He was well-loved by his parishioners and had been the pastor of the Church of the Sacred Heart for as long as I could remember. Anyway, I told him about my ill feelings towards my aunt and my cousins and he smiled at me from across the table as he listened.
He was well aware of the tension at home, though whose side he was on I couldn't say. He seemed equally compassionate with me as he was with Aunt Theresa. We sat in what was used as the quiet room for parents with small children during Mass.
Fr. Verrell preferred face to face confession and I admit I was scared at first, but he was kind and familiar. Now it was second nature to me. Unusually strong winds whipped against the old Church. The ceiling groaned in protest and I shivered in the folding chair where I sat. My jeans felt cold
