Man Who Loved God Read online

  “You don’t sound yourself.”

  “I was resting. I fell asleep and had a ghastly nightmare.”

  “You’re all right?”

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “Listen, Barbara, I’m coming over now, a little early. I just wanted to call ahead. I’ll be there in a little while.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “See you soon.”

  She replaced the phone in its cradle.

  She had just had one of the most realistic dreams of her life. Where on earth had it come from? With a little thought, the answer was obvious.

  Marriage to the father of her child had been among her tentative plans. Not a fait accompli but a possibility. That’s where her dream got its manifest content. Her subconscious was drawing a worst-case scenario. Extremely worst-case.

  There was nothing intrinsically wrong with Dallas. But it was terrifying to think of a parking lot or a brick wall as one’s only vistas.

  She had no reason to believe that marriage to Lou Durocher would be anywhere near as bleak as her dream portrayed it. Depressing it surely would be. No use even contemplating living with Martin or Jack; they were out of the game. The nightmare had excluded the possibility of Tom’s being the father. It had no right to do that. But dreams followed their own illogic.

  Well, then, what if Tom Adams did prove to be the daddy? At this stage, he could only claim it was impossible due to some physical impediment as had Martin and Jack.

  If Tom were physically capable of fathering a child only a DNA test would indicate whether it was his or Lou’s. If at all possible, she wanted to steer clear of the DNA thing. Messy! Plus indicating to all that there was more than one entry in the fatherhood stakes.

  As things presently stood, if Tom were the father there could be a marriage. As for whether Pat would divorce Lou, that was beyond Barbara’s control. But no marriage to Lou. Send the money.

  But there could be no conclusion written yet. It all came down to Tom Adams. What if he proved to be the father? He was single—even in the eyes of his Church. So marriage was possible. Was it practicable?

  She would move up several notches in the social register. There would be lots more money to spend. Tom was attractive, even if Barbara was not attracted. On the other hand, she found Jack Fradet the most romantic of the four, so what good was her taste in men?

  All in all, marriage to Tom Adams didn’t look bad.

  Barbara began pacing in front of the window wall as she considered the ramifications.

  There was Mickey Adams. Turned out to pasture because she’d objected to Tom’s intense committed involvement with and considerable contribution to his church. That certainly wouldn’t change. Did Barbara want to—could she—play a subordinate role to the Catholic Church?

  One good thing about Tom’s church: it would not condone abortion. So, for different reasons, she and Tom would be in total agreement on that matter.

  However, sensitized by her recent nightmare, she would tread slowly and carefully here. For the time being, let’s just pinpoint Daddy. Then, step by patient step, she would map the course for those involved.

  It was like a gigantic game of chess. And she had the controlling move.

  While waiting for Tom, she wouldn’t try for a catnap; she didn’t want to chance another nightmare. After she met with Tom, she’d be able to dream peacefully. Until his arrival, she would bury herself in a book. Maybe a murder mystery.

  Twenty-Three

  The book she’d been trying to read lay on the end table. She just hadn’t been able to concentrate.

  The doorbell rang. She went to the door. As expected, it was Tom Adams. He entered without a word.

  He was stooped, and seemed drained. In spite of her self-appointed role as grand inquisitor, she felt sorry for him. She took his coat. He wore no hat. “Something bothering you, Tom?” She was all too aware that the bother might well be herself.

  He sat down near the window wall and lingered over the view of the city at the height of its midafternoon bustle. “Oh … some trouble at the bank.” After a moment, he added, “Actually, we’re better off than I expected.”

  She laughed. “That’s a reason for depression?”

  “No. No, of course not. Still, I’d feel better if I completely understood why we’re where we are.”

  Was this a poor-mouth rationale for not giving her the generous settlement she was aiming for?

  “But we’re not here to talk about banking.” He turned from the window to her. “How are you feeling, Babs?”

  None of the others had expressed any concern for her condition.

  “Physically, I’m okay. After all, I’m barely into this pregnancy. And this is my first so I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel. But I don’t feel much different than I did before I was pregnant. So I guess all goes well.”

  Outside of her doctor, her father and mother, and Joyce, no one had known of her prior pregnancy when she herself was little more than a child. Now all those who had known were dead. So, as far as anyone but her obstetrician now knew, the present pregnancy was her first.

  “You’re under a doctor’s care?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He’s good, is he? Top-notch?”

  “I’ve got an ob-gyn recommended by my GP. So far, I’ve got no negative vibes.” She tilted her head sideways questioningly. “Why this interest in my doctor?”

  “I want the best. Give me your doctor’s name so I can check him out.”

  “Again: why?”

  He seemed surprised. “Why? Because you’re carrying our child. I want you—and the baby—to have the best of care. Why would you wonder about it?”

  “It’s just … I didn’t expect …”

  “I should’ve told you when it happened.” Adams turned and looked again out the window as if unwilling to face her. “It happened about a little over a month ago … when we were together in my apartment. After you left to go home … well, I had a feeling something was wrong. I was going to dispose of the condom. Just before I wrapped it to throw in the trash I looked at it more closely. There was a substance on the outside that looked like it might be semen. I experimented: I filled the condom with water and watched as a thin stream slowly escaped. Somehow the condom had been perforated.”

  Barbara was almost rapturous. At last something that made sense—a credible explanation of how she had become pregnant!

  “I debated at the time whether to tell you. It seemed to make little difference. The harm was done; you very probably were carrying my sperm in your vagina. If you were going to get pregnant, you were going to get pregnant.

  “Later, I thought that was a stupid decision. You could’ve douched. Not a lot of chance that would’ve made any difference—but it represented the only remaining protection you might have.

  “Still, in light of all the protection we always took—the spermicide, the diaphragm … the condom, for that matter … and this was such an infinitesimal perforation … plus it could easily have been a safe time in your cycle.

  “With all those considerations I couldn’t think of anything better than to let fate take its course. And” —he turned and gestured in the general direction of her abdomen—“it has.”

  Barbara couldn’t get over it. After all this maneuvering with the other three, the execs! The last person she’d expected to readily accept responsibility, the last person on her chronological list of candidates, Tom Adams, admitted to being the father of her child. Who’d a thunk it!

  Her initial reaction was relief. And immediately she felt power returning to her grasp.

  The failures on Monday with Marty and Jack had taken a lot of wind from her sails. At that point, to relieve her angst, she’d begun to entertain the concept of a virgin birth. Returning to reality, she realized that one of the two on Tuesday’s list had to be the one. Still, she had been shaken.

  She hadn’t felt all that ecstatic after this morning’s session with Lou Durocher. And
the nightmare concerning marriage to him hadn’t helped. But now that she considered the matter in light of what Tom Adams had just told her, Lou would’ve had to have had an experience similar to Tom’s in order to be in this paternity sweepstakes.

  No doubt about it, something, or somethings, had to have gone very, very wrong for her to conceive. There simply were too many precautions taken for this to happen.

  Tom Adams had just confessed that his condom had failed. Not much of a failure but, theoretically, enough. Even so, his sperm had to negotiate a diaphragm that was supposed to block them and a spermicide that was supposed to kill them.

  On the face of it, Tom Adams, while not a leadpipe cinch, was a most likely candidate. At this point, only a DNA test would confirm paternity. But not now. Maybe never.

  She rubbed her abdomen absentmindedly.

  Adams chuckled. “Yes, there’s a new life in you. We want to protect it. I do. And I know you do too.”

  “It’s getting clearer and clearer: you really are the father of this baby.”

  He half turned in the chair to face her. “I’m the father? How could it be otherwise?”

  Suddenly she felt weak and abruptly sat down. She had forgotten for a moment: Tom Adams didn’t know about the other three, his executive vice presidents. “I meant Al, of course. Everyone will think it’s Al’s baby. But we know it’s not.”

  Adams smiled. “I’d be a great character witness for that argument, my dear. If anybody would believe that you and Al broke off intimate relations long ago, I’m the one. I saw his dedication to work. It went beyond dedication: it was a total immersion in the business. And I could sense his estrangement from you. You told me about it. But I would have sensed it anyway.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “And,” he continued, “we can use that when the baby is born.”

  She was confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why, when you have the child—after its birth. The gestation process will obviously be less than the nine months from our wedding—considerably less depending on when we marry.

  “But we don’t have to worry about any scandal. Everyone will assume you’re having Al’s baby. All we have to do is let that assumption stand. Let them think it’s Al’s baby; that will assure us ample time without our hurrying anything. It’s made to order.”

  He seemed so complacent. As if their marriage had been made to order. Strength returning, she stood. “Wait a minute: who said anything about marriage?”

  “Marriage! You and I! It goes without saying.”

  “That’s a quantum leap from where I am now. I didn’t know how you would react to my pregnancy. I was reasonably sure you wouldn’t want an abortion. And you know my feelings on the subject. But, other than that, I had to wait until this minute to know if you would accept the child.”

  He stood and faced her, challengingly. “But of course I would—and do. What kind of man do you think I am? The child is my responsibility, and I intend to see this through.”

  She began to pace, not going far in either direction. She seemed unable to stand still. “Tom, if all this hadn’t happened … if we hadn’t had an affair … if I hadn’t gotten pregnant … if Al hadn’t been killed: would you have given a single thought to marrying me?”

  He turned and walked to the window. “That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ Babs. But if ever there was a time when we ought to be honest, open, and frank with each other, now is that time. To be extremely candid, I’m not proud of our love affair.”

  She started to remonstrate, but he silenced her with a gesture. “I can make excuses for what I did. No, make that, I have made excuses for our affair. I was alone and lonely. You are just about the most desirable woman I’ve ever met. Gradually it became clear that you were in an extremely unhappy marriage.

  “So much for excuses.”

  “Not so much excuses,” she managed to break in, “but reasons. You were divorced. So it wasn’t as if you’d chosen a celibate life like some priest. You didn’t get married to be alone. But you were alone and lonely.

  “I was married. But the marriage was a virtual prison. I was alone and lonely in the special sense of living with someone without love. There isn’t any loneliness more oppressive than living with the wrong person.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Call it excuses, call it reasons; it doesn’t alter the fact that it was adulterous.”

  “According to the rigid laws of your church!”

  “According to the law of God.”

  “According to how you define marriage!”

  He jammed his hands deeply in his pockets as if to restrain himself from an angry gesture. “What do you mean by that!”

  “I mean the rules and regulations of society and your church define what marriage is. And then they come along and tell you that the marriage is over—or that it never existed. Because now you have ‘irreconcilable differences.’ Or because you didn’t have a priest around. No one can tell me I was living a ‘married life’ with Al. And your church told you you were never actually married to Mickey—that what existed between you and Mickey was never a marriage.

  “It all depends on who’s defining marriage—just like it all depends on whose ox is being gored.”

  “All right! All right!” Adams threw up his arms in a gesture of vexation. “Let’s get to your other ‘ifs.’ Would I be talking marriage to you if you weren’t pregnant. Or if Al were still alive.

  “That supposes a return to how things were before you discovered you were pregnant. And the answer is … probably not. We’re being candid. And, being candid, I had a good thing going. I wouldn’t want to lose that.”

  “A good thing?” Barbara’s lip curled. “Was using a condom a ‘good thing’? Your church doesn’t even let gays use condoms to protect against AIDS. You used them all the time with me. That was a ‘good thing’?” In her fury, she overlooked the fact that it had been she who had insisted on his using the condoms.

  “That’s the point!” Tom pounded his knee for emphasis. “Our relationship was sinful. It was adulterous—even though there were extenuating circumstances. And it was sinful to use all these precautions—even though there were extenuating circumstances. I am a sinner. I never claimed not to be. But these were personal, private sins, if you will. I would never place myself outside my church by attempting an invalid marriage. Never!

  “So, suppose you divorced Al. Would I ask you to marry me then? That brings us back to ‘my church,’ and who is defining marriage. I make no apologies: I would act in conformity with my church. But if the Church ruled you were free to marry, I certainly would have asked you.”

  “And now …?”

  “And now, of course, there is no need to seek a ruling from the Church. You are a widow. In anyone’s eyes you are free to marry. And I’ve already been granted a declaration of nullity.” He lowered himself into a chair and sat at its edge, eager. “Now, this is what I propose: after a little while we announce our engagement. We also announce that you are carrying your former husband’s child. At that point, the date of our wedding is immaterial—sometime after your delivery, or before; whatever suits you.

  “The ceremony will be a Catholic one of any size and detail you wish. At that point it doesn’t matter: anything you want.”

  He grew testy. “What is wrong, Babs? I’ve outlined a perfect scenario. What more do you want?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. And I can’t tell you anything you want to hear right away. There are things I can’t explain just now.

  “I’m not sure about our child. I’m not sure I want the child—and everyone else—to think he or she belongs to Al Ulrich when you are the father. And even more basic than that, I’m not sure I want to marry you.”

  Clearly, he was angry. “Send the money and shut up, is it? I’m not so sure I favor that solution! Think about this, missy—and think about it hard: I can’t wait forever for you to see the light. Just damn well let me know when
you see that light!”

  He snatched his coat from the chair and stormed out.

  Just as well he’d left: she had run out of things to say to him.

  This whole thing had played out completely differently than she had planned.

  At the very worst she’d expected four financially endowed men, each unaware of the others’ involvement, to contribute generously to the poor widow and her star-crossed child.

  The actual circumstance was far from that. Two men—each physically incapable of fertilizing an ovum—were cut from the herd at the outset. The third could be the father. The prospect of marriage to him was akin to volunteering for life in prison. Even accepting money from him was fraught with complexities.

  Then along comes the perfect arrangement.

  Tom Adams, CEO of a bank, presents a well-thought-out solution. She asks him if, without the present pressures, he would have proposed marriage. Probably not. But the bottom line? Now, he would.

  However, she was just beginning to ask herself the question: would she marry him?

  Some women live only for marriage. Perhaps no woman today exemplifies this more than Elizabeth Taylor. No matter how many times events seem to demonstrate beyond all doubt that the single life is her true destiny, she keeps on getting married.

  Barbara Ulrich was beginning to think fate was giving her the same message.

  Why, after all, did she need marriage? She was not heterosexual. She happened to be gorgeous, the physical answer to nearly every heterosexual male’s dream. She had no problem attracting men, even to the point of having them propose marriage. They wanted what she had on a full-time basis forever. Or so they thought.

  Marriage with Tom Adams …

  She sat at the large window and inattentively watched the endless flow of the river.

  He was a good man. He would care for her. He would provide for her on a level she had never experienced. Her social life would be glamorous.

  Could she endure his absolute unquestioning fidelity to his church? Maybe wife number one had had a point. On the other, hand, what difference could it make that her husband was preoccupied with Catholicism?