Sad stuff.
Then, one sunny afternoon during search and rescue training, his boat crossed another’s wake. The craft jumped, and his face was hit with the spray.
The sensation flipped a switch.
Whoosh…
In that unexplainable instant, he realized that his summer, as well as his life, was moving forward with or without him, and he was ruining both with his own self-pity.
He returned to the dock a changed kid. For the remainder of the session, he was the happiest, friendliest, funniest, most active and adept sailor on the lake. He never did kiss Leslie from Norwalk, but it didn’t matter. Life was good enough.
It was not the first time it happened. It would be far from the last.
It was salvation in times of need, but so much more. To Leo, it was proof of the existence of God. No argument put forth by any Atheist pseudo-intellectual could hold up against that second of pure clarity: that moment when Leo knew God was not only watching, but helping, guiding.
The biggie came while he was having a smoke behind his father’s butchery. The shop was in South Philly’s Italian Market. Leo was twenty-three years old. A scruffy old codger that he’d never seen before appeared out of nowhere and asked Leo for a match. They started talking about the Flyers and, by some serpentine route, wound up on the subject of happiness.
“You wanna be happy?” the codger soliloquized.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“In your short time on this earth, if you’re lucky, you may find one thing that leaves you free of doubt. When you find that one thing, make it your life.”
Then he tapped out his pipe and left, never to return. And that was that.
As Leo gazed out the office window, he mouthed the words of the old codger and managed a small grin. It wasn’t “water in the face”, but it did the trick.
He was summoned back to the present by the sound of the office phone being slapped back on to its cradle. He sat up straight and turned to face the desk. The venerated man sitting behind it offered no expression of assurance.
“Were you able to talk to anyone, Your Grace?”
“A few. We were lucky the protesters interrupted Sergeant Lynch and not you. Otherwise, the photos would have been…well…worse let’s just say.”
“But they’ll still be on the front pages…the photos, I mean.”
The Archbishop nodded and spoke.
“The same constitution that protects us also protects them.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Leonardo, do you think we’re going about this incorrectly?”
The answer was “yes,” but Leo chickened out.
“Well, Your Grace… I…”
“Yeah, me too. It’s too familiar. It’s too close to the way we did things last time.”
Fellini tapped his fingers on the desk a few times and randomly browsed the room.
“Leo, what’s the immediate problem? What are we trying to avoid?”
The Archbishop often held his conversations Socratically. Leo was relieved to have an answer ready.
“Anything that will hold up the construction of the new church.”
“I agree, and I’m afraid you don’t know the worst of it.”
“Your Grace?”
“Father, this is not a done deal. Saint Aloysius has been filling two collection baskets for close to five years. One of those baskets has been going straight to the diocese. There’s nothing keeping them…us…from building the new church a half an hour closer to Philly.
“Potterford is the place for it Leo. I’ve believed it in my heart from the get-go, but I have been in a minority. I’m the ‘Head Ginney In Charge,’ but I can be overturned. If this town becomes a hot bed of controversy, the project is sunk.”
“So, we have to keep the site protected? We have to keep the press away?”
“I don’t see vandals being a problem, not around here. The press is a problem, but only if there’s a story to write. The real issue is the community. We have to get Potterford on our side. If we can get the town to say ‘leave the Catholics alone,’ then Potterford is off the news.”
The room went quiet as the Archbishop withdrew into thought. Leo was anxious to offer suggestions for a starting point.
“I can get the deacons together. We can meet privately with some of the more visible members of our congregation. I couldn’t see the protest from the stage, but I can find out who was there and meet with them as well.”
Fellini shook his head.
“Forgive me Leo but appealing to either of those groups won’t accomplish anything. Their minds are already made up. What we need to do is put a friendly hand out to the twenty thousand Potterford Protestants, Jews, Muslims, and Atheists that weren’t at the protest. The message will eventually need to be more widespread, but we must start here!”
The Archbishop stood and walked to the window, seeking inspiration in the passing cars.
“Father, give me two names. Who is the most charismatic member of your church, and who has the strongest roots in the community?”
“Does it have to be two people?”
“Not necessarily. How many do you have in mind?”
There was no hesitation.
“One.”
6. Uncle Walter’s Woods
Son of a bitch!
The sound of metal against screaming metal echoed through the trees while Philip pulled down his shooting muffs and reached for another box of bullets. His uncle had owned and lived on the 75-acre patch of land for as long as Philip could remember. The two of them rode dirt bikes all over it when he was a kid. The trails were still there, but the bikes were on blocks. Lately, he just visited for the solitude.
Time to think…
One thing that irritated him about himself when he allowed it was the fact that, even though his adult life had been on a steady upswing, he still couldn’t figure out relationships. When he was alone,
