The Silent Shooter

Two

Two

WE ARRIVE AT THE ARCHBISHOP’S home, a stately Georgian mansion situated on ten acres of well-manicured grounds. I pull in the driveway and stop in front of the front door.

Looking at Helen, I grasp her hand. “Ready?” I ask.

With her chin up and a twinkle in her eyes, she says with a smile, “I’ve been ready, Tom.”

The door opens almost immediately after I ring the bell, revealing a jovial Archbishop Walter Knowland, flanked by his assistant Father Wayne wearing his usual scowl—only this time I detect a slight smile on the ex-Marine chaplain’s lips.

“Tom,” His Eminence says with a smile. “Helen, my dear. Please, come in.”

We walk into the entry hall of the residence. The Archbishop grasps my hand in a firm and vigorous handshake. He pulls Helen into a big bear hug and kisses her on the cheek. Father Wayne gives me a firm handshake and a quick, “Congratulations.” To Helen, he does the same, except he adds, “Hope you can do something with him.”

“Oh, I think I can whip him into shape,” Helen replies with a grin. Father Wayne nods his head, then turns quickly and ushers the three of us down the hallway into the Archbishop’s library. There is champagne on ice, and a steward quickly appears to pour us glasses.

Looking at us with unbridled joy, the Archbishop raises his glass and says, “To Tom and Helen. May you find that your love for each other brings you ever closer to Christ and His Church.” We toast to this, the first acknowledgement from anyone other than ourselves of our happy news.

“Please,” Archbishop Knowland says, indicating two armchairs side by side in front of his own. Behind us, I hear the door open. “Ah, Angelo, there you are,” he says. A young man in his late twenties with a David Niven moustache appears by his side, dressed in a nicely tailored suit.

“Father Tom Greer, Mrs. Helen Parr, this is Angelo Risetti from the Vatican Press Office. He’s here to see you two through the next several weeks.”

“Father Greer,” Risetti says in perfect though accented English, shaking my hand. “Ah, Ms. Parr,” he says with a smile, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “So very nice to meet you both,” he continues. “I bring you greetings from the Holy Father, and may I also extend my congratulations to you both. You’re embarking on a truly exciting adventure, a new chapter in the history of the Church.”

“And that’s why I wanted to meet with you tonight,” the Archbishop says. “You’re making history, and the whole Church will be watching you. Your unique situation calls for us to make some plans. As you both know, I will be at Saint Clare’s on Sunday. Following the Mass, I will ask everyone to be seated and make the announcement. At the same time, in Rome, a press release will go out to the international media announcing the new policy and your selection as the first couple to be granted a dispensation. After I finish my remarks, I will ask as many of the faithful as possible to either join us in the basement for a celebratory meal or depart by the back door. While they do this, the three of us will go out on the front steps where I will make a public announcement to certain members of the press. This is all being coordinated by Mr. Risetti here. They will no doubt want pictures of the two of you and some of the three of us together. You will not speak. I will do all the talking and inform them that the two of you will be available for interviews at a later time.

“We will remain with the press for about 10 minutes and then go back into the church and take the inside stairs down to the basement. Any questions?”

Before I can say anything, Helen asks, “What should I wear?”

Without missing a beat, Risetti jumps in, “Ms. Parr, since Sunday is the feast of Pentecost and the good Father will obviously be wearing black, I would suggest something red. It will photograph well and should be very attractive with your coloring.”

“You don’t think it will make me look . . .”

“Large? No, not at all.”

I see Helen’s jaw clench. “I was going to say ‘like a bad woman’ but, OK,” she says evenly.

Noticing her irritation, Risetti quickly says, “Oh, Ms. Parr! No, no, no, I apologize. I meant no offense at all. You are a very attractive woman. But understand, I so often work with silly European women who equate beauty with being skin and bones. I forget that there are members of the gentler s*x who are able to recognize why the painter Rubens remains so popular. Myself, I believe that the bone is for the dog and the meat is for the man.”

She melts at this and I see now that she is putty in his hands. “Oh . . . oh, that’s all right, Mr. Risetti. Just a simple misunderstanding,” she says with a slight giggle.

Risetti flashes a set of perfectly white teeth and says something in Italian, followed by, “Yes, and please, call me Angelo.”

“Angelo,” she says, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “You must call me Helen.”

“Very good, Helen, then,” he says, still smiling. “To answer your question, I would recommend that this dress, and everything you wear to future public engagements between now and the wedding, follow the guidelines we recommend for women visiting the Vatican. No mini-skirts, short shorts, sleeveless or low-cut tops. Basically, you want to make sure your knees and shoulders are covered at all times, as well as everything in between. Obviously, what you wear on your own time is your own business, but never forget that people are likely watching, at least in these early days.”

“Speaking of which,” Archbishop Knowland says, “now that you are engaged, you may of course go out together in public and even display the type of affection one would expect an engaged couple to display IN CHURCH. That is to say, don’t do anything in public that you would not do in front of your congregation, Tom, and do not do anything in private that you would not do in front of Jesus. Anna has agreed to stay on through the wedding to keep everything above board and avoid creating scandal. I have every reason to believe that you two will continue to show the respect for each other, God, and the Church that you have up to now. The only difference is that from now on, every move you make will be under scrutiny. No matter what you do, you will be criticized, so strive to honor God and let them wag their tongues. And, if you fail privately, get yourselves to confession. If you fail publicly, get yourselves to me, because I will probably know about it before you can pick up the phone. Any questions?”

Before I can ask what’s on my mind, Angelo speaks up. “I’m sorry, Your Eminence, but we need to talk about their first public interview.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the Archbishop says with a smile. “I almost forgot about that.”

“Interview?” I say. “The news hasn’t been made public yet. How could we have an interview already?”

“We offered Heather Andrews an exclusive interview,” Angelo says. “She’s currently traveling the country as part of a series of shows on NBS called ‘The Summer of Love,’ and your interview will kick it off!”

“OK,” Helen says. “So, we’re going to Baltimore, or . . . “

“Oh, no. She’s coming to you. Her advance crew will arrive Wednesday to set up a stage near Saint Clare’s. It will be a week from Monday in front of a live audience.”

We look at each other. That’s a hell of a way to make our first public appearance.

“You can always say no,” Angelo says. “I mean, I know it’s a lot to ask—”

“What do you think, Helen?” I ask.

“Tom,” she says, “if we’re going to start, we might as well start with a bang.”

I smile. “OK, then, Angelo, we’ll do it.”

“Fantastico,” he says as he pulls out his phone. “If you will excuse me, I will call her and let her know the good news.”

After Angelo leaves, the Archbishop asks, “Any other questions?”

“Your Eminence,” I say, “I know that we must go through the six months of marriage preparation prescribed by the Church. Given that, do you have any idea how soon we might set the date?”

“Of course you are anxious to begin your new life together, and frankly, I am anxious not to have to keep tabs on you as much.” He smiles and his eyes twinkle. “That being said, Sunday is May 23. Six months after that would be November 23. That brings us right up to the edge of Advent. I very much want you two to have a long honeymoon, because by then, you’ll have earned a well-deserved break from the spotlight. That being said, Tom, I don’t really want to take you away from your parish during Advent. So, what about Sunday, December 26, the Feast of the Holy Family? We would have to have the readings from that day because it is in Christmastide, but I think it would have some lovely symbolism.”

I look at Helen and say, “This is your day. What do you think.”

Taking my hand firmly in hers, she looks in my eyes and says, “This is OUR day.” Turning to the Archbishop, she amazes me by saying, “All of ours. Tom is already married to the Church. If I am marrying him, I am marrying the Church, too. The Feast of the Holy Family sounds wonderful.”

I am shocked to see tears well up in the Archbishop’s eyes. “I knew you’d say that, Helen,” he says. “I just knew it.”