The Defining Decision

One

One

THE WALK BACK TO THE car in the moonlight is surreal.

The night is cool but not at all cold, not like the last time we were at the Archbishop’s residence.

But then, nothing is like the last time we were here.

That time, we were only hoping that he would let me remain in Myerton, that he would allow Helen and I to remain friends—close friends and companions, but nothing more than that. Now, with the miraculous news that I might be granted permission to marry the woman I love, well, everything has changed.

There is a new warmth in the air and in ourselves, a warmth that seems to come from both outside and in, creating a thick fog of joy around us where the two meet.

I want to take Helen’s hand—hell, I want to grab her and hug her and swing her around in the air, though of course neither her voluptuous body nor my 46-year-old back is conducive to that. Still, the need to do something, to expend the pent-up energy that this newfound happiness has filled me with makes it hard to just keep walking. Instead, I want to skip and sing and dance for joy.

At the same time, I’m nervous she will change her mind. Nervous that, having worked so hard to get to where we are, she will think that this is where we should stay. What if she comes to believe that ultimately she just wants to be friends? What if she wakes up tomorrow and decides that is how she really feels?

I want to say something suave. I want to say something romantic and memorable that will make her stay in love with me. Instead, noticing the daffodil shoots coming up through the mulch, I say, “It's warm for April tonight, isn’t it?”

Then, Helen does the most incredible thing imaginable.

She laughs. A deep, throaty, joy-filled laugh that so fills my brain that there is no room for doubt.

I stop. I take her hands and pull her to me. Our mouths meet in a kiss, deep and long, with a sense of passion unfulfilled and hope to come. I want it to last forever, but I stop because I want so much more.

I want a future with her, not just in my bed, but in my kitchen, waiting for me to make coffee. I want her in my living room arguing with me over who owns Boardwalk or whether William Shatner can act. I want her on the first row in the church and at the back table at parish events. I want her to sit by my side at Archdiocesan functions and applaud no matter how many times the same guy makes the same speech.

So I stop, but this time with the hope that it’s only temporary.

And that makes all the difference.

We manage to get in the car but I don’t crank it. I am suddenly seized with the fear that if I turn the key everything will disappear, that I will suddenly wake up in my bed back at the Rectory, alone. But even more alone because my greatest dream has once again been dashed.

Then Helen asks, “What do we do now, Tom?”

I’m jolted back to reality. Oh, what a glorious reality, with all our dreams soon to be fulfilled. But every dream comes wrapped in a responsibility, and the bigger the dream, the bigger the responsibility.

And right now, I don’t think either of us fully understand what we’re potentially facing.

“Well,” I say, finally cranking the car and pulling out of the Archbishop’s driveway, “that’s a good question. I honestly don’t know. I mean, this is a bit of a shock for me.”

“Not just for you, Tom,” she laughs. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up in my apartment and find out this is all a dream.”

“Me, too. But look, the truth is I need time to process this, and I can only assume that you do, too. So, how about this? You come to the Rectory tomorrow for lunch and we can talk about everything then.”

She nods and says, “Yes, that’s a good idea. That makes the most sense.” We drive for a while in silence, then return to small talk.

I want to be wise. I want to be careful and do everything right this time. But when we get to her apartment, my heart trumps my head. Before she can open the door, I say, “Helen, I need to make something clear to you. I need for us to wait until tomorrow to talk because I love you. I am determined to woo you into becoming my wife. You deserve wooing, because you have given up so much in our relationship to make this all possible. I want to make a plan of attack, if you will, that gives me the very best shot at making you mine.”

She turns to me, her azure blue eyes catching the light of a street lamp and sparkling. In a low, throaty voice she says, “Tom, you can have me now.”

Her words set my brain on fire.

Again I stand with David, watching Bathsheba from that roof. How many times did he stand there? How many times did he return, again and again, to the source of his darkest hopes and deepest temptations?

Obviously, one time too many.

Even though God did mercifully redeem him, many paid the price, especially the gorgeous Bathsheba. I force myself not to make the same mistake.

Looking in her eyes with all the love for her I have, I stroke her hair and say, “And I would take you now, my darling, without hesitation, if I were free to do so. But, I am not yet free. You deserve a free man, a man who is free to give you all that you deserve, with all the honor and dignity that comes from being a wife, not just a lover.”

The passion and desire still in her eyes, she smiles and caresses my cheek. “I’m sorry, Tom,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what came over me. Thank you for saving me from myself.”

“Well, Helen,” I say with a smile, “it's not like you haven’t saved me a few times in the past.” I lean over and whisper in her ear, “And will probably have to save me a few times in the future before all is said and done.”

“Well, then,” she says, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, “we’ll just have to save each other.”

With that, I go around and open her car door. I walk her to her door and then, as she looks at me expectantly, I raise my thumb to her forehead and make a small cross. I then kiss the place I marked and say, “God bless you, my darling. Good night.”

Then, using every bit of self-discipline I’ve gained in the past ten years, I turn and walk back to my car, hoping that my very cold shower will not wake Anna.