Till Death (31 page)

“Why didn’t they put you in a guest room and let you sleep it off?”

“A good question. Neither Koesler nor Tully could know whether I had anything scheduled early the next day. They didn’t know whether I had morning Mass. They thought it a good idea to get me home. Whatever. Anyway, Tully was home already and Koesler had a room there. That left …”

“Dora,” Lil supplied. “Dora Riccardo.”

He didn’t have to go any further. Lil knew. Suddenly she realized that being found out was not the worst thing that could have happened.

Rick went on to explain what had happened that night once it was determined that Dora should chauffeur him home. What he knew—outside of a few moments in bed—was largely hearsay.

Lil did not interrupt again. Numbly she half heard his narration. Dora was pregnant, bottom line, exclamation point, the tragic, tragic end. One single act of intercourse and all the years of double and triple prophylactic protection were as nothing. The years she had devoted to Rick—wasted. Their relationship—over.

All this and more thundered against her consciousness.

He must be finished; he had stopped talking. After she realized that Dora was pregnant and Rick was the father, Lil didn’t care about any of the details. She knew it must have all been an accident. She knew Rick did not love Dora. She knew that Rick loved her.

But that didn’t matter—none of it mattered. Rick would marry the mother of his child, that Lil knew. She did not know the battle Rick had fought within himself to submit to that marriage.

All the while Rick had been explaining the situation, choosing his words as carefully as he could, she had been absently twisting the towel in her hands. In so doing, she had exerted such pressure and friction that the skin of her left palm had broken. There was blood on the towel.

Rick’s mouth continued to move. But she was oblivious.

“Honey! Honey!” Rick was shouting. Lil looked directly at him. But she didn’t seem to comprehend anything he was saying.

Rarely had Rick seen anyone in a catatonic state. This, he was convinced, was one of those times. He shook her, then abruptly stopped. She was hurt, injured somehow inside. Shaking her might further damage her.

He was out of his league. He dialed 9-1-1. An emergency crew was on the way.

He held her close. He spoke to her as quietly and reassuringly as possible. After all, his guts also were wrenched.

When the E.M.S. arrived, he stepped back to let the professionals take over.

A crew member took down essential information. Rick was not dressed as a priest, nor did he identify himself as one. Lil, now on a gurney was being wheeled to the ambulance. She would be delivered to Warren Emergency Hospital. Rick would follow along in his car.

The place was terribly busy. But he was able to ascertain that Lil had arrived and was behind the curtain in one of the cubicles. He identified himself as a friend, a friend who had given her cataclysmic news that undoubtedly triggered her present condition.

An emergency room doctor informed him that the initial diagnosis was an acute reaction similar to schizophrenia with a catatonic state.

At this point, Rick was abandoning the situation. He gave them the address and phone number of one of Lil’s aunts. The two women weren’t close, but they were related. He did not get further involved because he was certain his news had caused her reaction. He was the last person in the world she needed right now.

This assessment tore him even further apart. It was a self-contradiction: She needed his shoulder to cry on—but it was he who had caused her tears.

In a daze, he drove back to the rectory. He did not care what happened to him. But he had already done grave harm to the woman he loved; he did not want to cause injury to any one else. That caution alone made him drive as carefully as possible under the circumstances.

After debating briefly within himself he phoned Koesler. Rick gave the older priest a bare bones summary of what had happened, starting with Dora’s volunteering to act as chauffeur. With no detail, Rick admitted having sex with Dora. He told of her pregnancy, his decision to do “the right thing,” his finally telling Lil, and the tragic result of that revelation.

“She’s in Warren Emergency?”

“Yes. I left her there.”

“You left her!”

“If she comes out of this, I’m the last person she’d want to see.”

“I understand. You want me to look in on her?”

“No,” Rick demanded. “Not look in on her. Be there for her. I gave them the name of one of her aunts. I did it in a moment of panic. They hardly know each other. She hasn’t got any one else. Well …” He thought again. “Maybe her assistant principal, Jenny Roberts. But would you be there for me?”

“Of course. I’ll keep you posted.” Koesler paused. “What are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m going to do what I should have done with Lil. Get married.”

Twenty-one

There was no reason to delay the inevitable. Within days, the red tape having been tied in an orderly bow, Rick and Dora became Mr. and Mrs. Richard Casserly. The presiding minister was Judge Timothy Kenny, a nice guy. Rick decided that if they couldn’t have a priest witness their marriage, they might as well go for a nice guy. Judge Kenny was a friend of Rick’s. The judge understood the groom’s desire for a quiet, simple ceremony. And so it was. A few of Dora’s coworkers at
Oakland Monthly
were present in the judge’s chambers. Two of them acted as official witnesses.

There was little chance of any hoopla discomposing the summary nature of this ceremony. Unlike Jerry Anderson’s headline-grabbing wedding of dual celebrities, Rick married Dora—both commoners. And the time had long passed when priests getting married, was, in and of itself, considered newsworthy.

Among those present was
Oakland Monthly
’s editor, Pat Lennon. She was at a loss to know what to think of it all. Dora didn’t blend with this guy, Casserly. She was intended for Jerry Anderson. Even Pat’s old buddy Father Koesler had confirmed that connection.

Intraoffice small talk had it that somehow Dora had engineered this merger. If that were so, Lennon did not know what to make of it all. Without doubt Jerry Anderson had set his cap for Dora. Dora seemed to be reciprocating. The dip in her office efficiency was attributed to her flirtation with Jerry, who would, according to rumors, marry and make a housewife of his beloved.

Since Dora’s announcement to the magazine’s staff a few days ago, Jerry Anderson had been conspicuous by his absence. What to make of that?

Better that Lennon stay abreast of developments. If Dora’s work continued to slide, for whatever reason, this could be time to warn Dora that she might have to find work elsewhere.

True to his pledge, Father Koesler kept Rick Casserly informed as to Lil’s medical condition. Her doctor attributed her remarkable progress to a strong will, good overall health, and a determination to cooperate in her treatment. In a matter of a few days she was well enough to be discharged. However, she remained hospitalized an additional two days for observation.

She had made no attempt to contact Casserly.

Immediately after their wedding, utilizing their combined Christmas card lists, Rick and Dora sent out a simple notice of their marriage. No matter how they were informed—by word of mouth or by U.S. Postal Service—recipients had varying reactions to the news.

Lil, of course, was in a stupor. She knew nothing of Jerry Anderson’s role in this affair.

Tom Becker was furious with Dora for having robbed Rick of his priesthood. Peggy did not know of Dora’s pregnancy. To Mrs. Becker, Rick was just one more priest failure who had looked back after putting his hand to the plow.

Zachary, Zoo, and Anne Marie Tully knew of Dora’s pregnancy. They sympathized with both Rick and Dora.

Jerry of course, knew about himself and Dora, but had been unaware of Lil’s feelings for Rick. Where once he had loved Dora, Jerry now hated her for having manipulated and discarded him.

Father Harry Morgan didn’t have a clue.

Father Koesler knew everything.

The newly civilly married couple honeymooned for a couple of days at the St. Clair Inn. The setting was beautiful. The mood left something to be desired.

The sex was satisfactory—no more—and that only because Dora put so much into it. It was as if she were going to make this marriage work, no matter the odds.

Rick struggled to forget what had brought him to this point in his life. He walked the beach endlessly, wrestling with Dora’s essential question, “Why did you undress me?” And his answer to it all, “I was drunk.” Finally he settled on a simile that seemed to help.

What of the man, Rick reasoned, who got drunk, took a handgun, and killed someone? Was the man not guilty of murder because he was drunk? Or was he responsible for getting drunk and thus responsible for what he did while drunk?

Rick knew darn well what he was doing when, motivated by anger at Lil, he began drinking too much at the party. After he passed out he was still responsible for having drunk too much—to the point of intoxication. And responsible for anything he might do while in that state. He was responsible for then falling into a sexual frenzy. Granted, his mind had been muddled at that point. But he was responsible for his muddleheadedness.

This conclusion helped a bit. But he was coming at it from two angles: cognitive and emotional. His mind dictated the complete acceptance of responsibility. But he felt he had been ensnared in Dora’s orchestration, and, thus blindsided and trapped as he was, had been robbed of all he wanted in life.

He tried to see things from Dora’s perspective. This was no unadulterated picnic for her. She was pregnant. He figured that most women considered that condition as good and bad news. It must be thrilling to have new life developing inside oneself. On the other hand, the baby was not going to painlessly slide into the outside world.

On the second and last day of their honeymoon he called Tom Becker to see if permission were still granted to use the boat. He had to play all relationships rather tentatively due to his status change. People who respected him as “Father” might despise him as Rick.

But Tom proved true (which was more than Tom could guarantee from Peggy). The boat was Rick’s for the afternoon.

Brightly he proposed to Dora a leisurely ride on the lake. He’d never seen anyone exhibit such fear, instantaneous panic. She was terrified of the water. One more nagging difference from Lil. Accept your responsibility! his mind commanded. But it hurts, his heart replied.

It was a surprise to no one that Rick was offered a job in management in Becker’s company. He spent his first day at work much the way Mary Richards—of the
Mary Tyler Moore Show
—had: sharpening pencils. Gradually, but solidly, he got a handle on the job and was making creative suggestions and moves.

He had to get used to being one of the bunch. In his former life when he uttered an unpopular opinion, others might react, “You’ve gone too far, Father.” Now when he said something questionable, he might be greeted with: “You’re full of shit, Rick.” Oddly, he was not perturbed; he thought he preferred the latter approach.

One day after work Rick stopped in to see Father Koesler.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Koesler said as they both sat down in the living room.

Rick smiled slightly. “I kind of thought you would.”

“For one thing,” Koesler said, “I expect you’ll be wanting to change your Last Will and Testament.”

“Where I name Lil as the main heir?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, I want to leave the will just as it is.”

“But you’re married now. Don’t you want to name Dora as beneficiary?”

“No.”

Koesler shrugged. “It’s up to you. But I doubt it’ll be legal unless you specifically mention your wife and your child. You’d better talk to a lawyer.”

“I owe Lil just about everything. I’ve already told you how long we were together—how much we depended on each other.” Rick shook his head and blinked away a tear.

“Anyway,” he said after a moment, “I wanted to ask if you would be a sounding board, a listening post, whatever …

“From time to time it may be important for me to know who might still be speaking to me and who isn’t.”

Koesler smiled reassuringly. “You’re a friend and a colleague. You shouldn’t be concerned that you all of a sudden will be shunned.”

Casserly looked purposeful. “There’s Harry Morgan, for instance.”

“If I were you I wouldn’t count out Harry. I think you’ll find that by and large you’ll be pretty much accepted across the board.”

“Maybe. I guess you’re right.” Rick shifted forward in his chair. “Maybe I am a little paranoid. But I don’t want to barge in where I’m not wanted. I may want or need to talk to one of the guys, but if he doesn’t want my company, it’ll be an embarrassing scene for him. And I don’t want that if it can be helped.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll keep a weather eye out. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“How are you at changing the past? No … no,” he interrupted Koesler’s attempt to respond. “Forget it.” Rick started to rise, then sat back again. “There is one more thing.”

Until now Rick had been testing the water … seeing how his friend would respond to him. Both he and Koesler knew this. Games people play. “I was wondering,” Rick said, “how’s Lil doing?”

“Remarkably well,” Koesler replied. “She started her comeback early on and has made good progress. She comes to see me from time to time. Would you like me to give her your greetings?”

“No. I don’t want to mess up her life again. Best I stay out of the picture—hard as that is to do.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh …” Casserly did his up and down, jack-in-the-box routine again. “By the way, does she ever mention me?”

“Every time I see her.”

Casserly beamed. “You don’t know how much that means to me. I guess, if you don’t mind, you could say hello to her for me.”

They shook hands and Casserly left.

Koesler stood watching from the screen door as his friend walked to his car. I wish, Koesler thought, that I could do something about the past.