Love By its First Name Page 12

  Kathy held up her glass. “And to our tough-dude pastor of St. Patrick’s.”

  “I won’t drink to that.” He slumped down in the recliner, looking troubled.

  Kathy sat forward on the couch. “Father Jerry, you look terribly worried. How come?”

  Jerry looked at the floor and sounded sad. “I wish I had handled the boy differently— not lost my temper and been so rough with him.”

  Rebecca spoke up, “I noticed you said something to him before he lashed out at you. What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Will you receive this Body of Christ as a sign that you want to learn to love and understand? If the answer is yes, please take off your hat as a sign of respect.’”

  Marge looked stunned. “And he hit you for that?”

  “Probably more because he was the only one I said anything to, I humiliated him. He was half-drunk, too.” He glanced at each of them, then smiled.

  Rebecca asked, “What are you smiling about?”

  “When I told my mother I was planning to become a priest, the only thing she said was, ‘Son, I think you’re too impatient to be a priest.’ I guess she was right.”

  Marge said, “Oh, I don’t know. I thought of Jesus chasing the moneychangers out of the temple. I guess he was impatient, too. Tell us what happened with Sheriff Gaffin.”

  “First, he was glad you called, Marge. I guess he’s had quite a time with the boy. He’s the youngest of four. Joe thinks he’s got both a drug and an alcohol problem. He told me that you heard him say that he was going to ‘get’ me. Joe said if he did anything stupid, he’d lock him up, son or not. He’d try to keep an eye on him.”

  “So what happens now?” Marge asked.

  “Being the great know-it-all, Mr. Fix-it, I volunteered to counsel young Kenny if he’d see me. Joe said he’d make sure he kept appointments. He’ll be a tough case, I’m afraid.”

  “Think he’ll talk to you?” Kathy, Rebecca was sure, was more worried about Jerry’s safety but didn’t want to say anything.

  “Don’t know. I’ve had some luck with kids before. I always assume that underneath the anger is a lot of fear and hurt. We’ll see. I’m sorry that the incident detracted from your performance, Kathy.” The look he gave the young woman definitely showed he was fond of her, if not something more, Rebecca noticed. He quickly changed the subject by saying, “Well, Rebecca, what does the city girl think of our Youth Mass?”

  “I have to say that I was really moved by the spirit of the young people, the music, the dialogue at sermon time, and just about everything, except Kenny. Except for Kenny, the kids were so respectful toward each another. If I can find a church like this in St. Louis, I might start attending.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure there’s one somewhere in St. Louis.”

  Marge looked serious as she said, “Jerry, oops, I’m picking up Rebecca’s habit. I can call you ‘Jerry’ if Rebecca can, can’t I?”

  “No! She’s not a Catholic, so she’s free, you’re a loyal daughter of the Church, so you can’t.” He looked serious for a moment, then chuckled.

  “Well, I’m not so loyal and I’m afraid you’re not, either. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get into trouble for giving communion to non-Catholics?”

  “A little, but what more can he do? In the Bishop’s mind I’m already in Siberia. Besides, I think it’s the right thing to do. In my opinion, a church based on laws is the opposite of what I think Jesus was all about--he wanted a movement based on compassion, and that is inclusive, not exclusive.”

  Rebecca thought Kathy sounded almost hopeful as she said, “I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but he could kick you out of the priesthood!”

  Rebecca looked a bit shocked and said, “He wouldn’t! Not for such a small thing?”

  Marge stood. “This Bishop is a complete numbskull. I wouldn’t be surprised at anything he did. Let’s not get into this.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid I’ll have to get back home. I told my neighbor lady I’d be back in two hours. I’m already late.”

  Kathy put her glass down. “I’ve had a long day, I better get going, too.”

  Jerry gave both women a hug and then shyly looked at Rebecca. She opened her arms and he hugged her, too, a much better one than the night before. He gave good hugs. Rebecca couldn’t remember when she’d ever had a non-come-on hug from a man. Probably not since her stepfather, Paul Brady—when she was seven.

  Jerry asked, “Are you planning to attend the masses in the morning? The Spanish Mass has a pretty good Mariachi group playing.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll need to head back to St. Louis early.” She had enough religion for one weekend.

  CHAPTER 8

  If I have the gift of prophecy, understanding all the mysteries there are,

  and knowing everything ... but I am without love, then I am nothing at all.

  First Corinthians l3:2

  As Jerry straightened up the living room and began vacuuming the floor, he reflected on the weekend. He was more than a little apprehensive about the article Rebecca Brady would write about him. However it turned out, he was sure it would infuriate the Bishop. And he was bothered by the feelings that came over him as he thought of Rebecca. He wasn’t sure what it was that made him so nervous, besides her obvious beauty and charm. One thing that could be a factor was that she seemed to be interested in him as a person and not as a priest. Or was she putting on an act? Relax, Haloran, he thought, you’ll never see her again. He smiled as he thought of his friend Wayne once saying, as they watched a love scene in a movie, “Don’t race your motor, ol’ buddy, if you’re not going anyplace.”

  Hearing the doorbell ring, he quickly put the vacuum away and went to the door. The principal of Paris High School had called on Friday and asked if he and his wife could talk with the priest. The kids called him Mr. Grumpy. Jerry didn’t know his real name. He had seen the principal’s wife at the Youth Mass several times and noticed that she did not receive Communion. Once or twice a man was with her and Father Jerry assumed it was her husband. If it was, he seemed to match his nickname. It was his practice not to wear clerical garb when he talked to people at the rectory. His only concession to formality was to wear black slacks and a clean sport shirt.

  As he opened the door he noticed that Plato’s neck hair was raised and he was eyeing the principal suspiciously. Plato was usually friendly. “Welcome. Do come in.” He held out his hand to the man. “I guess you know me, I’m Father Jerry Haloran.”

  The principal, a ruddy-faced short, thin man in his mid-thirties, took his hand without a smile. “Robert Grumble. Nice to meet you. And this is my wife, Sandra.” Sandra had reddish-brown hair and freckles, a beautifully sculptured face, and looked to be about eight months pregnant. She held out her hand and smiled.

  Jerry motioned to the couch and sat opposite them on the recliner. He leaned forward and said, “I’ve seen you in church. So what can I do for you?”

  Robert turned toward his wife as if to say, “This is your show.” Sandra began, “I don’t know if there is anything you can do for us, but, we did want to talk with you. You see, Father, both of us were raised Catholic.” She looked at the floor for a moment and then back at him. “Well, I was married before for two years when I was eighteen.” She went on to tell him that she got married because she was pregnant. It was a Catholic wedding. She miscarried right after the wedding. The fellow was an abusive alcoholic and womanizer six years her senior. When she got pregnant again, she decided that she would not raise a child with a man like that. She got a divorce, was a single mother for four years, and then met Robert, a fellow teacher at her school. They had been married for six years and had one child of their own. “And as you can see, we are expecting another,” she said.

  Robert picked it up from there. “Sandra wants to get her first marriage annulled. We talked to some priest in Salina about it and he said that it was impossible.” The man sounded bitter as he added, “The asshole said that if we wanted to cont
inue to live together, we would have to live as brother and sister.” He did not apologize for his crude language but Sandra gave him a disapproving look. Then he chuckled and sneered as he looked at Sandra’s abdomen. “As you can see, we didn’t follow his advice.”

  Jerry found himself disliking Robert, seeing him as a bitter man who appeared sour to the core. “I take it, Robert, that you’re not very interested in this annulment business, is that right?”

  Sandra looked a bit surprised at Father Jerry’s comment but didn’t say anything. Robert said, “Honestly, I think it’s a lot of bullshit.” Again Sandra gave him the look. “No priest or bishop can tell me whether or not my marriage is okay.”

  Jerry agreed with him, that only the married couple could make their marriage okay, but he wasn’t about say that to this jerk. He had told five or six couples, who really were working to make a loving and life-giving marriage, that they should just begin receiving the sacraments and participating in the Church, because they are the ones who “bless” the marriage through their love. So far, he didn’t think that the couple in front of him had a marriage “blessed” in love. “So, Robert, you came today because Sandra asked you to.”

  “Yeah, she thinks our marriage isn’t working as she would like because it isn’t ‘blessed’ by the Church.”

  “You know that’s not true, Bobby.” For a moment Jerry was afraid Robert would hit Sandra as he scowled at her and raised his right hand slightly. He guessed “Bobby” was the wrong word. Sandra went on, “I know you dislike the Church because of things that happened to you when you were a kid. I happen to love the Church and I want to participate as fully as I can. I want to go to Communion.”

  “Well, why’n hell don’t you go? Father here is giving out Communion to everyone— just go! He doesn’t give a shit!” Robert was nearly yelling.

  Jerry unconsciously made a fist. The man reminded him of a younger and skinnier Ralph Kurtz. He began wondering how many people thought like Robert about his giving out Communion when he wasn’t sure whether or not the person was Catholic. “You’ve been to the Youth Mass, Robert. Do you honestly believe I don’t give a shit about who goes to Communion?”

  “How in hell would I know? You sure don’t sound like any priest I’ve ever heard before. That old fart I grew up with would call you the devil.” He paused a moment, then added, “Yeah, you mouth something about understanding and compassion and love. What the hell does that mean?”

  Jerry looked at Sandra, who had leaned away from her husband and seemed to want to put even more distance between them. “So, Robert, are understanding, compassion, and love just meaningless words to you, or is it that you just don’t like me saying that they are a condition for receiving Communion?”

  Robert gave him a challenging grin. “Would you give me Communion if I came up for it?”

  “If you had come up before this evening, I would have assumed you were doing so in good faith. After listening to you now, I wouldn’t. From what you’ve said so far, I see you as a rather callused and mean-spirited person who is really short on those three virtues.” Sandra turned away from her husband and smiled.

  The young man continued to give Jerry his challenging smirk. “And what about St. Sandra here, would you give her Communion?”

  “I probably would. Living with you, she obviously has a lot of patience. And I would guess love, compassion, and understanding. Tell me, Robert, would it take a lot of understanding and patience to live with you?”

  Sandra frowned and then smiled. “Well, Bobby, somebody’s finally telling you what you need to hear!”

  Great! She has more gumption than he first thought. If looks could kill, she’d be dead. Robert seemed like he was about to explode. Jerry said, “Right now, Robert, I’m concerned that you are going to make Sandra pay for what she just said when you leave here. Is she in danger?”

  “You sure are a know-it-all, you know that? It’s none of your damn business what I do after I leave here.”

  “I think it is. After all, you are the one who came here to see me.” The young husband glared at him. Acting more calmly than he felt, Jerry turned to Sandra. “Do you feel you are in danger, Sandra?”

  Sandra seemed to be in pain as she straightened up, glanced at her husband, and then, looking Jerry in the eye, said, “Yes.”

  Jerry moved to the edge of his chair: the look on the young husband’s face spelled danger. The priest placed his hands over his knees and asked softly, “Sandra, has Robert physically hurt you in the past?”

  “Uh, yes, but, ah, not since I’ve been pregnant this time.”

  Jerry could only guess that Sandra was staying in the marriage because she would be too ashamed to face her family if she were to divorce a second time. He turned to the husband. “Robert, I am sure that you are an intelligent man, otherwise, you wouldn’t hold the position you do. And I can guess that you do love Sandra, or, you wouldn’t be sitting there.” The words seemed to have the desired effect as Robert sat back on the couch. Jerry went on, “As you know, many men have a problem with anger. If you would, please tell me some of the things you have done to control your anger.”

  “Well, I’m controlling it right now.”

  “Are you angry at me or at Sandra?”

  “Hell, I’m angry at both of you! You think you’re so much better than me.”

  “We are.”

  Robert appeared shocked by this.

  Jerry smiled and went on, “At least we are better than you at showing that we are compassionate and understanding. Seriously, Robert, do you honestly believe that you are as loving a person as Sandra?”

  Robert sat silently for a full minute. “I don’t think anyone is as loving as Sandra.” He smiled weakly as if he was feared showing some kind of positive emotion.

  Sandra made an attempt to reach out to him by saying, “Bobby, oh, I’m sorry, Robert, you can be very loving sometimes. You just need to do it more often.” He scowled back at her.

  “Robert, right now, I am just concerned that Sandra is safe when you both leave here. Will you agree not to hurt her in any way when you leave?”

  “Of course I won’t hurt her and I don’t need you to act like you’re threatening me about it.”

  “I can see that you are very angry at priests and the entire Catholic Church. Whatever happened in your life, or the life of your family, must have been something pretty devastating.”

  Again, Robert looked at the floor. “Yeah it was.... Okay, I’ll tell you. I haven’t even told Sandra this. When I was twelve, my sister, who was fourteen, told me that the priest in our town molested her. Shit! That’s putting it too politely—he raped her. Before she told me this, she made me promise never to tell anyone. I told her to tell our mother. And, you know what?” Jerry shook his head. Sandra had her hand over her mouth as if stifling a scream. “My sister did tell our mother, and you know what our mother did?” Again Jerry shook his head. “Mom slapped her and told her never to tell such lies ever again.” Robert looked at Jerry defiantly.

  Jerry had to work to overcome the rage that had built up in him. As calmly as he could, he asked, “Did that priest ever get reported for the crime he committed?”

  “Yes, in a way, but not for what he did to my sister. He did it to another young girl and her parents reported it to the Bishop and I think he was sent away to some hospital or rehab center or something.”

  “And how is your sister today?”

  Robert let out a bitter little laugh. “Oh, she’s fine, she’s a prostitute and drug addict in Chicago. And I won’t apologize for saying that I hope that priest burns in hell!”

  Jerry sat back in the chair and let out a deep breath. “I hate to say it, but right now, I’m thinking the same thing. And I can understand it if you’ve hated priests ever since. And hated the Church for brainwashing your mother so thoroughly that she wouldn’t believe her own daughter.”

  “Brainwashed, yes! That’s exactly it. I fear that Sandra is brainwashed and wants t
o brainwash our children.”

  Sandra looked at Jerry with tears in her eyes and shook her head.

  “I can understand that. And I can understand your being bitter toward the Church. Tell me, Robert, with all that going on inside you, why did you agree to come see me tonight?”

  “I like what you are doing for the kids with your Saturday Mass.” He looked over at his wife. “And believe it or not, I do love my wife and, well, she’s been happier since you’ve come to Paris. And I came tonight to see if you are for real.”

  Jerry smiled. “And?”

  Sandra took Robert’s hand. “Of course he is.”

  Jerry did not wait for Robert’s response. “I would like to meet with you again.” He addressed Sandra. “We cannot expect Robert to make a decision about me or the Church with one meeting. Will you meet with me next week?”

  “Definitely!” Sandra nodded vigorously and Robert added a weak ‘okay.’

  Jerry had a hard time going to sleep that night—thinking of that priest. Damn! And damn that celibacy rule that forces men to live unnatural lives. But that damn priest was not forced to do what he did. Damn!

  * * *

  At nine on Wednesday morning, Rebecca sat down in the office of Dr. Marilyn Fisher. She had been seeing Dr. Fisher, a clinical psychologist in her mid-fifties, once a week since her breakup with Sam Hawkins. When she began therapy she thought her problem was choosing the wrong men. She had dated and slept with Sam Hawkins for three years and finally broke it off when she fully realized that Sam was “a male chauvinistic egotistical bastard.” Rebecca had used those exact words at their first session and was surprised and pleased that the psychologist was neither shocked nor put off by her remark.

  With gentle and respectful prodding from Dr. Fisher, she began to realize that her childhood issues of abandonment by Paul Brady, the succession of stepfathers and the rape by one of them had made her fearful of intimacy. Sometimes Rebecca wondered if she was even capable of having an intimate relationship. She seemed to choose men who were equally incapable. She was anxious to hear what Marilyn would say when she told her therapist about Father Jerry Haloran.