Till Death (30 page)

Koesler flipped to the last page and affixed his signature.

They bade each other good-bye and Rick Casserly departed, leaving behind a somewhat bemused Father Koesler.

If any other clerical couples had managed to conceal their lifestyles as successfully as Rick and Lil, Koesler, of course, wouldn’t have known about it. Just as he hadn’t known about them. But he did not think many, if any, could equal their success.

Of course Koesler would keep their secret. In fact he felt honored that Rick shared it with him. It would happen, of that he was certain: There would be an optionally celibate Catholic clergy. He was also certain that that alone would not solve the priest shortage.

And as for Rick and Lil and their clandestine relationship without benefit of clergy, Koesler adhered to the biblical injunction, Judge not and you shall not be judged.

Indeed, this latest revelation seemed to put everything at rest. God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world.

Tom and Peggy Becker are enjoying the benefits of a long, happy, and holy marriage, aided, perhaps, by Tom’s ability to keep certain secrets. Rick and Lil are proving that love can protect its own. Jerry and Dora are entering a deeper and committed relationship. Father Zack Tully is fulfilled in his parochial setting and acts as a linchpin holding together himself, his brother, and his sister-in-law. Harry Morgan is sure he is right. And he himself, Father Koesler, is as happy a priest as Bing Crosby ever was.

All in all, a tightly held structure. Suddenly, a scene flashed before his imagination: cheerleaders piled together, forming a pyramid. If one of those cheerleaders were to falter, the whole bunch would come tumbling down.

Twenty

Enough time had passed that Rick Casserly did not panic when Dora Riccardo called. She needed to talk to him, she stated. Would it be all right for her to drop by late this afternoon?

He readily agreed and set four-thirty for the appointment.

Of course he speculated. His best guess was that she wanted to talk about Jerry Anderson, the new man in her life. After all, he knew Jerry quite well. If that was not it, perhaps she wanted to wind up their own relationship, if such it could be termed.

Either way it was fine with him. When he had heard that Dora and Jerry were linked, an intolerable weight had been lifted from him. So desperately did he wish to be free of Dora, he banked on rumor being fact. So, whatever Dora wanted, as long as it wasn’t himself, he would help her in any way he could.

At precisely four-thirty, he happened to be passing the screen door as Dora was walking up the path to the rectory. He stopped to watch her.

She really was attractive. The soft breeze swirled the skirt of her light, summer frock against her legs. Whatever else, there was no doubt about it, she was a well-formed female. And, glory to God, she was not his.

She was about to ring the doorbell when she noticed he was standing just on the other side of the screen. His smile was genuine. She smiled back awkwardly. He opened the door and ushered her to his office. She looked around the businesslike room and said, “Do we have to be so formal?”

He hesitated only a moment. “Of course not.” He led the way into the living room.

She sat on the couch and crossed her legs—demurely.

There was a period of silence that seemed longer than it was.

“We haven’t seen each other for some time,” he said, searching for a way of introducing the matter of closure.

She nodded. “For a while I thought we’d never see each other again.”

Another drawn-out pause.

“I didn’t sleep last night.” Her voice was tight.

He began to grow uneasy.

“I spent all day yesterday and most of today trying to find a way of telling you …” She paused an infinitesimal moment. “I guess there is no way but bluntly: I’m pregnant.”

Her last two words were a thunderclap. Limitless lines of faces passed before his memory. All the people who had spoken the same two words. They had come to him as their father confessor, their spiritual guide, the hope in their desperate need. Pregnancy meant the end of their world. The end to college dreams. The end of their hope for a new house. A catastrophe as planned as a tornado.

Generally he had responded with sympathy rather than empathy. It wasn’t his problem. It never was his problem. It never would be his problem. He could be objective and helpful.

Now, for the first time, the words “I’m pregnant” meant that he would be a father in every sense of the word. His impulse was to question the condition before denying it. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Do you think I would kid around about a thing like that?”

“But it was only once—one time! And I was drunk!”

“Neither condition would prevent fertilization. For the past couple of months I’ve put on a little weight. Most of all, I’ve missed two periods. And this from a woman who could set her clock by the regularity of her periods.”

“That’s all? That could be caused by any number of things.”

“I’ve been to Dr. Green. He’s been my ob/gyn for years. He’ll be glad to see you.”

“You told him about me!”

“He’s my doctor. I’m his patient. He isn’t going to talk.”

Briefly, Rick thought of the trouble he’d gone to with his Last Will and Testament just to avoid another party to his secret bequest. Lawyers and clients had protected relationships as well as doctors and patients.

If she’d gotten a diagnosis of pregnancy from a doctor, that pretty well nailed down the truth of her condition. Although, just to be sure, he would contact her Dr. Green.

However, there was another logical question: “Are you sure I’m the father?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Wait, there was one other clutchable straw. “What about Jerry Anderson? I heard you were going with him.”

She cleared her throat. This was embarrassing. All these demeaning questions. But, she told herself, she’d better get used to it. There were going to be a lot of demeaning, embarrassing questions.

“I dated Jerry” she admitted. “I tried Jerry. He’s a lovely man, but he’s not my man. And, so far as Jerry’s being the father, my doctor says conception was about eight weeks ago. About the time of the Ursula meeting and our intercourse. A full month before I began dating Jerry. If there’s any further doubt, we can get into DNA. If you want to know it, you’re my man. You were from the beginning.” She made an instant decision not to mention her visit to him when—bent on seduction—she’d worn a habit, a bathing suit, and nothing more. She had to focus on the here and now. “I dated Jerry. I didn’t live with him!”

There was something about the way she stated the final sentence. Did she know about Lil? The question was irrelevant at the moment. There was a baby to deal with. The question was: What are we going to do about the baby? And the answer was: I don’t know. All he knew was that he had never before felt so trapped.

“So,” she said, “what are we going to do?”

He didn’t know. Several options occurred. But none clearly. Actually he felt faint.

“You aren’t thinking of abortion, are you?” she charged.

“No!” Although, honestly the word had popped to mind. “What about adoption?” he offered.

She cocked her head to one side. “Would you really want to have a stranger raise your child? I would not.”

He had used about all his options. There was only one more possibility before he had to face what he most feared. “What if,” he said, “you have the child and I support the two of you?”

She hesitated. “I was about to say you couldn’t do it. Not on your salary. But then I remembered, you have Tom Becker in your corner. So, okay, you probably could pull it off. But I would be joining the ranks of single mothers. Our baby would grow up without a father. Do you really want any of these things for your child?”

He hung his head. “All because I got drunk at a party! And you insisted on driving me home.” He looked at her accusingly. “You orchestrated the whole thing.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to dump it all on me. Tully was in his rectory when someone had to drive you home. Koesler might just as well been at home. He stayed there overnight. There was one driver. Me. Not only could I get you home, I was going in your direction anyway.

“I could have dumped you on this couch or on your bed. I thought you might be sick during the night. That’s why I undressed you. Why did you undress me?”

The argument might have continued. But it was going nowhere. He faced the final option.

He gazed into her eyes. “This has been an unforeseen bombshell. I need a little time, Dora.”

“How much time?”

“A little. Honest. A little.”

“All right.” She stood. He did not.

“I can let myself out,” she said. And she did.

The early evening sun warmed the rectory. He sat back in the chair. He removed his clerical collar and twirled it on his finger.

Thirty-five years. A career. A long time to do exactly what he’d always wanted to do. Five years away from retirement if he were in the real world. Ten years to achieve the status of Senior Priest.

He thought of all the parishes he’d staffed. The marvelous people he’d met and served and guided.

Again he thought of all those frightened faces, the trembling lips that spoke of pregnancy “
I’m pregnant.
” He’d done for these people what he thought was his best. If he had to do it again, after what had happened today, how much more compassionately he would have reacted. How much more honest he would be in mouthing that cliché, “I feel your pain.”

He remembered how fearfully he had gradually intensified his association with Lil. There had been so many opportunities to alter the course of their relationship.

From the first time they’d met, on one of his return visits to St. Ursula’s, she had been in awe of him. No, not him so much as his role as a priest. Their relationship had deepened to progressively more friendly and intimate levels. He had been conscious of this deepening. At any level he could have called a halt. Perhaps it had been selfish of him not to keep their closeness merely platonic. He’d heard the phrase, “theologizing a swollen prick.” Was that what he had done?

But there had been other things going on. There was the exhilaration of Vatican II. It encouraged questions rather than blind rote obedience.

Was celibacy that precious? That necessary? Was he denying himself the intimate company of a woman for no good reason? Had he been born too early in the ecclesial scheme of things?

How much had been selfishness? How much had been common sense?

Slowly he became aware of place and time. Early evening had given way to late evening. Shadows were lengthening. He smiled sardonically. It was over, finished, done.

When Dora announced her pregnancy, he knew. He knew his dream was finished. He had launched a series of defense mechanisms, fighting off the inevitable. Deny the pregnancy. Deny his role in it. Deny his responsibility for it.

Finally, with all denial spent, relax into reality. His time as a priest was ended. Of course he would do the “honorable thing.” No matter that doing so would cause lots of unhappiness to lots of people. That frequently was the cost for accepting responsibility.

Again, he was being selfish. He was forgetting Lil. All their years together. Their marriage without paper. Her trust and faith in him and what he had told her as he had led her step by step into intimacies she had considered forbidden.

He would have to tell her. He would have to tell her before there was the slightest possibility she might hear it from someone else.

In all his life he had never dreaded anything as much as he shrank from this.

He let himself into their apartment. He could hear Lil humming a show tune. She had a sweet voice. Almost no vibrato—like a boy soprano. One of the many, many things he loved about her. One of the many, many things he would sorely miss.

“That you, honey?” she called from the kitchen area.

“Yeah.”

“Did you eat yet? I’ve got some stir-fry going. Just take a few minutes.”

He made no response. He was swallowing emotion that rose in his throat like bile.

“Did you hear me, dear? Are you hungry?”

“No. Don’t bother yourself.”

She caught the tone of his voice. Something was wrong. She stepped toward the door so she could see him. She was wearing shorts, a tank top, and an apron. She was carrying a hand towel. And she looked very concerned. “Honey?”

Instead of standing up straight as he usually did, he slumped. His shoulders drooped.

“What is it, Rick?” Whatever it was, clearly it was serious.

“Sit down, please,” he said as he, in turn, sat down.

Neither said anything for several moments. The verbal ball was in Rick’s court, but he couldn’t return it.

“Sweetheart,” he began. “Remember a couple of months ago, the Ursula meeting?”

“Of course.” She thought all this had something to do with their quarrel earlier that day when she had demanded to be put ashore. But that was now long over. They had spent a trouble-free vacation together. Nothing but good had happened between them since then.

No, it couldn’t be that quarrel. It had to be something else.

Maybe her worst fear had come true: They had been seen together in some compromising situation and reported!

Part of her wished he would just spit it out while the rest of her didn’t want to hear it.

“Maybe,” he said falteringly, “you noticed that I was putting away the booze pretty heavily.”

“You were putting it away like you owned the distillery.” She smiled, hoping the smile would somehow alleviate the doom she felt.

“You didn’t see the worst of it. In the time it took you to get from the basement to your car, I downed almost as much as I had drunk previously that evening.”

She gasped. “You could have killed yourself!”

“It might have been better.” This was no exaggeration. He meant it.

“After you and the others left …” He stopped. But he had to go on. “There were four left. Me—in a near stupor, I guess—Koesler, Tully, and Dora. The question was who was going to take me home.”