Conceived Without Sin (12 page)

She got a job with a small management consulting company in downtown Cleveland after college, and switched after three years (last summer) to a higher paying firm on the West Side. She didn't like driving across town, but she liked the work and higher pay. She bought
herself a black Accord as a reward. The same car as Sam had (but hers didn't have leather seats). That night when she met him, it had seemed like a sign that they both owned the same model and color car. Like stars lining up in the sky to form a pointing arrow.

She immersed herself in her duties (mostly research today) in a quiet cubicle. At eleven, she called Edwards & Associates and was disappointed
that Sam had already left for lunch. Lately, she had been meeting him for lunch at least three times a week.

After work, she went home, cooked stir fry for Bucky, and took a short nap. Reading was out of the question after a day straining over spreadsheets and reports. She wasn't a reader, anyway, unless it was practical. Like Sam and Buzz, she also read
Inc.
on occasion. She was hoping to start
her own company, like Sam, one day. She went upstairs to prepare for night school.

+  +  +

Mark Johnson sat in a car on a stake-out for the entire day. He ate a lunch of cold bagels. He was fasting for his marriage.

6

"That's got to be one of the best movies I've ever seen," Buzz said as the credits began to role.

"Shush," Donna said from the rocking chair next to the couch. "I want to see who
played the girl who loved Jimmy Stewart."

They had watched
The Philadelphia Story.
Donna was turning both men on to the classics.

"Put me in your pocket," Sam mused, quoting Katherine Hepburn. All the actresses seemed to remind him of Ellie lately.

"Definitely on my all-time top ten list," Donna added to no one in particular. "I've seen it a dozen times. There's a remake in color with Bing Crosby
and Grace Kelly. A musical that doesn't quite cut it. What did you think, Sam?"

"I haven't seen the musical," Sam explained.

"Not the musical," she said. "This one. The original."

"I liked it a lot. Makes my top fifty."

"Top fifty? That's an insult to this movie."

"There's no accounting for taste," Buzz offered.

"I wish I lived in the movies," Donna said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "I wish
Cary Grant was in love with me."

"In that one statement, you've summarized the appeal of movies," Buzz observed. "We put ourselves in them. When we're watching them, we're in them. I forgot I was on this couch for the last two hours. I was in Philadelphia."

"Maybe our era is the era of movies because people don't like living their lives during the day," Sam said.

That got them all thinking.

"I
don't know about that," Buzz finally said. "It's just a diversion. An art form."

"They're more than that," Donna said. "I think Sam has a point."

"Think about it, Buzz," Sam continued. "Where else can everything turn out right except in a movie like
The Philadelphia Story?
Everyone is beautiful and witty. Even the little girl."

"I don't know," Buzz said. "I heard a story the other day from Sister
Elizabeth that was so wild you would think she made it up. If it was in a movie, it wouldn't seem real–unless it was a stupid French flick."

"So what was the story?" Donna asked.

"It's about Saint Anthony of Padua. By now, Sam, you realize that we pray to him a lot. He finds lost stuff. But he's a powerful all-purpose intercessor, too. Next to Saint Joseph and Saint Jude, he's the top dog, the
WD-40 of saints."

"I'm sure he's thrilled with your comparison. So what's the story?" Sam asked.

"Sister Elizabeth told me it happened to her aunt, so it's a real story, not an urban myth. It even got written up in
Catholic Digest
in the 1960s. Seems her aunt wasn't all that pretty, and got into her late thirties without so much as a date. An old maid. And she had prayed to Saint Anthony since
she was a teenager to find a husband.

"Year after year she prayed. She found herself looking in the mirror one day, counting gray hairs, when her statue of Saint Anthony caught her eye. She became filled with rage.

"Fat lot of good asking you for help has done! she yelled, holding the statue. She became so incensed that she threw the statue out the window!

"Turns out the statue hits this guy walking
outside on the head–"

"I can just guess what happens–" Donna interrupted.

"You got it. The guy goes to the door to find out who owns the statue and meets Sister Elizabeth's aunt. They start talking. He comes back to visit. They get married."

Sam shook his head in disbelief.

"You know one thing for sure: Saint Anthony has a sense of humor," Donna observed.

"Sounds like a sadist to me," Sam said.
"If he's such hot stuff, why did he make her wait so long to find the guy?"

Buzz had no answer.

"Maybe the guy was late for everything, and Saint Anthony got him to show up early…" Donna offered.

"How does Saint Anthony get the guy to do something in the first place?" Sam asked reasonably.

"Grace," Buzz said.

"That's no answer. What is grace?" Sam asked.

"Grace is God's free gift," Donna quoted
from her catechism.

"That means nothing to me. How does it work? Where is it? What's the reality?" Sam practically fired the questions.

"The reality is, Sam, Sister Elizabeth's aunt has a husband," Buzz tried to say patiently.

"Coincidence," Sam rejoined.

"Then how come when I ask him to help me find something, I always find it?" Donna asked. "It's happened a hundred times if it happened once.
He even helped me find you. Remember the fridge?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah, I remember it. But I didn't see Saint Anthony that day. I saw you.

"Tell me, Donna. Have you asked him to find you a husband?"

Donna looked down at her hands.

"Yes," she said quietly.

Sam saw that he had touched upon a sore spot. He didn't think that winning an argument was worth hurting his friend.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be
sorry, Sam."

"Maybe you should throw a statue out the window," Sam found himself suggesting to her.

Buzz got up, and walked purposefully to the mantle of his faux fireplace. There was a statue of Saint Joseph there. He quickly carried it to the window, opened it–

"Oh Buzz, don't–" Donna cried. "It's seven stories!"

–and threw it out the window, flipping it behind his back. He smacked his hands
up and down. A moment later, they heard the sound of crashing plaster, then a loud, "Hey!" from down below.

"Oops," Buzz said. "Uh oh."

"Didn't you look to see if anybody was down there!" Donna yelled.

"With my luck, I just hit a lawyer," Buzz quipped.

"Did you hit somebody?" Sam asked.

"Naw," Buzz said, looking out the window. A cold breeze was taking over the room. "Landed at her feet."

"Her?"
Donna asked. For a second there, she had hoped that it might be a guy.
Like Sister Elizabeth's aunt…gee, you're getting desperate.

"Yeah, a girl. It's hard to make her out in the dark."

"Are you okay!" Buzz shouted. "Are you hurt?"

"No! Are you Buzz Woodward?"

Buzz looked back at his friends in the room with a puzzled look and a shrug of his shoulders.

"Do you know her?" Sam asked, finally finding
his feet and coming to the window.

"Not really, but I think you do."

7

Mark Johnson pulled into the driveway of Bill White's house. He had been on the road for eight hours. Bill lived in Rocky River, a suburb of Cleveland, and had cheerfully agreed to spend the weekend with Mark. Both men had gone to Our Lady of the Valley High School together, where they were the stars of the football team. Bill
had been a small, quick–and tough–wide receiver. He attended college at the University of Delaware, but didn't play football. Studies were too important.

Bill and Mark had kept up with each other by talking on the phone every few months (it was usually Bill who called). Bill owned one of the largest advertising firms in Cleveland, and was the prototypical bachelor. He had been best man at Mark's
wedding. Once a year, they went deer hunting together in central Pennsylvania.

They also shared something that cemented their friendship, and that cement worked because it was stronger than friendship; they shared the faith.

Mark had no one else to turn to. If he went to his older brothers, they would inevitably take his side
against
Maggie. It was only natural in a family that prized loyalty.
Because they were tough guys like himself, he doubted they would be any better at finding solutions to his problems than he was. Besides, admitting (and worse,
dissecting
) failure was beyond humiliating. It was emasculating. Had they not taught him to solve his own problems? Isn't
that
what a real man does?

The parish priest in New Jersey had offered him a few bromides about "communication" being
the key to a happy marriage, and suggested counseling. He heard Mark's confession with little enthusiasm.

Mark was not dumb. He was quite intelligent, an able engineer from his Naval Academy education, and a savvy FBI agent. His smarts told him that Bill had a
different kind
of intelligence. Bill White would be objective. Bill would try to help Mark save his marriage. He would not blow smoke up
Mark's petard. Bill might be disappointed with Mark, but would never show his disappointment, and better yet, would show no sympathy. Bill would get down to the business at hand. Helping his friend.

Chapter Six

1

Buzz opened the door and saw Ellen James standing there with a pleasant smile on her face.

Ellie? What are you doing here?
Sam thought, surprised and curious.

"Hi Ellen," Buzz said. "Sorry about the statue."

"Oh that? Everybody knows you're a character, Buzz. Don't even think about apologizing."

"How did you know where I live?" Buzz asked directly.

"Sam told me. I wrote it in my Day
Timer."

Sam came to her and gave her a kiss. "Ellie, you remember Donna from Mama Santas. She's the one I'm always talking about."

Donna managed a neutral smile. "You look cold. Can I make you a cup of tea?"

Be nice,
Donna thought.
There's nothing you can do about her. Remember what Sister Elizabeth told you: offer it up. Besides, you're over Sam.

Despite her silent pep talk, Donna felt a surge
of sadness and helplessness. It surprised her that she felt these emotions for her own sake, and they left no room for contempt towards Ellie.

"That would be great. Thanks, Donna."

Donna beat a path to the kitchen, relieved.
What time is it? Midnight. And she came all the way over here? Ellen must really like him.

Like him? Maybe she loves him,
a small voice inside whispered to her. Donna tried
to put that from her mind. To concentrate on making tea. Watching water boil.

"You missed the movie," Buzz said. "A classic:
The Philadelphia Story."

"It's one of my favorites." It was a polite white lie. She had seen it ages ago, and barely remembered it.

"So, what brings you to the West Side?" Sam asked. "Didn't you have classes tonight?"

Ellen blushed. "I just wanted to see you, that's all."

She ended the sentence in a whisper, looking at Sam, avoiding Buzz's eyes.

Buzz's smile grew.
I'm gonna be sick. They really
are
in love. Was I ever this sappy?

He looked at the window. It was still open. He ran through his lost loves in his mind.
No. Never. Well, there was the girl I fell for at Notre Dame.

Then, after he closed the window, he turned and saw Sam slip his hand into Ellie's as they
went to the couch to sit down.
Too bad for me,
Buzz thought.
It would be nice to fall in love. What's wrong with that?

Donna stuck her head out the kitchen doorway and called: "Cream or sugar?"

"Just a little honey, thank you."

"You missed an interesting post-movie conversation, Ellie," Buzz said presently. "Uh, do you mind if I call you Ellie? That's what Sam calls you when he tells me about
you."

"Not at all," Ellen said, her smile a bit more strained. She couldn't help herself. She turned to Sam. "What have you been telling Buzz about me?"

Sam looked down at his shoes, and came close to blushing. "Uh, not much. You know, guy talk. When to call you up and stuff."

Buzz winced.
Better rescue him. You don't have to be that honest, Sammy Boy.

"What Sam means to say, Ellie, is that I'm
kind of like a father figure to him. I'm like that old Japanese guy who taught Ralph Macchio to wax on and wax off. In fact, I convinced Sam to go into computers years ago–"

"You did no such thing," Sam interrupted.

Donna, who was listening from the kitchen, stifled a laugh.

Ellen laughed.

"You're okay, Buzz. And Sam, don't be so serious."

How can you not like this girl?
Buzz thought, trying not
to stare at her.

"So tell me, Buzz, what conversation did I miss?" Ellie asked with a gentle tone.

Buzz retold the story of the Saint Anthony statue and Sister Elizabeth's aunt. "I didn't have a Saint Anthony statue, so I tossed my Saint Joseph. I figured Saint Joseph is a big leaguer too."

"I can believe that," Ellen said.
Well, almost. It's a nice story, though.

Donna came in with the tea.

"How's your job coming along, Donna?" Ellen asked after the tea was served. She took a sip. "This tea is wonderful."

"Thank you. My job is going just fine. Kind of boring," Donna said with a clipped tone.
Wonderful?

A long pause ensued.

"What kind of things do you do?" Ellie persisted.

Donna listed a few office manager-type duties.

This isn't working,
Ellie thought.
Switch tacks.

"Sam tells me
you're a movie buff. Who is your favorite director?" Ellie saw Donna's eyes widen.

"Uh, James Cameron," Donna answered, despite herself. "Aliens. The Terminator. I don't like all his stuff. But I like how he combines humor, love, terror, and normal characters in unusual situations."

Bingo,
Ellie thought.

"I liked Aliens," Ellie commented. The truth.

"And who's your favorite director?" Donna asked,
feeling bold, tired of answering all the questions.

"Me? Let me think," she said, taking her hand from Sam's and putting a finger on her chin.

"Oliver Stone." He was the first director who came to her mind.
What movies did he make?

"I don't like him," Donna blurted. She saw a look of disapproval in Sam's eyes–or did she imagine it? "What I mean is, he's a talented director, but I don't like how
he twists the facts to fit into his liberal version of history."

"Is that so?" Ellie said. "I won't kid you. Sam was right when he said you really know your movies. I didn't know Stone did things like that. I liked Platoon. Didn't he make Platoon?"

She's either real humble or real charming or real smooth,
Buzz thought, watching Ellie bring Donna out of herself.

"Yeah, he did. It's a perfect example
of what I'm talking about. For instance…"

And so the conversation went, gradually losing tension. Ellie struggled to keep up with Donna, not quite holding her own. She learned a lot about movies over the next hour. Buzz started to join in the conversation, too.

Ellie was not really all that humble, but what she was doing took a certain kind of humility. She wasn't afraid of Donna. Ellie's almost
feline sense of staking out her territory told her that she had to win Sam's friends over to win Sam. She was taking no chances, and turning on the charm, and using the most devastating business tool Bucky had ever taught her:
Find out what your client likes and start asking questions. Find what they love, then sit back and listen and learn.

Ellie was not being insincere. She was learning about
movies, of which she knew little. That was good, because Sam apparently liked movies. She discovered that Donna was more than she appeared to be on the surface. She had a quick mind and an earthy articulateness. With a proper education and a few breaks, Donna could have been a professional.

That's life,
Ellie thought.

As the conversation wore on, Ellie decided that Donna simply wasn't Sam's type,
and relaxed a bit.
Better safe than sorry.

Ellie wasn't fooling Buzz, and she knew it. But she wasn't trying to fool Buzz. Buzz was not as talkative as usual, and Ellie knew from Sam that Buzz loved to talk.

He must be sizing me up,
Ellie surmised. And she was right.
I have nothing to hide.

But deep down, on the feminine-threat meter, Ellie was picking Buzz up loud and clear:
Don't hurt my friend.
Love him and I'll help you, Ellen. But don't hurt him.

Ellie respected this. In fact, it made her proud of Sam. He knew how to pick strong friends.

Ellie was not a manipulative person. Sure, she had come here to surprise them, hoping to catch them off guard (Buckyism:
Always do business when the other side is tired, or not expecting it…
). But her goal was not sinister; she was crossing her
t's
and dotting her
i's
in the relationship with Sam. Sam had kept his friends hidden from her all these months. Probably because he was shy; maybe he was afraid she might reject them. Ellen James had to show him that she could and would like them.

Ellie was relieved. Overall, as she calculated in that most female way (using intuition; with no calculation at all), she knew that Buzz and Donna were
good people. Easy to like.

Donna's a little rough around the edges. Insecure. From the wrong side of the subdivision, for sure, but honest and nice. And Buzz!
She knew he was unique. Different.
Just like Sam.

At two, good-byes were made. Donna drove home in her "new" pick-up truck.

Before getting into her own Accord, Ellie slipped into Sam's car and gave him a long, lingering good-night kiss.

"Thanks for being such a sport about me crashing your party. I like your friends."

But they're probably not going to be
my
friends. Especially if you end up on the East Side.

"And I missed you. I missed you all day long." There was no exaggeration in her last statement.

Sam, who was quite tired, and quite thrilled about all the night's events, answered with a bold kiss.

She found something inside
herself responding to his kiss–something natural, something good.
Is it love? Is it his tenderness?
She wasn't certain. Either way, it was new to her.

Even Ellie barely realized that she was fertile. The egg about to drop into her womb was still a part of her; as much a part of her as her past. It needed something more to no longer be a mere part, but a whole of its own. The half-life needed a
man. Nothing would happen between Gentleman Sam and Lady Ellen on this evening, of course. It was a foregone conclusion that they would be engaged soon. Why not wait until the wedding?

But a woman's reproductive system is never far from her heart. Most married men could tell you the same, if they pay the least attention to their wives' shifting moods and physical cycles. Grace had planned it this
way. When a baby is close to being conceived, a woman can be swept along in the strongest current; the undertow in the ocean of human life.

C.S. Lewis once wrote that God gave mankind a strong sexual drive because He knew that we would sit on our duffs otherwise, barren and distracted by dry, dead things like cars and diplomas and MTV.

Sex means life. Life needs love. Dead things don't need either.
Ellie didn't think of it in these terms. Which one of us does?

Love and life. Life and love.

Conversations and touches.

And grace from above.

2

"I want you to meet some friends of mine," Bill told Mark after an hour of listening. "There's not much I can tell you. But you can see with your own eyes what you need to see."

"Who are they?"

"Friends," was all Bill would say.

Mark placed his half-finished
courtesy beer into Bill's sink. "Then let's go."

"Tomorrow," Bill replied.

3

Two weeks later, Ellen was out of town at a training seminar. Donna still hadn't invited Sam or Buzz to her home.

Buzz convinced Sam and Donna to take a long weekend–including Monday and Tuesday off–for a road trip. He managed to keep the destination from them. "Bring a hundred and fifty bucks and pack for three nights
and four days," was all he would tell them.

4

The next day, Bill White and Mark Johnson stood on the front porch of the home of Mary and Joe Kemp. Bill rang the doorbell.

"Come in, come in!" Mary Kemp said as she opened the door.

The Kemps lived in a modest ranch in North Royalton. It had a large backyard.

"Remember," Bill had told Mark earlier, "don't talk about your family. Just have a good
time. Just watch them."

Joe came into the foyer from the living room and shook the visitors' hands. Introductions were made.

Lunch was prepared. Cold cuts, cheese, bread, lettuce. Mark turned down a beer. Joe opened a beer for himself and one for Bill. Mary had a Diet Coke.

The Kemps had seven children. Mary breastfed the youngest right at the table.

Two of the older children were at practice
for sports. Two other children played peacefully in the living room–Legos. Another, a girl, Helen, who was twelve, was reading on the couch.
Treasure Island.

There was another girl, Annie, eight, who sat on her father's lap, listening to the adult conversation. After a few minutes, she stood next to "Uncle Bill," her arm on his shoulder. Soon, she was sitting on his lap.

Mary served coffee after
lunch.

The conversation hung around the topic of the state of the Catholic Church. The Kemps considered themselves fortunate to live in a town that had a parish with a pastor loyal to Rome, and one of the two or three Catholic grammar schools in the diocese which didn't water down the faith or have a humanistic sex-ed program.

"If Father Dial dies," Mary said. "We'll have to consider home schooling."

"Home schooling?" Mark asked.

"Yes," Bill explained. "A few Catholic families are already doing it–pulling their kids out of school. Teaching them at home. The evangelicals have been doing it more and more for the last few years, more than Catholics."

"Sending your kids to public school is like rolling dice with their souls. Catholic schools are almost as bad," Joe added.

Mark nodded. His oldest
two girls, Sarah and Angela, were in third grade and kindergarten. A gradual and subtle change had taken place in them since starting school–Catholic, in this case. Their center of gravity had shifted; from mom and dad to their friends and classmates. Maybe that was natural, but Mark didn't like the morals and mouths of his daughters' friends.

There was a peacefulness and calmness about the Kemps.
Joe and Mary seemed normal, typical, average. Good Catholics. Concerned parents. But the children were different. The children were the ones radiating the peace.

They were gentle. Not fighting or bickering. The young ones weren't crying or whining. When was the last time Mark had seen his girls like this?

There was a shine in Annie's eyes. Yes, Annie's eyes had something.
Bill told me to watch
and listen.