Man Who Loved God Page 7

  He was not surprised that the attractive woman driver was alone. Anne Marie, his sister-in-law, had phoned earlier to explain that his brother couldn’t get off work until at least five-thirty at the earliest. She would pick up the priest at that time and they would all meet at their home.

  As he reached to open the car door, she leaned across the passenger seat and smiled up at him. “Father Tully, I presume.”

  He thought his ears would crack from the width of his answering grin. “Mrs. Tully, I presume,” he replied as he entered the car.

  “That title seems so foreign to that last name,” Anne Marie said. “I still can’t imagine somebody named Tully being a priest. Father Tully,” she murmured with reverence and amazement.

  “If you feel uneasy about the title, how about me? The only Mrs. Tully I’ve ever known was my mother.”

  They both laughed as they began the short trip to the Tully condo.

  It would be a while before they became sufficiently comfortable to be in each other’s company in silence. For now, conversation seemed necessary. Besides, there was lots of ground to cover.

  “I don’t know everything you and Z—uh, your brother talked about on the phone the other day. But I thought we could clear up some ticklish areas before you two meet in person.”

  “Sounds good.” Father Tully was aware that each time the car stopped, for traffic or a streetlight, Anne Marie turned to study him. Undoubtedly she was searching for a resemblance to his brother. Her husband.

  “We’re taking a slightly roundabout route to give us a bit more time,” she said. “First off, your brother has been married and divorced. And in between that marriage and me, there was a significant other.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “The marriage produced five children. They and their mother moved to Chicago when the divorce was final. The girlfriend and your brother parted amicably.”

  The priest nodded.

  “I’m telling you this specifically, Father, because it is important for you to know about your brother and me.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do. It’s probably going to make you wonder. See, I’m Catholic. And we were married in the Catholic Church.”

  “Alonzo got an annulment for his first marriage?”

  Anna Marie sighed. “There’s the rub. Your brother is not Catholic.” Sometimes, she thought, I wonder if he’s even religious. “We went to a priest friend of mine who is pastor of a core-city parish in a very poor neighborhood. Mostly because I wanted it, he tried to find some reason why an annulment might be sought, let alone granted.”

  “Nothing there?” The priest began to anticipate the outcome of this story.

  “The Church does not consider an overwhelming devotion to job, and duty a reason to grant an annulment.”

  “Married to his job, eh? I’ve known a lot of cops in that fix. By the way, does he—or do you—object to the word ‘cop’?”

  “Not at all.”

  “So what happened? When you had to forget the declaration of nullity, I mean?”

  “My priest suggested something he called ’a pastoral solution.…

  “You just get married in civil law,” Tully completed the explanation, “and look on that as your valid marriage and go from there. Go to Mass. Take Communion. Count on your conscience to lead you.

  She glanced at him, surprised that he was familiar with a procedure that she had thought most rare—probably reserved to a few inner-city priests, and maybe only in the Archdiocese of Detroit at that.

  He read her thoughts. “Surprised?.”

  “Yes, frankly.”

  “Don’t be. The procedure’s been around a long time. Another spillover from the Second Vatican Council … although not specifically conciliar. More a theological development from the spirit of Vatican II. It’s just an admission that Church law isn’t equipped to handle some problems.

  “The trouble is, of course, that it isn’t canonical. So it can’t be applied openly. You called it ‘a pastoral solution’—and so it is. But it might just as well be called ‘a triumph of conscience.’ Because whatever it’s called, it recognizes the supremacy of conscience.

  “So, you followed your priest’s advice.”

  “No.”

  “No!.”

  “I needed something more. Blame whatever, I needed more than my conscience told me.”

  “You needed … a ceremony?”

  “Exactly. And that’s what my priest gave us. It was a simple ceremony. No Mass. But in the church, at the altar, with two witnesses. With that I felt secure.”

  “One of the problems—maybe the only problem—is that a lot depends on the tone of the diocese. And that’s set by the bishop. And bishops come in assorted sizes, shapes, and dispositions. Your bishop, Cardinal Boyle, is reputed to be open. Which, in this case, means merely that he wouldn’t take any action against one of his priests who applied the ‘pastoral solution.’ Not unless his back was against the wall.

  “I think your priest, whoever he is, was taking a larger than usual risk.”

  “Why?” Anne Marie hadn’t considered that there could be any risk attached to that quiet ceremony.

  “My brother! He’s an officer in the Homicide Division, isn’t he?” The priest didn’t wait for an answer to his rhetorical question. “He’s in a position where he can and probably does appear in the media—the papers, radio, TV. It’s always possible for someone to learn that Lieutenant Tully got married in a less than strictly orthodox way. If that happens, he gets some coverage. Then, even with a bishop like Cardinal Boyle, a whole bunch of stuff can hit the fan.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “I’m glad. I’m truly glad. But the priest here really took a chance.”

  Anne Marie felt an even deeper gratitude to her priest, now that she realized how he had gone out on a limb to satisfy her need for a ceremony.

  They were silent for a few moments.

  “May I ask you, Father, did you ever counsel anyone in the ‘pastoral solution’?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you ever conduct a wedding service like I had?”

  “Yes. But there were times when I was able to convince a couple that it was wiser to stay in the internal forum—just trusting everything to God and a conscience that is not attempting to deceive God.”

  “Just out of curiosity, Father, why would you counsel against such a ceremony?”

  The priest snorted. “Not because anyone I married or counseled was famous or likely to get a picture in the paper. My parishes don’t run on that level. We—all the Josephite parishes—aren’t moving in the fast lane.

  “But, you see, we aren’t diocesan priests. We’re a religious order. We don’t belong to any one diocese. We have parishes in lots of different dioceses. And when we move into such a parish, we fall under the jurisdiction of the local ordinary—the bishop. And, let me assure you, all bishops are not Cardinal Boyle.”

  “Well,” Anne Marie said, “anyway, I wanted you to know. And I wanted to explain our situation to you before, the three of us got together. It would be awkward for Zoo. He just went along with everything because he wanted to please me. He didn’t know or care about what was going on. From that time on, it was ‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you.’

  “That, by the way, was why I suggested to Zoo that I pick you up. So we could have this little talk beforehand.”

  “It was a good idea. I agree entirely. I’m clear on—wait a minute! What did you call him … my brother?”

  “What did I …? Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you? His nickname … he picked it up some time ago. Most people call him ‘Zoo’ instead of Alonzo.”

  “But his given name is Alonzo. Zo, not Zoo.”

  “I know. But that’s the way it is. About the only person I know who calls him Alonzo is his boss, Inspector Walt Koznicki. He’s kind of old-worldly. He wouldn’t think of using a nickname.”

  Father Tully thought for a min
ute, then began to chuckle, until the chuckle became a roar of laughter.

  “What is it, Father? Something I’m not tuning in on?”

  “Know what my first name is?”

  “Uh … let’s see … I was geared to just use your title. It’s … wait: It’s Zachary!”

  “And my natural nickname?”

  “I suppose … Zack.”

  “That’s right. Just think: Zoo and Zack. Zack and Zoo.”

  They both began to laugh until the car almost shook. Fortunately, they had arrived at the Tully home; otherwise, Anne Marie might have caused a traffic accident.

  As they drove into the attached garage, Father Tully thought he saw a window curtain move, as if someone were watching from inside. Obviously Zoo had arrived. His car was parked in the garage.

  They waited until they got control of themselves. Then they entered the condo. They were still grinning broadly as they walked into the living room where Zoo Tully waited.

  The police officer and the priest stood motionless as they looked at each other.

  “In all my life,” said the priest finally, “I’ve never known what it’s like to have a brother or a sister. And now I’m standing in this room with my brother and my sister.”

  “In all my life,” said the officer, “I’ve never had a priest relative, let alone a priest brother.”

  They stood as a tableau for several moments.

  On impulse, Anne Marie took each brother by the arm and moved the two of them together as all three embraced. Tears flowed. The two men tried, with little success, to cover their emotion.

  After a few moments, Anne Marie moved apart. “You two guys sit down and get acquainted. I’m going to stick some things in the microwave. You’ll have to excuse us, Father—oh, nuts, I can’t stop using your title. Anyway, what with my teaching and my dear husband catching the bad guys, we don’t cook much. Usually it’s either prepared food or eating out. We would’ve gone out tonight, but we thought it was better to be home and get used to each other. It’ll just be a little while. Why don’t you two figure out what you’re going to call each other?”

  Father Tully and Anne Marie began laughing again as she went to the kitchen.

  “Want something to drink?” the officer asked.

  “Gin and tonic would be nice … heavy on the tonic.”

  Zoo made two virtually identical drinks. He handed one to his brother as they sat down in facing chairs. “Now then, what’s this about what we’re supposed to call each other?”

  The priest chuckled. “Anne Marie and I got to talking on the way over. In the course of conversation, she referred to you by your nickname.”

  “Zoo? Yeah, just about everybody calls me that.” “That’s what Anne Marie said. Then I told her my nickname.”

  “Which is?”

  “Not nearly as colorful as yours. It’s Zack … from Zachary.”

  Zoo thought about this for a very brief moment. “Zoo and Zack.”

  “Zack and Zoo. I should get top billing. I’m a priest.”

  “I’m older.”

  “You comfortable using our nicknames? People are bound to find it humorous.”

  “That’s their problem.”

  “Then it’s done.”

  “Done.”

  “Have you been doing what I’ve been doing?” the priest asked.

  “Checking you out to see if there’s any resemblance?”

  “There is, isn’t there?”

  “A bit.”

  “We sure had different mamas!” Zack observed.

  “But the same daddy. I can see him in you … and you in me, for that matter.”

  “I was only five when Dad died. Ma told me some things. But she didn’t know him much longer than my five years. What do you remember?”

  “Not much more than you. I was just a kid when he left. I don’t know what happened. From what my—our—brothers and sisters said, he was a hardworking guy. Worked the assembly line … probably what Detroit is best known for. He had plenty of trouble from the rednecks. It was lots different then. Everybody took it for granted that he’d work here and go on supporting his family till he dropped.

  “But one day he just up and left. That was it. I hardly knew him, and then he was gone.”

  “It was my mother’s first marriage ….” Zack took up the story. “I came along after about a year. And I hardly got to know him. And then he was gone.”

  Zoo looked at his brother intently. “Your mama must’ve really been religious … I mean you becoming a priest and all.”

  “Oh, yes, she was. I think it was maybe the happiest day of her life when I was ordained.

  “How about you? I gather from Bob Koesler and Anne Marie that you’re not exactly a Bible thumper.”

  “We grew up entirely different. I don’t have any religion. If someone really pressed, I’d have to say I’m Baptist. But they’d have to press very, very hard.”

  “Well, don’t worry: I’m not going to try to make a Catholic of you.

  “Good. That attitude will eventually make you a happier man.”

  “Okay, you two.” Anne Marie in an apron appeared in the door. “Everything’s ready. Father, I hope you like chicken. We’re trying. to keep your brother off red meat as much as possible.”

  “Chicken’s fine. And it’s Zack to my brother, and I hope to my sister too.”

  Zoo was about to stab a chicken leg when Anne Marie invited their priest brother to offer a prayer, which he did.

  All in all, it was an appetizing dinner. In addition to the chicken, there were vegetables and a salad. It could not begin to challenge last night’s feast at the Adams suite. Still, this was several levels up from what Zack would have prepared for himself were he back at the rectory.

  More important, this meal was punctuated with warm smiles from everyone.

  “I’m not exactly in love with my nickname. Zack. But, somehow, coming from you two it has a down-home ring.”

  Zoo smiled. “There’s one person you’re bound to meet who will never, under any circumstances, use the nickname. In fact, if I’m not proven wrong, he will never call you anything but Father Tully.”

  “Wait a minute …” Zack held up one hand. “Anne Marie mentioned the name … I can’t think of it right now. Polish?”

  “You bet. Inspector Walter Koznicki. My boss—head of our Homicide Division.”

  “I’m really looking forward to meeting him … and your other friends. I can’t tell you, what a kick this is for me.”

  “And for us,” Anne Marie said.

  There was no sense of haste to this meal. They knew they were in for a long evening of getting acquainted. Probably at this table in the kitchen.

  “By the way,” Zoo said, “before supper, you mentioned Father Koesler. I hope he didn’t get the impression he wasn’t welcome to come along.”

  Zack looked puzzled. “Didn’t you know? I thought he—or somebody—would tell you. He’s gone. A vacation.”

  “A vacation!” Zoo’s reaction seemed out of proportion to the event;

  “That’s right. I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s had one. I don’t think’ he even knows himself. But if anybody deserves to get away, it’s gotta be Bob Koesler.”

  Zoo seemed stunned. He had stopped eating.

  “It’s funny with people who don’t vacation,” Anne Marie said. “They get to resemble big oak trees that are sort of dependable. They’re always there.”

  “That’s just it ….” Zoo seemed to be coming out of his self-inflicted daze. “He isn’t here.”

  Anne Marie was concerned. “Of course he isn’t here, dear. He’s on vacation.”

  “What if we need him?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What if we need him?’ Why would we need him?”

  “Hey,” Zack said in a joking tone, “what am I, collard greens? I’m a priest! It isn’t that you’re left with nobody to take care of your spiritual life. Besides, after what you said, I didn’t think you�
��d panic if there wasn’t a priest to bring you sacraments!”

  “It’s not me.” Zoo was deadly serious. “What if we come up with one of those cases like the ones that Koesler always helps us with … you know, where we’ve used him as a resource person?”

  “What kind of chance would that be, honey? I mean, what are the odds?” Anne Marie said. “It’s not as if Father Koesler were on a retainer for the department. Or even that you. really expect to use him some more. For all you know, you’ll never need his expertise again.”

  “Still and all, I’d feel better knowing he was here … that he was available if we did need him.”

  “Zoo, he’s not that far away,” Zack said. “He’s just up in Georgian Bay.”

  “Where’s that?” Zoo shot back. “I can’t place it off the top of my head.”

  “It’s in Canada.”

  “Canada’s a big country.”

  “Well, it’s in Ontario, that much I know.”

  “Can you reach him?” Zoo asked.

  “It’s more a question of will he leave us alone down here,” Zack answered. “He left this afternoon, after making sure I knew where all the nooks and crannies are. I didn’t think I’d ever get him out of here.

  “And then—can you believe it?—who should phone from en route late this afternoon but our reluctant vacationer, Bob Koesler.”

  “He’s really not that far? He’s in touch? We can reach him?”

  “Zoo …” Anne Marie maintained her light tone. “You never seemed so dependent on Father Koesler in the past. Why, I’ve even heard that there was a time when you resented his involvement in a homicide investigation.”

  “That was before I got to know him. After I got convinced that his involvement wasn’t just because he wanted to meddle in police business. He’s not pushy. He just puts himself at our disposal when we invite him to help out.

  “I guess I must’ve grown to depend on him being here.”

  “Brother,” Zack said, “I am taking his place. Why don’t you lean on me if you come up with some problem that needs help? I had a talk with Father Koesler before he left yesterday. He explained to me, and gave me some examples of how he’s helped you over the years.