Her late husband, Sam, from whom Vincent got his height, had left Louise quite well-off, sufficiently so that she didn’t need to work outside her home.
Anthony, now a senior at De LaSalle Collegiate High School, was a gifted athlete. He would be offered more than a few athletic scholarships. So far, he had spent much more time exercising his muscles than his brain. This concerned Vincent, who was appalled at the prospect of his brother’s wasting talents that could otherwise see him nicely through his later years.
Lucy was in the eighth grade at St. William’s. The embodiment of perpetual motion, she showed every prospect of becoming a beautiful woman like her mother.
Martha, at forty-five, was two years older than her sister. Martha and Louise had been close from childhood. Born in Sicily, they were brought to America as infants; thus, neither remembered their country of birth. Their parents had come to Detroit to be with relatives who had preceded them.
The family’s first home was a modest duplex in St. Ursula parish, populated then largely by Italian families just beginning to build their lives. In time, as Sam prospered in the construction business, they would move up Gratiot to St. William’s parish.
Fifteen years ago, Martha had met Frank Morris. At thirty, she was beyond the customary marrying age. That had something to do with her acceptance of Frank’s proposal. But basically, she loved him.
That was not good news to her family. Frank was not Catholic, and was divorced. After one frustrated attempt to be married in the Catholic Church, they found a judge to perform the service.
Of Martha’s family, only Louise had attended the simple civil ceremony.
Now, after fifteen years, Martha’s relatives were beginning to thaw; at least Frank and Martha were now invited to family gatherings. They were childless. Some of the family saw that as God’s punishment.
Martha was Vince’s godmother. That selection had been made well before her “pagan” wedding. Vincent had always been close to Martha, even though in more recent years he was troubled by her sinful state.
“So,” Frank said, “how ya doin’, Vinnie? This place as nice as it seems? It seems new. It even smells, new.”
“It
“Which reminds me, Tony …” He turned to his brother. “How’re you doing at De LaSalle?”
“Pretty damn good-”
“Tony!” Louise shushed her son. “Don’t swear! We’re in the seminary.”
“Sorry, Ma. We’re doin’ very well, Vin. We’re three and oh. We’re lookin’ at an unbeaten season. And my arm has never been better.”
“How about your studies?”
“Yes!” their mother seconded.
“They’re okay … well, adequate. They’re never gonna put bread on the table. Football will.”
“But for how many years?” Vince pointed out.
“Enough,” Tony replied. “Enough to salt away a stash. Besides, my plan is to play pro football until my joints won’t bend anymore. And then, you know what? I’m gonna do sports broadcasts. I’ve got more vocabulary than all the guys doin’ play-by-play put together.”
“Tony …” Vince shook his head. “Do you ever look at the statistics? Do you have any idea what the odds are? The odds that you can make it to the pros? Granted, if you get that far, you’d probably be a cinch for broadcasting. But how big a chance do you have to beat out the best of the best?”
“That’s what I tell him all the time, Vincent,” Louise said. “Listen to your brother, Tony. He knows what he’s talking about.”
“I’m bored!” Lucy complained loudly. She was close to whining. “Can I go outside?”
“No,” her mother said. “Be a nice girl and sit still.”
Lucy subsided, but looked as if she might burst into tears at any minute. She wriggled unhappily on her chair, almost in rhythm with her trembling lower lip.
“Why not?” Frank said. “There’s nothing out here to hurt her.”
“For cryin’ out loud,” Tony said, “let her go before she drives us all nuts.” Tony had seen his sister in action; he knew that she was not about to sit silent and/or still.
“Oh, all right,” Louise relented. “But stay out in front where all the cars are parked. And don’t bother anyone. Mind now, stay in front.”
Freed from the adult world, Lucy went skipping out of the room and up the exit steps.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Louise said, “I want to talk to my baby for a little while.” She grasped one of Vincent’s sleeves and tugged on it.
Vincent, laughing, went off with his mother. The others grinned at the sight. Vincent made almost two of her. That she should commandeer her son all the while calling him her “baby” was ludicrous. Only a mother could pull it off.
6
“Where can we talk?” Louise asked.
Vincent thought for a moment. “If you don’t mind walking, the cloisters.”
“Walking is good.”
Vincent led the way to the enclosed walkways. Constructed of brick and lots of glass, the cloisters area was H-shaped. Two north-south walkways joined the two residence halls with the main building. An east-west structure joined the aforementioned cloisters. They were used extensively to get from here to there.
The main building contained offices, library, refectory, and classrooms. The residence halls-named Edward and William after two of the founding Michigan bishops-contained student and faculty rooms and large recreation rooms. Students and staff were constantly on the move from one place to another. Cloisters, because they were so light and airy-and heated in winter-were popular places just to walk or, while walking, for conversation or prayer.
Vincent and Louise walked slowly but steadily. Only occasionally did anyone pass them. The area, though wide open, was nonetheless one of the most private areas in the institution.
“Vinnie,” his mother began, “pretty soon you’re going to be a priest.”
“Ma, it’s a good four years off.”
“Four years goes awful fast.”
“Not for me.”
“I know. I know, baby. But when you get older, time seems to go faster.”
“Ma, you’re only forty-three!”
“I know. It wasn’t me I wanted to talk to you about. It’s your aunt Martha.”
Vincent stopped walking. So his mother did too. Then they began again.
“I worry a lot about Martha,” Louise said. “It’s her marriage. She suffers so much because she can’t take Communion. You know she goes to church every Sunday … the Holy Days too. Did you know that?”
“No … not really. Holy Days too?”
“And Frank goes with her. Of course he’s not a Catholic. But he loves her so much. And in four years you’re going to be a holy priest of God. Sometimes before I go to sleep at night, I imagine how beautiful it’s gonna be when you say your first Solemn High Mass.” Louise’s smile was beatific. “And then I think of Martha-and Frank too. She’s your godmother. She’ll be at your Mass. And she won’t be able to take Communion.” Tears formed, then brimmed.
They walked in silence.
“Can’t you do something, Vinnie?”
“Ma, what can I do?”
“Something. Anything.”
