He watched her from the shadows. She came to rosary every morning, stayed for the Mass; she lingered after, on her knees praying. She would have been a bother to him and his custodial duties, but she was so lovely. She was young, beautiful and sad. He almost forgot his sadness, anger, disappointment as he was lost in hers. She would end her prayers abruptly, bless herself, stand up, gather her things, genuflect and then swiftly exit the church, without an interested glance. In the months past, she had brushed off the priests' interests and conversation. Granted she had done it politely, but her disinterest in them (and all of the other catty church ladies) was plainly clear. But here she was every morning, except Saturdays, praying from 7:30 until about 9:30 or 10.

This made Sandor wonder many things. Firstly, what did she do on Saturdays? She never missed any other day, why would she skip Saturdays? He was curious what she did instead. Secondly, he wondered what she did for the rest of the day. One look at her could tell she had money. She was impeccably dressed and well mannered. She also was always alone.

The irony of the situation for Sandor was, as much as he was here in church, he wasn't a religious man. He was 2 years sober, he had been given this generous gift for a job, money, free room and board. He lived in a small apartment near the parish garage. He had his peace and quiet. He had time to read and he had an important job… cleaning the parish and fixing things that were broken. He had been broken and the parish had indirectly repaired some of his brokenness. He had not found God. He wasn't looking for that kind of redemption. He found self worth being sober, clean, having a purpose. He would never be handsome; the fire and abuse scars took that away from him. But, the women and children at church didn't fear him. He would get friendly smiles and pleasantries. He almost died of shock when the catty church ladies remembered him at holidays with baked goods and knitted hats and mittens. He chuckled, "good Christian women" not wanting to be out done by their cohorts, in providing for the less fortunate. Well, some of them used some very soft yarn that felt nice on his face. His burn scars were very sensitive to the cheap yarn some of them used. That's what he needed; a fucking rash on his already horribly scarred face from some synthetic yarn.

He dined with the parish priest, who like himself was misunderstood. Father Sam Tarly, the priest had met Sandor at his first AA meeting. Father Sam hadn't lead the meeting, but it was his church who sponsored the meetings. Sandor was fresh out of prison, struggling, miserable, and angry. Now he was just angry... .sometimes. He was grateful for the second chance, when no one else would give him a bone. He took classes at the night school. He had his GED and was now working on some college courses. He had the potential, low intelligence had never been his downfall. He and Fr. Sam were different in many aspects, but their similarities made them kindred spirits. Sam was morbidly obese, Sandor was a hulking figure, well over six and a half feet with no visible fat on his body. Sam was clearly shy and tounge tied around beautiful women, Sandor knew what they thought of him, so he never made any effort, lest he be hurt. Both men were lonely and enjoyed each others company. They liked to read and watch people, so it gave them ample choices for conversation.

Sandor had watched Sam attempt to talk to his new parishioner. She had not shown any interest. Sam wanted to talk about her to Sandor during their meals. It was too much for Sandor. He tried not to be drawn to her, but as he had been a victim of abuse, he knew an abused woman when he saw one. He also saw that she was in some sort of denial, so there was little use to try to get involved. However, Sandor could not escape the intoxicating smell of her, perfume, sunshine, who knows what. He missed that smell on Saturdays as he prepared the church for the upcoming Sunday services.. He knew in less than 24 hours he would have a few precious minutes to breathe in that mysterious woman's scent. It gave him a strange feeling of hope, that the life of a church custodian was not the only one he was going to live.