Fatherless: A Novel (20 page)

“So people like me are selfish?”

Now Kevin appeared to regret his words. “I didn’t mean it like that. There are plenty of valid reasons people avoid marriage
and parenthood. But far more choose childlessness than ever before in human history. The trend lines are clear, Julia. If
we don’t see a pretty dramatic fertility jump soon we will look a whole lot like Japan, Russia, and China in a few short years.”

He stood and turned toward the window to gaze like a protective father spotting an approaching storm. “Based on the latest
census, I fear we may have already gone too far to turn back.”

Julia rose to her feet to join him, noticing the tip of the Capitol Building Rotunda just above a line of trees a thousand
yards beyond.

“You may find this hard to believe. But people like me love our country too.”

“I know,” he said.

They continued staring out the window for several seconds, two doctors conflicted over how to best treat the same ailing patient.

Julia spoke first. “Listen, Kevin. RAP Syndicate is going to run a story on Franklin’s austerity committee, including something
about the Bright Spots proposal.”

He looked in her direction. “With or without the facts?”

“With or without your perspective,” she replied. “A perspective I would much rather include if possible.”

He turned back toward the window.

“I have an idea,” she said. “If you agree to give me access to the substance of the discussions before anyone else I’ll guarantee
space in my feature to let you make your case in your own words. Nine million readers.”

“All of them ready to throw stones.”

“Probably. But at least they will have a chance to hear your side of the debate. That won’t happen with any other syndicate.
You never know, you might just woo some of them to your side. That is your specialty, is it not?”

A deep breath lifted his sagging shoulders. “Deal.”

“Really?”

“Why not? I’ll be fighting an uphill battle anyway. I might as well do it on my own turf.”

“So, can we go on the record?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But if you plan to stay in DC through tomorrow I might just be able to give you the kind of access other
journalists would kill for.”

Julia’s face lit up. “Such as?”

“How would you like to sit in on my proposal presentation in the morning?”

Five minutes later Julia stood outside, her hair blowing in the chilly wind as she tapped out a time-buying message to Paul
Daugherty.

It was
nearly ten o’clock before Matthew arrived at work, two hours later than he’d intended. Dozens of crumpled napkins scattered
beside half-empty mugs of lukewarm coffee told him there had been a morning rush. Had he arrived earlier Sarah would have
asked him to clock in before his scheduled shift. Disappointed, he reminded himself it had been a rough few nights and that
he’d had good reason to ignore the alarm clock. He’d needed the extra sleep more than he needed the extra money.

Matthew had spent much of the prior two days battling his mother’s unsettled nerves. It had started Sunday. He’d known it
was risky leaving her alone for the time it took him to meet with Father Tomberlin. Something must have disoriented her, causing
her to forget his predeparture instructions.

“Donny won’t be here to stay with you, Mom,” he had explained. “I promise I won’t be gone long. I’m going to visit Father
Tomberlin.”

Her face lit up at the mention.

“You remember Father Tomberlin, don’t you?”

A nod told him that she did.

“What time is Mass?” she asked.

Matthew didn’t bother reminding her of Father’s retirement or that he no longer led Mass at St. Joseph’s. Nor did he see any
point explaining the real purpose of his visit.

“I’m not attending Mass,” he replied. “I’m just going to talk to Father Tomberlin. I should be home before two o’clock.” He
showed her a small clock as his finger mimicked the hour hand moving from the eleven to the two. “I left you a sandwich on
the kitchen table. Just remove the cellophane wrap when you get hungry. OK?”

The sandwich remained untouched when Matthew arrived home, the first of two instructions forgotten.

“If you need anything or feel scared just say, ‘Call Matthew’ and the phone will ring me. If you forget that, just press my
image on this screen,” he had said, pointing to a large digital tablet sitting beside her chair. “One tap and I’ll be on the
line with you in five seconds.”

Also forgotten, evidenced by the puffy eyes that greeted him when he found her whimpering in the corner of her bedroom. She
had apparently searched every inch of their tiny home dozens of times over the prior two and a half hours, eventually giving
up at the mistaken realization that her son had gotten lost, or had left her, or had died.

Matthew spent the rest of Sunday holding his mother’s hand in a tangible guarantee of his promise never to leave her alone
again. It didn’t work. She spent much of the night crawling in and out of bed, reliving her frantic search for a son who might
vanish at any moment. It wasn’t until Monday evening that she seemed back to her normal, semi-befuddled self. That’s when
he made an even bigger blunder.

He raised the subject while sitting beside her as she watched television, a hesitant child broaching a difficult topic. Unable
to look her in the eyes, he muted the television during commercial breaks to toss fragments from what he had intended to be
a carefully crafted, coherent script.

“I took a big step today, Mom,” he began, eyes fixed on the screen. “I submitted my application to the University of Colorado.”

She looked toward Matthew, pleased at the reminder of her dream for him.

“I’ve always said you should be a professor.” She sounded like her old self, a proud mother flattering her faultless son.

“I know,” he continued. “You convinced me it was a good idea to see if they will admit me on probation. I got pretty solid
grades at Front Range Community College.”

“I remember. They’ll accept you. And you’ll do great.”

“Anyway, if I get accepted we’ll have some pretty important decisions to make.”

She said nothing. The corner of his eye perceived a head nodding in oblivious agreement.

The commercial ended, triggering Matthew to un-mute the sound. He would use the ten minutes of onscreen drama to decide how
he would word the second of four points.

“Did I ever tell you how much tuition costs?” he asked, muting the next commercial. They both watched gorgeous mimes promote
a new perfume or luxury automobile.

“What’s that?”

“Tuition. I was looking into how much it will run for tuition, tech access, on-campus housing.” He sensed her head turn toward
him. “All of the expenses of going to college full time.”

“On-campus housing?” A slight panic rose in her voice.

He pretended not to hear. “So the total, near as I can figure, will run about sixty thousand per year. A quarter million for
the full degree. Then graduate school.”

“Why would you need on-campus housing?” she asked. “Can’t you live at home?”

“Sure I could,” he backpedaled. “I’m just checking into all the options. You know, in case.”

Her breathing slowed back to normal. “I see.”

He raised the volume in the middle of a second commercial, pretending interest in the ad because he wasn’t quite ready to
raise point three.

“I got an auto-reply message from the college financial aid office that included tips on how to pay for school,” he continued
ten minutes later, the dancing light of silent images bouncing across his tentative face. “My job might cover about ten percent
of the cost if we can wean you off of some of the more expensive medications.”

She didn’t react. It had been some time since she’d known which daily pill treated which ailment. Matthew would know what
was best in that arena anyway.

“They don’t really offer many four-year student loans anymore,” he continued. “The whole austerity budget thing pretty much
eliminated that option. And we can’t expect any kind of academic scholarship since I’ll be lucky to get accepted on probation
as it is.”

As he’d hoped, she seemed to recall an offer made years earlier. “What about the money your grandfather left us? Can’t we
use some of that?”

“That’s a possibility,” he responded. “But we currently use that money to live.”

The program returned on cue. In ten minutes Matthew would ask his mother the hardest question of his thirty-three years. He
used the time to mentally rehearse his rationalization.

SPIRIT GOOD. BODY BAD.

“
Jesus…was a death-embracing mystic
,” Dr. Vincent had said. “
The Manichaeans taught that the physical body is evil, a prison cell keeping us from our true nature…We decay
.”

GIVE THOSE BURDENED THE FREEDOM TO THRIVE.

A commercial break and tap of the mute icon shoved Matthew into the deep water of his fourth and final point.

“The material I received said a lot of college students receive funding through the generosity of transitioning loved ones.”
He said no more, instead waiting for any clue of reaction one way or the other. A gasp or a sob suggesting he had cut her
heart with a knife. Or perhaps prolonged silence as she contemplated an idea she might have already considered, no matter
how remotely.

They sat together quietly staring at the screen. Matthew felt a sense of relief, glad to have completed his mission. He had
not suggested that his mother transition. He had merely mentioned what others had done in similar circumstances. The choice,
as the law required, must be entirely her own.

“Hi, Matt!” The sound of Sarah’s upbeat voice yanked him back to the present moment and reminded him of his duty to several
dozen abandoned mugs and napkins. “Boy! We sure could have used you earlier this morning. Pandemonium city!”

“Sorry. Late night.” It felt good to hear Sarah acknowledge his missed usefulness. “I’ll grab these tables over here.”

He noticed the only remaining customer, a well-built athlete admiring the same red blouse and tight-fitting jeans that captivated
Matthew every time they cycled into Sarah’s wardrobe rotation. It bothered him to see another man looking at her the way he
had on countless occasions. It bothered him even more to overhear the younger, stronger, scholarship-receiving hunk smooth-talking
her into dinner and a movie and, Matthew presumed, the rest. The moment reminded Matthew of his place at the bottom of the
masculine hierarchy, where he would likely remain in light of his mother’s reaction to the transition option.

She’d wept as he had never seen her weep before. It took him hours to calm her down, promising he did not mean she should
transition, agreeing that suicide was a mortal sin, convincing her to take something that would help her sleep.

How can she forget to take her medicine but remember the definition of a mortal sin
? he wondered, freshly stoking the anger he had fueled much of the night.

The door opened as a second customer walked into the café. Matthew noticed Sarah run the back of her hand along the hunk’s
broad shoulders as she moved toward the counter where two other employees were trying to restore pre-rush sanity to the place.

“Hello, Mr. Adams.” It was the voice of Dr. Thomas Vincent. “Doing well today?”

Matthew smiled at the good fortune of seeing the professor again on a day he very much needed a confidant. “Hello, Dr. Vincent.
Doing fine. You?”

“Can’t complain. And even if I did no one would pay attention!” He chuckled at his own comment.

“Are you in a hurry this morning or do you have a minute?” Matthew asked.

Thomas Vincent glanced at the clock. “I have twenty-two minutes until my next lecture. I’ll split it with you. Let me order
my drink and I’ll be right with you.”

Matthew looked toward Sarah, who was already nodding approval for the delayed start, a favor both knew she owed him after
reducing his last three shifts.

He wasted the first few minutes on useless chatter about weather and the weekend game UC had barely lost, trying to appear
at ease with the professor. Thomas quickly detected the con.

“What’s troubling you, Matthew?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Afraid so.”

He decided against mentioning his mother to avoid contaminating a question better left in the sterile world of the abstract.

“I know you no longer subscribe to the teachings of the church,” he began, “but I was wondering, what are your thoughts about
mortal sin?”

Thomas’s eyes fixed on Matthew over the top of his disposable cup. He gently blew the steaming surface before taking a trial
sip.

“Which mortal sin?”

“I don’t know. Let’s say suicide.” Fearing the implication, Matthew quickly added another. “Or sexual promiscuity.”

“Twenty years ago I would have said I’m against both, but I’ve become a bit partial to the second.” He laughed silently. “Besides,
I’m pretty sure promiscuity falls under venial sins, not mortal sins. A mortal sin…” He paused and closed his eyes as if reaching
for a distant memory. “Let me get this right, ‘A mortal sin breaks the link between the individual and God’s saving grace.’
Suicide definitely qualifies.”

“Do you consider it suicide if someone volunteers to transition?” Matthew asked. “I mean, would the church call that a mortal
sin?”

“Probably would,” Thomas confirmed. “Another reason I could no longer affirm Catholic teachings.”

“So you consider transitions a good thing?”

Dr. Vincent appeared to experience a sudden awakening. “We aren’t having a hypothetical conversation, are we, Matthew?”

Matthew hesitated. “No, sir. I had two conversations over the weekend that have put me in a difficult position.”

“With whom?”

“My mother.” He looked toward the window to hide false eyes. “I’m…I mean she’s considering a possible transition. Wants me
to use her assets to pay for college.”

“Really? She wants to fund your dream?”

“And hers. She always wanted me to become a professor.”

“But?” Thomas poked.

“But I’m wrestling with the idea. She was always pretty religious. Still prays the rosary on her good days.”

“And you wonder whether volunteering to transition is the same as committing suicide?”

“Her former priest, Father Tomberlin, says the human body is sacred. I disagree, of course, but worry the church will reject
her if she decides to go through with it. Renege on her baptism or something like that.”

Thomas noticed the time. “Listen, Matthew, I need to head to class and I don’t want to rush this conversation. Let’s make
an appointment for when we have more time. I fly out of town this afternoon for a lecture series in Chicago but I have office
hours available next week.”

Matthew nodded absentmindedly while trying to evade self-doubt.

If he convinced his mother to transition, would she be committing the mortal sin of suicide?

If he convinced her on a day when dementia impeded a sound mind, would
he
be committing the mortal sin of murder?

Dr. Vincent stood and moved toward the door while throwing a slight wink in the direction of Sarah’s red blouse. Desperate
for guidance, Matthew spoke up to avoid losing the professor’s attention.

“Just answer me this. Would you help your own mother transition, you know, if she asked you to?”

Thomas stopped and turned back toward Matthew. He said nothing for a moment, slowing zipping his leather jacket as if inching
an answer upward from the center of his being.

“My mother transitioned back in ’39 shortly after my dad died. That was before they recommended input from loved ones, so
she never discussed it with my brother or with me.”

He said it in such a manner that Matthew assumed it was not something Dr. Vincent liked to discuss. But he needed to know,
so he gingerly asked one last question.

“Would you have helped her if she had?”

Thomas began rubbing his chin the way Matthew had noticed him doing in class. Fifteen seconds later, the answer came.

“Yes. Remember what we discussed before, Matthew. We all decay. Why would I prevent my mother from sidestepping such an unpleasant
process? Yes, I believe I would have helped her.”

He turned to leave. The door had barely closed behind him when it opened again. Dr. Vincent threw his would-be protégé one
final thought.

“Remember, Mr. Adams. There’s no such thing as a mortal sin. Just hard choices.”