The Defining Decision

Three-2

A FEW MINUTES, LATER we are seated in the kitchen, delightfully alone, containers of moo shu pork, General Tso’s chicken, fried rice, and egg rolls set before us. After helping our plates, Helen and I spend a few minutes catching up on our respective mornings. I tell her about my meeting with Leslie. More important, however, Helen fills me in on Gladys’ work trying to figure out how Brian Dohrmann was able to afford $8,000 dollar suits on his salary.

“I still have a hard time believing it’s true,” she says.

“But the evidence is there, right? And, I’m sorry, Helen, but based on what you’ve told me about, ahem, things, it makes perfect sense to me.”

“Tom,” she looks at me, “I should have picked up on something. I worked with him. Hell, I went out with him. I should have figured out he was on the payroll of some pretty bad people.”

“And Gladys is convinced he’s connected to the same s*x trafficking operation as Rose?” As I say the name, the face of the woman who held Helen and me at gunpoint, who told me to go to hell when I asked to hear her confession, flashes through my mind.

“Several of the payments to his account in the Caymans are from the same shell companies that handled the payments to Gus, probably for the same reason—to get law enforcement to turn a blind eye.”

“Does that mean there’s s*x trafficking going on here in Myerton?”

Helen shrugs. “Gladys did find evidence when she was in Bellamy that this operation has its tentacles in college and university campuses around the country.”

I sigh and shake my head. Changing the subject, Helen looks across the table at the papers near my elbow and says, “Are those copies of the Archbishop’s email?”

“Yeah,” I reply, “I figured we ought to discuss it. I guess you read it?”

“Oh, yes,” she says.

“And?”

“I thought for a minute I was back at St. Monica’s High School and we were getting the rules for the spring dance.”

“Oh, Helen,” I say, “it's not that bad.”

“Not for you,” Helen says, looking and sounding a little perturbed. “You’re used to being talked to this way. But I’m not, Tom, and it's going to take some adjustment.” Seeing the crushed look on my face, she smiles and adds, “But I do want to adjust, Tom. I really do.”

“I understand, Helen,” I say. “I’m used to the Church laying down the rules about how I’m to behave and expecting them to be followed. But look at it this way. Every organization has rules and policies, even police departments. And sometimes those policies can even apply to the personal lives of those involved. For instance, I bet the department has rules about how you store your gun, even at home, right?”

She nods, then leans forward as a wicked smile plays on her lips. “So if I understand,” she says mischievously, “these rules are about where you’re allowed to put your gun between now and when we’re officially engaged?”

My face turns beet red as I barely manage not to spit a mouthful of fried rice on her. I finally get myself back under control enough to say, “OK, I guess I deserved that. But look, can’t we just go over this together before you get any worse?”

“Sure,” she says, “now that I’ve made my point.”

I pass her a copy of the email and take one for myself.

“Dear Tom and Helen,

“I decided to send you this email to clarify what we discussed last night. It seemed as if you were both still in shock when you left and I want to make sure that you know how I hope things proceed from here.

So far, so good, I think.

“Before we go any further, I need to share something with the two of you, something that I suppose I am reluctant to admit but that you still have the right to know. As much as I wish that everything concerning the Holy See’s decision to expedite your engagement depended only on your own worthiness or the value of the idea, there are still other factors at work. Factors of a primarily political nature.

“Tom, I am sure that you are aware, and Helen, you may have heard, that the Holy Father has been under pressure from more progressive forces in the Church to sanction giving Holy Communion to persons who have divorced and then remarried without the benefit of receiving a formal annulment. After much prayer and consideration, he has decided to maintain the Church’s policy against this.

“As you might expect, it will anger many when this decision is released. So, frankly, the decision was made to expedite your engagement in order to give the press something to talk about besides divorce and remarriage in the Church.

“To be clear, this never would have happened had I not had absolute faith in your commitment to Tom’s vocation to the priesthood. Certainly this Lenten season has put the two of you through a trial of fire that any future couple is not likely to experience. You have tripped, as you have told me, but you have caught yourselves, and that is a critical lesson that we all spend our lives learning. Chances are no other couple will ever move through the process so quickly.”

“That does explain a lot,” Helen admits. “I mean, as much as I am grateful for all that is happening, even I know that this is light speed, especially for an organization like the Catholic Church.”

I nod and continue reading.

“You are both mature adults and I will not insult either of you by trying to lay down rules about how you are to spend your private time. What I will say, however, based on years of experience as a parish priest long before I was a bishop, is that the best way you can use this time together is to work on communication. You both have very demanding jobs, and time will be at a premium. You will be tempted to spend it on surface matters and I realize even physical pursuits, but you do so at your peril. You two are laying the foundation for the rest of your lives together, lives that will be more challenging for you than they might be for others. Build on rock, no matter how easy sand is to come by.”

“OK,” Helen admits, “he’s right about that.”

“Yeah, I know,” I agree with what I hope is good grace.

“Now we come to the matter of your public behavior, and for that, I must give you rules. As we discussed last night, I have forwarded your application for a dispensation to marry to the Vatican. They are expecting it and I have been laying the groundwork for this for weeks, so, barring something surprising, they should approve it in a few weeks. Once the approval gets back to me, I will inform you. There must be NO FORMAL ENGAGEMENT before I give you permission, Tom.”

“How do you feel about that, Helen?” I ask.

“Tom,” she says, “24 hours ago I believed that I would never marry again, not you or anyone else, so yeah, I’m fine with the idea of adjusting to our new reality.”

“Until such time as we can announce an engagement, you must continue to behave in public much as you have. You can loosen the reins a bit but take care, lest scandal break out. You will no doubt want to spend time together alone and I encourage this, but you must do so away from prying eyes. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to facilitate this.”

“I wonder what he has in mind?” Helen asks sarcastically. “Maybe let us use his car and driver to sneak out of town for the day?”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m already on this.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, but you need to be patient.”

“Hmph.”

“If you do choose to go forward, we will need to work together to plan to announce your engagement as soon as possible after you become engaged, lest the word leak out.

“I don’t want to seem overly dramatic, but this event will send ripples through the Catholic world akin to that of a royal wedding in a European country. You two will be under continuous scrutiny from to the moment of the announcement to the end of your lives. It will, of course, die down if our experiment proves successful and other priests follow in your footsteps, but you will always be the first, the Neil Armstrongs of priestly marriage.”

“How do you feel about that?” I ask.

“Tom,” she says, looking me squarely in the eyes, “no normal person enjoys being hounded by the press, but sometimes it's just part of the job.”

“Finally, I will remind you both of the church's policy of a minimum of six month’s wedding preparation before the big day. Since you are a priest, Tom, and since you are both widowed, some aspects of that preparation will be shorter, others longer. I would guess that you could probably marry by the end of this year.

“So, my beloved children, pace yourselves. It's going to be a long, bumpy ride.”

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah, wow,” Helen agrees.

The rest of the email is pretty standard, as he closes with blessings and best wishes. I lay my copy down and look at Helen. She looks back at me, both of us caught in some kind of weird standoff.

Finally, I say, “So, what do you think?”

“Truthfully, Tom?” she says, leaning on her elbows. “I think we need to lay some ground rules.“

I furrow my brow. “Ground rules?”

“For what we can and cannot do together when no one else is around,” Helen explains. “I mean, he’s made it pretty clear how we’re to act in public, but essentially told us how we act together in private is for us to determine. I got caught off guard last night and could have caused us to make a big mistake. I regret that, but you’ve done the same, so it's not like either one of us is immune. So I think it’s a good idea if we came up with our own rules of engagement—or, I guess, pre-engagement.”

Suddenly, I have what I believe to be a stroke of genius. “Helen,” I say brightly, “we both know the only thing that is strictly forbidden to us, like any faithful Catholic couple. All the rest is a matter of discretion and honor, as well as avoiding the near occasion of sin. So let’s do this. I’ll write down a list of what I think is OK and what we shouldn’t do, and give it to you. You make your corrections and hand it back and we’ll work things out that way.”

“OK,” she says, “but only if the fireplace is working.”

“It is, but why do you ask?”

“Because we’re burning this list as soon as we finish it. The last thing we need is something like that falling in the wrong hands.”

“Good idea,” I admit. I turn over my copy of the email and write down ten things I think we can do and five things we shouldn’t. It takes me a few minutes, but I’m satisfied when I hand it to Helen.

Helen says, “OK, Father Tom, let’s see what you’ve got.” She begins to read. “Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, I’m OK with that—oh, really, Tom!” She shakes her head and crosses through something.

“What?” I say, trying to read, but she pulls the paper away and shields it with her hand. “Hey!” she says. “It’s my turn, remember.” She returns to looking at the paper. Her eyes fall on one item in particular. “Hmm, I don’t know about that one,” she mutters, then crosses it out. She writes down a couple of things and hands the list back.

I examine her corrections. “Awwww,” I say with a smile. “I was looking forward to that.”

“Uh-uh, Father,” she says, waggling her finger. “Remember, near occasion of sin and all that.”

I sigh. “You’re right, of course. I just remembered—”

“—and I did, and I do, and we will, just not before we’re married.”

I nod and write down one more thing I thought of, crossing off something she wrote.

“Here,” I say, handing it back to her.

“Damn,” she says. “Thought I could get that one past you.”

“Same deal, Helen.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “So, are we agreed?”

With one last look at our list, she nods. “Agreed. Now let’s get rid of the evidence.”

We both read over the list a few more times to make sure everything is placed squarely in our minds and then walk hand in hand to the fireplace, where we burn the written evidence of our decisions to choose rock over sand.

Helen looks at her watch. “Oh, darling, I’d love to stay but I’ve got to get back. I have a meeting with Brenda Epping at 3:30 p.m.”

“More Brian stuff?” I ask.

“Yeah, poor woman, they’ve put her in charge of going through his old cases and seeing if there’s any evidence of impropriety. She has some questions.”

“How’d she get tapped? I mean she’s awfully young. And there were those rumors about her and Brian.”

“First, Tom,” Helen says, “you and I both should know better than to listen to rumors. Second, unfortunately, the rumors were true. After Brian’s suicide, we found hundreds of texts he sent her.” She shakes her head. “Harassing, threatening, just horrible stuff.”

“So, he coerced her.”

“Oh, yeah,” Helen nods. “When I talked to her, she broke down and told the whole story. Anyway, her office is still looking into it, but it looks like she was a victim.”

The word victim jogs a memory. “Helen,” I say slowly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. The day we had Dan over here, and I said Donna was probably the only person Brian killed, you said we shouldn’t be too sure. What did you mean by that?”

She purses her lips and looks at me. “My gut?” she says. “A sense I have? Brian may have killed her in a fit of passion, but everything else was very methodical—almost planned. No, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d killed before.” She shudders, then smiles. “But honey, I don’t want to talk about this. I have to go.”

I smile and nod. As she turns away, however, I say, “Oh, Helen?”

Turning back to me, she says, “Yes, Tom?”

I say, as casually as I can, “Would you like to go out Friday night?”

She looks a little surprised. “You mean on a date?”

“Yes,” I say. “I mean, if we’re seriously considering getting married it might be nice to go out on a few dates first. We’ve never done that, you know. Not recently anyway.”

“Ah,” she says nervously. “But what about . . .”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” I say. “We’ll go someplace away from Myerton, ‘away from prying eyes’ as the Archbishop said.”

Helen smiles. “Sure. What time?”

“Well, since we need to go all the way to Hagerstown, what about 6 p.m.?”

“OK,” she says, “I’ll see you then.”

She turns toward the door again as I say, “But I’ll call you before then. We can have lunch at The Bistro.”

“Sounds good.” She walks into the foyer then, much to my delight, she turns back one more time. Standing on tiptoe, she kisses me on the cheek.

“Goodbye, sweetie,” Helen says. “Call me tonight?”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “I’ll be sure to do that.”