Forgiven

Without looking, I know Arthur is wearing his plaid bedroom shoes. The slap of the loose heel on the floor makes me cringe. Even worse is the plaid robe always open, exposing his bow legs along with a belt that drags on the floor. Arthur made me promise to keep his robe and shoes. Our daughter, Beverly, bought them for him. What upsets me isn't the condition of the shoes and robe, but why he wears them. Today is "Confession Day."

When Beverly found out about confessions, she wanted to move her dad to assisted living, but I wanted to take care of him.

Earlier, Arthur announced, "Don't be late!" Then he headed to the bedroom to change his clothes. I know the routine. He will return to the living room and stand in the corner. I sit on the couch, no confessional booth, but I feel priestly ready to assure him that his sins are forgiven. His long-term memory is great so he remember arguments, forgotten anniversaries and the day he played golf while I had surgery.

When Arthur came to his corner, I smiled, "Honey, do you have something to tell me?"

For a moment, he didn't speak just stared.

"Arthur, are you alright?"

"Listen to me there's something I need to tell you. Remember Shirley my secretary?"

"Yes, honey I remember her."

"Well, I had an affair with her for ten years."

"What! What did you say! How could you?"

I forgot all about being a priest.

"OK Arthur, you brought this up, now you listen to me. Beverly is not your daughter!"

I listened to that man's shoe slap the floor as he headed to the bedroom.

I rose from the couch and stood in the corner, relieved of my sin.
295 Words