Conceived Without Sin (7 page)

3

They were lounging on the couch. Two-thirds of the movie was over.

"This is the love story part," Donna whispered to Sam. "See, he came across time to rescue her. To be with her. He's suffering for her. Like a knight in shining armor."

"Yes," Sam whispered. "It is a love story."

Buzz didn't take his
eyes off the screen. He didn't like it when others talked during movies.

4

In New Jersey, Mark Johnson wasn't watching a movie. He was asleep in the spare bedroom of a friend from the Bureau, dreaming of his wife…

…in the dream, she was holding on to him, her hands around his waist, as their Sea-Doo screamed across the glassy, calm water of Barnegat Bay. So much fun!

There was a small island up
ahead. His wife's hold tightened as they came around it. There were buoys up ahead. They were fuzzy in his vision. He tried to focus.

"Don't hit them!" Maggie cried out, trying to outshout the high-pitched engine and the waves, which were now rough and white-capped. "Don't…"

But Mark couldn't make out what she was saying.

The first buoy came. But it wasn't a buoy. It was a little girl, flailing
in the water, trying not to drown.

It was his middle daughter, Angela.

He was heading directly toward her. The controls on his Sea-Doo became sluggish, unmoving. He couldn't steer out of the way.

Most people would have woken up out of the dream just before the bow of the jet ski struck the child. But not Mark. He was a tough guy. And in that strange way of dreams, even though he was asleep, a
part of Mark was aware of what was going on. He endured the battering as his own dream pummeled him again and again.

When he woke up the next day, he didn't remember the nightmare. He did feel an uneasiness, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He did his push-ups and sit-ups, and lifted his weights. The exercise calmed him. He put on his shoes and his suit, and left for work.

Another day
in law enforcement.

5

It was months later.

Buzz was late. Sam found himself seated at a small table in the side room of Mama Santas Pizzeria on Mayfield Road in Little Italy.

He stole a look at Donna as she searched for lip balm in her purse, which looked more like a backpack than a handbag.

No,
he thought,
I'm not attracted to her. Too bad. Maybe not too bad, though. If I was attracted to her,
maybe I wouldn't be able to hang out with her–I'd be too nervous.

There wasn't any chemistry. He looked at her and felt no urge, no desire. Just a calm peace.

Better to have a friend than a lover. Why not both? I should ask Buzz when he gets here.

"Whatcha thinkin'?" she asked.

"Uh, nothing, really. Just daydreaming."

"Oh. Did you have a good day at work?"

"Yes," he replied, finally smiling. "Everything
went wrong. That's good. That's how it works."

"I don't get it," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm starting to talk like Buzz. All riddles and mysteries."

"I like riddles and mysteries," she told him, looking up from her menu. "Now, why is everything going wrong at work a good thing?"

"Well, unless they go wrong, you can't fix them. So I fixed things, that was the day's challenge.

"One of our
biggest customers called with a huge problem. His server had gone down, and he had been lax about doing his back-ups. He was trying to blame it on us."

"So what did you do?" Donna asked.

"I ignored his trying to blame it on us. That was just his emotions talking. He was bugging out because he was losing a lot of money and time. His information is the most valuable asset he has next to his experience.
I tried to calm him down. I sent Johnny Traverse out with a technician, who diagnosed the problem. Johnny took the guy out and bought him a beer. That helped."

"Did you rebuild his computer?" she asked.

"Mostly. We'll have it fixed by tomorrow afternoon. The client is thrilled and relieved, and thinks we're the best supplier he's got. And he's right. We treated him right. We fixed his problem.
He's happy to pay us."

"Buzz would call what you did acting charitably," she observed.

The waitress came to take their order. She recognized Donna immediately. They had attended the same grammar school. Sam and Donna ordered a Sam Adams.

"I call it good business practice. It was good for him, and good for me. We were both acting out of self-interest. How come you Catholics always read deeper meanings
into ordinary things?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he explained. "You see a normal good business practice as somehow confirming the Catholic belief in the Golden Rule, Love thy neighbor as thy self. Why can't it just be what it is: good business practice. Also, you have your medals and those cloth things around your necks–"

"You mean my scapular?"

"Yeah, the scapular. Buzz told me about scapulars.
They're supposed to get you into heaven faster or something. To me, they're just pieces of cloth. I'm sorry, I'm not ragging on your religion. As far as I can tell, you and Buzz are the first Catholics I've ever known who practice what you preach. Several of my workers are Catholics, but they don't act like you or Buzz."

"Thank you," was all she could say at first. Then, "We're just normal Catholics,
you know, Sam. Just because most Catholics don't practice what they preach doesn't mean that those that do are somehow abnormal."

"Then exceptional is a better word," he responded.

"Fair enough. By the way, the scapular is just a piece of cloth to me, too. My Miraculous Medal is just a piece of metal. It's what they stand for that's so meaningful. They
stand for
Our Lady's love for us. That's
real, but we can't see love, so God gives us ordinary things we
can
see to remind us of what we can't see."

"If you can't see it, then how do you know it's really there?" Sam asked sincerely.

"How do you know the wind is there? Have you ever seen wind?" she asked right back.

"Yes, I've seen–" he cut himself off. "Actually, I've never seen wind, just its effects…"

"Well, God's love is grace, and
grace is God's wind. I can't see it, but I feel and see its effects."

"Then how come I can't feel grace? I can see the trees moving in the wind." His tone was calm. This was not an unusual conversation since meeting Buzz and Donna.

"I don't know. Maybe you need some leaves to catch the wind," she offered.

The beers came. They ordered a large pizza. Sam took a sip and smiled.

"All very poetic,
Donna. But that doesn't apply to me. How am I going to get leaves? It's all so confusing."

"Well, I'm not confused. Maybe I was getting too poetic there. Maybe you need a sail. So you can move toward God. You're like a very efficient sailor doing all sorts of work on a ship lost at sea. Polishing brass. Cooking meals. Steering the rudder here and there, but the wind blows by you because your sails
aren't up. You won't get anywhere.

"Buzz is wrong about you. Buzz thinks he can talk you into becoming a Catholic. I doubt he's ever talked anybody into Catholicism. He can talk us into watching videos with him; he can talk us into going where he wants us to go. Remember how he got us to agree to come here after work with just a phone call? He's a charming bully. But talking with you about the
faith is like talking with that sailor on the ship lost at sea. Talk talk talk; but the ship goes nowhere. You've got to put up your sails for yourself."

"Nice. But what exactly
is
'putting up your sails?'" he asked.

"Don't you know by now, Sam Fisk? Buzz is right, you are thick."

"Don't tease me. What is it?"

"It's praying, Sam. You have to pray. Praying is putting up your sails. God doesn't
need to hear what you have to say. You need to listen." She rolled her eyes, but only a little.

"I've tried," he told her, "but I don't hear anything."

"I know," she said. She looked him in the eye. "Don't worry about it. Keep trying. It'll come."

"How can you be so sure? How do you know that's what I want or need? I haven't tried very hard. I sat in the easy chair in my apartment a couple of
times, and during commercials I told the nothingness, 'Okay, I'm listening. Is anybody out there?' Then I heard nothing, except for really arrogant commercials for those new Infinities."

"Infinities? See the connection? God is infinite. Maybe that was a sign. You know, ordinary things stand for unseen realities."

"God speaking through a commercial on television? Does God come with leather interiors?"

"Yeah, it does sound kind of goofy, Sam."

"So where does that leave me?" he asked politely.

"I'm not sure. I do know that you are the real thing, a good guy, a friend, Sam. And that people always want what they don't have. My older sister told me that."

"What do I want that I don't have?" he asked.

She laughed. "Faith, Sam. Faith."

Sam spotted Buzz coming toward the table.

"To be continued," he
said.

"Hey!" Buzz called out. He found his way through the maze of crowded tables and sat down. "Guess what I rented for tonight? A classic. An absolute classic!"

"More Arnold?"

"Even better. Crimes and Misdemeanors. Just out on video. Woody Allen. Normally, I hate the guy, but this one is a winner. And depressing as all get out. True to reality. A wealthy doctor has his mistress killed and falls
apart. Guilt. Flashbacks to his long-forgotten Jewish religious up-bringing. Sam will love it. Super depressing ending, too. We might want to do a Jonestown afterward. Kamikaze Kool-Aid Coolers."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam informed Buzz.

"And I'm not following you, either, which means that you've finally gone over the edge. This is wonderful. Maybe we'll get some peace and
quiet for once," Donna added.

"No way. If I go insane, I'll be the kind of guy who talks and shouts all day long. The kind of guy who drives Nurse Ratchet right up the wall. That's me, I'll cut her down with my buzzsaw. I'll yack her to death."

"Enough already, Buzz. We ordered for you. You're tardy. No popcorn with your movie tonight," Donna chided.

"I'll be good. I'll shut up. I won't dominate
the conversation," Buzz promised happily.

"Yes, of course, Buzz," Sam patronized.

After the not-very-surprising discovery that Mama Santas did not serve Kool-Aid, Buzz ordered a Pepsi. "I'm part of the New Generation," he told the waitress. "I'm not the Real Thing."

Both Donna and the waitress rolled their eyes.

Toward the end of dinner, the waitress came up to Sam, put a Sam Adams on the table,
and leaned over to whisper. "Do you see the blonde on the other side of the room? Look, there. See her?"

Sam nodded. Donna spotted the girl next. Her heart sank. The blonde was striking.

"Yes, I see her."

"She says she recognized you from an article about your company in Craines Cleveland Business. Wants to buy you this. Okay?"

Sam blushed. He smiled quickly at the blonde, who was smiling back
at him. The image of El Greco's
The Savior of the World
came into his head, then disappeared.
The faint heart never captured the fair maiden,
he thought.

Sam looked down at his shoes, clenched his fists under the table, and forced himself to look up. She was stunning. A Grace Kelly in the middle of Little Italy.
Don't get carried away, Sam.

"Pretty woman, walking down the street," Buzz sang, quite
loudly, in a bad impersonation of Roy Orbison.

The moment broke. Sam turned back to his friends.

"What does she want?" Donna asked tersely.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess she saw that front cover article about me in Craines."

"What article? Front cover?" Buzz asked. "You didn't tell me about any article. I've invested months in being your friend, and you still hide things from me. I'm hurt. Stunned.
I need a hug. Can we hug, Sammy?"

"Oh shut up, Buzz," Donna said. "I'm sick of your repetitive sense of humor."

"What's gotten into you, Donna?" Buzz asked. "Sorry."

"Too late," she told him. "Oh, crap. Okay, you're forgiven. I'm just having a bad day. Now shut up."

In fact, Donna was in the middle of her time. Everything was dark. Everything seemed to be rolling toward the edge of a cliff. Just
one more thing to make a lousy night lousier.

"Okay." Buzz was truly chastened.

The dinner was oddly silent. Sam actually tried to make small talk to get things going. He couldn't help but steal glances at the blonde. She didn't look back at him. His heart sank with a familiar thud.
Nothing. It was nothing. Just a friendly gesture.

"So tell me, Buzz," Sam asked. "How was work?"

"I got into a big
brown truck, which is called a package car at UPS, and delivered packages all day in the suburban splendor of Parma and select parts of North Royalton. Then, I picked up some packages at prearranged times and places. Then I drove back to the center. I changed my clothes and came here. Would you like to know more?"

"No. But I'm glad I asked. Now I know," Sam observed.

Donna said nothing, and picked
at her single slice of pizza.

It was Donna who first saw the blonde walking toward their table, her eyes on Sam Fisk.

6

"I'm Ellen James," she said, holding out her hand. "I read about you in Craines."

She was wearing an elegant black cotton dress. Simple. Timeless. A tasteful gold Miraculous Medal hung around her neck.

Sam sat motionless for a second. Buzz kicked him under the table.

"Uh, I'm
Sam Fisk," he finally said, taking her hand in the manner of a gentleman–the way his father had taught him, grasping her four fingers in his upturned palm. He managed a nervous smile.
She's beautiful,
was all he could think.

"And…" she prompted, looking at Buzz and Donna.

"And this is Donna Beck and Buzz Woodward."

"Pleased to meet ya," Buzz offered, taking Ellen's hand in the same manner as Sam.