Excerpt
“I apologize, Father,” Eddie said, dabbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Dying is something I’ve never had to do before and it don’t come easy.”
The old man looked uncomfortable sitting in that chair. He looked uncomfortable in his skin...fearful even, and as if he was looking for a place to run to.
“I can certainly understand that,” Father Murphy answered from his place behind the desk.
Eddie Kingsley didn’t look well at all. He was gaunt; clearly his health had been declining for some time. His skin was mottled with hues of gray, eyes deeply sunken in with large, dark patches lying beneath them. And he was sweating profusely although it was chilly in the office. Father Murphy could see that he was in a lot of pain.
“Did you want to make a confession, Mr. Kingsley?”
Eddie giggled then, but his laughter took on all the qualities of a guitar string that had been turned umpteen notches too tight.
“That’s just it,” he answered, scratching at his unshaven chin. “I didn’t do anything and that’s the problem. If I’d have done something things might have turned out different. I might have been able to save them kids. This has been eating me alive for years. The doctors want to call it cancer, but I know better.”