The Defining Decision

Three-1

Three

AFTER LESLIE LEAVES, I open my email and find a missive from the Archbishop. It’s also addressed to Helen.

“Well,” I mutter. “This ought to give us plenty to talk about.”

I text Helen.

What would you like for lunch?

About ten seconds later, she replies.

I’ll pick something up. Chinese?

I smile, because that’s exactly what I had in mind.

Sounds great. You know what I like.

When I see her next text, I can’t suppress a grin.

Will Anna be joining us?

Not anymore ;)

Oh, good. I’ll be there at 1:30

At first I wonder why she’s coming so late, but then it hits me. She’s read the Archbishop’s email and is allowing time for the Noon Mass crowd to clear out.

I spend the rest of the morning on typical post-Holy Week work. Before I know it, it is 11:30 a.m. and I head over to the church.

I celebrate Mass that day with a new sense of awe and wonder. I’m like the child who has been told by his parents that they just can’t afford a bike this year, only to wake up on Christmas morning and find one under the tree. How could it be, I wonder, that Christ, who has already given me so much, would also give me Helen? It’s almost too much to fathom.

I get back to the Rectory around 1 p.m. after spending some time after Mass in prayer, asking for wisdom for my talk with Helen. Anna is in the kitchen, making herself a sandwich. I had mentioned earlier that Helen was coming over for lunch, and she had told me that she would be too busy in her office “with the door closed” to join us. In my office, I print out a couple of copies of the email, figuring it might be handy to have them to go over together.

Helen arrives about 1:30 p.m. I answer the door, having carefully rehearsed my smooth moves in my mind several hundred times.

Unfortunately, I forgot she would be carrying our food. So when, after carefully closing the door, I reach out for what I had planned to be a romantic hug, I nearly crush our food.

“Careful!” she cries, as the upended moo-shu threatens to spill out onto her blouse.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, jumping back like an awkward teenager who accidentally touched a girl’s breast. I try to take the food from her, only to miss one of the handles of the bag, nearly spilling everything. At this point, Helen slides past me and heads toward the kitchen before anything worse happens.

That’s OK. I can still salvage this.

I follow her into the kitchen. Coming up behind her at the counter, I wrap my arms around her, intending to whisper, “Hello, darling.” Instead, my hand catches on the handle of her huge tote bag, knocking it to the ground.

“Oh, Tom!” Helen says, with exasperation. “You are clumsy today.”

“Hey,” I say, a little defensive. “If you’d carry a purse like any other woman instead of this survivalist go-bag you insist on—”

“Don’t dis the tote bag, Tom. It has everything I need.”

I look down at the spilled contents. “Forget the C-4 today?” I quip.

She opens her mouth for another Helenesque retort when a laugh escapes her. We both start laughing uncontrollably.

“Come here,” I say through laughter. I pull her to me unselfconsciously for the first time and squeeze her tight. I bury my face in her hair and kiss the top of her head.

“I am really glad to see you,” I say softly.

“I’m really glad to see you, too,” she says. “I woke up this morning only half convinced it wasn’t all a dream. I’ve been in a fog all morning. Gladys asked me if I was feeling OK.”

“Are you?”

She pulls back to look in my eyes. “Oh, yes. Better than OK. Better than I have in a very long time.”

I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her, to once again assure myself that I’m not dreaming.

“May I kiss you, Helen?”

She smiles. “I wish you would—on the forehead, like a good brother,” she says in her worst Scarlett O’Hara.

“To heck with that,” I say with a smile. I pull her closer so our lips can meet.

Just then, Anna comes through the door, “I told Tom that I didn’t want to be underfoot but I just have to see . . .” She sees us in an embrace, surrounded by the contents of Helen’s bag and stops in her tracks.

“Who fell and who’s helping the other up?” she asks with a knowing smile.

I try to explain but just start laughing again. “Helen,” I say, “I think Anna wants to talk to you. You do that while I pick up.”

Helen turns away from me, Anna hugs her, and I once again marvel at how much stuff Helen carries around with her just to get through the day.

***