Conceived Without Sin (11 page)

"We never watch television.
Except for videos and you for sports. But none of us watch network television. It bores me. Sam says he's too busy. And you say it's a window box with a first class view of hell."

"Maybe that's why Sam has good morals…" Buzz trailed off, uncertain.

"Oh, I don't know. I think he has good morals because of fear and momentum."

"Fear and momentum? You sound like me, Donna."

"I know I do. Sounding
like you really scares me."

She allowed herself a chuckle. Buzz smiled wanly.

"Back to Sam," Donna said. "He's afraid of screwing up his life, because he has nothing else. If you don't believe in God, all you have is your life. The momentum thing is something different. You've got me reading Degenerate Moderns, and it got me to thinking about Sam the other day."

She was referring to a book that
chronicled the sordid personal lives of the intellectual heroes of the last two centuries.

"Sam's not modern," she continued. "He's not like these post-Enlightenment guys. It must come from his father. Sam acts like, well, a gentleman. You could even say he acts like a, well, like a good Catholic–except he doesn't go to Mass or do Catholic things. He keeps all the Commandments except the First
and Third."

Buzz couldn't help but note that Donna was becoming more of a thinker after hanging out with him over the months. She was reading more and more. And learning how to express her thoughts.
It's not you,
he told himself.
It's the books. I should give her more books.

"I see what you mean about Sam," Buzz agreed. "About his not being modern. He's one noble agnostic. A virtuous man who doesn't
rely on grace for his virtue. But what does that have to do with momentum?"

"I suspect," she explained, "that Sam comes from a family that practiced virtue for generations. I bet you that his dad is quite an honorable man–"

"–who keeps every commandment but two?"

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling pleasantly. "Something like that. That's Sam, too. And Sam's grandfather, who was an engineer from Scotland;
I bet he was probably a virtuous man. I wonder if he believed in God?"

"We should ask Sam," Buzz mused. "Somewhere in his past–maybe in Scotland, before the Reformation–he's got Catholic relatives. Just about every Protestant or agnostic has them. Maybe they're in heaven now, interceding for their descendants."

"Something has to explain Sam."

"Well, and it's weird hearing myself say this, Donna,
but virtue–being good, not just being nice–is its own reward. It's hard not taking a drink. But I get a satisfaction from being sober–a low grade satisfaction, for sure, not filled with excitement–but it beats the quick, high octane thrill of getting drunk hands down. Maybe Sam gets satisfaction from being virtuous."

She got up and stretched. Buzz avoided looking at her figure. Like Ellie's growing
attraction toward Sam, Buzz found himself admiring Donna in a way that just had not been there in past months. She dove into the pool with an awkward strength. She swam back and pulled her elbows up onto the side of the pool.

"You know, Buzz, when I was a little kid, my brothers and sisters and I used to run into my parents' room on Saturday mornings and jump onto the bed. Sometimes we'd romp
around. Sometimes we'd stay sleepy and lay on the bed, listening to Mom and Dad talk about the day. Every once in a while, Daddy would say to my mom, 'You know, Regina, this ain't the Riviera, but it doesn't get any better than this.'

"What he meant was, the best things in life are simple, and don't cost a lot of money, and are always caught up in family."

A dark look came to Buzz's face.

"I'm
sorry," Donna said, tenderly. "I didn't mean to remind you of your daughter."

"Don't be sorry, kiddo. You didn't mean it. Before my marriage went to hell, Jennifer used to climb into bed with me and Sandi. Half the time I was hung over."

Donna looked away, embarrassed. Then she looked back.

"Come on in. The water's freezing!" she called out.

"Naw. Not in the mood," he replied.

"Don't be such a
lug. It's good for you."

"Nah. Not me. I can't swim."

"Liar," she said amiably.

"You know me so well, Donna."

"And I know you want to go swimming. Rather, that you'll have fun once you get in."

Buzz placed his glass of club soda on the table, and quickly leaped with two long strides into the pool, forming a cannonball, causing a huge splash.

"Arghh! It's freezing!" he cried after he surfaced.
"How come you're not shivering?"

"I'm cold. I'm just not a wimp like you. Race you to the end!" Used to Buzz's cheating New Jersey ways, she took off ahead of him without hesitating.

He followed and expertly overtook her, beating her to the other side of the large pool by two body lengths.

"Liar," she said when she reached him. He was whistling.

"I used to be a life guard. I won all the swim meets."

She shook her head.

"How many jobs have you had, anyway?" she asked.

"About fifteen, since high school."

"Wow. Lou Gehrig you're not."

"I might have to quit UPS when we go to Fatima," he said casually.

"Why?"

"They won't let me take the time off."

"So you're going to quit your job? What will you do for money?"

"Oh, yeah. Money. I guess I can't quit. Dunno about the money. Maybe I'll drive a cab
nights. Work for Sam. I've been playing around with computers lately, after hours, at Edwards," he replied. "I haven't really decided to go or not. I have to watch my bank account; making money is one of the only ways I get to be a dad–besides prayer."

"Okay," she said. Then, "Beat ya," and took off even more quickly for the other end.

This time, Buzz bore down and beat her by three body lengths.
He was breathing normally by the time she caught up.

"Liar," she said between huffs and puffs.

5

Sam and Buzz and Ellie and Donna had lives outside of their conversations at pools and at restaurants…

Sam walked into the office and Johnny Traverse greeted him with a smile and a frown. The executive meeting scheduled for nine was about to begin. Sam sat down and listened carefully to the verbal
reports from his three managers: Traverse for sales and marketing, Sheila Burkett from Technical Support, Ro Mack from Operations and Accounting.

Mack's report was disturbing as usual. The fast growth of the company was causing a cash flow crunch. The office was too small to support the growing staff, the cost of finding and training new workers (Edwards & Associates needed four more to keep up
with the new accounts Traverse and company were bringing in). Sam had never considered the headaches involved with managing so many workers.

He listened carefully, spoke rarely, and took the advice of his most talented and experienced executives. He agreed to meet with Edwards & Associates' banker to try to secure a line of credit to make it through the next several months. The meeting ended.
Everyone filed out except for Johnny.

Johnny had a suggestion about their beautiful (but not as beautiful as Ellen James) young saleswoman named Amy Winters. Winters, a recent graduate from Case Western Reserve University, had a degree in Computer Science. Sam had interviewed her for an hour two weeks earlier, and found her charming, confident, and hungry for a chance to prove herself.

"I'm loaded
with appointments until the weekend, Sam. Why don't you take Amy with you to meet the folks at Western Graphics," Johnny suggested. Western Graphics was one of their biggest and most loyal customers.

So Sam took Amy to an early lunch, and then to Western Graphics. He was pleasantly surprised when two suggestions Amy made during their meeting with the information systems manager there were accepted.

He was more impressed when Amy asked him how she had done after the visit.

"Not bad. Listen more and talk less. You paid for one-tenth of your salary in your first day if Western goes for the options you gave them."

+  +  +

Buzz started his day by dragging himself out of bed on the alarm's third ring. He showed up late for Mass, and punched the time card at UPS with a minute to spare. Buzz didn't
like today's delivery route. He was a split driver. That meant he had to fill in for vacationing drivers by taking parts of their routes, or parts of overloaded routes. Most drivers had one regular route. Buzz had to know the ins and outs of twenty-six routes to do his job.

He had a good memory. There were literally thousands of streets, house numbers, names of shipping dock workers, traffic patterns,
and timings of traffic lights stored in the hard drive of his head.

UPS drivers work hard all day long. His truck had been overloaded today. He rushed to make his appointments, and despite the union rules, skipped his lunch to get to his pickups. It seemed like every dock had twenty to thirty packages near the weight limit. He had a strong back. His hands, forearms, and fingers were so strong
from lifting and carrying boxes that he had to consciously pull back his grip when shaking hands after hours.

He enjoyed working alone, with his thoughts to himself between stops. He prayed on and off to Our Lady, carrying on a casual conversation that ofttimes slipped into daydreaming.

Finally, toward the end of the day, knowing that he was not only caught up but ahead of his work, he pulled
his truck into the parking lot of the Poor Clares on Rocky River Drive. He parked his package car facing the chapel, toward where he knew the tabernacle would be. He prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet for seven minutes, then drove back to the center, punched out, changed his clothes, walked to his Festiva, picked up a video and a sub on the way home, then collapsed onto the couch. He read parts of five
magazines;
Fidelity, Inc., Conservative Chronicle, Sports Illustrated,
and
Crisis;
until Sam and Donna arrived to watch the video.

+  +  +

Donna rolled out of bed on the second buzzing of her alarm, and knelt to pray her morning offering. She showered quickly, spent five endless minutes on her make-up, leaning over the sink to get closer to the mirror, and dressed quickly. Then she gave her hair
a quick brushing while sitting in the front seat of the car as it warmed up.

Work was a boring, dull grind.

After work she arrived a minute late for five-thirty Mass at Saint Chris, then home by six-fifteen. She helped make the salad for her mother before dinner, and barely noticed how much she enjoyed the preparations. There was only her mom and dad, her brother Vinny, and her older sister Cindy
at home now.

Tony Beck got home just in time to sit down for spaghetti, plus leftover lasagna from last night. Her mother sat down to pray, then got up to prepare more food, according to a timeless Italian tradition. Vinny talked about his planned canoe trip with the Eagle Scouts, Cindy about her newest boyfriend's legal problems with his landlord, and Donna about nothing. In large families, there
was always a role to play, and Donna played the silent daughter.

They took turns leading the decades during the family Rosary. Donna found it hard to keep her mind on the mysteries, but was able to remain recollected during the fifth mystery, the Finding of the Child Jesus in the Temple.
May I find you at the end of every Rosary, dear Jesus,
she prayed.

She watched
Jeopardy!
with her amazing dad,
who got most of the questions right–more than most of the contestants on most nights. Tony Beck was the best-read plumber in Rocky River and had a quick mind.

During the television show, God's grace prompted her to notice, several times, the book that Sister Elizabeth from the Lourdes Shrine had given her a few weeks ago. It was on the shelf above the television. Donna's eyes kept returning to
the book. She hadn't read it yet.

It was
But I Have Called You Friends
by Mother Mary Frances, a Poor Clare.

At eight Donna kissed her father.

"Where you goin', Donna?"

"Buzz's. We're watching a video with Sam."

"Again." It was a statement.

"Yup."

"How come you never bring these boys home? I'm not sure they really exist," Tony said without reproach. He was curious.

"They're not boys, Papa. And
I don't know. I just never asked them over," she said, avoiding a lie.

Sure, it was true she never asked them to visit. It was also true that she was afraid that Sam wouldn't be comfortable in their cramped house. Of course, Buzz would like her folks.

Would they like Buzz?
Donna didn't know.

God's grace had prompted Tony to ask the question. Grace prompted Donna to reconsider.

"You know, Papa,
I'll ask them over. Maybe this weekend."

"I'd like that," Tony said, opening his copy of George Gilder's
Men and Marriage.

On the table next to his ancient, well-worn chair, lay a copy of
Forbes.
George Gilder was on the cover. There was a sticker from the Rocky River Library over Gilder's kneecap.

+  +  +

It took Ellen forty-five minutes to shower, apply her make-up, and fix her hair (not that
it was all that broken). She sat at a tasteful cherry vanity that Bucky had somehow kept from her mother during the bitter divorce (Ellen had been six at the time). Ellen enjoyed getting ready for the day, and thought of what she would do at work. Her bedroom was almost as big as Buzz's apartment and larger than the living room and dining room in Donna's house.

She was an efficient worker. She
didn't have Bucky's "spark," but as Bucky's only child, she was as close as he would come to having a son. He had taken her on business trips since she was a child during her summer breaks, explaining to her the tricks of his trade.

After she graduated from Saint Marys in South Bend (Buzz was right on the money about that guess) with a degree in Business Management, Bucky refused to take her into
his company. "I'm done being your teacher," he told her with love in his voice. "Go make it on your own. You'll enjoy it more."