process! You should be ashamed!” Fiona smirks, imagining her son’s reaction on the other side of the wall. She couldn’t have all of her hard work go up in smoke over this woman - how they had managed to find each other in spite of this curse baffled and frustrated her. He is finally set to be the savior he was supposed to be. Now that she is here to protect him, he could be what he was meant to be, and one day they could somehow be a family again, without that Belle.
Joseph almost falls off the seat. How did this person know about Brie? About Baelfire? Who is she even? He wants to look, to ask, but it is forbidden. The confidentiality of the confession is sacred. He rakes his hand through his hair and looks upward for guidance, as if God might pick now to start guiding him. He scoffs at the idea and turns back to the wall separating him from the woman. “What do I do?” he begs. “What is my penance?” The tables have turned - he is now the one seeking absolution. He waits for her answer.
And waits.
“M-madam? Hello?” With no response, Joseph stands, pulls back his curtain, tentatively steps out and turns to the other side of the confessional. It’s empty.
David sighed as he looked out across the field spanning fifty acres. Patches of snow littered the field in places where a lone tree cast shadows across the land. They were melting. The chill that had been in the air was less today than it had been yesterday, at least.
Responsibilities weighed heavily on his shoulders. The barn stood behind him, but was ever on his mind as the sounds of lowing cows and the hum of the hens’ constant shuffling reached his ears. The farmhouse was to his right, and the slam of a screen door in the distance met his ears as well.
Work was the only thing on his mind lately. Taking the time to stand by the split-rail fence looking out on it all in contemplation was not a luxury he could afford. Or any luxuries for that matter.
The Winter Storm - aptly named alike his controlling sister-in-law, Fiona - had really put a damper on operations. During the height of the storm, while calving season was in full swing no less, his arm elbow-deep in a cow, the weight of the snow on the barn roof became too much and fell in onto the implement he used to plant the fields. The blizzard’s snow had blown into the barn disrupting the quiet slumber of the other animals, upset the mother cow, so that it was all he and his employee could do to keep her still and not abort the calf, while chickens flew like mad to escape the icy blast. The power had gone out minutes later leaving them in only the dim glow of light cast by the propane heaters.
The farmhouse’s generator had to be coupled with the barn’s generator to power up the oil furnace to heat the barn properly so that he wouldn’t lose any precious livestock. The implement with roofing and snow covering it was a low priority.
Furthermore, the chill in the farmhouse for two days as a result of the storm was not something he wanted to hear about from Fiona. As if it had been his fault the power went out. So, he’d kept himself busy in the barn with the livestock and the new calves. Any excuse to stay away and fortunately he hadn’t heard from her during the storm at all.
Now that the snows had mostly melted, the fields would need prepping for planting, but the implement hadn’t been fixed yet. The roof still had a hole in it, and tax time was approaching.
David needed to hire more help and get a check cut for the repairs. And he was going to have to ask Fiona permission since she had controlling interest in the farm and his finances. Fantastic. Storm’s over. Time to face the boss.
